AN : Image
Now that Zaboru had just regained consciousness, Akechi was already inside the Miyoshi household—the private home of Katsuo Miyoshi, the drunk driver who had crashed into Zaboru. Beside Katsuo stood Katsura Miyoshi, his father and the CEO of Miyoshi Electric, a well‑known businessman who normally carried himself with authority.
But tonight, neither of them looked like men in control.
Both Katsuo and Katsura were cowering in fear, their confidence stripped away the moment Akechi stepped into the room. They understood how the underworld worked. They understood what it meant when someone like Akechi "Rashomon" visited in person.
And the most terrifying part wasn't the silence.
It was Akechi's face.
His expression was usually blank—calm, unreadable, emotionless. Yet now, there was unmistakable anger carved into it, sharp enough to make the air feel heavy. He stared at them as if they were already guilty beyond forgiveness, as if the verdict had been decided long before they even opened their mouths.
Nearby him were five other people.
First was a muscular man with a sharp pompadour and an expression that always looked irritated. His name was Murai Mujin, a walking definition of a tank. In the underworld he was known as "Crush." Murai had a strange physical condition—when he was injured, his adrenaline didn't drop like a normal person. It spiked. The more pain he took, the more violent his strength became, as if his body turned damage into fuel.
Next to him stood a bald man with glasses named Tatsu Yaguchi. He was muscular too, but he wasn't a traditional fighter. Instead, he carried a quiet menace. Tatsu loved flowers—almost obsessively—and he was an expert in poison. People whispered his nickname, "Death Flower," because his toxins were delicate, precise, and fatal.
In the shadows was a man dressed entirely in black. His presence was so faint it felt like he barely existed at all, even while standing in the same room. He was known as Kakashi—the Scarecrow—an unseen blade that moved without sound.
Behind them, guarding the door, was a beautiful woman in a fitted suit. She carried a bow, yet she was also a sniper in her own right—someone who never missed, whether she fired a rifle, threw a blade, or released an arrow. Her name was Ruri Kochou, and her code name was "Lethal Princess."
Lastly, there was a long‑haired man with his hair tied in a ponytail. A black katana rested across his back, and beneath the calm posture was something frightening. He had only one eye. His name was Kuroki Takata, and in the underworld he was called "One Eye Demon." He is top hitman.
Akechi had brought almost his full squad tonight. These five weren't just "people under him"—they were his core subordinates, each one a captain with their own unit. Back when the Hamazou Family still operated in the shadows, they led squads that handled the most dangerous work. Now, with the transition into legitimate operations, they served as captains inside Aoshidan, the private security group that Akechi quietly built into a machine. Their names carried weight in the underworld, not because of reputation alone, but because anyone who challenged them rarely got a second chance.
They were famous in a different way too. Gamers who knew Akaishidan's work would recognize the resemblance immediately, because in the fighting game Shidan Battle, the five flagship characters were clearly inspired by them. Not exact copies—just close enough that anyone paying attention would notice. The game was marketed as fiction, but people who knew the rumors understood the truth: Shidan Battle wasn't just a fighting game. It was a stylized reflection of Akechi's subordinates, turned into legends on-screen.
Meanwhile, Katsura was sweating bullets. As the CEO of Miyoshi Electric, he understood the underworld far better than most "legitimate" businessmen ever would. He had paid people to make problems disappear, he had heard rumors of names you never said out loud, and he knew exactly what it meant when a door opened and men like this walked in.
It wasn't just Akechi.
It was the fact that Akechi had brought the five captains with him—six monsters in one room. Aside from Rashomon himself, those five were also infamous in the shadows, the kind of people whose reputations were built on quiet outcomes and missing witnesses. Katsura's mind raced for solutions—money, lawyers, influence, connections—but every option died the moment he looked into Akechi's eyes.
Because this wasn't a business meeting.
This was judgment.
Akechi began to speak, his voice calm enough to be polite. "So… you're already healthy, Katsuo Miyoshi?"
He tilted his head slightly, as if he was genuinely curious. "After faking your condition in the hospital, you come back home casually."
Akechi's grin sharpened into something terrifying.
Katsuo and Katsura gulped at the same time.
"You expected everything would be normal, didn't you…?"
Katsuo tried to speak, his throat tight. "B-but… Zaboru didn't die in the end, did he? I'm ready to face the real trials for this…! I'll accept the punishment, I'll pay the fines—whatever the government decides!"
Akechi stopped grinning. He leaned back, as if the conversation suddenly bored him. "Yes," he said calmly. "Because Zaboru didn't die, you can pretend this will be handled neatly. With the right lawyers, the right money, and the right family name, you'll probably be punished… but not too much."
Katsuo exhaled, relief flashing across his face for a brief, foolish second. He glanced at his father, as if hoping this nightmare had an end.
Then Akechi's mouth curved again.
It wasn't a smile.
"But you made one f*cking mistake," Akechi said, voice quiet enough to feel surgical. "You hurt Zaboru Renkonan."
His eyes didn't move. His tone didn't rise. Yet the room felt colder. "He's important to me. Not because of money. Not because of politics. Because he's the one person who makes something that actually excites me."
Akechi's grin sharpened. "My favorite game developer, you know?"
He tilted his head slightly. "So no, Katsuo. This won't end in court."
Katsuo rose from his seat, anger forcing him upright even though fear was already crawling under his skin. He could feel that Akechi and the others were dangerous, but he still didn't understand how terrifying they truly were. In his mind, this was still something he could argue through—still a situation where pride, money, and status might protect him.
"For only trivial reasons!" Katsuo snapped, voice trembling with forced confidence. "You're delusional. The hell with him! I didn't even hurt you, and yet…!"
Katsura went pale. "Katsuo—shut up!" he hissed, reaching out as if he could physically pull the words back into his son's mouth.
He didn't get the chance.
A sharp needle flashed through the air from the entrance—so fast it looked like a thin line of light—and struck Katsuo's cheek.
"AAAGHH!" Katsuo screamed, stumbling back. Blood immediately ran down the side of his face as he clutched it in disbelief, fingers coming away wet and red. His eyes shot toward the doorway, searching for the attacker, but the room felt unchanged—as if the strike had come from nowhere.
Then he saw her.
Ruri Kochou—"Lethal Princess." She stood near the entrance with a calm posture, her expression unreadable. She hadn't even stepped forward. She hadn't raised her voice. She hadn't rushed. Her hand was already lowered again, as if throwing a needle with lethal precision was no different from flicking dust off her sleeve.
Katsuo's stomach dropped. The distance was absurd, the angle impossible—yet the needle had landed exactly where it wanted. Perfect accuracy. No warning. No hesitation.
And that was when Katsuo understood.
They weren't here to intimidate him.
They were here to demonstrate what they could do.
Before Katsuo could retaliate, Murai moved.
One step.
That was all it took.
The gap vanished like it had never existed. Murai's fist slammed into Katsuo's face with brutal precision, and Katsuo's nose broke instantly from the impact. His body folded as he staggered, half falling, half catching himself against the furniture.
Murai leaned in, his irritated expression turning into pure hostility. "Nobody yells at my boss, you bastard."
Katsuo tried to lift his hands, but Murai's presence crushed his will. Murai raised his fist again, ready to keep going until Katsuo stopped moving.
"Murai. Stop."
Akechi's voice was quiet.
But it cut through the room like a blade.
Murai froze with his fist an inch from Katsuo's face. He didn't argue. He didn't even breathe hard. He simply lowered his arm and stepped back, returning to his place as if violence was just another tool he could put away when ordered.
Katsuo remained trembling, clutching his face, finally realizing that in this room he wasn't dealing with men who cared about law or logic. He was dealing with people who decided consequences with their hands.
Akechi leaned back, suddenly relaxed, as if he was talking about the weather. "Before video games existed, I lived in a void," he said quietly. "Nothing excited me. Booze, drugs, prostitution, gambling—anything people chase to feel alive… it all bored me. I didn't like any of it. People call it pleasure, but to me it was just noise. A way to waste time until the next day came."
Then his mouth curved into a grin that had no warmth. "The only thing that ever slightly excited me was watching someone fall into despair—especially someone I was pissed about. That moment when their confidence collapses. When their voice breaks. When they realize the world won't save them."
Katsura and Katsuo both began sweating harder. The father swallowed, the son's breathing turned shallow, and neither dared to interrupt.
Akechi's eyes stayed cold. "But then video games came," he continued. "And then Zaboru came with them—reviving a dying industry like it was nothing. He created games that actually excite me—games that make me feel something other than emptiness. For the first time, I could focus on something without getting bored. Worlds with rules. Challenges with meaning. Victories that felt earned instead of stolen. He even taught me how to make games properly—without hesitation, without restraint, and without lying to myself about why I was doing it."
He tilted his head slightly, as if remembering something private. "Because of him, I even ended up owning a video game company myself. Not for money. Not for reputation. Because if something can make me feel alive, then it's worth protecting. Worth keeping pure."
Akechi's grin sharpened again, thin and dangerous. "So tell me… do you understand what Zaboru means to me?"
He didn't say the real relationship. He didn't mention that Zaboru was his brother-in-law. Akechi refused to drag Ayumi's name into this—refused to stain his sister with anything connected to the underworld. In his mind, Ayumi was clean, and she would stay clean. Whatever darkness had to happen tonight would belong to him alone.
This was Rashomon's business, and Rashomon would carry it alone.
Akechi continued, "The fact that you nearly killed Zaboru makes me really pissed—and oh, no amount of money or bribery can fix that for me now. Not anymore."
He paused, letting the sentence sit in the air. Then his grin returned, sharper than before.
"Except…"
His eyes locked on Katsura. "Except I make you suffer. I don't give a f*ck if you're a company owner or some respected CEO, Katsura. Your son will come with me tonight. And when the trial happens in three days, he will be 'ready.'"
Akechi spoke with the same calm tone he used for everything, and that calmness made the threat feel absolute.
He tilted his head slightly. "Or… would you like to change places with him?"
Katsura went pale. For a heartbeat, he looked like he might argue—like pride would save him. But then his gaze flicked to the five captains behind Akechi, and the reality crushed whatever courage he had left.
"Take him!" Katsura blurted out, voice cracking. "Take him—take him, then! Just… don't involve me in this! He's already a grown man! Besides, all he does is spend my goddamn money! I… I have another son to succeed me!"
Katsuo's face twisted in disbelief. "Dad… you bastard!"
Akechi smiled.
"As expected."
He didn't sound surprised at all—only mildly amused, as if Katsura had confirmed a prediction. Katsura Miyoshi wasn't pleading as a father. He was bargaining as a dirty CEO, throwing away one problem to protect his own position.
Akechi's eyes turned to the bald man with glasses. "Then it's settled. Tatsu."
Tatsu moved immediately. Without wasting a second, he stepped in, seized Katsuo's jaw with practiced ease, and pressed a small vial to his mouth. "Open," Tatsu said, quiet and emotionless.
Katsuo tried to resist, but it was useless. The liquid slid past his lips.
His eyes widened.
He tried to shout.
But his tongue felt heavy.
Within seconds, his limbs weakened, his balance collapsed, and he slumped—consciousness fading as if someone had turned off a switch.
Akechi watched without blinking.
"Good," he said flatly. "Bring him."
When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in his house.
Cold air hit his face.
He was lying on the floor of an empty warehouse—bare concrete beneath him, the smell of rust and old dust in the air. A single hanging light swayed slightly above, casting hard shadows across metal crates and abandoned equipment. His wrists felt heavy. His body felt wrong—weak, sluggish—like his muscles were filled with sand.
Katsuo tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
His tongue was numb. His throat refused to cooperate.
Then he saw Akechi.
Akechi stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, calm as always—too calm. A thin grin sat on his face, as if he had been waiting for this moment with patience.
"Heh… as I expected," Akechi said. "Your dad abandoned you. Trash human being. How does it feel?"
Katsuo's eyes widened. He tried to shout, to curse, to beg—anything—but his mouth only produced a faint, broken sound. Panic surged through him.
Akechi's grin deepened. "You can't scream in here," he said casually. "And don't worry—when you go back, you'll still be in one piece."
He paused, eyes narrowing just slightly.
"Your body, at least."
Katsuo's breathing turned ragged. He struggled against the numbness, but it was useless. His limbs barely responded.
Akechi stepped closer with quiet precision, moving like a man who never wasted motion. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. His presence alone made the warehouse feel smaller.
With a small pocket knife, Akechi carved a shallow cut across Katsuo's hand—not deep enough to be fatal, but more than enough to send sharp pain through his nerves. He moved with practiced precision, like he had measured exactly how far he needed to go. Then he took out a small spray bottle and misted something onto the wound. The sting intensified immediately, burning in a way that made Katsuo's whole body jolt.
Katsuo tried to pull away. He tried to scream. He tried to beg.
But his tongue still wouldn't cooperate, and his limbs refused to respond the way he wanted. All he could manage were small, desperate movements—weak jerks of his shoulders and trembling hands—like a man trapped inside his own body while the nightmare continued right in front of him.
"This is only the start," he said, almost bored. "We have a lot of time tonight."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a calm whisper—cruel not because it was loud, but because it was certain.
"Blame your luck," Akechi murmured. "Crashing into my favorite game developer."
Katsuo tried again to speak, tears forming at the corners of his eyes as the reality fully hit him.
But Akechi simply smiled.
And the lesson began.
Meanwhile outside the room.
Kuroki, the swordsman, let out a slow sigh. "I thought Captain Akechi wasn't that cruel anymore," he muttered, resting a hand near the black katana on his back. "But… that guy almost killed Zaboss. I guess this is what happens. Life's been getting easier ever since we started working as Aoshidan, huh?" Kuroki grinned. "I never knew clean money could feel this good compared to dirty money."
Ruri, the Sniper Princess, answered while calmly inhaling her cigar. Her eyes didn't even blink as she spoke. "That's just who he is, Kuroki. You know it. And yeah… I'm pissed too. That drunk idiot almost killed Zaboru." She exhaled smoke slowly. "Zaboru is kind—even to people like us. He never once looked down on us. He treats us like human beings, not like weapons."
Murai grinned, but there was an edge behind the laughter. "HAHAH! Zaboss even asked me to become a motion-capture actor!" He slapped his own chest proudly. "Me! Can you believe that? I'm not smart, my head's thick, but the boss still sees value in me." His grin widened. "And besides… he's the reason the Hamazou Family is becoming better. He made things cleaner. He made things brighter."
Tatsu chuckled quietly, adjusting his glasses. "Even his sister is kind," he said. "Sanika isn't afraid of me at all. Most people avoid my eyes, but she talks to me normally." His smile faded into something colder. "So yes… that Katsuo guy deserved this. Actions have consequences."
From the shadowed corner, Tanabe Goro—Kakashi—spoke in a low voice, almost like the air itself had formed words. "Zaboru isn't simple," he said. "He's like 'the boss.' Even when I erase my presence, he can faintly sense me. His instincts are sharp. It's like he's always aware of something behind the world."
In truth, all five captains were fans of Zaboru in their own way. Not the loud, childish kind of fandom—but the kind built from respect. Zaboru was never afraid of them. He treated them warmly, as if their past didn't define their worth. Even Zaboru's family treated them well. Keiko spoke to them like guests, Sanika joked with them, and Ayumi—Zaboru's wife—even before she Zaboru wife was always kind inside the Hamazou household, never once making them feel like outsiders. That was why, when someone tried to take Zaboru away, none of them felt pity.
They only felt certainty.
To be continue
AN: At first I want to make these characters have supernatural power, but i decide not to.
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