HISS. HISS.

A sound akin to a snake hissing filled the air, an unnatural noise generated by the blade cleaving through it.

The receptionist stood petrified, her expression bewildered, clearly not having processed what was happening.

She blinked, turning her head to try and get a better look, when a sharp pain from her neck shot swiftly to her brain.

Hazama Michio had drawn his sword, and the severed artery instantly gushed blood.

Bright red blood splattered on the walls and the reception desk.

The woman collapsed to the ground without a sound.

Hazama Michio gazed at the gleaming blade of his sword. Not a single drop of blood stained it; all the blood had slid off its surface.

This was a famed sword with a resonant name:

First Generation Onitsugu.

Hazama Michio turned and locked the entrance, then walked to the back door and locked it as well.

He placed the keys in his pocket, ensuring no one could escape.

The apartment building housing the Northern Star Swordsmanship had seven stories. The Sword Dojo, however, was on the ground floor, with no internal stairs leading to the second.

With both front and back doors locked, no one could flee; they could only stay and fight to the death.

Hazama Michio turned and entered the Kendo Arena.

Warm light shone on the pale-yellow flooring. The area was square-shaped, with thirteen or fourteen Sword Dojo students present.

All of them were wearing protective gear.

Some were practicing kendo; others were standing in corners, chatting.

The students weren't children but adults who came to relax after work, each with different purposes.

Some wanted to learn the Sword Dao seriously, while others were simply there to unwind.

Naturally, the latter group didn't practice too hard.

With a quick glance, Hazama Michio identified the instructor of Northern Star Swordsmanship by his attire.

After more than twenty years, his old acquaintance had changed so much Hazama Michio could hardly recognize him. His eyes lacked their former clarity, and white hair had crept into his temples. He was surely carrying the burdens of family.

"Long time no see, Hiroshi Taniguchi," Hazama Michio said, raising a hand in greeting.

Hiroshi Taniguchi furrowed his brow, staring at the man who had entered the arena. After a moment of thought, he asked uncertainly, "Hazama Michio?"

"That's right. You still remember me. Good. After all these years, let me see how much your strength has improved," Hazama Michio said, holding his sword upright. His earlier casualness vanished, replaced by a serious expression that surprised both Taniguchi and the students.

"Hey, old man, what era do you think this is? Are you filming a Bakumatsu-period drama?"

A student with slicked-back hair stopped chatting with his friend and stepped forward, intending to stop this absurd behavior. "I'm a lawyer. Carrying a sharpened weapon is already illegal. Swinging it at others could get you charged with assault."

Finding the man bothersome, Hazama Michio casually slit his throat with a sweep of his blade.

He was no great shakes.

But the sensation of the blade tearing through flesh still intoxicated Hazama Michio.

Especially the moment the blood sprayed from the throat; the vivid red was more beautiful than any color in the world.

"WHEEZE..."

The man clutched his neck with both hands, eyes bulging. He couldn't believe such a madman existed.

This is Tokyo, for crying out loud! Damn it, I'll sue him into bankruptcy! Life imprisonment! the man thought, as strength drained from his fingertips. He couldn't even feel the warmth of his blood as coldness spread through his limbs.

THUD. The man fell to the floor, his gasping echoing through the Kendo Arena like a broken bellows.

Everyone was stunned.

Hiroshi Taniguchi roared in fury, "Hazama Michio! Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm not crazy. It's just that you're all immersed in a false illusion. Is Tokyo safe? Is the modern world civilized?

The answer is no.

This world hasn't changed from the past. Violence, bloodshed... Every minute, every second, people are killed for various reasons," Hazama Michio said slowly, taking out the keys with his other hand and tossing them into his sword's sheath. "I've locked the doors.

"If you want to live, you'll have to take the keys from me.

"You are practitioners of the Sword Dao, after all. Show the courage you ought to have."

"Bastard," Hiroshi Taniguchi growled. He knew Hazama Michio was a terrifying individual.

Since high school, this man has harbored an extraordinary obsession with the Sword Dao; his eyes are like those of a man possessed by demons. If he had lived during the Bakumatsu era, he would surely have been a man-slayer. I originally thought my assessment back then was generous enough, but now I realize I was too conservative. He doesn't need the Bakumatsu era. Even in this age, Hazama Michio could become a terrifying man-slayer.

"I'll hold him off. When you see an opening, attack him! Aim for his right hand, knock the sword away, and then strike his head," Hiroshi Taniguchi said, taking several deep breaths as he instructed the students on how to support him.

Alone, he certainly couldn't stop Hazama Michio.

But if they all attacked together, it would be a different story.

"Alright, Instructor Taniguchi!"

The students were no longer casual. They formed a circle, surrounding Hazama Michio.

Each gripped their bamboo sword tightly, eyes fixed on him.

As long as Hiroshi Taniguchi could parry Hazama Michio's sword, they would swarm him.

With so many bamboo swords striking an unarmored Hazama Michio, they could accidentally kill him.

But now, they had no regard for Hazama Michio's life.

A murderous atmosphere enveloped the Kendo Arena.

A smile touched Hazama Michio's lips. "Excellent. I love that look in your eyes. Come on!"

Hiroshi Taniguchi took a deep breath, assumed a classic kendo stance, and advanced step by step, his gaze locked on Hazama Michio's movements.

Contrary to what most people think, a kendo match doesn't involve fighting for hundreds of rounds.

Victory or defeat is often decided in an instant.

To the layperson, sometimes a round of kendo is over almost as soon as they hear a shout.

With real swords, one must be even more cautious.

Hiroshi Taniguchi mentally assessed his advantage: I have armor, so I can defend specific targets. Hazama Michio does not; he possesses only that lethal-looking real sword. If I can just block it once, the other students can swarm him and take him down.

Hiroshi Taniguchi's eyes narrowed. He stomped his foot heavily on the floor, about to lunge.

But Hazama Michio anticipated his move, rushing forward first like an arrow loosed from a bow, or like a rabbit suddenly darting out of the underbrush.

His movement was fast; his sword strike was faster.

Under the lights, the blade of the First Generation Onitsugu flashed like a meteor streaking across the night sky.

Hiroshi Taniguchi's reaction was slow. To the other students, it seemed as if Taniguchi had simply stood there and let the sword slash his throat.

Blood sprayed outward.

"Such a disappointment. After all these years, you haven't grown at all."

There was no joy on Hazama Michio's face, only deep disdain.

This Hiroshi Taniguchi was even less exciting to him than that youngster, Sunaga Takashi.

Had it been Sunaga Takashi facing that strike just now, he would have been able to block it with certainty. Ah, no, the more I think about it, the more excited I get.

Hazama Michio tilted his head back, took a deep breath, and his gaze swept over the remaining students.

Their courage had already evaporated. The formidable Hiroshi Taniguchi had been killed in an instant.

"Don't come over here!"

"Haha! No guts at all. Do you even deserve to practice the Sword Dao? Die, all of you!"

A chilling look appeared on Hazama Michio's face, his eyes brimming with killing intent.

His presence alone overwhelmed the dozen or so people present, like a fierce tiger descending upon a flock of sheep.

The outcome was unquestionable.

In no time at all, there were no living students left in the arena.

Blood splattered the walls, the floor, and even stained Hazama Michio's kimono.

"Oh dear, this is troublesome. I should go wash this off," Hazama Michio muttered. He took out the keys, sheathed the First Generation Onitsugu, and planned to head to the restroom to clean the blood off himself.

As for the scene, he didn't plan to clean it up. He would call someone from the Mitsui Group later.

For the Mitsui Group, with its vast factories, disposing of a dozen or so corpses was no trouble at all.

He hadn't yet stepped out of the Kendo Arena when an enchanting voice sounded from behind him.

"I never expected that in this civilized, modern society, there would still be a Bakumatsu-era man-slayer like you."

Hazama Michio's pupils dilated. He slowly turned around.

The warm light shone on blond hair. The man was tall and dressed in strangely fashionable attire.

"Who are you?" Hazama Michio's face flashed with surprise.

My eyesight should still be fine. How could I not have seen such a large person standing there just now?

"Dio. You came to Tokyo looking for me, didn't you?"

Aozawa bent down and picked up a bamboo sword. He activated his Power of Enlightening. His right palm grew warm, as if a stream of qi flowed into the bamboo sword before he threw it outward.

What happened next made Hazama Michio gape in disbelief: the bamboo sword transformed in mid-air, becoming a man.

The man didn't appear very tall. He had long, chestnut-red hair and a cross-shaped scar on his left cheek. He was stark naked.

Hazama Michio rubbed his eyes, glanced at the naked man, then back at Dio.

SLAP. He struck his own face. The pain on his cheek confirmed that this scene was no illusion, nor could it be a hallucination.

It's not like I have a drug habit. This means such an outrageous scene is truly unfolding before my eyes, happening in reality.

"Haha! I always thought this world was broken, but I never imagined it was broken to this extent! Such preposterous things can happen? No wonder so many people are looking for you, Dio!"

The more Hazama Michio spoke, the more excited he became. His eyes showed not a trace of fear, like a tiger starved for days that had just discovered prey. "A person like you... this is the first time I've met! Will your blood be bright red? It must be more beautiful than anyone else's!"

Aozawa smiled. "Before we discuss that, you have to get past him first."

"Haha, don't worry. It'll be over soon."

Hazama Michio sheathed his sword, deciding to finish his opponent with Iaijutsu.

Aozawa, also interested in the enlightened bamboo sword, said, "Finish him, Kenshin Himura."