"Kitahara, promise me—stay calm."

"Who is this?"

"It's me! I'm Konoe."

"Don't know you. Wrong number. Also, call me Superintendent Kitahara. Don't act familiar. beep beep beep..."

After the call was cut and no amount of redialing worked, Chief Konoe nearly smashed his own phone and slapped himself.

Why the hell did you ever suggest that the Superintendent General invite that walking disaster Takashi?

Look at this mess now. He actually thinks he's a real superintendent!

Takashi marching to someone's house with cops—does that only damage his image?

No—it tarnishes the entire Japanese police force.

Once Takashi finishes and walks away, guess who's left to clean up?

Him. Chief Konoe.

The more he thought about it, the more aggrieved he became.

"I'm not Tohsaka Tokiji! Why should I take the fall?!"

I can't stop you, Kitahara, he thought, but I can find someone who can.

So Chief Konoe called his family's young lady and explained the whole situation.

All he got in return was Hitomi's calm, indifferent: "Oh. And then?"

"Young lady, shouldn't you rein in Master Kitahara?"

"He's not even married into the Konoe family yet and he's already causing this much trouble. What happens after that?"

"We have to teach him a lesson."

Konoe hoped Hitomi would help contain this arrogant brat, but over the phone, she just replied:

"In Japan, there's nothing our Konoe family can't handle."

Konoe said no more.

He heard the real message behind Hitomi's words: Takashi is under my protection.

Juvenile offenders might be scary, but can they stand up to the power of a zaibatsu? (a large Japanese business conglomerate)

Hitomi didn't believe the law had the guts to sentence Takashi.

If anyone tried, she'd make sure they went to meet Abe-chan down in hell.

…

On the road, a white Toyota HiAce sped ahead, flanked by two police cars as escort.

"Where are we going?" the female officer asked, feeling like this wasn't the route to headquarters.

"To pay someone a visit," Takashi said.

Of course, Takashi wasn't charging in blind.

He had already gotten the boy's full family information out of those kids.

The boy's name was Goya Yuta. Only child. Lived in Adachi Ward—publicly recognized as one of Tokyo's most dangerous areas.

Crime rates were sky-high there.

His father, Goya Takeshi, was a boss of two or three mid-level gangs.

He made his living by collecting protection money around that area and gambled with any spare cash.

He was notorious for being a great fighter—no one in the area dared mess with their family.

"Picking someone up?"

As the officer was wondering who they were going to meet, the car stopped.

"Wait here. Don't move around."

Takashi gave a warning before stepping out first.

A moment later, he returned with a girl wearing a face mask and a whole group of rough-looking men following behind.

They were all built strong, with vicious expressions—obviously not the law-abiding type.

A few even looked oddly familiar.

The officer thought for a moment—and suddenly remembered where she'd seen them before.

In prison!!!

"At least you have a conscience. Didn't forget to include me in something this fun," the masked girl said with eager excitement.

"Hold up, I just wanted to borrow some men. Why are you tagging along?" Takashi looked exasperated at Momo.

He'd only asked her for manpower, but the moment she heard there was a fight, she tagged along without hesitation.

"None of your business."

Momo glared at him.

"Fine, fine. I won't interfere. But later, stay behind me, got it?" Takashi warned.

"You're underestimating me. I've trained in Sanda and MMA. You might not even beat me," she pouted.

"If you don't agree, I'll throw you out right now, got it?"

"Are you ordering me?" Momo became more irritated. This little punk dared talk to her like that?

"Yes."

Takashi stood his ground.

"I listen to you most of the time, but this time, you listen to me."

"I don't want you to get hurt."

Hearing the first part, Momo felt a bit annoyed.

But when she heard, "I don't want you to get hurt," a subtle sweetness welled up in her heart.

Still, she replied impatiently, as if saying "you're really something": "Alright, alright, worst case I'll just finish them off for you."

Hearing the two of them speak, the surrounding gang members gave Momo ambiguous glances.

"What are you looking at? I'll dig your eyeballs out," Momo snapped at them with a fierce glare.

Sandwiched among the gangsters, Goya Yuta suddenly felt something was wrong. These people didn't look like the good kind.

The vehicle drove into Adachi Ward. Before they even reached their destination, Takashi saw more than thirty people marching ahead aggressively in formation—clearly heading somewhere to stir up trouble.

"The one leading them is Goya Takeshi," Momo said, pointing at the man in front.

"Target acquired."

Takashi didn't ask how she recognized him. Without a word, he opened the door and jumped out of the car before it even stopped.

"Go! Go!! Go!!!"

Momo followed right after, jumping out second.

Then figure after figure leaped out of the car behind them.

"Uncle Takeshi, that's him!"

The kid—who had somehow sneaked back earlier—swung his plastic sword-like police baton and marched toward Takashi, shouting indignantly.

Goya Takeshi narrowed his eyes. One by one, over thirty people were getting out of the Toyota HiAce.

He looked at the vehicle, then at the thirty-something thugs pouring out of it, and couldn't figure out: How the hell did they all fit in one van?

And every single one of them looked dangerous—armed with metal bats, iron rods, sledgehammers, knuckle dusters.

And you're telling me these are police?

They looked more like yakuza.

"Hey, bro, what crew are you from—ARGH!"

Realizing he might've messed with the wrong people today, Goya Takeshi suddenly tried to play it smart.

He tried to open his mouth to negotiate, but what greeted him was a swing of Takashi's baton to the face.

It landed solidly. Goya Takeshi screamed in pain and stumbled backward clutching his face.

"These local gangs really have no manners."

That was his only thought after being smacked—no greetings, just direct violence.

"Shit! Boss!"

"You guys really dare to strike first?!"

"Get them!"

The gang of thugs shouted as they charged in.

So much damn barking, thought every member of the Ryuju crew.

In a proper yakuza brawl, there was no need for words—life or death, let's settle it now.

Takashi thought so too.

He raised his baton and charged in first, swinging with wild, ruthless strikes—aiming straight for the head, sometimes even elbowing faces.

Momo didn't jump ahead of him. She stayed behind Takashi obediently, smashing her baton down on any enemy trying to get up.

The livestream audience watched a scene that looked more like a gang melee than a righteous takedown, then glanced at the stream title: "Upholding Justice and Promoting Positive Energy."

Hmm...

Well, technically, they weren't wrong.

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