The Senryu-kai decided to hit Aoi Ichimonji, an organization that had made its nest in the same city of Osaka.
Aoi Ichimonji was close.
And weak.
The deliberation was brief.
That was how urgent things were.
If they swallowed Aoi Ichimonji, their income would double.
Two hundred million a day.
Then their chances of winning money at GoGo Casino would rise.
Even if they lost, they could turn it back around.
Senryu’s mind had become that simple.
He could see nothing but what lay ahead.
The outskirts of Osaka.
A black van blocked the road in front of Aoi Ichimonji’s office.
The door opened, and Senryu got out.
He looked around once.
A cloudy sky.
No people, no cars in sight.
Perfect weather for work.
“Hey. Wreck them.”
Senryu spoke in a low voice.
“Yes, sir.”
At Senryu’s order, men carrying knives rushed into the building.
They kicked in the door, smashed the windows, and stormed straight inside.
They were all men with years on them,
but in this moment, they were extremely quick.
Dull thuds rang out from all over.
The sound of shattering, the sound of breaking.
Shouts could be heard.
In truth, this kind of brutish head-on charge wasn’t used much these days.
The damage was too great compared to its effectiveness.
Even if they subdued the other side without taking much damage, it would still be a problem.
Japan’s laws, including ordinances excluding organized crime groups, were extremely strict,
and if they started a large-scale brawl like this, the organization itself could become a target.
The organization could be dissolved, or he himself could be frozen out.
It was a high-risk operation.
But Senryu could no longer see anything else.
Eat or be eaten.
That was all.
The inside of the building turned into a scene of chaos in an instant.
Aoi Ichimonji could not put up a proper resistance.
Aoi Ichimonji had never been an organization centered on fighting to begin with.
Real estate, redevelopment, subcontractor management.
They had money, but they were not an organization that endured with their bodies.
Before the Senryu-kai, they collapsed helplessly.
Blades swung,
desks overturned,
and people fell.
Senryu stood a step back, watching the scene.
Just as expected.
‘It’s over.’
It was at that moment.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
An unfamiliar sound rang out.
It was not the sound of knives and fists colliding.
Senryu’s face hardened.
“What the…”
Instinctively, he lowered his body.
When he looked toward where smoke was rising,
the chairman of Aoi Ichimonji, already half out of his mind, was standing there unsteadily.
There was a gun in his hand.
Senryu’s eyes widened.
No way.
There was no mistake.
A Type 89 rifle.
He knew it well.
Because Senryu had received that gun too.
From Alex.
The bag Alex had handed him had contained that rifle.
Along with bullets.
Since firearms were banned in Japan, he had thought there would be no occasion to use it, but he had taken it just in case.
But Aoi Ichimonji had one of these too?
This was bad.
He had not expected that.
He had thought there would be no need to use guns, but that did not mean he could just stand there and be shot.
He had come this far.
One more step and he could swallow Aoi Ichimonji; he could not retreat here.
As if steeling himself, Senryu gave the order.
“Hey. Bring ours.”
The action captain hesitated for a moment.
“Are you really going to use it?”
Senryu silently nodded.
The action captain brought the bag, and Senryu gripped the rifle in his hands.
The chill of metal touched his palms.
After drawing in one breath, Senryu pulled the trigger.
Gunshots rang out in Osaka.
*******
“What the hell happened?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Detective Takahashi of the Violent Crimes Division at Osaka Police Headquarters muttered under his breath as he looked over the scene.
A rainy dawn.
The alley in front of Aoi Ichimonji’s office was already completely blocked off.
Yellow police tape.
Blue flashing lights.
Patrol cars, riot police vehicles, even ambulances were tangled together.
“A shootout in the middle of Osaka. They’ve lost their minds.”
Takahashi took out a cigarette, then put it back.
This was not just the scene of a simple fight.
On the floor were knife marks, bloodstains, tangled footprints,
and shell casings rolling around.
It did not seem like a place where he should smoke.
“Detective.”
A forensic investigator in a white protective suit called Takahashi over.
Takahashi nodded and approached.
The investigator carefully lifted a shell casing with forceps.
“This casing. It isn’t from a handgun.”
The investigator spoke as he placed the casing into a transparent plastic bag.
Takahashi took the bag the investigator handed him and looked intently at the casing inside.
“I know. A rifle, right?”
The investigator nodded.
“It’s in the 5.56mm family.”
“Hmm…”
The investigator hesitated, then spoke.
“I’m sorry to say this, but it’s likely from a Type 89 rifle.”
“What?”
In that instant, the surroundings went quiet.
The detectives nearby all turned their heads.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m more than ninety percent certain. The casing dimensions, the rotational marks on the bullet, the chamber marks. And most decisively, the crescent-shaped mark stamped on the shoulder of the casing. That’s a distinctive feature of the Type 89 rifle.”
Takahashi’s face hardened.
It was strange enough that firearms had been fired indiscriminately in Osaka, but on top of that, a Type 89 rifle used by the Self-Defense Forces?
“One rifle?”
“No.”
The investigator took out another bag.
It contained several more shell casings.
“At least two or more. It appears they attacked each other.”
“They attacked each other, and both were Type 89s?”
“Yes. Same model.”
At the investigator’s words, the detectives began murmuring among themselves.
“Yakuza with Type 89 rifles?”
“How did they get guns like that?”
“Did they come from an SDF armory?”
“That can’t be it. There must be some reason, right?”
Takahashi desperately wanted a cigarette, but he could not smoke here.
First, he had to sort out the situation.
“Where are Type 89 rifles used?”
“The Self-Defense Forces, and perhaps research institutes.”
The forensic investigator answered.
They had either flowed out from the SDF,
or else from a research institute.
A complete inventory check would reveal it.
At that moment, the detective standing beside him tossed out a remark.
“There’s also the manufacturer. The Type 89 rifle is made in Japan, after all.”
Takahashi had almost forgotten.
That the gun was being manufactured in Japan.
He had nearly overlooked the place that might become the most likely suspect.
Takahashi looked at the detective who had spoken.
“From production to maintenance to disposal, the Type 89 is all managed by specific companies.”
The man even added an explanation to his own opinion.
Takahashi thought for a moment, then picked up his phone.
“Yes, it’s me. All the firearms are presumed to be Type 89s. They say there are at least two or more. I think the investigation needs to start with the SDF, then comb through the research institutes and every defense contractor as well.”
There was no answer from the other end of the line.
Only after a long while did a reply come.
“This might be a bit much for us alone.”
“We’re switching to a joint investigation with Public Security.”
“We’ll formally investigate the defense contractors as well.”
The investigation into the mass shooting had officially begun.
Not only the Self-Defense Forces, but also research institutes and defense contractors.
*******
“Apparently, all hell broke loose.”
“Is that so?”
Scott told me about the situation.
He spoke briefly, but there was a lot contained in those few words.
I hadn’t known because it hadn’t been on the news, but the repercussions seemed larger than I had expected.
Nothing precise had come out.
It had ended with something like, there was a dispute between yakuza in Osaka.
The government had probably controlled the reports.
Not an embargo, but an outright order prohibiting coverage.
A shootout in the middle of Osaka.
If that fact became known, it was obvious the entire nation would be gripped with anxiety.
So it had to be hidden at all costs.
And the source of the firearms had to be found as soon as possible.
Found, and sealed up tightly.
The Osaka police alone could not handle it.
The prosecutors got involved, and the Public Security Intelligence Agency moved.
A large-scale task force was formed, even including the Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office.
The “Osaka Firearms Incident Joint Investigation Headquarters” was launched.
.
.
.
The situation changed.
The yakuza all hid at once.
They hid themselves so thoroughly they could not even be found.
They turned off the lights in their offices, closed their accounts, and scattered.
In contrast, the agencies came under investigation.
The Self-Defense Forces underwent a complete inspection regarding their firearms.
They opened armories, compared serial numbers, and checked storage records.
The result was clean.
There were no missing guns, no abnormalities with the ammunition, and the management records were excellent.
The research institutes were the same.
Their experimental, testing, and storage firearms were all being properly managed.
Thanks to that, all suspicion turned toward the defense contractors.
For the defense contractors, explaining away the suspicions was much more difficult.
In the case of the Self-Defense Forces, if they had received one hundred guns, then they only needed to have one hundred guns.
And that had been confirmed.
But for defense contractors, that was not the case.
Just because they delivered one hundred guns did not mean they had made exactly one hundred.
There could have been defective products, or prototypes.
There could have been test products, improved versions, products for trials.
There were records of how many had been produced, but there was more than enough room for suspicion.
Records like that could be forged as much as anyone wanted.
They explained that they had done nothing wrong,
but though they had to explain themselves, it was far too difficult.
.
.
.
In any case, my goal had been achieved.
My goal was to create the suspicion that guns made by defense contractors were circulating outside.
Guns made by defense contractors were not being managed and were circulating inside the country?
People were using those guns to kill others?
It could only become an enormous problem.
This was not a simple crime.
It was an issue with the national system.
To create that picture, I had brought in Type 89 rifles through Dennis.
There was only one reason Dennis had said Type 89 rifles were hard to obtain.
Because they were not exported.
They were difficult to find overseas.
Other than Japan, nowhere used Type 89 rifles.
Thanks to that, if a Type 89 rifle appeared, it could only be seen as having come from Japan.
Dennis said he had bought ones lost by Japanese troops who had come as part of a UN peacekeeping force.
If someone fired those guns indiscriminately, it would become a social issue,
and the defense contractors would inevitably come under suspicion.
The problem was who would fire those guns.
From my perspective, it did not matter who fired them.
They just had to fire them.
It did not matter whether the yakuza used them or ordinary people used them.
I had simply handed them to the people who seemed most likely to use them well.
And the yakuza performed that role very well.
Very cleanly.
In return, I also cut off the money I had been paying the yakuza.
I could not keep giving them money forever.
The funny thing was that more money had been deposited into GoGo Casino than the money I had given them.
In any case, they were kindly yakuza who returned the money even when I gave it to them to spend.
This incident would not sever defense contractors and the government cleanly like a knife.
Whether they did well or poorly, defense contractors were necessary.
To defend the nation, defense contractors were essential.
But the way they were looked at would change a little.
Reports would become stricter, and questions would increase.
Monitoring and supervision in the field would become even tighter.
At the very least, for the time being, the government would no longer make itself look like a fool for the sake of defense contractors’ profits.
This was excellent enough.
.
.
.
“You may go home. However, you are prohibited from leaving the country. We will call you in again within two or three days.”
Sato of Mizuhara Heavy Defense came out after being questioned at the “Osaka Firearms Incident Joint Investigation Headquarters.”
As he left the building, he clenched his teeth.
He was furious to the tips of his hair.
He was furious at the attitude of the investigators.
No matter how much he said it was not true.
Even when he brought them evidence, they did not believe him.
‘What about the possibility that it was fabricated?’
‘Are there no items that were not recorded in the ledgers?’
‘How do you handle defective products?’
‘Can you be certain?’
The questions were endless.
They kept throwing similar questions at him, twisting them slightly each time.
No matter how much truth he laid bare, they did not believe him.
It was as though they had decided the answer beforehand.
If things continued like this, all the defense contractors would be saddled with the blame.
He had to do something.
In the car on the way home, Sato thought.
How could he get through this crisis?
What method was there to overcome it?
At that moment, Miyamoto, the head of the Export Strategy Office at the Acquisition, Technology & Logistics Agency, suddenly came to mind.
A person capable of moving guns overseas.
A suitably high rank.
And someone greedy and sloppy.
Couldn’t they pin the blame on him?
It was a wicked thought, but if they did not, it was obvious every defense contractor would become a scapegoat.
Sato secretly gathered people from the defense industry.
And they put their heads together.
It did not take long.
They planted documents on Miyamoto’s computer and left traces that he had received money.
It was meticulous, and quiet.
A few days later.
Breaking news.
Miyamoto, head of the Export Strategy Office at the Acquisition, Technology & Logistics Agency, has been found dead at his home.
Police have confirmed circumstances indicating that he had been under severe psychological pressure during the recent investigation, and believe he made an extreme choice.
No suicide note was found.
Sato turned off the TV and stretched both arms out wide.
Now it was over.
It had been a long, exhausting fight.