Chapter 103: One Must Climb Higher Step by Step

Hidenobu Aoyama stepped out of the Metropolitan Police Department and saw a black Mercedes-Benz S600 parked outside, beside which stood a burly middle-aged man dressed in a black suit. Seeing him approach, the man bowed politely and then opened the rear door of the car.

Calmly, Aoyama slid into the back seat.

About ten minutes later, the car stopped in front of a riverside villa in Shinkawa 1-chome, Chuo Ward.

The man in black beside the driver got out, opened the door for Aoyama, and said, “Please follow me.”

Aoyama straightened his clothes and followed behind him toward the villa. But at the entrance, two security guards stopped him. Complying, he raised both hands.

The two men searched him meticulously from front and back. After confirming he carried no weapons, they stepped aside.

Aoyama followed the man who had just picked him up into the villa’s front yard, then took a narrow path beside the main building to the backyard. There, he saw not only Yutaka Yamada but also Isamu Morishita.

Both were bruised and swollen, trembling as they knelt on the ground—clearly having just endured a savage beating.

Sitting in a chair directly before them was an elderly man who appeared just in his sixties, somewhat overweight, with a head full of silver hair slicked back.

It was Nobu Kurosawa, Vice President of the Liberal Democratic Party, a man whose mere stomp could shake all of Japan.

Power truly could make a man seem young; it was impossible to tell this was a man approaching eighty.

Beside him stood his secretary, Heihei Haruichi, looking scholarly and refined.

Several well-dressed bodyguards surrounded the area.

Upon seeing Aoyama arrive, Yamada glanced at him, then at Morishita.

Morishita, feeling guilty, dared not meet Aoyama’s eyes.

In that instant, Aoyama understood: Morishita must have told Kurosawa about the lost photo.

His mind raced, and without hesitation, Aoyama bowed deeply, performing the formal samurai salute. “Mr. Kurosawa!”

Damn it. Might as well pay respects to the dead in advance.

Kurosawa did not respond, as if he hadn’t heard.

“Detective Aoyama, why didn’t you hand over the photo after obtaining it?” Haruichi pushed up his glasses, stepped forward, towering over Aoyama with an arrogant expression as he questioned.

Though inwardly burning with hatred for this arrogant man, Aoyama maintained a respectful tone. “Please forgive me, Mr. Kurosawa. I am but a humble detective, unworthy of gazing upon your majesty.”

“I did not know the photo was of you; I only kept it because I thought it might be useful. Otherwise, whether to protect the cornerstone of our great Japan, maintain political stability, or safeguard my own future and honor, I would have long since handed it over willingly.”

This was Aoyama’s most humble moment since his rebirth in Japan. Though feeling humiliated, it only fueled his craving for power and desire for revenge.

The lower he bowed now, the fiercer his vengeance would be when the time came—otherwise, the hatred in his heart would never be resolved.

To live at the mercy of others’ whims, to resist only to meet death in a different form, was unbearable.

He had to climb higher, step by step.

In Aoyama’s eyes, his posture was already low enough, but Haruichi thought otherwise.

“Baka! The root of all this trouble is that you don’t recognize the gentleman. To not recognize the gentleman is your greatest mistake!” Haruichi shouted angrily.

He was furious too. If not for worrying about Yamada being implicated, he wouldn’t have bothered investigating. It was only from Morishita’s mouth that he learned the truth—the photo had been stolen and was missing again.

If the photo fell into Kurosawa’s political enemies’ hands and was used against him, Kurosawa’s downfall would mean no good outcome for Haruichi either.

Thus, Yamada, Morishita, and Aoyama were, in his eyes, all deserving of death.

Aoyama’s anger flared; wasn’t the real root of the problem that the old bastard Kurosawa, despite his age, couldn’t control those two fools?

I don’t know him, so that’s a capital offense?

“Hey! Aoyama knows his mistake and deeply regrets it. I beg Mr. Kurosawa for a chance to make amends. After I correct my error, I am willing to accept any punishment!” Aoyama said sincerely.

“Make amends? With what?” Haruichi’s voice sharpened, turning from anger to bitter laughter. “Do you know where the photo is? Can you even retrieve it? A bunch of useless bunglers!”

As he spoke, he reached out his hand.

A bodyguard handed him a baseball bat.

“I can! I will find it tonight! If I can’t, I’ll accept any punishment!” Aoyama’s words made it clear that Yamada had not revealed the photo was with Masahisa Mizuho. He lifted his head and shouted.

At that moment, his muscles tensed. If Kurosawa wanted to kill him now, he would fight with all his strength, shedding blood every step of the way.

From law enforcer to outlaw, to storm the Diet with bloodshed—even if eventually felled by a sniper, it was better than dying here in humiliation.

Finally, Kurosawa spoke: “Step back.”

“Hey!” Haruichi, who was ready to unleash his fury with the bat, immediately stepped aside.

Aoyama exhaled sharply and spoke quickly: “I already have a lead. Before midnight tonight, I will retrieve the photo. I earnestly ask Mr. Kurosawa for a chance to redeem myself!”

“Before you came, I reviewed some information about you,” Kurosawa said leisurely.

Aoyama immediately replied, “It is my honor, sir. I hope I have not offended your eyes.”

“Old men cherish talent. I like to foster capable juniors. Since you say you can retrieve the photo tonight, I will give you a chance,” Kurosawa said with narrowed eyes.

He paused, his gaze growing cold. “If you fail, then you, your big brother, and your sister-in-law—all three of you—will go feed the fishes. Understood?”

“Yes! Thank you for your mercy, sir. I will not disappoint you!” Aoyama said firmly. Old bastard, you’re finished ahead of time.

“Leave now,” Kurosawa ordered.

“Mr. Kurosawa, I need Prosecutor Yamada’s help.” Aoyama didn’t move.

Yamada hadn’t revealed the photo’s location with Masahisa Mizuho before Aoyama arrived, so of course Aoyama couldn’t abandon him.

They were ants on the same rope; they had to row the boat together.

Besides, this was the one time he would truly have a trustworthy friend in the Prosecutor’s Office.

The Tokyo District Prosecutor’s Office wielded considerable power.

Kurosawa didn’t care—both men were insignificant to him; whether one or two were spared made no difference. He could crush them whenever he wished.

“In that case, Yamada may leave as well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kurosawa! Thank you for your mercy! I will certainly assist Detective Aoyama in retrieving the photo!” Yamada’s tense body relaxed suddenly, and he thanked Kurosawa repeatedly with joy.

Morishita panicked and shouted at Aoyama, “Aoyama-kun, I can help too! I can! Take me with you!”

“I’m sorry, Inspector Morishita, but I dare not lie in front of Mr. Kurosawa. You cannot help me,” Aoyama said coldly, then bowed to Kurosawa and turned to leave.

That bastard sold them all out. No backbone, no brains—Aoyama didn’t care if he lived or died.

Yamada quickly followed him.

“No! You can’t leave me behind!” Morishita scrambled up in panic, trying to catch up, but two bodyguards blocked him. He then fell to the ground and kowtowed to Kurosawa. “Mr. Kurosawa, I’m still useful! I am! Please give me a chance, a chance to serve!”

“You knew where the photo was but didn’t tell me immediately. That is a capital offense,” Kurosawa said calmly, tapping the armrest with his finger.

Morishita instantly turned cold all over. Before he could react, the baseball bat whistled through the air and struck his head, knocking him to the ground. Then came a relentless barrage of blows.

His screams weakened, then ceased as he was beaten to death.

Blood splattered everywhere.

A Metropolitan Police inspector was killed so casually by Kurosawa, as if he were slaying a dog.

Aoyama and Yamada exchanged a glance as the screams behind them faded. Without a word, they quickened their pace and left the deathly aura surrounding the villa.

They had been picked up by a car on arrival.

But now, no one came to see them off.

“That Morishita…” Yamada wanted to say something but didn’t know how to put it.

In just a day and a night, the three most trusted men around him had all perished.

But at least now, he had a more reliable and capable partner in the Metropolitan Police Department.

Watching the bustling street, Aoyama exhaled, “Thank goodness Prosecutor Yamada didn’t reveal the photo’s location with Masahisa Mizuho; otherwise, I would have been passive.”

Yes, he would have been forced to unleash carnage.

“I’m not that fool Morishita. If the photo’s location were revealed, then our roles would be obsolete,” Yamada said, rubbing his bruises in pain.

When had he ever been beaten so badly?

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” Aoyama asked.

“No. Let’s proceed with the plan and get the photo back as soon as possible,” Yamada shook his head.

Without the photo recovered, they would be constantly on edge.

Aoyama nodded. “Alright.”

He wanted to wash away the humiliation of just now as soon as possible.

…………………………

“Sir, why let Aoyama and the others retrieve the photo? I can pry them open and get the clues,” Haruichi said behind Kurosawa, massaging his shoulders.

He didn’t think much of Aoyama and Yamada’s abilities and feared they would mess things up again.

With his eyes closed, Kurosawa smiled faintly and explained, “Because I’m interested in the automatic loan machine that Aoyama and Noritomo Hikokawa developed. As I said, I like to foster juniors. From the information I’ve seen, Aoyama is quite an interesting character.”

Although the automatic loan machine matter was strictly confidential, that was only because no big players had actively investigated it. To Kurosawa, a small figure like Aoyama had no secrets.

In front of him, it was as if Aoyama were stripped bare.

In just one night, he had uncovered Aoyama’s background: a fallen nobleman who was framed and demoted, yet in only a few months returned to the Metropolitan Police Department, forged connections with the Asai and Hikokawa families, and created a hugely profitable automatic loan machine.

It was as if he were a completely different person.

Capable, daring, intelligent.

If he could be tamed, he would be a good dog.

“Hey!” Haruichi replied, though inside he felt a pressing urgency to compete with Aoyama for Kurosawa’s favor.

He had never seen Kurosawa so lenient to a person who had made a mistake, allowing him to live.

Kurosawa wanted to make Aoyama a dog; Haruichi wanted to battle Aoyama for the position of favored pet.

But neither of them ever dreamed that Aoyama didn’t want to be a dog—he wanted to be a wolf, to tear them apart!