There Was No Secret Evil-Fighting Organization (srsly?!), So I Made One MYSELF!
There are stars in the Tokyo night sky as well. During the night, neon signs glare at passersby and the headlights of passing cars zoom past in the blink of an eye.
The city that never sleeps, Tokyo. And yet, even in this city, darkness had its place.
For example, on rooftops. The rooftops of houses in Tokyo were surprisingly dark. It wasn’t to the degree where you couldn’t see your hands, but it was definitely much darker than street level.
Atop one such dark rooftop where inter-building wind2 blew with chilly gusto, Oyabun backed up for a run-up, then leaped off of the edge. His huge, muscular form soared through the air gracefully, then landed heavily on the next rooftop roughly 10m away. I followed suit, then used telekinesis to help Miyama, the figurative pig who can’t fly, to hover over after us.
Tonight, too, Tsukuyomi was dashing through Tokyo at night, looking to beat Tanioka-gumi black and blue.
“That’s our target for tonight.”
Oyabun checked his smartphone to confirm his current position. With one leg on the edge of the rooftop, he glared at the building on the other side of the street that ran below us. In the past month, Tsukuyomi had already assaulted 7 Tanioka-gumi offices, gotten 60 of their members hospitalized, sent 10 of them to jail, and stolen ¥60M in cash. Burglary was proving to be quite profitable indeed.
On top of Oyabun’s head was his usual paper bag. On his shoulder was his usual tombstone.
…Yep, a tombstone. Oyabun’s main weapon was a tombstone. It didn’t matter how many times I saw it, it was a bizarre sight every time. So think about how preposterous it must look for the yakuza seeing it for the first time.
Using a tombstone as a weapon was indeed quite showy and eccentric, but there was a proper reason for it.
When humans see something bizarre, their attention and memory tend to focus towards that bizarre thing. For example, if you were to be attacked by a guy with chikuwa3 dangling all over him, you probably wouldn’t be able to remember what his face looked like. You would only remember the chikuwa. Oyabun with the tombstone was aiming for the same effect. The less information about us that Tanioka-gumi could gather, the better. In actuality, although Oyabun had hit 7 locations by now, “the guy with a tombstone” was literally the only description of him going around. The nickname that he had gotten was “Tombstone Man.” No surprises there.
Together with Chris (“Ninja”), me (“Telekinetic Bastard”), and Miyama (“Guitar Fatty”), the four of us were rapidly making a name for ourselves within the yakuza world. All of us had our faces covered — Chris wore a mask made out of a black t-shirt, I had the lion dance mask that I’d bought as a souvenir from Bali, and Miyama had his traffic cone — so it was only our nicknames that got famous, and there was no hint of our real identities having been exposed.
According to the information broker Sound on Lee, tonight, an officer of the militant arm of Tanioka-gumi would be having a birthday celebration in the building currently before us. To put it in layman terms, this was going to be an occasion where a ton of underlings were going to be forced to part with sick amounts of money and goods under the pretense of it being “congratulatory gifts.” Money was going to be gathered. People were also going to be gathered. Was not crashing this party even a choice?
While readjusting the position of the tombstone on his shoulder, Oyabun turned his head around.
“You guys ready?”
“I’ve already decided what song to play. I’m all good.”
“Don’t bullshit us, your song choices are always nonsensical!”
“At least it’s better than your naming sense. The heck is up with Yaku Yoruhisa (夜久夜久)4, huh? You alright in the head?”
“Isn’t it a great name? You can add ‘-san’ to my last or first name and still get 8935.”
“All right, you two are ready. Let’s go!”
With Oyabun’s command cutting off our silly banter, all of us leaped and burst through the fifth floor windows of our target building, clinching a perfect stylish landing.
As glass fragments fell like rain around us, the dozens of yakuza who had been enjoying the standing buffet in this enormous two floor high hall all turned to us and pulled out handguns.
Oho. We are supposed to have caught them by surprise with our super flashy entrance, but their reaction is awfully fast, all things considered. This may be one of the offices of the militant arm of a yakuza group, but there is no way that they can move that quickly without actually having expected us.
“We knew you’d come, Tombstone Man.”
The wall of gun-toting yakuza parted to allow a slimly built man with a remarkable aura walk through. He looks kind of familiar…
…Ahh, isn’t he the grappler yakuza who fought with Oyabun two months ago? Judging by the gold yakuza crest pinned to the lapel of his expensive-looking black suit, he was apparently an officer. An officer of the militant arm of a yakuza gang. Little wonder he was so good at fighting.
While smirking, the officer took off his jacket and drew a knife.
“You guys really did a number on us the past month, eh? Now you guys are gonna have to pay the tab for roughing up our turf and stealing all our money. We were sure that you would show up today. You didn’t see our ambush coming, did you?”
“To think that you meathead yakuza had the brains to arrange an ambush…!”
Oyabun’s surprised-sounding tone caused the veins on the yakuza’s forehead to pop out.
“Looks like you’re good at trash-talking, at least. But if you’re aiming to provoke me into a blind rage, it’s not gonna work. I can easily predict the actions of bastards like you who’ve gotten too full of themselves.”
“That so? Then, did you predict this?”
“Predict wha-OUCH THAT’S HOOOOOOTTTT!!!”
The grappler yakuza let out a high-pitched scream after one of the underlings behind him picked up a bowl of piping hot seafood soup and unceremoniously dumped it over his head.
As the officer rolled around on the floor in pain, his subordinates hurriedly grabbed ice cubes from the buckets holding wine bottles and tried to apply them to the burn. Within the reception hall that had suddenly exploded into a flurry of movement due to the sudden act of cruelty, the culprit’s loud laughter echoed all around.
“At times, an underling yakuza!”
Off came the suit, revealing a pitch black ninja outfit underneath.
“At times, a master of disguise!”
Out from a waist scabbard came a kodachi with a broken blade, thrust high into the air.
“But my real identity is… one of those who conceal themselves6 as revived from ages past, namely, a NINJA! Thank you for all these, gentlemen! Fare thee well! HAHAHAHAHA!!”
Chris, who had infiltrated the venue earlier thanks to a Baba-made skin mask and disguise, flaunted several bankbooks and account books and chortled with laughter while running past us three. When she reached the broken windows, she swiftly attached a hooked rope to one of the window frames and then lightly threw herself out.
Although the yakuza had successfully predicted our attack, apparently they hadn’t managed to predict the sudden appearance of a ninja. By the time the dumbstruck men came back to their senses and rushed towards the windows in a fluster, Chris had already shinnied down the rope and disappeared into the dark streets of the night. As expected of a ninja, that was some quick action.
“S-Shoot her! Wait, no, don’t shoot, give chase! CHASE HER! CHASE DOWN THAT FUCKING NINJA!!!!”
In response to the officer yakuza’s enraged cry, Miyama brought his fingers to his strings while voicing a laid-back declaration. Almost at the same time, Oyabun’s tombstone claimed its first two victims of the night from among what was now a disorderly mob.
Alright, here we go. I erected a barrier around Miyama that would block bullets but allow sound to pass through.
Amidst bellows of anger and gunshot sounds, a certain BGM started playing. The song that he chose for tonight is…
“OOOOOIIII! FATTY! THIS IS NOT AN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL’S SPORTS DAY!”
“The number that Tsukuyomi brings to you tonight is none other than Jacques Offenbach’s ‘Orpheus in the Underworld’ Overture7! Enjoy your trip to the underworld, gents! Bwahahaha!”
Miyama seemed to be having the time of his life as he moved his pudgy fingers with incredible speed. As before, Miyama could only emit his superpowered sound through his mouth, but of late, he had become capable of making a large variety of sounds “with the same intuitive knack as whistling.” His guitar playing was accompanied by trombones, French horns, and various other instruments that, honestly speaking, made for a pretty great orchestral performance.
I was in full agreement of the fact that this was a great, cheerful song, but this was definitely a song meant to be listened to while watching little chibis running about under a clear, blue sky. By no means was it an appropriate song to serve as the BGM for a bloody slugfest between yakuza!
“Telekinetic Bastard! Get their guns first!”
“Gotcha, Tombstone Man!”
Oyabun roared while swinging around both his tombstone and the yakuza who were clinging on in an attempt to hold it down. As ordered, I used telekinesis to pull guns out of the yakuza’s hands one piece at a time before stuffing all of the muzzle holes with spoons. Even during this time, bullets continued flying all over, but well, none of them landed as intended. What they did hit, however, were other yakuza members, what with all the stray bullets and misfires happening. I had already given Oyabun plenty of training in predicting the trajectory of bullets by looking at muzzles even in the heat of battle. In the first place, people without proper shooting training can only accurately hit targets 5 meters away max. Absolute amateurs need to fire at point blank range, even. Taking that into consideration, plus the fact that their target was rushing about with inhuman speed, it was entirely impossible for any of the yakuza to aim at him properly.
All that being said, however, a barrage of bullets was still a barrage of bullets. With dozens of people randomly firing all over the place in a fit of blind rage, some lucky shots were bound to get in.
“nDAYO! The fuck is up with this Sports Day asshole?! Kill that fatty who’s fucking around!!”
“Unfortunately, I’m protecting that fatty.”
A yakuza who had gotten pissed off about Miyama’s selection of Orpheus in the Underworld Overture rushed at him, but I sent him flying with a telekinetic-style yakuza kick. I was in agreement about the fact that it felt as if Miyama really was ‘fucking around’ in this scene of brutality filled with spraying blood and muzzle smoke everywhere. However, one of Tsukuyomi’s Four Precepts was “Laugh!” Sorry, Tanioka-gumi members, but you guys are gonna have to join us in laughing.
Come on, laugh.
I said, laugh.
LAUGH LIKE THE WAY YOU DO WHEN YOU TORTURE STRANGERS!
“Tanioka-gumi isn’t doing too well. Tsukuyomi, taking the lead.”
“YOU FUCKING FATTY! STOP THE SPORTS DAY-LIKE COMMENTARY!”
“We kindly ask you to not interrupt both the performance and the commentary.”
Another yakuza came rushing at Miyama while brandishing a knife, so I took him down with another telekinetic-stye yakuza kick. There was no way that the yakuza could have known that it was Miyama’s BGM that was allowing Oyabun to continue using his mukimukin. That said, we were still getting a few yakuza in the “that fatty pisses me off” camp heading our way every now and then. Or perhaps some of them were actually just frightened of Oyabun’s seemingly unstoppable rampage and thus decided to start by taking down the weak-looking ones first.
When I finally finished destroying the last gun in the hall and looked over to see how Oyabun was doing, I caught him smashing a home run with his tombstone on the officer yakuza. Hyuuu~! Revenge, complete!
“A-Anikiii! He’s not d-dead, is he?!”
“Don’t worry. This tombstone is made of all-natural elements.”
“What’s that supposed to — gebeh!”
One of the underlings’ eyes almost popped out of his head at seeing someone fly through the air like a scene straight out of a manga, but Oyabun brought his tombstone down on the guy’s head regardless. I knew that he was going easy and taking care not to kill anyone, but the scene that he had made was that of a tombstone standing above an unconscious, bleeding victim. Going by appearances, the guy very much looked dead. I really like Oyabun’s dark tombstone humor, ha ha.
Oyabun’s rampage was unstoppable. His tombstone was scarred with bullet holes, his ripped t-shirt revealed a well-worn bulletproof vest, and he was not entirely unscathed, but the pace at which he was mowing down yakuza now was entirely unchanged from the start of the fight. Mukimukin bolstered not only his strength, but also his stamina. As long as his superpower was activated, Oyabun was an inexorable muscle monster.
Noticing several yakuza who were hiding behind a table, Oyabun barreled over, ripped the table apart with his bare hands, and threw the pieces away. The poor guys were laughing, crying, and pissing themselves all at once as Oyabun got to them. Oook, yea, that’s actually kinda scary. Even I’m a bit put off.
There was Oyabun, trampling over the yakuza who had lived by violence with even greater violence.
There was Miyama, happily playing his guitar.
There was me, protecting Miyama.
What is with this disparity in workload? Even though this is the result of each of us carrying out our own roles, it always ends up looking like Oyabun’s doing all of the work.
We support you in our hearts, Tombstone Man! Only four lef — whoops.
“Tombstone Man, one of them is trying to get away by motorcycle!”
When I used telekinesis to check the vicinity of the building for police, I found a sweaty yakuza who had gotten on a motorcycle and was really flooring the pedal. So I immediately gave Oyabun a heads up.
Oyabun nodded once, finished off the last yakuza by throwing his tombstone at him, then jumped out of the window. Unlike Chris, he did not bother with a rope.
After having thrown himself out of a fifth floor window and landed with no assistance whatsoever, Oyabun immediately took off in pursuit of the motorcycle. The crowd of onlookers who’d gathered were all astir.
Were they surprised at how someone had started running off looking none the worse for wear after dropping from a height that would kill a normal person?
Or were they surprised at how said person gradually closed the distance to the bike, eventually catching up and throwing off the yakuza riding it?
Well, probably both, really.
“Hey, fatty, everything’s over.”
“What? Oh, okay, okay. Well then, thank you for listening to our performance today, everyone!”
Miyama bowed courteously to the piles of not-really-corpses composed of yakuza groaning in pain and yakuza who couldn’t even manage to groan in pain.
The two of us snapped a few pictures of the completely unconscious officer cradling several pornos and holding up a double peace8, uploaded all of the pics onto social media, threw a pose for the police who had just climbed up the staircase, then escaped through the window.
This concludes tonight’s performance of Blood-Drenched Gang War. Please look forward to our next work, coming to you soon!
◇ ◇ ◇
When we got back to the Tsukimori residence, Oyabun immediately went into the surgery room that had been set up within the grounds to receive emergency treatment from Doctor Degenerate. According to Baba, “DD went in looking slightly excited.” “Slightly excited” meant that Oyabun’s life was not in danger. DD was a complete degenerate of a doctor who apparently loved the feeling of holding someone’s life in his hands more than anything else in the world. The closer to death a patient was, the more excited and turned on he would get. The way he put it was, “my sole reason for existing is to enjoy the thrill of bringing back patients that everyone had written off for dead.” Incidentally, when presented with someone who only has a light injury, DD would put on a very bored look, sigh very loudly, and maybe even pretend to not see the wound.
I stole a look inside the surgery room with telekinesis and found out that Oyabun had received a few bullets in his arms and legs. Thanks to the iron helmet that he was wearing under his paper bag, his head was fine, and his bulletproof vest had protected his torso. As for the bullets, apparently none of them made it very far under Oyabun’s skin.
Maybe Oyabun’s self-strengthening ability also increases the toughness of his body. Thinking about it, just having a lot of muscles wouldn’t prevent someone from getting hurt jumping out of a fifth floor window. That feat makes for pretty convincing evidence for this theory.
Chris, who was worriedly pacing in front of the surgery room with her disguise mask clutched in her hand, had also done great tonight. She had read the memory of the safe in the office, taken out Tanioka-gumi’s top secret documents, and then spread them all over the table. Once the police who had arrived to investigate the shoot-out found those documents, there would be no way for these yakuza to talk themselves out of it. As such, the main camp of Tanioka-gumi was now forced to choose between losing power overstretching themselves to save their militant arm or losing power by casting off said militant arm.
Tanioka-gumi was steadily crumbling away.
However, their retaliation was probably coming soon, and it would likely be fierce and furious. There was no telling what yakuza who had been cornered would do out of desperation. Although we had won every battle so far, we could not let our guard down. I was one thing, but Oyabun, Miyama, and Chris were not invincible.
While mulling over future plans for both attack and defense, I went looking for Baba to discuss with her about getting our hands on a mysterious item called a “Healing-type PSI Drive” that, according to what I heard through the grapevine, was supposedly capable of healing not only Oyabun’s injuries, but any and all other kinds of injuries.
If you’re enjoying the series, please consider buying Volumes 1 and 2 in Japanese and English to support Kurodome-sensei and me!
All details in the Table of Contents page.
2 Several towers standing near each other causes an effect known as “channelling”, a wind acceleration created by air having to be squeezed through a narrow space. This is a form of the Venturi effect, named after the 18th-19th Century Italian scientist Giovanni Battista Venturi. Source: BBC
4 The new name that Sago chose for himself was 夜久夜久, which is basically the same two words kanji repeated, but taking the onyomi reading for his last name and kunyomi reading for his first name. Basically, many kanji can be read in (at least) two different ways, so that’s what Sago took advantage of. Here’s a more in-depth guide on onyomi and kunyomi.
5 Ok yea, Sago’s playing a lot with his new name. The onyomi reading of his name is “夜 = ya” and “久 = ku”. If the honorific “-san” is added to it, then it becomes “ya ku san,” which coincidentally is also one of the ways that the numbers “8 = ya” “9 = ku” “3 = san” can be read. And what does “yakusan” read like? Yep, “yakuza.”
6 The kanji for “ninja” is “忍者”, but thing is, “ninja” is the onyomi, whereas “shinobi” is the kunyomi. So basically, two readings for the same word. In regards to the kunyomi reading, however, “忍者” is actually a contracted form of writing, with the full word being “忍の者 (shinobi no mono)”, which means “one who conceals/steals away. So here, Kurodome-sensei (through Chris) is playing with the words, with the line being like “But my real identity is… a shinobi no mono as revived from ages past, namely, a ninja!”
7 A song very commonly played over the PA system during Sports Days for elementary schools.
8 Double peace and ero books. Do I have to say more?