Kazuma slammed the table. "This is outrageous!"
"Now, now, that's not a fair thing to say." Itō Yūsaku still wore that genial smile, as sincere as ever. "Our company has given this matter careful consideration. Seven million yen is enough for the two of you to rent a decent apartment in Tokyo—for a full three hundred months."
He continued pleasantly, "After three hundred months, you both should have graduated high school and be able to support yourselves."
Kazuma was stunned.
He'd only just arrived in 1980 and had no idea what Tokyo's rental market was like in this era. In the 21st century, thirty thousand yen a month in Tokyo could only get you a run-down apartment in some distant, underdeveloped suburb.
Places like Mitaka or Hachiōji—practically the "countryside" of Tokyo.
For Itō Yūsaku to say this now was nothing short of provocation.
Kazuma's blood boiled. In his mind, Itō Yūsaku had instantly been downgraded to "slimy scumbag."
Yet the scumbag Itō Yūsaku kept smiling, gazing calmly at Kazuma.
"So that's what Mr. Ogawara meant when he said your department saves the company so much money!"
"Exactly. We're Sumitomo Construction's top-performing department." Itō Yūsaku actually looked as if Kazuma had sincerely complimented him.
"This contract—we're not signing it! And you can all get the hell out of this dojo!" Kazuma shouted, seething with rage.
"No problem." Itō calmly slipped the contract back into his briefcase, still maintaining that overly polite demeanor. "We'll be back another day to continue our negotiations."
"Don't come back!" Kazuma roared.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Until you agree to our price, we'll continue visiting—persistently."
Kazuma wanted to punch him.
But logic told him that doing so here and now would play right into Itō's hands.
They'd clearly brought along that karate expert expecting violence.
Yet not punching him was infuriating in its own right.
While Kazuma was still restraining himself, Itō opened his mouth again.
"Oh, by the way—Sumitomo Construction is currently expanding into new ventures. We're in need of some young ladies to accompany clients at our social events. If you're in need of cash, I could make an introduction on your behalf."
Kazuma's rationality instantly snapped.
Sure, he'd given Chiyoko quite the scolding yesterday—but afterward, they'd grown closer than ever.
Before, he hadn't felt much of a sibling bond with her—just the vague fondness one might have for a pretty girl. But now? Now he was her big brother, ready to treasure and spoil her.
With such an understanding, well-behaved little sister, only an idiot wouldn't dote on her.
And this bastard dared to openly suggest—right in front of him—that Chiyoko should go sell herself?
You son of a—!
Kazuma flipped the table, sending it crashing straight toward Itō's face.
The karate thug behind Itō sprang into action, launching a punch that knocked the table aside before it could strike.
With a loud crash, the table hit the floor.
Kazuma had half-expected it to break apart. Apparently this karate thug wasn't quite that strong.
"Kisama!!" the karate thug roared—a phrase roughly meaning "you bastard," usually uttered by delinquents or yakuza.
As expected—this so-called Relocation Department is in bed with the yakuza.
Still seated firmly on his cushion, Itō Yūsaku remained as steady as a rock. "I've heard that young Master Kiryu has violent tendencies—a delinquent, through and through. It seems the rumors are true. I believe a juvenile detention center would suit you better than school. Yamada-kun, call the police. The box we passed on the way in should do."
"Understood!" The man named Yamada shot Kazuma a glare and turned to leave. As he passed Chiyoko, he gave her a shove.
Kazuma instantly had an idea and shot Chiyoko a glance.
Chiyoko caught on immediately. With a flick of her wrist, she let go of the tray—sending it, along with the teacups and teapot, crashing to the floor in a shower of shattered porcelain and spilled tea.
Then, with practiced ease, she unfastened two buttons at her sailor uniform's collar and tousled her hair.
"Help! He assaulted me!" Chiyoko cried out.
Japanese police and prosecutors were a peculiar bunch. Prosecutors would only pursue cases they were certain they could win, while the police preferred to handle matters in the least troublesome way possible.
Attempted rape was far simpler to process than a brawl.
With a victim's accusation, they could arrest someone immediately. A fight required a far more complex evidence-gathering procedure.
If the police could classify something as a sexual assault case, they almost always would—unless a more serious crime, like murder, was involved.
Finally, Itō Yūsaku's smile vanished.
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Kazuma stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face.
It was a powerful blow—after all, daily air-strike practice in kendo had honed Kazuma's strength and explosiveness.
Itō's jaw was knocked askew, a bright red mark blooming on his cheek.
"You dare lay a hand on my sister?!" Kazuma grabbed him by the collar. "I'll kill you, you scumbag!"
Itō probably didn't understand "scumbag," since it was Chinese slang. He looked like he was about to say something—but Kazuma's second slap landed first.
Now both sides of Itō's face were equally red.
"You damn bastard—if you'd offered fifty million yen, I'd have sold! We missed our chance—that was on us. But now you think you can toss us seven million like we're beggars? And then try to rape my sister?!"
Gasping for air, Itō struggled in Kazuma's grip. "Yamada! What are you doing?!"
Yamada had been frozen in the doorway, still processing the situation. After more than a year of swaggering around with Itō, he'd only ever seen his boss intimidating others—never being humiliated like this.
At Itō's shout, Yamada snapped out of it and rushed forward—only to trip over Chiyoko's outstretched foot.
He crashed face-first into the overturned table, knocking out a front tooth on impact.
But the man was trained. With a swift kip-up, he was back on his feet, immediately grabbing for Chiyoko's neck.
"Eek! He's assaulting me!" Chiyoko squealed like a delicate maiden—while simultaneously executing a vicious groin kick.
Yamada crumpled to the floor.
Kazuma grinned. Spitting on Itō's face, he sneered, "Your thug's fingernails will have traces of my sister's skin. Look—her neck's already red! You'll be explaining this at the police station!"
Itō shrieked, "Baka! Why'd you touch the girl, you idiot?!"
Kazuma answered with a third slap.
Itō was completely dazed now, unable to speak—probably bit his tongue.
Hearing Kazuma mention the police station, Chiyoko wasted no time. She bolted to the phone to report the incident.
Kazuma released the thoroughly battered Itō and turned to Yamada, who was trying to get up—only to deliver a swift kick that sent him sprawling again.
Getting counterattacked here would've been bad—without his bamboo sword, Kazuma was at a disadvantage in close quarters against a trained karate practitioner.
After kicking Yamada down, Kazuma quickly retreated and grabbed a feather duster from the living room. It was much shorter than a bamboo sword—but it'd have to do.
Yamada tried to rise again—Kazuma lunged in and smacked him across the face with the feather duster. "Men!"
The thinner shaft of the feather duster concentrated the force, leaving a bright red welt across Yamada's face.
Kazuma struck again and again, painting Yamada's face with stripes.
Just then, Chiyoko returned—bamboo sword in hand.
"The police are on their way, Bro! Here!" She tossed one of the bamboo swords to Kazuma and readied her own.
Kazuma barked, "Don't hit them! That'd count as fighting!"
"Oh, right!" Chiyoko dropped the sword—then launched a high kick at the living room pillar.
The sight made even Kazuma flinch.
Chiyoko's kick left her tearing up from the pain. She sat down on the floor, crying pitifully.
Note to self: never cross this girl. She's ruthless.
Kazuma silently vowed to be a good brother.
At that moment, sirens wailed outside the dojo.
(End of Chapter)