Chapter 76: Once Again, the City Amidst Mountains and Rivers—The Stirring of the Eldest Sister-in-law’s Heart

Kabukicho was especially lively at night. Neon signs blazed in dazzling colors, casting a glimmering brilliance over the crowded rows of bars, nightclubs, karaoke joints, seafood stalls, and yakitori shops. Tattooed yakuza came here to vent their desires and conduct business, while exhausted office workers, wrung dry by their bosses all day, returned to be squeezed even further in other ways.

Yet Hidenobu Aoyama had no fondness for the women who frequented such places. For all his own lack of virtue, his tastes leaned toward women of the upper class.

Occasionally, he would reflect on this and recognize the flaw in his attitude. After all, women of high society lacked neither money nor the need for someone like him; it was instead those women standing in the alleys with bare legs and chests exposed to the night air, clothed in little more than shadows, who truly needed help. But he never reached out a hand to them—how cold and unfeeling was that?

He hoped this society could see more good-hearted souls brimming with compassion, and fewer cold, snobbish people like himself. As the song went: “If everyone gives a little love, tomorrow will be a better world.”

Shaking off his musings, Aoyama stepped into the family nightclub.

This club was now under the control of the Yamakawa family. Yamakawa Kazumichi, not wishing to be seen with Aoyama and risk any negative consequences for him, did not come out to greet him, but waited quietly in a private room.

When the door to the private room swung open, Kazumichi immediately got to his feet and bowed deeply. “Mr. Aoyama.”

With his round belly, bowing at ninety degrees was a bit of a challenge.

“Kazumichi, you look even more prosperous than the last time I saw you!” Aoyama teased as he walked over to the sofa and sat down, picking up a Peace cigarette from the table and placing it between his lips.

It was a premium brand in Japan, rumored to be the favorite of that old fox Tenko.

Despite his bulk, Kazumichi deftly snatched up a lighter and bent over to light Aoyama’s cigarette before retreating to the side. Patting his stomach with a harmless smile, he replied, “Thanks to you, sir. A country bumpkin in the big city—dazzled by the lights—can’t help but indulge in good food and drink. I’ve put on some weight, as you can see.”

“You should watch yourself,” Aoyama said, shaking his head, suspecting the man was already suffering from the triple threat of hypertension, hyperlipidemia, and hyperglycemia. Besides, being a gangster was easier if you stayed lean—if you ever had to run from enemies, you’d at least stand a chance.

“Of course! Thank you for your concern,” Kazumichi replied with a sheepish grin, then picked up a document envelope and presented it with both hands, head bowed. “This is the transfer agreement for the Yamamoto family’s flower shop. It will take effect once you stamp it.”

If Aoyama hadn’t summoned him tonight, Kazumichi would have had to seek him out anyway to deliver this document.

The personal seal, or inkan, was essential in Japan. Everyone had one, used to verify identity and sign agreements, carrying legal force.

“Just leave it there. I’ll take it with me later,” Aoyama said casually. He didn’t ask how Kazumichi had acquired the flower shop—he simply didn’t care.

“Yes, sir,” Kazumichi said, placing the envelope down.

Aoyama flicked his cigarette ash and looked at the respectful, rotund man before him. “I came today because I need your help with something.”

“Please, just say the word,” Kazumichi replied.

Even though they were alone, Aoyama instinctively beckoned him closer and whispered his instructions, “You need to do this… and then this…”

Jincheng Heiji, after all, was a police inspector with a powerful patron in Superintendent Hattori, and had no shortage of friends. Dealing with him required subtlety—the same finesse one used in courting a woman—play it sly.

When he finished, Aoyama leaned back into the sofa. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir! Rest assured, I will handle it flawlessly!” Kazumichi promised.

“I have faith in your abilities, Kazumichi,” Aoyama nodded, flicking more ash from his cigarette. “But the House of Councillors election is in July. Keep a low profile for now—don’t start anything, or you’ll draw unwanted attention.”

The House of Councillors election came every six years, and this one was set for July 26th. Until the results were in, the political maneuvering and backroom deals would be at their fiercest.

Stirring up trouble now could easily give some politician ammunition, and for the Yamakawa family—still newcomers to Tokyo—getting swept into political strife could only end in their being used and discarded.

Unlike the Yamaguchi-gumi, Inagawa-kai, and Sumiyoshi-kai—those giants who already possessed political clout and had no choice but to play the game—Yamakawa’s position was far too precarious.

“Yes, sir,” Kazumichi replied, head down.

Bang!

At that moment, the door was shoved violently open and Yamakawa Yosuke stormed in, shouting, “You idiot! Kazumichi, you bastard, getting into Tokyo was the achievement of the whole Yamakawa family, not just you! What gives you the right to staff every business with your people?”

Aoyama’s brows furrowed slightly.

Kazumichi ignored Yosuke and instead turned to glare coldly at the two men standing outside the door.

Knowing they’d failed in their duty, the two men hurriedly knelt and pressed their foreheads to the floor in apology.

“Brother, we can discuss this another time—” Kazumichi said with a slight bow.

“So you remember I’m your brother?” Yosuke interrupted sharply, his anger unabated. “Then you should also remember I’m the rightful heir! I want an explanation from you, now!”

“Kazumichi, I trust your abilities, but it seems you’re not so skilled at managing family affairs,” Aoyama remarked with a smile, stubbing out his cigarette and picking up the document envelope as he made his way out.

“My apologies for this display,” Kazumichi’s face changed color as he accompanied Aoyama to the door, bowing deeply. “Take care, Mr. Aoyama!”

Hearing the words “Mr. Aoyama,” Yosuke realized who had just been sitting there, and his own expression grew awkward.

Kazumichi held his bow for nearly half a minute before straightening and returning to the room. He fixed Yosuke with a look. “You’re wrong, brother. Getting into Tokyo wasn’t my achievement, nor the family’s—it was thanks to Mr. Aoyama. Your behavior tonight was disrespectful.”

“Oh? Are you lecturing me now?” Yosuke, though aware of his own rudeness, refused to concede and said coldly, “In that case, let father decide who’s right and who’s wrong!”

With that, he turned and left.

Kazumichi stood still for a moment. Suddenly, he erupted in rage, sweeping all the drinks from the table onto the floor. Glass shattered with a crash, and he leaned on the table, breathing heavily, his pale and chubby features twisted in a grimace.

“Get in here!”

The two men kneeling at the door scrambled inside.

“If you can’t even guard a door, what use are you to me?” Kazumichi glared at them, his beady eyes filled with violence.

“Yes, sir!” The two dared not protest. They each knocked their heads to the floor, then drew their daggers, placed one hand on the ground, and set the blade between their little and ring fingers, gritting their teeth as they sliced down.

Crack!

Two bloody severed fingers landed on the floor.

White-faced and sweating, neither man screamed—they merely grunted, then prostrated themselves once more in apology.

“If this happens again, you two useless wretches will be expelled!” Kazumichi said coldly, and swept out.

There were many forms of punishment within the syndicates. Finger-cutting was the most common—the number of fingers lost depended on the severity of the offense. Expulsion, or “breaking the gate,” meant a formal notice of banishment, but if the boss later changed his mind, one could sometimes return.

The harshest punishment was ostracism—a formal notice of excommunication, which not only expelled the offender but left them open to revenge by former comrades. When a headquarters issued such notice to a subordinate group, it was tantamount to a declaration of war. In 1984, for example, when the Yamaguchi-gumi issued an ostracism notice to the Ichikawa-kai, it set off the Yama-Ichi War.

……………………………

Aoyama returned home at ten o’clock that night.

“You’re back, Hidenobu. You must be tired again today,” Seiko Aoyama greeted him with a bright smile, crouching down to help him change his shoes. Ever since the incident with Naokazu Yamamoto a few days ago, she had grown even more reliant on him emotionally and more attentive to his daily needs.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do; Aoyama had become accustomed to being waited on like this, and thankfully he had no athlete’s foot. Looking down, he said, “You must be bored at home lately, sister-in-law.”

No longer needing to work part-time, Seiko had taken to wearing kimono more often. Tonight, she wore a pale blue one embroidered with white flowers. Though the collar was prim and proper, covering any hint of cleavage, the rounded fullness of her chest was still visually arresting from above.

“I’m fine. Mostly, I just think about how to fatten you up, Hidenobu,” Seiko said, tilting her head up at him, her smile radiant.

Her smile was infectious, and Aoyama couldn’t help but smile back. Waving the document envelope, he said, “I have a gift for you, sister-in-law.”

“I’ll wash my hands first,” Seiko replied, curiosity in her eyes, but didn’t take the envelope. She got up and went to the bathroom.

Aoyama took a seat on the sofa.

A moment later, Seiko returned, taking small steps to sit beside him. Her face was filled with eager curiosity. “What is it, Hidenobu?”

He gestured for her to open the envelope herself.

“Mysterious as ever,” Seiko teased, rolling her eyes at him playfully. She opened the envelope, and upon realizing what was inside, quickly put it down. “This… this is too much, I can’t accept it, Hidenobu.”

“Take it. It’s compensation from the Yamamoto family. Besides, didn’t you enjoy working there? I know you’ll make the flower shop thrive,” Aoyama said earnestly.

“No, I still can’t accept it,” Seiko shook her head. After a moment’s silence, seeing that Aoyama’s attitude hadn’t wavered, she pursed her lips and said, “How about this, Hidenobu—I’ll help you watch the shop. I’ll work for you.”

“Thank you for your hard work, then.” Aoyama didn’t mind; it was just a formality.

Seiko smiled. “Then as my boss, Hidenobu, don’t exploit this employee of yours.”

Looking at her gentle, refined features and feeling the weight of his conscience, Aoyama almost wished she would exploit him instead.

To be used by her—surely, the experience would be exquisite.

Noticing his gaze, Seiko grew inexplicably flustered. Her cheeks flushed, she lowered her head, biting her lip, her dainty feet fidgeting restlessly beneath her dress.

“Sister-in-law.”

“Mm?”

“You’re beautiful,” Aoyama said sincerely.

“Don’t say that, it’s not true,” Seiko replied shyly, unable to meet his eyes. She stood abruptly, heading upstairs. “I’ll get some rest, Hidenobu. You should sleep early too.”

She fled all the way back to her bedroom and shut the door with a bang, leaning back against it, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling. Only when she glanced at the wedding photo on her bedside table—she and her husband, Aoyama Soemasa—did her mood finally calm.

Tonight, she would surely toss and turn, unable to sleep.

And she wasn’t the only one; thanks to Hidenobu Aoyama, there was another whose sleep would be lost tonight—Jincheng Heiji.