Another day passed.
The next morning, the Kiryu siblings were up bright and early, just like always.
Kazuma was used to early mornings.
Before crossing over, only his four years of university had allowed him to sleep in—only to wake up and find the professor had called roll for all three morning classes.
Chiyoko had gotten up even earlier. By the time Kazuma wandered into the bathroom yawning, she was already in the kitchen preparing breakfast.
After washing up, Kazuma joined her in the kitchen. "How's your hand?"
"It's fine now. Just looks a little red."
"You should've worn padding last night," Kazuma said, checking her hand. It wasn't just a little red—there was a big bruise. His heart twinged with guilt.
"You've got bruises too, on your body," Chiyoko pointed out.
"That's different. I'm a man—scars are a man's badge of honor."
Chiyoko was expertly gutting a fish, but when she heard that, she picked up the bloody knife and grinned. "Want me to help you earn another one?"
Kazuma quickly backed away, speaking in a mock-taiga drama tone like a feudal lord addressing the shogun. "No need, my lady. Your kind offer is most appreciated."
Chiyoko laughed and went back to preparing the fish.
"You don't have to fry fish every morning, you know," Kazuma commented.
Being from Guangdong, Kazuma was no stranger to seafood. You could say, aside from chicken and Fujianese people, seafood was a favorite of old Cantonese folks.
But fish for breakfast every single day reminded him a little too much of his childhood before the vegetable basket project was implemented, when meat and vegetables were scarce. Breakfast was always salted fish with porridge and steamed buns.
Not exactly fond memories.
Chiyoko glanced at him. "If not fish, then what? You want bread, ham, and sausages? Or should I whip up some Matsusaka beef?"
Kazuma was momentarily speechless.
—So… eating fish every day is because it's cheap?
Yep, this is Japan all right.
Chiyoko continued, "I used to be too proud to admit it, but after your lecture yesterday, I realized we're living pretty rough. Luckily the grandpas and grandmas in the shopping street are really kind to me. When I shop, they always throw in extras. You should show your face there more often too, Onii-chan! Can't let me do all the begging."
"Begging is a bit…," Kazuma began, but sensing this conversation would lead to him grocery shopping with her daily, he quickly changed the subject. "Speaking of which, isn't the shopping street part of the redevelopment zone?"
"No idea. I don't read the papers," Chiyoko replied. She finished cleaning the fish, washed the knife, and set it aside, then lit the stove to start frying.
At this time, the internet was strictly military, and only the U.S. military had access.
Ordinary people got their information from newspapers.
Kitakatsushi Ward's redevelopment projects were announced in the papers.
But that was before Kazuma had arrived in this world. He'd only seen an old clipping provided by Mr. Ogawara from Sumitomo Construction when the man came to persuade them to sell the dojo.
He didn't know which areas were targeted in this new wave of development.
"I'll go dig through the old papers…," Kazuma was about to head out when he heard a knock at the door.
He frowned and checked the clock on the wall. It wasn't even seven yet.
Who would visit this early?
He glanced at Chiyoko and met her gaze.
"Could it be the yakuza again?" Chiyoko asked.
"No idea. Oh right, how's that chicken they sent yesterday? Weren't you going to make teriyaki?"
"Ah! I forgot. I shoved it in the fridge and it slipped my mind." Chiyoko clicked her tongue. "Think they'll send another chicken?"
Kazuma shrugged. "I'll answer the door. You stay here."
He made his way to the entrance.
Whoever was outside was polite, pressing the doorbell at well-spaced intervals—just enough to prompt action, not enough to be annoying.
Kazuma opened the door. "Who is it?"
Standing there were two men in business suits.
Not yakuza, Kazuma thought. Yakuza liked flashy, intimidating styles—and they usually wore their family crests.
These two had no such marks.
The one in front had a long face—almost like a donkey's.
As soon as Kazuma appeared, the man bowed deeply and presented a business card. "Kiryu-sama, an honor to meet you."
Kazuma accepted the card and glanced at it.
Itō Yūsaku, Sumitomo Construction Relocation Department Chief?
Wasn't this the new department Mr. Ogawara had mentioned yesterday, the one taking over negotiations with the Kiryu family?
Didn't expect them to show up this fast.
Kazuma smiled politely. "A pleasure, Itō-san. I don't have a card prepared, so I hope you'll forgive me."
"No problem at all. We know who you are," Itō replied warmly, his smile genuine and disarming.
Kazuma even felt Itō's smile was friendlier than Ogawara's.
"You start work this early?" Kazuma asked curiously.
"Not usually. But we wanted to catch you before you went out—so you could say this is voluntary overtime." Itō maintained his cheerful tone. "By the way, how is the matter of convincing your sister coming along?"
Kazuma nodded. "It's done. We've decided to sell the dojo."
"Excellent! I have the contract ready—just needs your signature. Our company prides itself on integrity; we would never violate an agreement."
As he spoke, Itō smoothly opened his briefcase and handed Kazuma the contract. Clearly, he'd done this countless times.
Kazuma took it. As a former business representative in his past life, he'd never make the rookie mistake of signing without reading carefully. "I'll have a look first. Please, come in. Chiyoko, tea, please."
"Oh? Who's here?" Chiyoko poked her head out of the kitchen, glanced toward the entrance, and instantly understood.
Though she'd agreed to sell the dojo, her expression showed clear dislike for the Sumitomo staff.
"My sister still has some reservations," Kazuma explained.
Itō smiled. "Perfectly understandable. We're used to it."
Kazuma led Itō and his subordinate into the living room—where he noticed the underling was quite skilled in karate, likely a 4th-dan.
A bodyguard? Kazuma wondered. Why bring muscle?
But since they were about to sell the dojo anyway, he decided not to dwell on it.
Seated, Kazuma opened the contract and began reading carefully.
It was a standard land purchase contract. To avoid getting fleeced, Kazuma had crammed Japanese legal knowledge after arriving here. He wasn't an expert, but it was enough to spot any trick clauses.
To his relief, there were no legal traps.
Just as he was about to sign, one line caught his eye—the purchase price.
He'd skimmed over it earlier, assuming the price was still the agreed-upon 70 million yen.
Mr. Ogawara had warned that price wasn't guaranteed, but Kazuma hadn't expected much change.
But now… his face darkened. The price listed was only 5 million yen.
The Kiryu dojo wasn't small. It was clear their ancestors had once been quite prosperous.
That was why Mr. Ogawara had been willing to offer 70 million.
Even at that price, Sumitomo would profit—this was Tokyo in 1980. Land prices were about to skyrocket—they were already climbing.
But 5 million? That wasn't a bargain—it was daylight robbery.
At that moment, Chiyoko entered with a tray. "Tea's ready—Onii-chan, what's wrong?"
Kazuma raised a hand to stop her. "Hold on."
Chiyoko stood at the doorway, tray in hand, puzzled.
Kazuma directly asked Itō, "Itō-san, what's with this price?"
"There's a problem?" Itō feigned surprise, quickly taking the contract and glancing at it. "Oh dear, apologies! Must've been a typo by our clerk. Of course, we wouldn't buy it for just 5 million yen."
Kazuma narrowed his eyes, sensing trouble.
Still smiling, Itō said, "It should be 7 million yen. We'll correct it right away."
(End of Chapter)