Chapter 176 - A Special Kind of Nectar
"Withdraw the lawsuit. Call off all the collection agencies."
"The old man's dead anyway, Kiyotsugu's been driven out. That little brat becoming someone else's plaything... hmph, at least she's brought enough shame to the Toyokawa name."
...
The rain over Tokyo continued to fall.
In the warm bathroom of Genesis Mansion, Sakiko was like a puppet, letting Seiji wash her body.
Meanwhile, in the stratosphere ten thousand meters above, a flight to the southern hemisphere was piercing through the clouds.
Kiyotsugu Toyokawa sat in the corner of economy class, clutching his new identity documents and account information, gazing out at the pitch-black night sky. Guilt flickered in his eyes.
But soon, it was replaced by the relief of having escaped.
Outside, the rain still fell, drops drumming against the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
Inside the master bedroom of Genesis Mansion.
The air was thick with something subtle and sensual.
Scattered across the hardwood floor were several pieces of wet clothing, belonging to the "Toyokawa family's young miss." Now they lay like carelessly discarded trash, crumpled in the shadows, ignored.
On the wide bed in the center of the room, Sakiko held a position too shameful to describe.
She knelt at the edge of the bed, upper body pressed against the soft velvet sheets, waist deeply arched, her round ass raised high, facing Seiji who sat at the bedside.
Her long hair cascaded like a waterfall, hiding most of her face, revealing only a length of elegant, slender neck that gleamed like jade in the dim light.
If anyone could see this scene, they would surely find it breathtaking.
Because the girl kneeling in this obscene posture was once a radiant beauty on stage, the former young miss of the Toyokawa family, an excellent student in all respects, a stunning girl with features like the white moon that countless people couldn't forget, Sakiko Toyokawa.
She carried an aura of purity.
Even now, naked and posed so humiliatingly, she still radiated a noble quality that made others hesitate to defile her.
But that nobility had now become a sacrificed offering.
"Relax, Sakiko."
Seiji's voice came from behind her, full of amusement.
He didn't rush to the next step. Instead, he extended his fingers, slowly tracing down the mountain-like curves of her spine.
His fingertips sliding over her skin felt cool and delicate.
"Mm..."
Sakiko's body instinctively shuddered.
But she didn't pull away. Instead, she lowered her waist further, pushing her ass back toward him.
Her expression was calm.
Those amber eyes held no humiliation, no hatred, only the stillness of a deep pool.
Since she'd sold herself, her only mission as merchandise was to satisfy the buyer.
Even if that demand was so absurd, so shameful.
Whatever she thought inside, Sakiko revealed nothing.
In short, what remained here was only a shell deliberately pandering to please a man.
"I'm ready."
Sakiko's voice was soft but clear.
She reached back with both hands and spread her asscheeks apart, exposing her tight, virgin asshole to Seiji's gaze, presenting it completely without reservation.
No resistance whatsoever.
Unimaginable that she would cooperate to this extent, as if she didn't care what Seiji did to her.
"Good girl."
Seiji chuckled.
He picked up a tube of special lubricating gel from the nightstand, squeezed some onto his fingertips, and smeared it directly onto her puckered hole.
The cold sensation of the gel made Sakiko's breath hitch for a moment, but she quickly suppressed it.
"It might hurt a little."
Seiji leaned down, whispering in her ear. "After all, your ass has never been used. But I won't go easy on you."
"Yes."
Sakiko closed her eyes, long lashes casting shadows over her eyelids. "Please... do as you wish."
That was her answer.
No begging, no struggling. Only the submission of someone treating herself as a tool.
Seiji said no more.
He pressed his slicked finger against her tight ring and slowly pushed inside.
"Mm...!"
Sakiko let out a suppressed groan.
For her virgin asshole, the intrusion was a tremendous shock.
That hole was meant to be an exit, not an entrance.
Her sphincter instinctively wanted to reject, to clench tight, but reason forced her to relax every muscle, to accept the finger probing deep into her ass.
More terrifying still, deep inside her body, an incomprehensible, electric tingling began to rise from this rough invasion.
That was pleasure hidden beneath the pain, a female instinct.
This pleasure was so contrary to ethics, yet so real.
Sakiko's body trembled, not just from pain, but from an unspeakable excitement. That pure, noble face flushed with unnatural color from this contradictory stimulation, looking both sacred and lewd.
As time passed, one finger became two, then three.
The stretching brought an aching fullness that made Sakiko's breathing grow more and more ragged. She could feel her asshole being forced wider with each addition, her inner walls gripping and releasing around his knuckles.
Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, strands of hair sticking to her cheeks, making her look both wretched and bewitching.
But even in these moments, she didn't forget her place.
"Master..."
She used that deeply shameful title, squeezing out from her throat the sound Seiji most wanted to hear. "I... I want more..."
"Haha, then your master will satisfy you!"
Seiji withdrew his fingers, trailing silvery strings of lube.
He pulled out his cock. Fully erect and thick, it looked intimidating in the lamplight.
"Turn around." He commanded.
Sakiko struggled to turn her head, gazing at him with hazy yet forcibly calm eyes.
"Look at it." Seiji stroked his shaft, pointing the swollen head at her. "This cock bought your father's life. It's also your future master."
"Remember this feeling, Sakiko."
"From now on, your body, your soul, even every right you've surrendered, belongs to this cock."
With that, he gave no warning. Pressing the thick head of his cock against her loosened asshole, he thrust his hips forward and drove inside.
"AAAHHHH—!!!"
Even with all the mental preparation, that tearing sensation made Sakiko scream.
Her fingers clawed desperately at the sheets, knuckles white with effort. Tears finally spilled uncontrollably, sliding down her cheeks, dripping onto the pillow.
But Sakiko didn't pull away.
She bit her lip hard, even unconsciously rocking her hips backward, trying to take his cock even deeper into her ass.
Pain.
Such pain.
But accompanying the agony was something strange, a fullness she'd never experienced.
That feeling of being completely filled, completely possessed, her asshole stretched around his thick shaft, stripped of all autonomy, somehow brought a twisted peace to her heart.
Finally... no more struggling.
No more thinking about 16.8 billion, no more thinking about family honor, no more facing this cruel world.
As long as I'm this man's toy, as long as his cock fills me, that's enough.
Once this thought appeared, it spread through her entire body like poison.
If her former bandmates saw this scene, they'd probably collapse on the spot.
Sakiko Toyokawa, who always held her spine straight, proud beyond compare, was now like a beast in heat, swaying her hips as Seiji pounded her ass from behind, moaning shamelessly.
The night grew deep.
The sounds in the room still hadn't stopped.
The wet slap of his hips against her ass, mixed with the girl's suppressed cries and the man's low grunts, played out a wild, debauched symphony in this rainy night.
Sakiko had lost count of how many times she'd cum.
Her consciousness had grown hazy; only her body still instinctively moved to his rhythm, her asshole clenching around his cock with each thrust.
Each impact branded another of Seiji's marks onto her soul. These marks would stay with her for life, constantly reminding her whose possession she was.
Finally, Seiji buried himself to the hilt and came, pumping hot cum deep into her ass until everything settled into calm.
Sakiko collapsed on the bed like a broken doll, her body covered in purple marks and cum leaking from her stretched hole.
Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
That was the vacant look of excessive pleasure, and also the relief of having survived.
Seiji leaned against the headboard and lit a cigarette.
Through the smoke, he covertly studied the girl beside him.
Keen as always, he'd noticed something off.
During the process, though Sakiko had been obedient, during the "foreplay," she'd seemed too eager. When his fingers had lingered and teased her pussy, her reaction wasn't just shame, it was tinged with something strange... fear?
She'd even arched her hips, practically begging him to get on with it, as if only by being filled could she escape some worse fate.
Does extended foreplay... frighten her?
Seiji pondered to himself.
This didn't seem like simple shyness. It was more like fleeing from some tipping point about to spiral out of control.
Interesting.
It seemed Sakiko's body still held secrets he hadn't uncovered.
Meanwhile, Sakiko lay with her back to Seiji, trying to steady her breathing, her mind in chaos.
She clutched the sheets beneath her, fingertips still trembling slightly.
So close... just a little more...
She thought with frustration.
Seiji's technique was too good, good enough to seem demonic. Just a few strokes of his fingers and whispered words had nearly made her melt.
She knew her body well. There was something unspeakable about it, a trait inherited through her mother's line.
Her mother, when she was alive, had once quietly told her.
Sakiko had thought it absurd at the time, even found her mother's words strange, and hadn't taken them to heart.
But after being claimed by Seiji, she truly experienced the secret of that special constitution her mother had mentioned.
If she came more than five times before actual penetration, her pussy would develop an intense emptiness and craving, followed by an uncontrollable secretion of fragrant nectar.
Once that fluid flowed, she would lose all reason, becoming a beast that only craved essence.
And according to her mother...
In that state, she would hold a fatal attraction for men, along with an almost supernatural nourishing effect. And what the man released inside her would brand itself into her marrow, making her unable to leave that man for the rest of her life.
Though she possessed this constitution.
Few men could resist their urges and extend foreplay that long.
And few had the skill to make a Toyokawa woman climax five consecutive times.
So this secret had remained well-hidden. Even most women in the Toyokawa branch families didn't know about it.
Sakiko hadn't paid it much attention either.
But she'd happened to encounter Seiji Fujiwara, a monster of stamina and technique!
Good thing... I held on just now.
Sakiko bit her lip, feeling the restless urge inside her finally settle with Seiji's penetration.
I absolutely can't let him do extended foreplay in the future... absolutely not.
She made this silent vow, unaware that the man behind her was watching her tense back with a thoughtful gaze.
It seemed there would be no shortage of entertainment ahead.
Seiji smiled inwardly, taking his time before looking away into empty space.
...
[Congratulations Host, you have successfully captured "Sakiko Toyokawa."]
[Second Stage Reward: Special Talent Pool — "Demon Hands" Headhunting Team (S-Rank).]
The system panel materialized.
[Accept reward?]
Accept.
Seiji silently affirmed, closing his eyes to quickly scan the reward's information.
This was a legendary headhunting team known in the industry as "Mad Dogs." Their leader was Jin Kurosawa, once Japan's top headhunting consultant.
But this team was currently blacklisted throughout Japan.
The reason was simple, and absurd: their business capabilities were too strong, their methods too ruthless.
Especially Jin Kurosawa. When poaching targets, he'd not only turned an entire core laboratory against their company, but also uncovered their financial fraud, causing the target company to go straight into bankruptcy.
This "scorched earth" approach had enraged the major conglomerates and HR associations.
They'd been collectively blacklisted, going from industry elite to pariahs overnight.
Crushed by the mediocre because they were too excellent?
A cold smile curved Seiji's lips.
Right now, the Genesis Group was facing an industry alliance's blacklisting. What he needed was exactly this kind of mad dog that dared to bite and could kill.
The perfect reward.
He clicked [Accept] in his mind.
Coincidentally, the other medical groups in Tokyo seem displeased with my expansion, making moves behind the scenes?
Let's bring Jin Kurosawa back to catch up with his old friends who blacklisted him.
Seiji leaned against the headboard and lit a cigarette.
He glanced at the girl beside him but said nothing tender. He just reached over, grabbed a towel, and tossed it onto her.
"Clean up."
He said. "There's a funeral to attend tomorrow."
Sakiko's fingers twitched. She slowly grasped the towel.
"Yes... Master."
Her voice was hoarse and broken, yet still carried that heartbreaking obedience.
Chapter 177 - System Phase Two Rewards
Whispers rippled through the crowd, buzzing like flies.
Those glances held surprise, contempt, and pity.
The Sakiko of the past would have been trembling with humiliation by now, or turned and fled. But now, she didn’t even lift her eyes.
She listened quietly, as if the gossip were about some stranger who had nothing to do with her.
“Let’s go.”
Seiji spoke flatly, not looking back.
“Yes.”
Sakiko replied softly and followed half a step behind him.
They moved through the crowd toward the memorial hall.
Yuichi Toyokawa saw it, and the muscles in his face twitched.
He stared at Sakiko with naked malice.
If Seiji Fujiwara hadn’t interfered, that little bitch should have sunk into Tokyo Bay with her useless father, or been sold off to a hostess club to pay her debts.
But now, with Fujiwara looming over her like an immovable mountain, he couldn’t touch her.
He even had to keep a polite smile on his face.
“Fujiwara-sensei, I didn’t expect you to come in person,” Yuichi said as he stepped forward, forcing an ugly grin.
Seiji didn’t spare him a glance.
He walked straight to the coffin, picked up a white chrysanthemum from the side, and gently laid it atop the casket.
Then he turned to Sakiko, who had been keeping her head lowered the whole time.
“Go,” he said. “Say goodbye to your grandfather.”
Sakiko stepped forward slowly.
She looked at the old man lying peacefully among the flowers. He had once cherished her, once been the pillar she believed would never fall.
Now he was gone.
With him went the glory of an old era, and the proud Sakiko Toyokawa she used to be.
She knelt on the cushion and bowed deeply three times.
When she stood, her body swayed, her legs failing her for a moment. It was the lingering aftermath of last night’s excess, a dull ache still pulsing from that abused part of her body.
Seiji reached out and steadied her by the waist.
The touch carried a quiet declaration of ownership.
Sakiko didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, using his strength to steady herself.
To everyone watching, the meaning was unmistakable.
The eldest daughter of the Toyokawa Family had become Fujiwara-sensei’s possession.
“Let’s go.”
Seiji’s arm remained around her waist as he turned toward the exit.
When they passed Yuichi, he stopped.
"Mr. Yuichi," Seiji said softly, his voice low enough that only the three of them could hear. "Let the 16.8 billion yen go. Dragging this out won't do you any favors."
A flash of darkness crossed Yuichi’s face, but he quickly smoothed it away and laughed. “No problem. I’ll give Fujiwara-sensei that courtesy.”
“Good.”
Seiji glanced at him, smiled faintly, and led Sakiko out of the funeral hall under everyone’s gaze.
Back in the car, cut off from prying eyes, Sakiko’s rigid shoulders finally collapsed.
She leaned against the window, staring blankly at the scenery rushing past.
…
…
Tokyo’s rainy season always dragged on people’s nerves.
The endless drizzle had lasted a full week. Heavy clouds hung low over the city like ink-soaked sponges, smothering everything in damp gray chill.
Minato Ward. The top-floor CEO office of Genesis Group headquarters.
What should have been a sweeping view of Tokyo Bay was sealed behind sheets of rain.
Even the air inside felt bone-cold.
“President…”
Ito Hirofumi, executive managing director of Genesis Pharma, stood before the massive mahogany desk. A veteran who had spent thirty years clawing his way through the pharmaceutical industry, his expression was grave as he held a document in trembling hands.
“This is an internal file that came in half an hour ago through a special channel.”
He swallowed. “It’s about… about us.”
Seiji sat back in his leather chair, spinning a steel pen between his fingers.
“Read it.”
Ito drew a deep breath and opened the document, his voice shaking with despair.
“Regarding the Joint Statement on Commercial Restrictions and Talent Blockade Against Genesis-Affiliated Enterprises.”
“Initiators: Mitsui Pharmaceuticals, Sumitomo Life Sciences, Yasuda Medical… and the board of directors of the Headhunter Association.”
“The main contents are as follows.”
“First: In light of Genesis Group’s repeated violations of industry norms and disruption of market order, effective immediately, all four hundred twelve member firms under the Headhunter Association will indefinitely cease recommending any mid-level or above technical, management, or R&D personnel to Genesis Group and its subsidiaries.”
“Second: Establishment of an industry integrity blacklist. Any employee who leaves an alliance member company to join Genesis Group will be deemed in violation of non-compete agreements. The alliance will pursue legal action by all means and impose a lifetime industry ban.”
“Third: Sever the supply chains of seven key materials and devices, including high-purity synthetic enzymes and medical-grade centrifuges, for Genesis Group’s three core anticancer drug development projects.”
When he finished, Ito let out a long, exhausted sigh.
“President… this is an execution order.”
“They’re trying to rip Genesis out by the roots.”
In pharmaceuticals, what mattered most?
Not factories. Not equipment. Not even money.
It was people.
Doctors with deep clinical experience. Elite R&D teams.
Now, led by Mitsui, six major conglomerates had joined forces with the Headhunter Association, which controlled the lifeblood of talent. They drew a circle around Genesis. Inside that circle, Genesis might have money, but nowhere to spend it. No one dared take it, and no one dared work for them.
“How bad is it?” Seiji asked calmly, still twirling his pen.
“Worse than we expected.”
Ito forced a bitter smile. “The news spread faster than the document itself. Since yesterday afternoon, the R&D center has been in chaos.”
“Those two immunology PhD teams returning from the US? We’d already signed them and paid the deposits. This morning they emailed saying they couldn’t join for ‘personal reasons,’ willing to pay double the penalty. Everyone knows Mitsui leaned on them, or offered more.”
“That’s not even the worst part.”
He gestured toward the window. “The real problem is internal panic. Three project leaders submitted sick leave this morning. They say they’re ill, but they’re just waiting. The moment we show weakness, they’ll jump ship back to Mitsui. No one wants to be blacklisted for life.”
“And the KI virus targeted drug project—the one you value most. We’re short on key synthetic enzymes, so the lab shut down this morning. That project burns five million yen a day. Delay another half month, and the thirty billion yen already invested will be gone.”
Ito clenched his teeth and finally voiced the advice he’d been holding in all night.
“President, forgive my bluntness… we moved too fast this time.”
“We’re new. Our foundation isn’t stable. Confronting them head-on is like smashing an egg against a rock.”
“Mitsui sent word privately,” he lowered his voice, watching Seiji’s face carefully. “They said if you’re willing to bow your head—issue a public apology and transfer fifty-one percent of Genesis Pharma’s controlling shares to the industry alliance for cross-holding—they’ll lift the blockade. They might even let us play along.”
“Or… if you won’t swallow that insult, we activate Plan B. Strategic contraction.”
“Cut the high-cost R&D projects. Shut down those expensive labs. Keep only basic contract manufacturing and generics. Lower profits, lost face, mocked by peers—but at least the company survives.”
“If we can endure three to five years, wait for things to cool down… maybe we’ll have another chance.”
He spoke earnestly.
It was the survival wisdom of the old guard—endure, compromise, cling to life. Before massive conglomerates, personal dignity and ambition meant nothing.
And Seiji was young. He had time.
The room fell into dead silence.
Seiji stopped spinning the pen.
Click.
He set it gently on the desk.
He looked up, dark eyes reflecting the gloomy sky beyond the glass, unfathomable.
“How many years have you worked in this industry?” he asked suddenly.
“Uh… almost twenty,” Ito answered, startled.
“Twenty years, and that’s your conclusion?”
Seiji stood and walked to the window, his back to Ito.
His reflection merged with the overcast sky, lonely yet radiating an immovable pressure.
“Endure three to five years? Wait for them to relax?”
He laughed softly, undisguised mockery in his voice. “You’re too naive. Have you been comfortable for so long you’ve forgotten the law of the jungle?”
“Business is war. There’s no such thing as mercy.”
He turned, gaze sharp as a blade. “The moment we show weakness, we stop being competitors. We become meat on the table.”
“You think handing over fifty-one percent ends it? No. That’s just the first step. Next they’ll install their people, hollow us out, steal our patents, and turn Genesis into a dumping ground for excess capacity.”
“As for that contraction plan…”
He returned to the desk, shook his head, and fed the document into the shredder.
Buzz—buzz—
The plan that had tormented Ito all night became meaningless strips of paper.
“Genesis doesn’t need to cling to life.”
“If the road is blocked, tear down the wall. No people? Take them. Can’t take them, steal them, trick them. Newcomers earn their place by blood, by ripping shares from the old guard. Otherwise, what right do they have to stand?”
“Fighting. That’s what Genesis should be doing.”
Ito stared at the shredded paper, mouth agape. “B-but President, that’s not realistic! All legitimate channels are cut off. No one dares help us! Even the best headhunters hang up when they hear Genesis’s name!”
“Of course legitimate headhunters won’t,” Seiji said.
He sat down and turned on the computer.
Blue light illuminated his cold profile.
“But what about the mad dogs this industry threw away?”
With a thought, he pulled up a system file labeled Demon Hand Jin Kurosawa.
An elite cast out by mainstream society. A blade too sharp, snapped in half.
Now washing dishes in a Kobe slum to pay for his daughter’s medical bills.
“Prepare the car.”
Seiji shut the screen, stood, and shrugged into his coat.
“Where are we going? To see Chairman Mitsui?” Ito asked reflexively.
“Of course not.”
Seiji’s lips curved into an icy smile. “We’re going to prepare weapons.”
“Ito, call the director of Genesis General Hospital.”
“Have him arrange a top-tier sterile ICU. Get the best pulmonology and neurology teams on standby.”
“And also…”
He paused, eyes deepening. “Have him contact Mason Hospital’s representative in Japan. Buy a sample of the fluorinated Type-III orphan disease gene repair agent that passed human trials in October.”
Ito was completely lost.
“A… special drug? An ICU?”
He couldn’t keep up with the leap in logic. “President, our crisis is a lack of researchers, not patients! That drug costs hundreds of thousands of dollars! You’re planning to—”
"Fishing."
Seiji strode toward the door, his footsteps steady against the floor.
“If you want a starving wolf to tear down a lion for you, a rope won’t do.”
“You have to give him meat.”
“Enough. Let’s go to Kobe.”
…
…
At the same time.
The rain eased slightly at Gotemba Royal Golf Club, on the outskirts of Tokyo.
An exclusive, members-only social arena. The initiation fee alone ran into tens of millions of yen. A true playground of power and wealth.
The sky remained gloomy, but the greens were immaculately kept, lush and vivid, like a world apart.
Ryuichi Mitsui, chairman of Mitsui Pharmaceuticals, stood at the tee in an expensive custom white golf outfit.
At sixty-two, he was impeccably maintained, rosy-faced, hair perfectly combed.
He squinted toward the distant green, relaxed.
“Nice shot!”
The ball soared in a high arc, sailing far across the fairway.
Applause and flattery erupted instantly.
The loudest clapper was a slightly balding, heavyset middle-aged man who hovered nearby, bowing with a sycophantic smile and holding a warm towel.
Masakazu Tanaka, chairman of the Headhunter Association.
A man who controlled tens of thousands of elite résumés, normally treated like royalty by career executives.
Yet before Ryuichi Mitsui, he was nothing more than a bag carrier.
“Chairman Mitsui, that swing is as sharp as ever!” Tanaka grinned, offering the towel. “That killing aura—it’s just like when you swallowed Arashi Pharmaceuticals back then. Steady, precise, ruthless.”
Mitsui took the towel, wiped his hands unhurriedly, and smiled in satisfaction.
“Tanaka-kun, you really know how to talk.”
He tossed the towel back onto the tray and asked casually, “How’s that kid from Genesis doing lately?”
“Oh, don’t even mention it.”
Tanaka immediately put on a mocking expression. “From what I hear, it’s a complete mess. Their R&D center is already shut down.”
“As for Fujiwara-sensei…”
He snorted. “Just a kid who’s never seen the world. He hasn’t even dared step outside these past few days. Probably hiding in his office worrying himself sick.”
“Hmph.”
Mitsui let out a cold snort, disdain flashing in his eyes.
“Young people these days think having some cash flow means they can ignore the rules.”
“He thought doubling salaries would let him poach people? Childish.”
He picked up another club, giving it a light swing, like lecturing a disobedient junior.
“Every industry has its code.”
“If he drives prices up and everyone starts chasing higher pay, how do we control costs? How do we protect profits?”
Chapter 178 - Work for Me, Jin Kurosawa
As he spoke, a flash of ruthlessness crossed Ryuichi Mitsui’s eyes.
“Tanaka-kun, it’s still not enough.”
“A simple blockade won’t teach him a proper lesson.”
“Go notify them again. Triple the breach penalties for core technical staff across all major pharmaceutical companies. At the same time, give every existing R&D backbone a ten percent raise.”
Tanaka Masakazu froze. “All… all of them?”
“Surprised?” Mitsui shot him a sideways glance. “As long as we lock people in their cages and Genesis can’t recruit anyone, their projects will collapse. Tens of billions in investment will go straight down the drain.”
“When Genesis goes bankrupt, those people will crawl back on their own. Then we can cut their pay however we like.”
“Remember this. Feed the tools well, tighten the chains, and they won’t dare rebel.”
“That Genesis kid wants to be a savior? Wants to break the monopoly?”
“I’ll show him who the sky is in this industry, and whose rules actually matter.”
“Yes! Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” Tanaka lit up, giving a thumbs-up, his smile even more obsequious. “Textbook stuff. Catching turtles in a jar. Genesis is finished this time.”
“As for that little brat Seiji Fujiwara, he probably still hasn’t figured out how he’s dying.”
Mitsui threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing across the empty golf course.
He gazed at the gloomy sky in the distance, a thrill of total control swelling in his chest.
In his eyes, the war was already over.
Genesis Group’s silence was the prelude to surrender.
Maybe tomorrow, that young president would be kneeling in front of him, sobbing as he begged for forgiveness and offered up controlling shares of Genesis Group with both hands.
That was the price of challenging the old order.
What he didn’t know was that, at this very moment, several black sedans were leaving Tokyo, heading for Kobe.
…
…
Kobe, Nagata Ward.
The last traces of dusk were swallowed by heavy storm clouds, plunging the district into a murky gray gloom.
This was one of Kansai’s infamous lawless zones. Narrow alleys choked with illegal structures, air thick with sewage stench, cheap fried oil, and the moldy despair of the underclass.
Four luxury cars rolled in like misplaced aristocrats wandering into a dump, stopping at the mouth of a muddy alley.
The doors opened.
Ito stepped out first. He pinched his nose, brow furrowed, staring at an unidentifiable puddle at his feet with visible disgust.
“President, are you sure the intel’s right?”
He turned to Seiji, who had just gotten out of the car. “A legendary headhunter at that level, hiding in a place like this? This is practically a pigsty.”
Seiji wore a dark gray trench coat over a sharply tailored suit.
Unlike Ito, he showed no obvious disgust. He merely adjusted his collar and swept his gaze over the surroundings.
“If he didn’t hide somewhere like this, they wouldn’t have stopped hunting him.”
His tone was flat.
He raised a hand. Two bodyguards behind him immediately stepped forward, carrying a silver temperature-controlled case.
“Let’s go. At this hour, he should still be working.”
…
Deep in the alley sat a ramen shop called Red Ogre.
Calling it a shop was generous. It was little more than an illegal shack cobbled together from plastic sheets and corrugated metal.
The space was cramped. Cheap pork bone broth boiled in a pot, filling the air with a heavy, greasy stench.
Seiji pushed aside the oil-stained curtain and walked in.
The noisy shop fell silent for a second. Chopsticks froze midair as everyone stared at the two sharply dressed intruders like they’d walked in from another planet.
Seiji ignored them.
He went straight to an empty table in the corner and sat down without caring how greasy the surface was.
“Boss, two bowls of tonkotsu ramen.”
He called toward the counter, then looked past the diners and fixed his gaze on a figure in the semi-open kitchen.
A man washing dishes.
He wore a yellowed tank top. His long hair was tied messily behind his head. The muscles on his exposed arms were slack, too gaunt for manual labor.
He scrubbed at a mountain of plates mechanically, movements dull and sluggish.
“And have that dishwasher come out,” Seiji added calmly, his voice cutting cleanly through the din. “I’ve got some business to discuss with him.”
The shop went quiet again.
“You looking for Kurosawa?” the owner blinked, then shouted toward the kitchen. “Hey, someone’s looking for you. That’s rare. Even brought some real big shots.”
The man didn’t stop scrubbing.
“Dishwashers don’t take side jobs.”
His voice was hoarse and rough, like sand in his throat. “If you need muscle, go outside. My back’s bad. I can’t carry stuff.”
Dismissive. He didn’t even bother turning around.
Ito lost his patience. He stood and knocked on the glass. “Hey! We’re talking to you! Watch your attitude. Do you know who you’re talking to? This is the president of Genesis Medical!”
“Genesis?”
The man finally turned off the faucet.
He wiped his hands on his filthy apron and slowly turned around.
It was a face ravaged by stubble and exhaustion, eyes sunken deep.
If not for the vicious scar like a centipede crawling across his brow, Ito would never have connected this down-and-out middle-aged man with the confident “Demon Hand” from the files.
The man narrowed his eyes, scanning Seiji and the bodyguards, then glanced at the silver case.
“Never heard of it.”
He snorted, pulled a wrinkled cheap cigarette from his pocket, and stuck it between his lips. “Go home, kid. There’s nothing here but garbage waiting to rot. No business for you.”
He turned back toward the sink.
“Jin Kurosawa.”
Seiji didn’t move. He stayed seated on the greasy stool, fingers tapping lightly on the table.
“Former ace partner at Pan-Asia Human Resources. Codename Gin.”
“Twelve years in the field. Sixty-three poaching cases, zero failures. Four years ago, while helping Skyline Tech recruit talent, you didn’t just flip the rival company’s entire R&D team. You also uncovered their financial fraud and sent a century-old firm into overnight liquidation.”
As Seiji spoke, the air in the ramen shop seemed to freeze.
“No way…”
“Is that for real?”
“They’re talking about Kurosawa?”
“How did he end up like this?”
Amid the whispers, Kurosawa’s back stiffened.
“That deal made you a legend,” Seiji continued, watching him with a faint smile. “It also turned you into a mad dog the industry cast out.”
“So what? The Demon Hand doesn’t even have the courage to admit his own name anymore?”
Kurosawa turned slowly.
The murk in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sharp, feral glare, like a beast woken by having its tail stepped on.
He strode over and dropped into the seat across from Seiji.
Something in his aura shifted.
“You did your homework.”
He took a drag and exhaled smoke, his voice turning cold. “You’re the first one to come looking for me in four years.”
“But if you know who I am and what I’ve done, you should also know the consequences.”
He pointed toward the pitch-black street outside. “I’m blacklisted across the entire industry. Anyone who uses me is declaring war on the whole alliance. That Genesis Group of yours… want it bankrupt tomorrow?”
“Correction.”
Seiji smiled and motioned for Ito to open his briefcase. He took out a copy of the joint blockade statement and slid it across the table.
“Not tomorrow. It already is.”
“Genesis Group is on the blacklist too. Just like you. To those old men, we’re both anomalies.”
Kurosawa glanced at the document, then froze.
A moment later, he burst into laughter.
“Ha! This is rich. Really rich!”
He laughed until his shoulders shook. “So you’re desperate enough to come looking for an obsolete old ghost like me? Kid, you’ve got guts, trying to sic me on Mitsui.”
Then the laughter cut off.
He crushed the cigarette under his heel, the dead weight returning to his face.
“But sorry.”
He shook his head and tugged at his greasy tank top. “I can’t go with you.”
“Why?” Ito blurted out. “We can pay you well! Shares, salary, whatever you want! It’s better than washing dishes here!”
“High pay?”
Kurosawa looked at him like he was an idiot.
He pulled out a battered phone with a cracked screen, lit it up, and held it out.
It was a payment reminder.
Kobe Municipal Third Hospital ICU Notice: Your daughter, Kurosawa Rei, has experienced instability in vital signs. Additional imported anti-rejection medication is required. Please pay forty-eight thousand yen by twelve noon tomorrow, or special care will be terminated.
“Can you help me with this?”
His voice was heavy with exhaustion, the kind that could crush even the toughest man.
“My daughter’s been in the ICU for two years. Rare genetic disease. A bottomless pit.”
“I stay here washing dishes because the owner knows someone at the ward office. They help me apply for special medical subsidies for low-income households. It’s not much, but it keeps her alive.”
“If I go with you and take that so-called high salary, the subsidy disappears immediately.”
His eyes dimmed, a father surrendering completely to reality.
“And more importantly… they’re still watching me. The moment I resurface, they’ll pressure the hospital and cut off her meds.”
“I can’t gamble.”
He waved them off. “Go. Don’t waste your time. Go back to Tokyo and kneel to Mitsui. Maybe he’ll leave you a way out.”
Ito stared at the payment notice in silence.
As a father, he understood that despair. In front of massive capital, individual strength was nothing. This wasn’t about money. It was about someone holding your lifeline.
“President…”
Ito tugged at Seiji’s sleeve, his voice trembling. “Forget it. His weakness is too obvious. The moment Mitsui targets his daughter, he’ll turn on us. This blade is too dangerous.”
The assessment was correct.
But Seiji didn’t move.
He stayed seated, expression unchanged.
“What if I said I could save your daughter?”
His voice wasn’t loud, but in the noisy ramen shop it landed like a thunderclap.
Kurosawa snapped his head up.
In that instant, the decay vanished from his eyes, replaced by a fierce, piercing light.
Bang!
Both hands slammed onto the table as he stared at Seiji. “Don’t joke about that! It’s a genetic disease! There’s no cure anywhere in the world! I’ve searched everything—”
“There wasn’t before,” Seiji cut him off.
He raised a hand slightly. “You’ve been out of the front lines too long. You don’t know that a targeted treatment has already been developed for your daughter’s condition.”
The two bodyguards stepped forward and placed the silver case on the table.
Click.
With the sound of a fingerprint lock disengaging, the lid lifted.
White cold mist spilled out, dropping the surrounding temperature.
Inside lay three pale blue syringes, resting quietly. Complex English serial numbers were printed on the glass, along with an unfamiliar laboratory logo.
Beside them was a thick stack of documents, entirely in English, stamped on the cover with a glaring red seal.
TOP SECRET.
“X-99 gene-targeted repair agent.”
Seiji spoke the name calmly, a trace of mockery in his tone. “The latest result from the States. You won’t find it in any medical journal.”
“Because the company behind it hasn’t cleared FDA ethics review yet.”
“Even if they do, the real data will never be published.”
He flipped open the report and slid a page toward Kurosawa.
Dense clinical data filled the page. Under “subject age,” the entries read: six years old, eight years old, five years old…
“You know how drug inserts always say ‘contraindications for pregnant women and children unclear.’ Why unclear? Because civilized society has lines it won’t cross. No one experiments on pregnant women or kids.”
Seiji let out a cold laugh. “But over there, as long as the money’s enough, there are no lines.”
“These are perfect datasets built on slums and undocumented immigrants. The methods are filthy, but the results…”
He met Kurosawa’s eyes, unwavering. “They’re real.”
Kurosawa said nothing.
He stared at the report.
He was a headhunter, but for his daughter’s cursed disease he’d taught himself medicine for years, understood it better than many doctors.
His eyes raced over the core parameters: blood concentration, target binding rates, adverse reaction statistics.
The more he read, the harder his hands shook.
The data was too perfect. No, too real.
Those brutally detailed side-effect records, precise rejection-response observations, weren’t something you could fake. They could only be bought with living lives.
This was Hope, soaked in blood.
“…There’s an eighty percent chance it’s real.”
After a long while, Kurosawa closed the heavy file. His voice was hoarse, stripped of emotion, weighed down by submission to reality.
He looked at Seiji, as if staring at another man without a bottom line.
“You can even get something like this…”
“As long as it’s to win,” Seiji replied calmly. “The means don’t matter. Right?”
“I’m not finished.”
He signaled the bodyguards to open the second compartment.
Inside wasn’t medicine, but a document and a satellite phone.
“This is an admission agreement for a top-tier sterile ICU at Genesis Medical.”
“Japan’s best life-support systems. The best neurology team. Round-the-clock one-on-one care.”
He looked straight at Kurosawa and spoke slowly. “Mitsui can cut off your medicine. I can make medicine. Mitsui can pressure hospitals. I own one.”
“If you say yes, a helicopter will bring your daughter to Tokyo tonight.”
“All expenses are on me.”
Chapter 179 - A Mere Penalty Fee. Crushing Mitsui Pharmaceuticals Pays for Everything
“How about it?” Seiji Fujiwara stood up, looking down at the man who had completely fallen apart. “Can you work for me now?”
The ramen shop was deathly silent.
Even the rowdy customers had stopped talking, staring blankly at the scene.
Jin Kurosawa stared at the two boxes on the table.
His chest heaved. His eyes reddened. His lips trembled, but no words came out.
That was Hope.
Hope he had groped toward in the dark for four years, praying to every god he could think of, only to never reach.
And now, it was sitting right in front of him.
“Why…”
After a long while, his voice came out hoarse. Tears streamed down his stubble-covered face. “Why me? I’m already a useless wreck.”
“Because I want to kill people.”
Seiji’s voice was cold, merciless. “And you’re a very sharp knife. A mad dog.”
“You can cause Mitsui the most trouble.”
“If you turn out to be less useful than I expect, I’ll abandon you without hesitation.”
He held out his hand. “Don’t drag this out. Are you coming with me or not? Answer me. Now.”
Jin lowered his head and stared at the hand.
Silence.
He suddenly grabbed the residency agreement on the table, crushing it in his fist hard enough to tear it apart.
Rip.
He tore off the grease-stained apron from his waist and stomped it into the floor.
Then he looked up, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. In his once-clouded eyes burned two eerie green lights, like a starving wolf.
“Boss.”
His mouth twisted into a savage grin, revealing smoke-yellowed teeth. “This hundred-plus pounds of flesh is yours.”
He reached out with a hand thick with calluses and grease and gripped Seiji’s firmly.
“Those old Mitsui bastards…” His voice was low and vicious. “I’ll bite straight through their throats.”
…
Three hours later.
Genesis General Hospital, rooftop helipad.
The roar of rotors tore through the night sky as a medical helicopter slowly descended.
Doctors and nurses rushed forward, wheeling a gurney toward the special ICU corridor prepared in advance.
On the bed lay a frail little girl. She was still unconscious, but her vital signs were stable.
Jin stood at the edge of the helipad, letting the gale whip his hair around.
The filthy undershirt was gone. He was dressed in a black suit, hastily prepared at Seiji’s order.
His beard had been shaved clean, revealing sharp, angular features. The scar on his brow no longer made him look defeated. If anything, it added a chilling edge.
He watched as his daughter was sent into the elevator, watched the top specialists gather around her bed. Only then did the tension finally leave his shoulders.
“Don’t worry.”
Seiji stood beside him, lighting a cigarette and handing it over. “The medication’s already been administered. The doctors say she could wake up in as little as a week.”
Jin took the cigarette and inhaled deeply.
“Thank you.”
He said the words heavily.
“No need.” Seiji looked out at Tokyo’s blazing nightscape. “This is a transaction. Work well, and that’s your repayment.”
“Of course.”
Jin turned his back on his daughter’s ward and faced the city—glittering, prosperous, and merciless.
His gaze changed.
The destitute father scrubbing dishes for a few hundred yen was gone.
In his place stood the Demon Hand who once made the entire industry tremble.
“Boss, give me a list.”
He exhaled smoke, bloodlust flickering in his eyes. “Which one do you want hollowed out first? Or… all of them?”
A smile tugged at Seiji’s lips.
“Mitsui, obviously.”
“I hear they gave all their core staff a ten percent raise to stop poaching?”
“Let’s see what you can do.”
…
…
Over the next three days, Tokyo’s business world fell into a strange calm.
Genesis Medical seemed to have accepted its fate.
Facing a total industry blockade, they held no press conferences, filed no antitrust lawsuits.
Only their headquarters in Minato Ward remained brightly lit night after night, while no one outside knew what was happening inside.
Rumors spread like wildfire through Ginza’s high-end restaurants and Roppongi’s bars.
“Did you hear? That Seiji Fujiwara really went to Kobe to find that mad dog, Jin Kurosawa.”
“What? That washed-up headhunter who got blacklisted three years ago? Is Genesis grasping at straws?”
“What good is dragging back a stray with a broken spine? Mitsui’s locked down their talent pool tight. Forget Kurosawa—even God couldn’t poach anyone now.”
Mockery, schadenfreude, and sighs wove together into a vast web of public opinion that wrapped tightly around the Genesis Group.
And at the center of that web stood Mitsui Pharmaceuticals’ headquarters.
Chairman’s office.
Ryuichi Mitsui sat behind his desk, gazing contentedly at the Imperial Palace moat outside.
On his desk lay a freshly enacted document: Emergency Notice on Raising Compensation, Benefits, and Non-Compete Penalties for Core Technical Staff.
“Chairman, the notice has been distributed to all laboratories,” the HR director reported respectfully. “As instructed, all P7-level and above researchers received a ten percent raise. We’ve also re-signed supplemental agreements, raising the resignation penalty from three times annual salary to ten.”
“Ten times?” Mitsui nodded, pleased. “Isn’t that a bit harsh?”
“According to Legal, it’s right at the edge of what the law allows,” the director said with a smile. “But the effect is immediate. The experts who were wavering have all settled down. No one fights money, and a tenfold penalty means hundreds of millions of yen. Enough to ruin them.”
“Excellent.”
Cold light flashed in Mitsui’s eyes. “That’s how you control people.”
“These technical types are like sheep in a pen. Give them grass—a raise—and raise the fence—the penalty—and they’ll stay inside and produce milk.”
“And Jin Kurosawa? Any movement?”
The director flipped through another report, a hint of disdain on his face. “The Headhunter Association’s watching him closely. He hasn’t even been to Tokyo these three days. He’s been in Kobe handling his daughter’s hospital transfer. When he finally came to Tokyo, he didn’t go to Genesis at all. He’s just been driving around random places.”
“Random places?”
“Yes. Casinos, private schools, even late-night izakaya. Doesn’t look like business at all. I’d say that Demon Hand of his has rusted over. He doesn’t even know where to start.”
“Hahaha!”
Mitsui laughed heartily. “Exactly. A dog with a broken leg can’t make waves. Seiji Fujiwara bet everything on scrap metal this time.”
“Leave him be.” He waved his hand dismissively. “As long as we guard our pen, he can bark all he wants outside. He won’t steal a single bite.”
…
…
An underground casino in Shinjuku.
Two in the morning.
One of Tokyo’s darkest corners, reeking of smoke, sweat, and desperate screams.
Daisuke Tanaka—chief pharmacologist at Mitsui Pharmaceuticals, recipient of a national stipend. A man once revered in academia now lay drenched in sweat over a baccarat table, eyes bloodshot, tie crooked, like a gambler who had lost his mind.
“Open! Open! Open!”
The dealer flipped the cards with icy indifference.
The last light in Tanaka’s eyes went out.
“Banker nine, Player zero. Banker wins.”
The chips were swept away without mercy.
Tanaka collapsed into his chair, shaking all over.
It was over.
His savings were gone. Worse, he owed loan sharks fifty million yen.
If Mitsui found out he gambled, he wouldn’t just lose his job—he could face prison.
“Mr. Tanaka.”
Two burly men covered in tattoos appeared behind him. One hand slammed down on his shoulder. “Fifty million, plus interest. Tonight’s the deadline. If you don’t pay, we’ll have to visit your company. Or your daughter’s school.”
“No—don’t go to the school! Don’t go to my company!”
Tanaka spun around, nearly kneeling. “Give me a few days… once the bonus comes, I swear—”
“We don’t want excuses,” one of them sneered.
A low, raspy voice cut in.
“I’ll cover his debt.”
Tanaka looked up.
A man in a black trench coat stood there, a scar cutting across his brow. A cigarette rested between his fingers. With his other hand, he slapped a check onto the table.
“Sixty million.”
Jin Kurosawa looked at the two men coolly. “The extra ten million is your tea money. Don’t bother him again.”
They verified the check, exchanged a glance, bowed, and left.
In the noisy corner of the casino, only a shaken Tanaka and Jin—like death incarnate—remained.
“Who… who are you?” Tanaka asked, trembling. “Why help me?”
“Jin Kurosawa. HR consultant for Genesis Medical Group.”
Jin pulled out a chair, sat down, and slid a folder over. “Mitsui gave you a ten percent raise, right? Annual salary’s up to thirty million?”
Tanaka froze.
“Even if you eat nothing and drink nothing, it’ll take two years to pay off your debt. And once your gambling gets exposed, Mitsui will dump you without hesitation and sue you for reputational damages.”
Jin exhaled smoke, his tone flat. “To Mitsui, you’re just a tool. And when a tool starts to rust, even a little, it gets thrown away.”
“But Genesis is different.”
He tapped the folder. “This is a full debt forgiveness agreement, and a new employment contract.”
“Genesis will clear your debts, give you an independent lab, and more importantly—”
Jin leaned forward, wolfish eyes locking onto his. “We’ll help you quit gambling. And we’ll keep everything absolutely confidential.”
“Now choose.”
Tanaka was silent.
He stared at the papers, then shakily picked up the pen.
He knew he had no choice.
…
…
Outside a private elite elementary school in Setagaya Ward.
Four in the afternoon.
Kenichi Yamamoto, director of clinical trials at Mitsui Pharmaceuticals, stood by the gate, anxiously checking his watch.
A model family man and a key operator Mitsui was desperate to keep. To stop him from leaving, they had even paid out his annual bonus early.
Yet he felt no joy.
The gates opened, children pouring out.
He spotted his son—the family’s Hope.
But the boy walked out with his head down, uniform smeared with dirt, a bruise on his face.
“Dad…” Tears spilled as soon as he saw him. “They said I’m just a nouveau riche’s kid… that I don’t belong here…”
Kenichi’s heart twisted.
This school was meant for old elite families.
To those heirs of political and financial dynasties, he was nothing more than a well-paid employee.
His son was bullied relentlessly.
He had gone to the principal, but nothing changed. After all, the bully was a politician’s grandson.
“Mr. Yamamoto.”
A voice spoke beside him.
He turned and saw a man leaning against a black sedan.
“I’m Jin Kurosawa.”
No small talk. Jin handed him an envelope. “A handwritten recommendation from the chairman of Keimei Academy.”
Kenichi’s pupils shrank.
Keimei Academy—far more elite, far harder to enter than this school.
With Seiji Fujiwara’s standing in literary and cultural circles, obtaining an educational recommendation was trivial.
“Take this letter and enrollment can be processed tomorrow,” Jin said calmly. “Genesis Group will also ensure your son joins the equestrian club. No one there dares bully someone recommended by Genesis.”
“Mitsui can give you money. They can give you raises.”
“But they can’t give you status. To Ryuichi Mitsui, you’re just an employee. At Genesis…”
Jin glanced at the still-crying boy. “We can offer more.”
Kenichi clutched the envelope tightly.
“…Where’s the contract?” he asked, letting out a helpless sigh.
…
…
A roadside at Tokyo Bay Seaside Park.
Rain poured down in sheets.
A stretched black business van sat hidden in the shadows beyond the streetlights, like a silent fortress.
The door opened, and Jin climbed in, rainwater dripping from his coat.
The spacious interior was packed.
Mitsui’s chief pharmacologist. Director of clinical trials. Head of synthesis processes. Industry giants normally seen only at summits now crowded together in this vehicle.
Their expressions varied.
Nervous. Relieved. Still trembling.
But each held the same document—Genesis Medical Group’s letter of intent and confidentiality agreement.
Jin remained standing by the door, rain streaming down his coat as he surveyed them.
Industry elites, yet ordinary people with weaknesses. Some addicted to gambling. Some devoted to family. Some suppressed and sidelined. Some desperate for money to treat gravely ill relatives.
Mitsui locked their bodies with money and contracts, but never cared about their souls.
In three days, Jin had bitten through every chain with surgical precision.
“Everyone.”
His voice rang clear through the rain. “You all know what signing this means.”
“Betrayal. Being hunted by the industry alliance. Facing lawsuits with astronomical penalties.”
Silence filled the van.
“But.”
He changed tone. “Genesis has already deposited the penalty fees into escrow. Genesis’s legal team will handle the lawsuits.”
“You only need to do one thing.”
“Stand up straight, walk into Genesis’s labs, and turn what’s in your heads into products that slap Ryuichi Mitsui across the face.”
After a brief pause, the gambling-addicted chief pharmacologist picked up his pen first.
“To hell with Mitsui.”
He cursed and signed hard. “I’m sick of kissing that old bastard’s ass.”
One became two.
“For my child…” Kenichi closed his eyes and signed.
The sound of pens scratching merged together, hidden beneath the pounding rain.
Chapter 180 - Two Hundred Million. Dollars.
Ten minutes later.
Jin Kurosawa tucked the thick stack of documents away and shut the car door.
Standing in the rain, he pulled out his phone and dialed Seiji Fujiwara.
“Boss.”
He looked toward the Mitsui building, its silhouette faint in the curtain of rain, and split into a savage grin.
“The chains are broken.”
“These sheep are wolves now.”
Seiji’s calm voice came through the phone. “Well done. Come back. There’s a big show tomorrow.”
As for the penalty fees?
Once Mitsui was crushed, the profits would more than cover such trivial costs.
The medical industry was basically a money printer.
…
…
The next morning.
The rain finally stopped. Long-missed sunlight pierced the clouds and reflected off the glass curtain wall of Mitsui Pharmaceuticals’ R&D building, dazzling to the eye.
Eight o’clock.
Official start of the workday.
At this hour, the research center should have been buzzing already, machines humming, researchers talking over one another.
Instead, it was silent.
Unnaturally so.
Ryuichi Mitsui strolled through the building with several executives, hands clasped behind his back, just as he always did.
But when he reached the floor housing the core laboratories, he found the corridor empty. Not a soul in sight.
“What’s going on?” He frowned. “Where is everyone? Morning meeting?”
“They’re probably… probably inside the labs working,” the HR director said, wiping sweat from his brow. “After the raise, everyone’s motivated.”
“Good.” Mitsui nodded, a satisfied smile forming. “Looks like my feed is still effective.”
He stopped before the thick blast-proof glass doors and peered inside.
There were people in the lab.
All the key staff were there.
But none wore lab coats. No one was operating equipment.
They were packing up.
Personal belongings went into cardboard boxes. Data drives were being wiped. Even the potted plants on the desks were gone.
The smile froze on Mitsui’s face.
“What… what are you doing?”
He shoved the door open and roared, “Who told you to clean up during work hours?!”
No one answered.
The chief pharmacologist, who once bowed and scraped before him, turned around with a box in his arms and looked at the chairman calmly.
“Tanaka! What are you doing?!” Mitsui jabbed a finger at him. “Are you rebelling?!”
Daisuke Tanaka took a deep breath.
He remembered the rain-soaked night before, the check that cleared his debt, and the words spoken by the man in black.
Stand up straight.
“Chairman.”
He removed his ID badge and set it gently on the bare desk.
“We’re not cleaning.”
“We’re resigning.”
“All of us.”
The others looked at Mitsui with the same cold eyes.
“What did you say?!” His vision spun. “Resigning? Are you insane?! That’s a tenfold penalty! You think you can afford it?!”
“We can.”
Tanaka smiled, relieved.
“Because someone already paid for us.”
At that moment, a deep, synchronized rumble of engines rose from below.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Mitsui saw a black motorcade stretch out in front of the building like a steel serpent.
Doors opened.
Dozens of Genesis security personnel stepped out in formation, standing as if welcoming returning heroes.
And at the very front, the “washed-up mad dog” he had always sneered at, Jin Kurosawa, leaned against a car door and looked up at the windows.
Then he drew a finger across his own throat.
In that instant, Mitsui finally realized it.
His cage was broken.
…
…
Batch after batch of researchers and technical staff packed up and walked out of Mitsui Pharmaceuticals.
Every single one of them was smiling.
Each of them left the building with their head held high.
“Bastards… bastards!!”
Watching the scene below, Mitsui shook with rage. He grabbed a teacup from the desk and hurled it to the floor.
Crash!
The shattering glass made the HR director flinch.
But the old fox, hardened by forty years in the business world, forced himself to calm down.
He stared down at Jin, calculations racing through his mind.
A mass resignation… fifty-one people?
Half of them were core personnel, including three project leads. If they were really gone, Mitsui’s R&D system would be crippled for at least a year. The stock price would plummet.
But—
Mitsui’s eyes turned sharp and icy.
Was Seiji Fujiwara insane?
The supplemental agreements were signed just yesterday. Ten percent raises across the board. Penalties raised to tenfold.
Based on their salaries, the total penalty for fifty-one people was at least twenty-three billion yen.
And under the non-compete clauses, the full amount had to be paid within twenty-four hours of resignation. Otherwise, it counted as illegal employment. He could apply to the court for enforcement, even freeze all of Genesis Group’s assets.
Twenty-three billion yen in cash.
Mitsui sneered inwardly.
Even a giant like Mitsui Pharmaceuticals would strain to mobilize that much liquidity in a single day. Genesis might have some money, but with such shallow foundations, there was no way they could come up with it.
This had to be Kurosawa’s rotten idea. Lure people away with empty promises, create a fait accompli, then drag things out in court until forcing a settlement.
Dream on.
“Let them go!”
Mitsui spun around and barked at the stunned HR director. “Don’t stop them. Let them go!”
“C-Chairman?” The director thought he’d misheard.
“I said let them go!”
Mitsui straightened his rumpled suit, a greedy, vicious smile spreading across his face. “Not only let them go. Open the door for them.”
“Daisuke Tanaka.”
He stepped up to the former chief pharmacologist and patted his shoulder, eyes like he was looking at a lamb awaiting slaughter.
“If you want to get rich at Genesis, I’ll grant your wish.”
“But remember this. If the penalty money isn’t in our account by ten tomorrow morning…”
He leaned in and whispered savagely, “I’ll make every last one of you regret betraying me.”
Without another glance at the scientists, he strode out of the lab.
“Get the car,” he ordered his secretary. “International Convention Center. I have a gift prepared for Seiji Fujiwara at today’s summit.”
You want to pull the rug out from under me?
I’ll show you what it means to choke to death on your own ambition.
As long as that money doesn’t arrive tomorrow, Genesis Group will be mine.
Mitsui entered the elevator, convinced of victory.
He didn’t notice that Tanaka, watching his back, showed no fear at all.
Only pity.
…
…
Tokyo International Convention Center.
The annual All-Japan Pharmaceutical Industry Summit was underway.
Though it was still morning, the venue buzzed with excitement.
The “mass resignation incident” at Mitsui Pharmaceuticals’ headquarters had swept through the industry like a tsunami, reaching everyone within two hours.
Everyone knew it now.
Genesis Group’s mad dog, Jin Kurosawa, had really stolen Mitsui’s house out from under them.
Yet strangely, as the biggest victim, Chairman Ryuichi Mitsui showed none of the expected rage or panic.
Instead, he stood at the center of the hall, wineglass in hand, still basking in attention.
“Isn’t Genesis going too far? Poaching over twenty core staff at once?”
“Yeah, how much penalty is that? I heard Mitsui just raised it to tenfold…”
“I ran the numbers. At least twenty billion yen. Can Genesis afford that?”
“I doubt it. Probably Seiji Fujiwara got hotheaded. Once the bill arrives, he’ll panic.”
The murmurs only deepened the cold smile on Mitsui’s face.
That was his confidence.
Yes, the people were gone. For now.
But if Genesis couldn’t pay the penalties, it would be malicious inducement to breach contract and illegal employment. He could reclaim the people through the courts and crush Genesis in the process.
Well, maybe not crush.
Thinking of Seiji’s private security force, Mitsui cooled slightly.
Still, in pure business warfare, he feared no one.
To him, Kurosawa’s move wasn’t pulling the rug out.
It was suicide.
“Look, Seiji Fujiwara is here.”
A ripple went through the crowd.
The massive gilded doors opened, and Seiji walked in with an executive director and Jin.
Mitsui narrowed his eyes, set down his glass, and went to meet him.
His entourage and the president of the Headhunter Association, Tadashi Niimura, followed close behind, forming an invisible wall of pressure.
“Well, if it isn’t the former chairman.”
Mitsui blocked Seiji’s path, smiling without warmth. “I heard you made quite a move this morning. Took dozens of cars to my building to snatch people. What, has Genesis switched to kidnapping?”
“Just normal talent mobility,” Seiji replied calmly, stopping in his tracks. “A good bird chooses the right tree. Surely Chairman Mitsui understands that.”
“Good birds?”
Mitsui sneered, his gaze turning vicious. “I see a flock of idiots you sweet-talked. President Fujiwara, you didn’t think dragging them out the door was enough, did you?”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only the two of them could hear.
“Twenty-three billion yen.”
“That’s the total penalty for those fifty-one people. By the non-compete agreements, it must be paid in full within twenty-four hours.”
“If I don’t see the money in my account tomorrow morning, I’ll apply to freeze all Genesis Group assets and sue you for commercial fraud.”
“At that point, those fools you tricked won’t just be drowning in debt. They’ll be facing prison. And you…”
He straightened, smoothing his collar, arrogance returning to his smile.
“You’ll have nothing.”
“Kid, business requires capital. If you don’t have the stomach, don’t try to swallow meat that big. You’ll choke.”
Around them, industry peers gasped when they heard “twenty-three billion.”
Niimura seized the chance to pile on. “Exactly, President Fujiwara. Jin Kurosawa is a madman. Why follow him into madness? Admit your mistake, send the people back, and maybe Chairman Mitsui will show mercy.”
All eyes turned to Seiji.
They waited.
Waiting for panic. For fear. For him to bow his head.
Seiji just smiled.
He turned slightly toward Jin. “Hear that? Chairman Mitsui is worried we can’t pay the bill.”
Jin grinned, the scar on his brow twisting into something feral.
“That’s quite an insult.”
As he spoke, he picked up the black briefcase and strode straight onto the stage.
Ignoring the host’s attempts to stop him, he slammed the heavy case onto the table.
Bang.
The hall fell silent.
Mitsui frowned. “What are you doing? Making a scene?”
“A scene? No.”
Jin snapped open the locks, movements rough and direct.
“I’m here to pay.”
He pulled out a thin slip of paper.
A Swiss bank promissory note.
He held it up to every camera in the room, displaying the number printed on it.
“Swiss bank note. Immediate redemption.”
“Amount: two hundred million US dollars.”
His hoarse voice boomed through the microphone like a hammer smashing into Mitsui’s chest.
“That covers the penalty for those fifty-one people. The extra change is a thank-you fee from Genesis to the Mitsui Group.”
A sharp intake of breath swept the room.
Two hundred million dollars.
Cash.
What did that mean?
Many listed companies weren’t even worth that much in total.
And Genesis had thrown it out just to poach people?
“That’s impossible…”
Sweat streamed down Mitsui’s forehead as he stared at the figure. He had thought Genesis’s cash flow was already stretched thin. Instead, they were sitting on a nuclear-level reserve.
“That’s impossible! Where did you get that kind of money?!”
“Not your concern.”
Jin tucked the note away and sneered. “What you should worry about is how far Mitsui’s stock will fall tomorrow without those fifty people.”
Analysts in the audience were already frantically calling in orders.
“Sell Mitsui Pharmaceuticals! Now! Core team’s gone! R&D collapse! Massive negative news!”
“Buy Genesis! Buy Genesis! They have two hundred million in liquidity… in dollars!”
The wind shifted.
In minutes, the tide of ridicule turned completely.
Mitsui felt dizzy. He braced himself against the podium, barely standing.
He’d lost.
Talent gone. Blockade turned into a joke. Stock about to crash.
But it wasn’t over yet.
Seiji rose slowly from his seat.
He straightened his tie and, surrounded by bodyguards, walked onto the stage like a king.
He didn’t look at Mitsui.
Facing the microphone, he said calmly, “Lawyer Niimura. Your turn.”
As his words fell, the doors of the hall opened again.
This time, it wasn’t scientists or reporters.
It was prosecutors from the Tokyo Prosecutors Special Division, dressed in dark blue uniforms, faces severe.
Tadashi Niimura held a thick stack of documents as he walked up to the man who had collapsed to the floor.
“Chairman Mitsui. Long time no see.”
He adjusted his glasses, fury blazing in his eyes. “This is the complete evidence chain of your tax fraud, money laundering, and bribery of Ministry officials over the past five years.”
“Every account. Every email. I kept them all for you.”
“Oh, and there are recordings too. Of you hiring organized crime to threaten competitors and sabotage their businesses.”
At the word “recordings,” the last of Mitsui’s composure shattered.
“No… no! This isn’t real! Niimura! I’ll kill you!”
He lunged like a madman, only to be pinned down by the prosecutors.
“Mr. Ryuichi Mitsui.”
The lead prosecutor produced an arrest warrant, voice cold. “You are suspected of multiple serious crimes and are hereby under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you say will be recorded and used as evidence.”
The hall erupted.