"I'll give you lots another chance," Arakawa Zenkichi said, his voice steady but laced with quiet menace. "Will you hand it over, or not?"
His words carried no trace of hesitation. Though his tone remained calm, the weight behind it was undeniable—a threat, clear and unmistakable.
This was natural for him. As someone who once stood within S.H.I.E.L.D., Zenkichi always honored his word. Now, with the organization in ruins, he needed the funds to restore it. And the only nation wealthy enough, and arrogant enough, to be considered his enemy was none other than the States.
"…No…"
The answer came with hesitation, but it came all the same. Several of the top officials of Country M shifted uncomfortably, their faces tight with strain. Not one of them wanted to hand over that much money. It wasn't simply reluctance—it was because the amount he demanded was nothing less than astronomical.
This was no mere sum. What Zenkichi asked for was nearly everything in their national treasury. Even if they had the authority, few among them could stomach parting with such wealth.
"Do you want to see Washington reduced to rubble?"
Zenkichi's voice broke the silence like a blade.
The room stilled. All eyes turned toward him, wide with disbelief.
He had said it so plainly, so naturally. Washington, the beating heart of their nation, threatened as though it were nothing more than a bargaining chip.
The officials' minds reeled. None of them had truly believed he would go that far, yet now the possibility loomed over them.
If Washington were destroyed…
Their thoughts froze. They might be willing to die themselves, to sacrifice their own lives. But to sacrifice their capital, the very symbol of their country? The thought alone made their blood run cold.
Yet a trillion—such a staggering figure—it wasn't merely a financial blow. It was a demand that shook them to their cores.
The chamber fell into silence, thick and suffocating. None of them dared to speak.
"In that case, hand over the money."
Zenkichi's tone was calm, even serene, but the danger behind it was sharper than ever. His words left no room for negotiation, no path of retreat.
"Are there… any other options?" one of the senior executives finally rasped. His voice was hoarse, his face pale.
Zenkichi's gaze slid toward him, cold and steady. "Are you trying to negotiate with me?"
The executive's lips trembled, but before he could answer, his body convulsed violently. A strangled scream tore from his throat. His hands clawed at his own skin as though unseen blades were carving through him from the inside. His nails raked deep furrows across his arms and chest, peeling open flesh until blood streamed freely.
The officials around him recoiled in horror. Their eyes widened as their colleague shredded his own body, tearing at his flesh like a man possessed.
"What—what is happening to him!?" one of them gasped.
None could understand what they were witnessing. Yet the truth was simple. Zenkichi hadn't moved, hadn't lifted a hand, yet his will alone twisted the man's body into agony.
"Make your choice," Zenkichi said evenly, his eyes sweeping across the room.
"You can die here, one after another, suffering miserably in front of me, while I bring Washington itself to ruin. Or… you can give me what I asked for."
His words were not loud, but they carried a weight that made every man in the chamber shudder.
The silence that followed was unbearable. For ten long seconds, no one dared to speak. Finally, an elderly official, his voice trembling, broke the stillness.
"This… this number is too great," he said, barely able to form the words. "We… we must seek permission from our superiors. Even if approval is granted, to liquidate such funds will take time. At least… at least a month."
Zenkichi's eyes narrowed. "Then ask. See if it can be done sooner."
With deliberate calm, he pulled out his phone and tossed it toward the old man. "Call. I want a clear answer."
The official's hands shook as he caught the device. For a moment, he considered defiance, but the thought alone filled him with dread. He knew there was no choice—refusal meant death, and worse, the annihilation of their capital.
With trembling fingers, he dialed the highest authority he could reach.
The line connected swiftly. On the other end, a middle-aged man's steady voice came through the receiver.