Chapter 58: When I’m Ruthless, Not Even I Am Spared

In the photograph, a young man of average build with a head of blond hair is wedged into a table at a gambling den, placing his bet.

“This man has been frequenting various underground casinos across Tokyo these past few days, wagering tens of millions, mostly with crisp new bills. His appearance also bears a striking resemblance to one of the individuals in the sketch you gave me,” Yamkawa Kazuki introduced respectfully.

Upon hearing this, Hidenobu Aoyama felt that this was most likely one of the perpetrators of the Kitaku Bank robbery. He stared at the photo for a moment before speaking without looking up, “Have your men keep watch at all the casinos tonight. Let me know the moment he appears.”

“Yes, sir!” Yamkawa bowed his head in reply.

Aoyama tucked the photo away, lifted his teacup for a delicate sip, and asked, “How are the negotiations progressing?”

“We’re about to have a result. We should secure the right to collect property maintenance fees on nearly half of Kabukicho’s First Avenue.” Yamkawa’s round, pale face broke into a smile as he bowed again, paying his respects and gratitude. “It’s all thanks to you, sir, that the Yamkawa family has been able to establish itself in Kabukicho.”

Though it was just half a street, it mattered which half. In Kabukicho, even collecting property fees from half a street was immensely lucrative.

“It had nothing to do with me—it was your own doing,” Aoyama replied coolly.

“You’re far too modest, Aoyama-san.” Yamkawa naturally disagreed, hands on his knees, his face brimming with sincerity. “All credit belongs to you, sir.”

Though it seemed Aoyama had not played an active role in the Yamkawa family’s recent expansion, without his endorsement, they would never have dared to enter Tokyo. Otherwise, the Shinjuku precinct alone would never have tolerated out-of-towners stirring up trouble and destabilizing their jurisdiction. After all, the Shinjuku police had far closer ties with the Noguchi Syndicate.

Without Aoyama’s support, even the subordinate he’d offered up as a scapegoat for the murder of Matsushita Kōji would never have been accepted by the police; they would have kept hounding the Yamkawa family.

Even if the yakuza were technically legal in Japan, whether a syndicate could actually flourish depended on whether the authorities were willing to grant them room to operate.

“Once you’ve secured your territory, don’t rush to expand further, and steer clear of the other gangs’ businesses in Kabukicho,” Aoyama instructed.

The Yamkawa family had already drawn plenty of attention; now was the time to retract their claws and quietly digest their gains. Otherwise, they might be set upon by everyone at once and driven back to the countryside before they’d even established themselves.

“Yes, sir,” Yamkawa replied, head bowed.

Aoyama set down his teacup and stood to leave.

“Take care,” Yamkawa said, bowing deeply to see him off.

Upon returning to the precinct, Aoyama brought the photo to Ayaka Asai for a report. After listening, Ayaka ordered an investigation into the blond man’s identity and went to inform her father, Asai Takehiko, of the good news.

Takehiko decided not to act hastily. They mustn’t arrest the blond tonight; instead, they should track and surveil him to locate his three accomplices and capture them all at once.

Since Aoyama had provided the lead, the Gun and Narcotics Division naturally took charge of the operation, including the surveillance.

By that afternoon, the man’s identity was confirmed: his name was Yokosu Fujiwara, twenty-six, a Tokyo native. He’d been sent to a juvenile correctional facility for robbery as a teenager and had twice served time for theft as an adult, each time due to gambling debts.

At that moment, Fujiwara wasn’t only being watched by the police. The Noda crew, who had been trying to identify whoever had poached their business, had also set their sights on him. The reason was simple: he’d been losing enormous sums lately, seemingly going from a pauper to a millionaire overnight, always with fresh banknotes. Noda had every reason to be suspicious.

“Damn it! That bastard! All the money he’s lost was ours—every last yen!” Noda slammed a stack of photos showing the blond gambling onto the table, his voice raw with rage and heartache.

He despised gambling addicts.

“Let’s grab him tonight. Make him spit every last yen back out!”

…

As long as the Kitaku Bank robbery remained unsolved, the Shinjuku precinct could forget about leaving work on time. And with the task of tailing the blond tonight, Hidenobu Aoyama and Ayaka Asai were still in the office at eight, eating instant noodles.

The Gun and Narcotics Division had barely over a dozen people. Ayaka set the rule: two-person teams, one shift per day, rotating surveillance. As leaders, Aoyama and Ayaka took the first night themselves, leading by example.

Aoyama had hoped to give his men more chances to learn and prove themselves and, as such, preferred to abstain from such tasks as a leader. But Ayaka insisted on fairness and took the lead herself, leaving him with no way out.

Damn it.

“When is your informant going to call? Is it possible the blond won’t show at the casino tonight?” Ayaka complained, her noodles tasteless in her mouth, appetite gone.

Aoyama, on the other hand, was eating heartily, even sipping the broth, ignoring Ayaka’s question—her fourth in thirty minutes.

“Oh, stop eating.” Ayaka reached over, snatching his bowl and placing it before herself. “If we crack the case, I’ll treat you to a feast. But call your informant, will you? We can’t just sit here waiting.”

“If you’re buying, I want abalone,” Aoyama replied, wiping his mouth with an air of nonchalance.

He had few hobbies, but seafood was one—abalone above all: plump, tender, and succulent.

Ayaka nodded emphatically. “Fine, fine. Not just abalone—anything you want.”

With the sea at its doorstep, Japan was awash in abalone, especially fresh ones, which were cheap as dirt. Just ask the scantily clad seafood vendors hawking their goods around Okubo Park—they knew the market best.

“There’s one more thing.” Aoyama borrowed a line from his old man, swilled some water, and looked at Ayaka. “Inspector, do you have any influential connections you could introduce me to?”

Given his current rank, the highest he could reach was the Superintendent General of the Metropolitan Police Department. But having only Kunio Nihei’s support wasn’t nearly enough to back the automated loan machine he was about to launch.

The Superintendent General, though powerful, still ranked low among Japan’s law enforcement—what he needed was a heavyweight politician. But he had no access to such people; all he could do was pin his hopes on Ayaka Asai.

After all, the Asai family had been in law enforcement for generations. To put it bluntly, they’d probably played lapdog to plenty of politicians over the years—surely she had connections.

With the Asai family’s endorsement, he wouldn’t be easily chewed up and spat out, either.

Connections meant everything.

It was a sorry state when you couldn’t even find someone to accept your bribes.

“Aoyama-kun, you should focus on doing your job properly. Don’t think about shortcuts. With your professional status, just follow the steps—you’ll be promoted in due course,” Ayaka lectured with stern seriousness.

But I don’t want to wait years for advancement. I like shortcuts.

Aoyama rapped his knuckles on the table. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you—you have to agree to this!”

Do you really want to force me to threaten you, you little minx?

This world is like a giant delivery depot—large packages, small packages, and every so often, one without a barcode.

“You—” Ayaka was furious, but then something seemed to occur to her. She leaned back, smiling with newfound confidence. “Aoyama-kun, do you really think you can threaten me anymore? You’re about to return to headquarters; your future’s bright. Are you really willing to go down with me? I could walk away and live comfortably, but what about you?”

Before, with Aoyama’s career in jeopardy, she—secure in her position—had feared he’d drag her down with him. But now that both their careers were safe, she no longer believed he’d risk everything.

Aoyama’s gaze fixed on her.

Ayaka felt increasingly in control, her smile radiant and unruffled.

Aoyama simply picked up the phone and dialed, “Hello, this is Hidenobu Aoyama, Deputy Chief of the Shinjuku Gun and Narcotics Division. I’d like to turn myself in—”

“You’re insane!” Ayaka’s smile vanished in an instant. She leapt up in panic and snatched the phone from his hand, hanging up in disbelief. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Are you crazy?”

She had never expected such an extreme reaction from Aoyama. She’d only wanted to test him, to see if she could shake free of his grip, but he’d gone straight for self-destruction.

Ayaka could live without her job, but not her family’s reputation. Bringing shame on the Asai name would be worse than death.

“I just wanted to show you I’m not to be tested. When I get ruthless, I don’t even spare myself,” Aoyama said, his smile cold and unyielding.

Ayaka was his golden goose—she mustn’t waver or slip from his control.

Ayaka bit her lip, eyes fierce as she glared at him, but she quickly wilted, bowing her head in defeat like a chastened pup. “I’m sorry, Aoyama-kun. I admit I was out of line just now.”

“Hello? Hello?” On the other end, Ryoichi Fujimoto called out a few times before realizing the line was dead. “How bizarre.”

“Phone,” Aoyama said, extending his hand.

Ayaka bowed, offering the phone with both hands.

Aoyama took it, set it aside, then circled the desk and gripped Ayaka’s jaw, lifting her chin. “Inspector Asai, I hope this is the last time you try to undermine our friendship.”

“Yes, sir,” Ayaka replied, pressing her lips together.

Aoyama gazed at her moist, tender lips, then seized her by the hair and forced her down. “I’m in a foul mood right now.”

The Asai-brand automatic fire suppression system went to work.

“About what I just asked—can you do it for me?” Aoyama inquired in an even tone.

Ayaka patted his thigh, gasping for breath, coughed twice, and looked up at him. “I can take you for an introduction, but I can’t speak on your behalf.”

She knew her father would be furious if he learned she was doing this behind his back, but what else could she do?

Still, she tried to dissuade him. “Aoyama-kun, to those bigwigs, only useful people merit attention. You’re too junior to offer them anything. Forcing yourself on them will only leave a bad impression early on.”

She might be naive, but she’d absorbed her fair share of family wisdom—more than most.

“Don’t worry, I’m not as foolish as you think.” Aoyama patted her cheek, signaling her to resume her duties. “If you could persuade Director Asai to take me himself, that would be even better.”

Ayaka shook her head, blurting out, “Impossible! My father specifically warned me to keep my distance from you. If I try to persuade him, it’ll only make him think we’re too close. He won’t help you; he’ll only grow suspicious.”

“So Director Asai doesn’t want me entering the family’s door,” Aoyama said with a half-smile, gazing at Ayaka’s flushed, shy face. “Good thing I’ve already entered yours.”

Ayaka blushed deeply, unable to meet his gaze—she had indeed been thoroughly conquered.

Just then, the phone on the desk rang.

Aoyama answered.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Aoyama! He’s here.”