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In the busy train, our gang of five boys and Kenji rode toward Shibuya.
Although Kenji preferred taking his car, it was a two-seater, so he had no choice but to join the others on the train.
When they reached Shibuya, Kenji learned the trip wasn't for sightseeing—it was for a fight. Apparently, the boys had gotten themselves mixed up with another group of school kids. They looked to Kenji for help, but he simply told them it was their problem, and he wouldn't interfere in something that didn't concern him.
As they walked through the station, Takemichi suddenly froze. It was as if something had shifted inside him, like he'd acquired a new body or was experiencing a memory not his own.
Kenji didn't bother to ask. "He's an idiot," he thought. "A lucky idiot… with a beautiful girlfriend. This world really is cruel."
They kept walking toward a nearby school. Just as they arrived, Kenji got a call from one of his lackeys—probably about their upcoming move against the Dragon Gang. He excused himself and walked to a quiet corner to take the call.
After a few minutes, Kenji returned and saw the boys surrounded by a group of third-year students, clearly moments away from being beaten up.
Kenji sighed. "Maybe it's better if I set up a Yakuza branch here too. The old ones are getting weak, and these new kids might turn out more useful," he thought.
As one of the students raised his fist to punch Akkun, he was suddenly lifted by the back of his collar and received a brutal kick to his spine. A crack echoed through the air. The boy collapsed, motionless, not even daring to look up. The hit had broken his spirit—and possibly his bones. If that stranger kicked him again, he knew he might never walk again.
The rest of the third-years, who had been ready to jump into the fight, froze on the spot. Fear settled in their eyes as they focused on the one who had appeared so suddenly—like a reaper among school kids.
Kenji stood tall and calm. "Come on, third-years. Call every bit of backup you've got," he said coldly. "Let's see if Shibuya has stronger third-years than Mizu School. We'll settle it today."
Without hesitation, they pulled out their phones. None of them wanted it said that the third-years of Shibuya were crushed by a second-year transfer from another district.
Soon, word spread, and dozens of third-years began gathering. All of them came armed—bats, iron rods, chains. The five boys looked at Kenji, horror written across their faces.
Akkun stammered, "Kenji, what are you saying? We're going to die today."
Kenji looked at them calmly. "Don't worry. You guys head out—I'll handle this. This is out of your league now."
The four of them prepared to leave, but Akkun stepped forward and protested. "No! I can't let you face this alone. You came here because of us. I won't let you fight by yourself."
Before Akkun could say another word, Kenji gave him a light chop to the neck, knocking him out cold.
Kenji retracted his hand and said, "I'll be fine. Take him and get home."
The others, reluctant but knowing they couldn't change his mind, picked up Akkun and fled.
Kenji watched until they were gone, then turned back to the crowd. "Where's your backup? If they're not here in five minutes, I'll start with you. I don't have all day."
His words sent a chill through the third-years. They were now more afraid of their backup not showing up than of facing him directly.
Two minutes later, a massive group of students arrived, weapons in hand. Kenji scanned the crowd and smirked.
"Roughly a hundred," he mused. "Good. More potential... subordinates."
He pulled off his shirt and reached for his blade, holding it in a reverse grip. But then, after a moment of thought, he put it back.
"No," he muttered. "You're not worth my blade. My fists will do."
He cracked his knuckles and raised his hands. "Come on, then."
Rage and humiliation filled the students' eyes. How dare a second-year mock them like this?
Then, one of them noticed something. He pointed and screamed, "That tattoo—on his neck! Isn't that the White Tiger symbol?"
A hush fell over the group.
Another student shouted, "Wait! That's the new Yakuza boss! The one who destroyed Kage no Te yesterday—all by himself!"
Some hesitated. Others scoffed.
"So what if he's Yakuza? Those guys are weak now."
"No," the first voice insisted. "Didn't you hear? He took out every last member of Kage no Te—full-grown adults—with nothing but his blade!"
Panic rippled through the crowd. Was this really the same guy?
They would soon find out.
Kenji didn't wait. He rushed forward. Weapons swung wildly at him, but he dodged with terrifying ease. He struck with brutal efficiency—an uppercut sent one flying, crashing into others. His pace didn't slow. Every hit landed with punishing precision.
One by one, they fell.
An hour later, the schoolyard was a wasteland of unconscious bodies. Kenji sat calmly atop a mound of groaning, defeated students.
He scanned the scene with satisfaction.
"You're all under me now," he announced. "That's it."
He reached down, grabbed a random student by the collar, and lifted him. "This one will be in charge when I'm not around. You follow him like you follow me."
Every conscious student nodded weakly, dread in their eyes.
Kenji grinned. "Welcome to the White Tiger. You're Yakuza now."
He laughed, low and crazed.
"This branch is set," he thought. "I'll check in every weekend. Now I just need capable... subordinates."
The way they looked at him said it all. Escape wasn't even a thought anymore.
The next day
Kenji was sleeping at his desk when Makoto came rushing in, panting and shaking him awake.
Kenji groaned. "What?"
Makoto, still catching his breath, said, "You gotta help, Kenji! He's gonna kill Takemichi!"
Kenji sat up, his expression hardening. "Who?"
Makoto whispered, "Masataka Kiyomizu."
Kenji raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so afraid of him?"
"He's a member of the Tokyo Manji Gang," Makoto said. "They run this area. He's powerful."
Kenji smiled. A wicked glint flashed in his eyes.
"Powerful, huh? Let's see what he's got, then."
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**To be continued**