"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.
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