A waste disposal plant on the outskirts of Tokyo.
Kurokawa prepared green tea to start the morning, as usual.
Drinking a warm can of green tea in the morning was an old routine of his.
But today was a little different.
Today, he prepared several teas.
Not the cheap cans bought from a convenience store, but loose-leaf tea to be brewed.
Soon the door opened, and the executives of the waste disposal plant began to enter.
Today was the day of the executives' meeting at the waste disposal plant.
The waste disposal plant had a rather unusual structure.
It had been built by yakuza who had once ruled Japan's nights, pooling their strength.
Multiple yakuza groups had joined forces to operate it jointly.
The former bosses of those gangs were now working together as executives.
People who had once watched for chances to cut each other's throats
now stood side by side under the sign of the same company.
They worked together,
and drank beer after work, but it wasn't enough.
The long-accumulated hostility and aversion did not fade easily.
They made an effort to grow closer,
but showing their true hearts to one another was not easy.
But it was the Investigation Bureau that unexpectedly shattered that final awkwardness.
Raid and seizure, summons, media bombardment.
If even one person had opened their mouth,
if they had made a false confession because they couldn't endure the grueling interrogation, they all would have ended up behind bars.
But no one spoke.
They endured until the end.
Of course, they had received help from Alex's threatening letters,
but they had had plenty of chances to change their minds.
That they had trusted one another and kept their mouths shut until the very end was entirely due to themselves.
The Investigation Bureau had driven the yakuza into a corner,
but as a result, it had gifted them a 'bond' that the yakuza themselves had been unable to forge.
Now, having weathered the fierce storm together and been safely released,
the subtle current that had flowed between them had vanished.
They were no longer a group that had gathered simply for profit.
They were comrades who had shared life and death,
and had become a solid community that no amount of pressure could break.
"I told the boss. Leave the revenge on the Investigation Bureau to us."
Kurokawa spoke up.
It was not the kind of topic one would expect to come up at an executive meeting of a waste disposal plant,
but none of the executives were surprised.
Rather, they nodded their heads in welcome of Kurokawa's words.
"You did well. Our revenge is ours to take."
"We must not forget that humiliation."
Kurokawa set down his teacup and asked.
"How should we take revenge? Does anyone have a good method?"
The moment he finished speaking, voices bursting with anger exploded forth.
"What's there to think about? Let's just stab them, coat them in cement, and throw them into the sea off Tokyo."
"That's too much work. Just chop them up and dispose of them."
"Hey, we have a waste disposal plant right here. Why make it so complicated? Just toss them into the incinerator."
Everyone said terrible things with a smile.
But Kurokawa was not satisfied with those answers.
To Kurokawa, who had already seen Alex's methods,
those ways were crude and rough.
Too violent and straightforward.
Alex's methods were different.
He tailored his plans to the opponent.
The way he had extracted Minase from the Seiwakai headquarters, where no one could enter,
and the way he inflicted pain upon Minase were too refined.
Kurokawa wanted to learn that.
The result of Alex's handiwork, Minase, was now already half out of his mind.
He could not even speak properly.
There was no trace left of the puppet master who had once manipulated Japan.
Once a week.
Every Saturday, Minase underwent wall meditation.
Now, Minase trembled all over and urinated at the mere sight of the wall.
He thrashed about, refusing to go in.
It was amazing how much strength the old man, who couldn't even speak properly, mustered to resist.
It was astonishing every time.
But even so, he could not defeat the yakuza.
Every Saturday, without fail, he went into the wall.
When he came out, Minase had transformed into an entirely different person.
It was not simple violence.
It was a method of teaching fear over time.
A method of grinding down the soul rather than the body.
Kurokawa wanted that kind of refined revenge.
"Is there no other way? A smarter way."
After a brief silence, one man spoke up.
"Chief. There's a method that loan sharks I know used."
"Speak."
"We bury them socially."
"Bury?"
"Honestly, what do those cop bastards have left if their honor falls? They're sensitive to scandal. We use that."
"Tell me more."
Kurokawa leaned forward, intrigued.
"It's simple. The Investigation Bureau guys turn out to be heinous sex offenders, or they've been covering up their families' corruption. That's enough."
"Just that?"
Kurokawa looked at the executive again with an expression of disbelief.
Sex offenders?
Covering up family corruption?
Why would that matter?
Wasn't that too obvious?
That would become a scandal?
Ruin their honor?
Kurokawa couldn't believe it.
But the executive's face was full of confidence.
"It's the opposite, you see. For us, our image has already hit rock bottom, so having a mistress or abusing authority isn't a problem. But these guys are different. Even a speck of dust can be turned into a problem."
"Really?"
Kurokawa asked, still not seeming convinced.
"That's not all."
"What else?"
"It's similar in nature. You take the achievements a family member earned and reframe them as the parents' favoritism. For example, someone studied hard and got a good job, but you spin it as an illicit hiring obtained through the parent's power. The parent abused their authority, and the child sees everything they achieved on their own become something created by the parent. The sense of loss the children feel then is probably hard to put into words."
Kurokawa clapped his hands sharply.
That was the method Kurokawa had wanted.
He liked it.
Even so, he was conflicted.
"Isn't it too despicable? To target the family as well?"
"Chief. We're yakuza. At this point, it's so gentlemanly it might be bland."
"Is it?"
Kurokawa entered into his final deliberation.
The executive added a final word.
"And this method has never failed once. Because the truth doesn't matter. You only need to create controversy. Whatever the truth is, it will already have vanished from people's attention by then. Isn't that enough?"
The executive spoke with a smile.
That smile didn't feel entirely bad.
Kurokawa flipped through the photos in the document envelope one by one.
Harmonious family photos of the Investigation Bureau executives.
Someone's commute photos.
And the regular bar they stopped by on the way home.
Even the golf course they visited on weekends.
Scenes of daily life were laid out.
It had been by no means an easy task.
He felt he now understood why Alex had paid to gather such trivial information.
Information was necessary.
Information was the blueprint.
The more information there was,
and the more accurate it was, the more refined the sketch became.
Kurokawa selected one photo from among the many.
"Let's start with the Investigation Bureau Chief's son first. I heard he's running a business?"
"Yes. He operates a small trading company."
"Perfect. Plant some drugs in his cargo. Let's frame him as a drug smuggler."
The executive who heard this laughed and said,
"The father is a drug investigation specialist, yet his son smuggled drugs? It's a good story. What would make a good headline? Maybe something like 'The Police: The Backers of Smuggling?'"
Kurokawa laughed loudly as if imagining the situation.
"Hahaha. Can a newspaper article be so sloppy? You have to write it like this: 'The Shattered Symbol of Justice: The Legacy of the Drug Investigation Bureau Chief is Drug Smuggling!'"
"Wow~ That's really amazing."
The executive even clapped as he laughed.
Kurokawa inflated the scandal as if he were getting into the swing of things.
"Spin some connection to the father. Like 'the father shielded him.' Then the case will get bigger."
"Excellent. It's exactly the kind of content the media loves."
"No. Just say he did it with his son. Let's make him an accomplice."
"Good idea. Actually, shielding alone makes one an accomplice anyway. Kekeke."
"And as for that guy from the Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office, let's make him a gambling addict."
"Understood. Shall we put his name in the ledger of the secret casino we managed?"
"That's right. Create deposit records and put them in too. Launder the money well and actually deposit it. Into his wife's account."
"His wife's account?"
"That's the only way he'll become a dishonorable cop who used his wife to gamble illegally. That makes for a good story too."
"But if he says he didn't do it, isn't that the end of it?"
The executive asked cautiously.
"Didn't you hear what was said before? What's important here isn't the truth. Once it's reported through the media, becomes an issue, becomes a talking point, that itself is the problem. People who mustn't become controversies have become a controversy. Then it's done."
"I believe the Chief's words are correct."
"They caught us using that method, didn't they? Let's have them taste the same method."
Kurokawa laughed loudly.
"Now. Let's move. The 'art of fabrication' that the Investigation Bureau taught us. Now it's time to pay it back."
The office of the Chief of the Investigation Bureau for the Japan Port Explosion Incident.
The Bureau Chief had been reviewing incident reports since early morning.
He was frustrated.
He was looking for an organization to pin the crime on in place of the yakuza, but couldn't find a suitable one.
Just then, with a clamor from outside the door, the door opened without warning.
Those who appeared were his former colleagues and juniors.
Now part of the Inspection Division.
"You are under emergency arrest on charges of drug trafficking and accepting bribes."
The Bureau Chief's face turned deathly pale.
"What are you talking about? I've never done such a thing!"
The Bureau Chief was at a loss, bewildered.
He had arrested dozens, hundreds of criminals, but he had never once imagined that he himself would be arrested.
All he could do was—
"No. No, I didn't."
"I am completely innocent."
"Drug trafficking? I've been in drug investigation for years."
But the Bureau Chief's shouts were hollow.
The evidence presented by the Inspection Division was perfect.
The methamphetamine that had disappeared from the scene of the raid he had conducted was discovered on the Bureau Chief's son.
A large sum of money from an unknown source had been deposited into the Bureau Chief's son's account.
"This is a fabrication. It's absurd. If you're a detective, you should investigate. How can you bring such fabricated evidence?"
The head of the Inspection Division spoke to the screaming Bureau Chief in a dry voice.
"Don't you know? Evidence takes priority over sentiment. That's what I learned from you, sir."
Those words weighed down on the Bureau Chief's heart.
It was the principle he had hammered into his juniors' ears.
The solid logic he himself had crafted had now returned as a noose strangling his own neck.
The Bureau Chief's head drooped deeply.
In the lobby of the National Police Agency, numerous reporters were waiting.
When the Bureau Chief appeared in handcuffs,
flashes burst here and there, followed by questions.
"Is it true that you smuggled drugs together with your son?"
"Was the smuggling route your own idea?"
"Please explain the whereabouts of the seized evidence that disappeared."
"Is it true that the reason you investigated the yakuza on such a large scale was to conceal evidence?"
"What do you think of the nickname 'Yakuza in Uniform?'"
Questions poured out continuously, but the Bureau Chief could not say a word.
The questions were not born of curiosity.
They had already condemned him as a criminal.
No matter how much he cried out the truth or claimed his own integrity, opening his mouth at this moment would be an act of suicide.
Every word he uttered would go through the devil's editing and transform into a despicable excuse.
He had fallen victim to the very method he himself used to whip up public opinion when the situation was unfavorable.
With his head lowered, the Bureau Chief had no choice but to board the transport vehicle.
It was a perfect and sophisticated social execution, one that allowed not a single word of excuse.
At the same time.
The executives had gathered in Kurokawa's office.
They were all watching the Bureau Chief's downfall together.
In their hands was not beer or sake, but warm green tea.
It was not a festival, but a calm, ordinary day.
"Look at that. It really clears my insides."
"He must have loved putting others through this."
"He fell for his own trick."
Laughter filled the conference room, but
Kurokawa did not laugh.
He merely stared expressionlessly at the face of the Bureau Chief on the screen.
He recalled the way the Bureau Chief had interrogated him in the interrogation room.
"Scum like you are all going to burn anyway."
That gaze.
The Bureau Chief had already determined that Kurokawa was someone who would submit.
He did not see Kurokawa as a human being,
but catalogued him as something that could be controlled at any time.
Only a matter of time.
That gaze had contained at once the pressure to extract a confession by any means,
and simultaneously the enticement that if he gave up, his pain would be lessened.
He had despised that gaze.
So he had gritted his teeth and endured all the more.
The moment a celebratory atmosphere was about to rise among the executives,
Kurokawa spoke.
"It's only just begun."
The air in the room settled again.
They must not relax the mood already.
This was only one.
There were still others who needed to be taken down.
It was not yet time to raise a toast.
"The others have all been put into motion as well."
"What about the Bureau Chief's son?"
"He's completely out of his mind. For now, he's claiming his innocence. He says he lost contact with his father a long time ago. He even said, 'I never had a father like that.'"
"The media?"
"They're excited and taking it all down as is. It seems to be getting views because it's sensational."
The method of tearing a family apart.
It was the fastest and deepest way to leave a wound.
"Good. Let the media handle the sentiment, and we'll move on to the next job."
"Yes."
"What about the gambling case?"
"We've made the deposit and disguised the money flow naturally. We're going to blow it up through a broker. We've filed a complaint with the Inspection Division..."
In the president's office of the waste disposal plant, a conversation completely unbefitting a waste disposal plant was taking place.
But the executives' expressions were bright.
Having weathered the same crisis and solved it together, they had finally become one.
They could finally call themselves yakuza.