Chapter 128: Showing What I Can Do—I'm Simply Born with Great Strength

“I imagine you have already guessed why I asked you here, Inspector Aoyama. Detective Nakamura has recently caused serious disruption to both my personal life and my work. I hope you can rein in your subordinate a little.”

“To put it bluntly, I came to you because I admire young men like you—men who, like me in the past, had nothing, yet managed to carve out a place in the world through their own efforts. Coming here is my way of showing you respect, so I hope you will show me the same courtesy.”

Kimura Kazuwa spoke calmly and sincerely. Although he was asking for a favor, his manner was neither servile nor overbearing.

Because, as he had said, for someone of his stature to personally approach Aoyama Hidenobu about such a matter was already a great gesture of respect.

Otherwise, he could have gone straight to Kunio Jinpei.

Of course, another reason he had chosen to approach Aoyama was that he did not want to make the matter any bigger than necessary.

Ideally, it would be resolved quietly at the local level.

“Mr. Kimura, Detective Nakamura is a somewhat stubborn man, and he cares a great deal about his pride. He has devoted so much energy to the Michi Ayase case that now he is being told to stop investigating it. That would leave him in a rather awkward position.” Aoyama Hidenobu carefully weighed his words.

Kimura Kazuwa’s decision to come looking for him proved that Nakamura Shinichi had been investigating in the right direction.

Kimura Kazuwa was the one who had killed his mistress.

Aoyama Hidenobu was not here to uphold justice for the Japanese. Michi Ayase was already dead, and he had no intention of offending Kimura Kazuwa for the sake of a corpse.

What mattered was figuring out what benefits he could extract from the dead woman and making use of whatever value she still had left.

Wasn’t that precisely why he had allowed Nakamura Shinichi to investigate Kimura Kazuwa?

For this very moment.

“Heh.” Kimura Kazuwa chuckled and leaned slightly forward. “What do I do for a living? I work in banking. So let’s use money to build him a step to climb down from. How much do you think he is worth, Inspector Aoyama?”

His words were direct—and arrogant.

Yet they revealed the confidence he had in his own position.

He could not be bothered with disguises or roundabout talk. He merely wanted to dispose of this “minor” nuisance as quickly as possible.

But the calm and self-assured man sitting before Aoyama now had behaved disgracefully when Nakamura Shinichi had shown up at his door the previous night. Clearly, he was extremely afraid of his wife. After all, his current confidence and composure had been granted by his father-in-law’s family—and they could just as easily take them away.

Water from the brine defeats tofu: everything has its match.

“He does not like money.” Aoyama shook his head.

Nakamura Shinichi: Don’t drag me into your nonsense.

“There are people who do not like money?” Kimura Kazuwa looked as though he had just heard a joke. When he saw how serious Aoyama’s expression was, however, his brow furrowed. “That complicates things.”

The people Kimura hated most in this world were those who did not like money.

“But people who do not care for money usually care deeply about something else. I have done him a favor before. I can persuade him.” Aoyama changed tack.

Kimura’s expression gradually relaxed, and a smile returned to his face. “Then how much do you think you are worth, Inspector Aoyama? I never ask anyone to help me for free. Even for a trivial matter, I always show my sincerity.”

“I do not like money either,” Aoyama said.

Kimura smiled with growing interest.

“I like making friends. I hope we can become friends, Mr. Kimura,” Aoyama said sincerely.

As long as Kimura Kazuwa did not meet with disaster, he was certain to rise even higher. His connections and enormous wealth were precisely the things Aoyama coveted.

If he wanted to go far, he needed as many friends as possible and as few enemies as possible—preferably none left alive.

Kimura crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands over his knee. “As the distinguished son-in-law of the Asai family and the close friend of Mr. Hikawa, you naturally have the qualifications to become my friend, Inspector Aoyama. But even friends cannot help each other for nothing. What should be given must still be given. That will not harm our friendship. On the contrary, it will form the foundation of our trust.”

Kimura had come to Aoyama for help partly because he wanted to use this opportunity to establish a relationship with him.

Who would ever complain about having too many useful friends?

Besides, as someone who had risen through the influence of his father-in-law, Kimura felt a certain kinship with Aoyama.

The only difference was that Kimura’s wife was painfully unattractive, while Aya Asai had a flawless figure and fair, beautiful skin.

“Very well.” Aoyama lowered his head. He knew that if he refused to accept anything, Kimura would not feel at ease. “In that case, I will leave it entirely to your discretion, Mr. Kimura.”

“Then let us toast to friendship with tea in place of wine.” Kimura smiled faintly and raised his cup.

Aoyama also lifted his cup. “Cheers.”

The two cups touched in the middle with a soft chime.

At that moment, a fair-skinned young man in his early twenties approached carrying a plate of steamed rice cakes.

“Mr. Kimura, this is a small gift from us. Thank you for looking after our family’s business.”

Kimura was evidently a regular customer at the restaurant.

“Thank you.” Kimura gave a slight nod.

“Thank you.” Aoyama inclined his head politely.

The young man’s eyes widened. He looked at Aoyama in astonishment. “Sir, are you Chinese too?”

In his previous life, he had been.

“I am Japanese, but I have always been very fond of Chinese culture,” Aoyama replied with a faint smile.

The young man gave a simple, honest laugh. “Your Chinese is really fluent. I couldn’t hear any accent at all.”

“Well, wonderful! I never knew you liked Chinese culture too, Aoyama. You are even ahead of me. I only know a little basic Chinese.” Kimura had struggled to follow their conversation, but his fondness for Aoyama increased even further.

After all, they were both men who lived off their wives. They shared the same interests, knew how to read the situation, and were both capable.

A sudden crash rang out.

Aoyama and Kimura instinctively turned toward the sound. Five rough-looking men who were obviously up to no good swaggered through the door after kicking it open.

“Old Yang, time to pay the protection fee.”

The young man with the parted hair rapped his knuckles against the counter.

“Sorry.” The young man who had brought over the rice cakes changed expression and walked toward them. “Didn’t we just pay a few days ago? How many times are you collecting every month?”

“Little Yang, listen to yourself. You ate yesterday, so are you not going to eat today?” the parted-hair man mocked.

The four men behind him burst out laughing.

“Exactly. You have to eat every day, and we have to make money every day.”

“If you do not pay the protection fee, how will you keep doing business when trouble comes knocking? Do not let a small loss lead to a greater one.”

They were all speaking Chinese. Aoyama frowned.

He despised people who made a living by bullying their own countrymen in a foreign land even more than he despised the Japanese.

Chinese gangs in Japan had originally banded together so they could help one another survive and resist exploitation by Japanese gangs. But over time, things had changed.

There was no longer any need for Japanese gangs to exploit them.

They could exploit their own people perfectly well.

The same was true of gangs from other countries living in Japan. Korean gangs and those from Southeast Asia all seemed especially enthusiastic about bullying their own countrymen.

“They should be members of the Fukuryu Gang,” Kimura said. Though he could not understand much of the conversation, he could tell they were speaking Chinese. “They are notorious in Japan and have clashes with many local gangs. But it has nothing to do with us. Let’s go. There is an old Chinese saying: A gentleman does not stand beneath a dangerous wall. I will leave my matter in your hands, Aoyama.”

“Understood.” Aoyama casually counted out several bills and slapped them onto the table. He had no idea how much the meal cost, so he simply called out in Chinese, “Check, please!”

“I’ll get it next time.” Kimura withdrew the hand he had been reaching for his wallet, then stood and headed outside.

Aoyama followed closely behind.

The parted-hair man exchanged a glance with his companions. The four underlings immediately blocked the doorway, preventing Aoyama and Kimura from leaving.

“You! What is your business here? Move aside at once!” Kimura shouted in Chinese, his Japanese-colonel accent coming through so strongly that it was almost palpable.

“Damn, there’s even a real Japanese guy here.” The parted-hair man cursed and looked at Aoyama. “Did you pay the protection fee? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Little Sun, they’re my customers. Don’t make trouble for them.” Old Yang, who was over fifty, hurried forward to smooth things over and pulled out some money. “I’ll pay. I’ll pay.”

“Go to hell, you old bastard! Who do you think you are, calling me Little Sun?”

The parted-hair man slapped him across the face.

“What the hell are you doing?” Little Yang instantly flew into a rage, but Old Yang grabbed him and held him back. He could only turn to his father in concern. “Dad, are you all right? Dad?”

“What are they doing?” Kimura asked Aoyama, then added, “Do they want money? Then just give it to them. It is best not to start a fight if we can avoid it.”

Although the two of them both possessed status and standing, these men did not know who they were. Taking a beating would not be worth it, and neither would retaliating afterward.

“Mr. Kimura, I am the only one who collects protection money from other people. Please step back.” Aoyama spoke lightly as he slowly rolled up his sleeves.

He happened to have a strength far beyond that of an ordinary man and had not yet found a use for it. This would be a good chance to see how strong he really was.

Little Sun brightened when he saw what Aoyama was doing. “Oh? You want to fight? You want to test yourself against us?”

Before he had finished speaking, Aoyama’s palm struck his face.

The impact shattered his cheekbone. His face twisted grotesquely, his teeth flew loose, and his body was sent hurtling backward. He crashed to the ground and instantly passed out.

The advantage of youth was that you could fall asleep the moment your head touched the ground.

“Big Brother!”

The other four men were terrified.

They stared at Aoyama in shock and horror.

What kind of monstrous strength was this? Was he even human?

“Damn it! You… just wait!”

After throwing out that threat, the four men turned to run.

Aoyama seized a chair and hurled it. With a tremendous crash, it struck one of them and knocked him flat. He collapsed face-first and lost consciousness on the spot.

Aoyama then grabbed another man by the collar and yanked him backward while kicking out at the same time. The man’s leg snapped under the blow, twisting grotesquely as he released a piercing scream.

“Big Brother! Big Brother! We were wrong!”

“We’ll never dare do it again! We’ll pay you some protection money! Please, just let us go!”

The remaining two did not even dare to run. They dropped to their knees on the spot, pulled out every bill they had, and offered it up with both hands.

Aoyama’s expression remained blank. He stepped forward and slapped each of them across the face, sending blood spraying from their noses as they collapsed unconscious.

He had dealt with the entire bunch in a few punches and kicks.

“Mr. Kimura, let us go.” Aoyama picked up a napkin from the table and wiped his hands. He then straightened his tie and spoke as calmly as though nothing had happened.

He had held back just now because he was afraid of killing them.

What a pity. Not one of them had been worth fighting. He had not even been able to test the limits of his current strength.

At least he could now be certain that Ma Dong-seok would never beat him.

Only then did Kimura come back to himself. He stared at Aoyama with his eyes wide, as if he were looking at an alien.

“Incredible! Absolutely incredible!”

Aoyama never would have imagined that one day he would hear those words from a Japanese man.

“Boss Yang, if people from the Fukuryu Gang come looking for you, give them this.” Aoyama took out a business card.

Old Yang accepted it with both hands. “Yes, yes, of course.”

Aoyama then headed outside.

“Have you studied martial arts, Aoyama?” Kimura asked as they walked, still unable to recover from the shock.

“No. I was simply born with extraordinary strength,” Aoyama replied calmly.

“Wonderful! Truly astonishing! Meeting you is the happiest thing that has happened to me today. We should have another drink sometime. I will be going now.”

“Please take care, Mr. Kimura.”

Standing at the restaurant entrance, Aoyama watched Kimura drive away. He then glanced back at the five men inside who had no idea what they had gotten themselves into before getting into his own car and leaving.

The moment he was gone, the underling who had been knocked unconscious by the chair secretly opened one eye and took a look around. Then he sprang to his feet, snatched the business card from Old Yang’s hand, and ran.

You little bastard. Just wait!

So what if he could fight?

What good would that do?

In this line of work, what mattered was influence and connections!