The steamy air of the onsen hung heavy and humid, a stark, uncomfortable blanket against Sato's skin. He trudged along, the flimsy towel cinched precariously around his waist, doing little to alleviate the simmering impatience that radiated from him in waves. Ahead, Daiki, similarly attired with his own towel, led the way with an almost theatrical air of self-importance. In his hands, a sprawling, intricately hand-drawn map, so large it nearly obscured his face, served as his guide through the labyrinthine corridors of the bathhouse.
They had been walking, or rather, wandering, for what felt like an eternity. Daiki's "navigation" consisted of sharp, unexpected turns, leading them down narrow, dimly lit passages that all looked identical, and through countless swinging doors that seemed to open only into more of the same, endless hallways. Sato's irritation, a slow burn initially, had now escalated into a full-blown inferno.
Finally, after what felt like the tenth identical corner, Sato snapped. "Hey, dude, do you even know what you're doing? We've been walking for several hours! Don't tell me we're lost!" His voice, though hushed in deference to the onsen's tranquility, vibrated with barely contained frustration.
Daiki stopped dead in his tracks. He pivoted slowly, his lean frame radiating indignation. His gaze, usually obscured by his thick-rimmed glasses, sharpened as he pushed them up his nose with an angry flick of his finger. "Are you doubting my map layout?" he retorted, his voice rising slightly, tinged with disbelief. "I'll have you know I have fully thought about this before acting on it. So just follow up quietly and keep your mouth shut." The words were clipped, each syllable delivered with the precision of a well-aimed dart.
Sato, caught off guard by the vehemence of Daiki's response, instinctively raised his hands in a placating gesture, taking a small step back. "Whoa, whoa, okay, easy there, tiger. Just get this over with, alright?" He watched as Daiki, still radiating annoyance, turned back to face front, his eyes once again glued to the oversized map. A heavy sigh escaped Daiki's lips, his chest rising and falling dramatically.
"We are almost there," Daiki declared with renewed, if slightly forced, confidence. "Let's take this turn." He gestured grandly to a hallway that looked exactly like every other one they had passed. Sato, though thoroughly skeptical, had no choice but to follow. He trailed behind, his gaze fixed on Daiki's back, a nagging feeling of unease twisting in his gut.
"You know," Daiki began tentatively, his voice low, "I'm not doubting it or anything, but something kinda feels off about this map." Daiki said still meticulously studying his hand-drawn labyrinth, turned another corner, pushed open yet another unassuming door, and confidently led them straight into the girls' changing room.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The gentle hum of conversation, the soft splashes of water, all evaporated into stunned silence. A collective gasp rippled through the room. A dozen or more pairs of eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, fixed on the two towel-clad intruders. Sato's eyes widened in horror, a flush rising quickly from his neck to his ears as the reality of their predicament, and the sheer audacity of it, slammed into him. He quickly slapped Daiki on the shoulder, a frantic tap that bordered on a punch.
"Umm, Daiki?" Sato stammered, his voice barely a whisper, laced with a desperate urgency.
Daiki, finally pulled from his cartographic trance, looked up. His eyes, slow to register, scanned the room. They landed on the tell-tale signs: the array of toiletries, the delicate kimonos hanging on hooks, and then, a horrifying realization dawned as his gaze settled on a bright pink cotton curtain emblazoned with the words "WOMEN'S DRESSING ROOM" in bold, elegant script. His eyes darted back to his map, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before clarity struck. He flipped the large paper over, a slow, dawning comprehension spreading across his features.
"Ohhh," Daiki mumbled, a sheepish, almost childish, look washing over him. "So that's where the problem was coming from. I had it upside down."
The dam broke. The girls, their initial shock giving way to furious indignation, immediately erupted. A cacophony of enraged yells filled the air, echoing off the tiled walls. In an instant, a flurry of objects — loofahs, hairbrushes, small, decorative towels, even a few bars of soap — became airborne projectiles, launched with surprising force directly at Sato and Daiki.
Panic seized them. Without a second thought, the two boys turned and bolted, their bare feet slapping against the slick tiled floor as they scrambled for the door. Daiki, in his desperate haste, made a fatal misstep. His towel, already loosely tied, snagged on something – perhaps his own knee – and dropped to the floor, leaving him completely, utterly naked. Yet, driven by pure, unadulterated fear, he didn't stop. He continued to sprint, a blur of pale skin, out of the changing room and into the corridor, yelling to Sato, who was running just a step ahead, "My towel dropped! Lend me yours!"
Sato, still focused on escaping the immediate danger, didn't even glance back. "As if!" he snapped, the word a sharp exhalation of breath. They ran, adrenaline pumping, until the angry shouts and the sound of thrown objects faded into the background, finally out of the reach of the girls' furious aim.
At Kage-tō Rooftop:
Sora stood with his arms crossed, a deep frown etched across his brow, his gaze fixed impatiently on Jiro. The cool night air of the rooftop offered little solace for the tension brewing between them. "Hurry up and just say it already," Sora urged, his voice tight with anticipation, pushing Jiro to reveal whatever grim news had brought them to this secluded spot.
Jiro let out a heavy sigh, the sound carrying faintly on the breeze. He slowly uncoiled from his squatting position, rising to his full height and turning to face Sora directly. His expression was uncharacteristically serious, devoid of his usual lightheartedness. "I came across a secret website," Jiro began, his voice low, "and there, I found a bounty made by Jigoku on Hikari's head. The price was over 500 million yen."
The words hung in the air, a cold, heavy weight. Sora's eyes widened in disbelief, his jaw slackening. Shock quickly morphed into a furious, guttural growl. "No way! That bastard! We already set a meeting on October 8th, just a few days away, and he pulls this crap now? I swear I'll kill him!" Sora's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his body trembling with barely suppressed rage.
Jiro quickly interjected, raising a hand in a calming gesture. "No, no, wait. The bounty was set before he agreed to meet with us."
Sora's anger faltered, replaced by a confused frown. "What?" he questioned, the single word a testament to his bewilderment.
Jiro elaborated, his tone serious. "Yes, he did promise to stop his immediate threat on Hikari if we agreed to meet up with them. And he did stop his direct attacks. But he never took down the bounty post on Hikari's head. Why? Because he wants us to be more distracted, more occupied, trying to protect Hikari for the remaining days until our meeting. His plan is for their men to be all rested up and ready to fight us at one hundred percent, while we – or anyone else handling mafias or bounty collectors coming after Hikari – would be completely worn out and distracted. I will admit, it's a clever move. He isn't directly attacking Hikari as he promised, but he's playing others to do his dirty work, indirectly achieving his goal of weakening us."
Sora's eyes narrowed as the intricate layers of Jigoku's deception became clear. The anger returned, colder now, more focused. He turned his gaze back to Jiro. "Does the boss know about this?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Jiro stared at him, his brow furrowing in exasperation, a flicker of genuine anger in his own eyes. "I swear, sometimes the questions you ask are fucking dumb, Sora!"
Sora's frown deepened. "What did you say?" he challenged, taking a step forward.
Jiro didn't back down. "Oh, yeah, you want me to just walk up to the mafia boss – the King Mafia, mind you – and casually say, 'Mr. Sir, hey, I've been on an illegal secret website, and I saw a bounty post on your daughter by Jigoku, the same psycho that wants you dead'?" Jiro mimicked a ridiculously cheerful, high-pitched voice, then dropped it to his normal, exasperated tone. "If you wanna see the boss in a rage that would make a tsunami look like a ripple, then you go do it. But for me, I'm good." The implication was clear: such news would not be received well, and the repercussions could be catastrophic.
Sora finally understood the gravity of the situation, his anger momentarily sidelined by Jiro's chilling explanation. "At least tell me you informed other Rokushin members," he pressed, hoping for a broader plan.
"If I do that, I'll keep them on high alert for no reason," Jiro countered, shaking his head. "There's no need for all six of us to be concerned with this right now. You and I are enough to handle any bounty hunter foolish enough to come after Hikari. So, I suppose Hikari is at home right now, right?" Jiro finished, a slight, almost imperceptible shift in his tone.
Sora's eyes darted away, a startled expression flashing across his face. He fidgeted, suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, you see, she… she is actually at the onsen with her friends. But don't worry, she's with Sakura," he quickly added, hoping to mitigate the impact of his admission.
Jiro's face darkened instantly. His brow furrowed into a deep, incredulous frown. "What did you just say?" The question was a low, dangerous growl.
Back at the Hot Spring: (At the Girls' Hot Spring)
The air in the girls' hot spring was thick with steam and the scent of jasmine, a stark contrast to the brewing storm elsewhere. A stunning woman, a renowned mafia queen with a cascade of majestic yellow hair, gracefully stepped into the hot spring, the warm water lapping at her calves. She intended to take a deep, relaxing soak, letting the day's stress melt away. Instead, her eyes widened in profound shock.
There, casually strolling past her with Sakura, was Hikari. The sight was so unexpected, so utterly incongruous with the information she possessed, that the queen simply stared, momentarily frozen. "That can't be..." she thought, her mind racing. "Is that Hikari Kuroda, the girl worth 560 million yen, just casually walking around?"
A dangerous thought began to form. "On the one hand, interfering with Kuro-Kyoufu might lead to the demise of my Mafia group," she mused, acknowledging the formidable power of Hikari's family. "But she is just out in the open, and I don't see any guards nearby." Her gaze swept the area, confirming the seemingly unguarded situation. "If I can do this stealthily, then the money is easily mine." A slow, predatory smile spread across her lips, and she unconsciously licked them, the prospect of such an enormous sum of money too tempting to ignore.