First, Kazuma quickly assessed the fighting strength of the men in front of him.
In this situation, no tactic felt entirely reliable—his only real asset was his cheat ability.
Even if it didn't grant him overwhelming power, it at least allowed him to accurately gauge the enemy's strength.
He recognized all five yakuza. They were the same guys who'd come to "pay a visit" a few days ago.
Each one wore their group crest and was a full-fledged member of the yakuza.
Their stats matched—proper yakuza-level strength—but some of their skill tags were... odd.
Street Brawling Lv.8? What the hell?
Did fighting in back alleys level up like in an RPG?
Kazuma focused on the bald thug with Street Brawling Lv.8, curious if he could pull up a detailed description.
To his surprise, it worked.
Street Brawling Lv.8 — Self-taught survival skills; can turn any object into a weapon and adapt to any terrain in a fight. Particularly effective against multiple weaker opponents. Countermeasure: Engage one-on-one in an open area without usable props.
Kazuma nearly gawked. Isn't that the exact counter-strategy for fighting Jackie Chan?!
Meanwhile, the bald thug misread Kazuma's intense stare.
"Kisama!" he barked.
The meaning was clear enough—basically, "What the hell are you staring at?"
Kazuma's brain automatically translated it and he almost blurted, "I'll stare if I damn well want to!"
At that moment, the flashy suit at the front raised a hand.
The bald thug instantly shut up, bowed slightly, and retreated behind him.
Man, that's some serious presence. Do yakuza bosses always command this kind of respect?
The man in the flashy floral suit spoke. "We don't usually hand out business cards, so I'll introduce myself. I'm Nishiyama Heita, boss of the Nishiyama-gumi."
Kazuma took the opportunity to properly size up Nishiyama Heita—and more importantly, to check his "combat power."
Street Brawling Lv.11. Style-less Kendo Lv.5.
...Yeah, this guy's dangerous.
He also had an active status effect labeled Hannya.
Kazuma focused on it.
Hannya: When the name 'Oni Heita' first shook the Kanto underworld, the Hannya tattoo became a symbol of terror. Displaying it intimidates lesser foes and enhances combat prowess.
Kazuma raised an eyebrow. So... in this world, baring tattoos during a yakuza fight is actually a legit tactical move?
Shaking off the sarcastic thought, Kazuma decided to let them inside.
These guys specialized in street brawling—it would be unwise to fight them head-on out here.
Inside the dojo, the space was open, with no advantageous terrain or objects to use as weapons. Even Jackie Chan would struggle here.
Kazuma stepped back and gestured politely toward the entrance.
Unexpectedly, Nishiyama Heita actually said, "Thank you."
If it weren't for that gaudy suit, red shirt, and all the combat stats and "Hannya" tag I'm seeing, I might've thought he was a decent guy...
Once inside, Kazuma guided them to the seating area. They had barely sat down when Chiyoko entered with tea.
Her expression was icy, her hostility unhidden. Yet she maintained proper etiquette—kneeling before the guests as was customary for women serving tea in Japan—and slid a cup in front of Nishiyama.
Then she retreated to kneel on a cushion behind Kazuma.
Kazuma ignored the tea and cut straight to the point. "What have you done to Mikako?"
"Nothing—yet," Nishiyama replied calmly. "But that may change. It all depends on how much you value her."
He reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a contract, laid it open on the table, and placed an uncapped pen beside it.
Kazuma pressed on. "And if I don't sign, you'll stuff her in an oil drum and dump her in Tokyo Bay?"
Nishiyama chuckled. "Oh no, nothing so extreme. That would trigger a massive police response. Even if they couldn't pin anything on us, constant patrols would hurt our business."
He smiled wider. "No, we prefer a more... efficient and cost-effective approach.
"Japan is crawling with delinquent youths these days—kids who idolize the yakuza and will do anything to get noticed. They're impulsive, discreet, and often kidnap pretty high school girls just for the thrill. Happens all the time.
"Tons of them end up in juvie every year for stuff like that. You're a smart young man, Kiryu-san. I'm sure you get my meaning."
Kazuma's voice sharpened. "You're saying if I don't sign, Mikako will be... violated by these punks?"
Nishiyama didn't reply—clearly avoiding any words that could be recorded.
Kazuma scowled. "Despicable."
Nishiyama chuckled. "Why thank you. But if you do sign, I can have my boys retrieve her from these punks—intact."
"Oh?" Kazuma shot back. "And how can you guarantee that? As you said, those punks are impulsive. Once they get their hands on her, what's to stop them?"
Nishiyama's grin widened. He leaned in, voice low. "Exactly, Kiryu-san. The longer you hesitate, the more likely it is that poor Mikako's... value will diminish. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
"After all, a girl is like fine wine—once opened, her worth drops fast," he added.
Kazuma clenched his teeth.
He had no doubt these bastards would do exactly what they threatened. He feared Mikako might already be suffering.
On the surface, signing this contract—accepting this robbery of a price—seemed the only way to save her.
Yet Kazuma's mind was crystal clear.
In this era of limited communication, if he could take down these five before word got out, there was still a chance to rescue Mikako unharmed.
But two of the five outclassed him by the numbers—one of them with that damn Hannya tag.
Kazuma had no idea just how much that would boost his strength.
It was his first time facing an "elite mob" with special tags. He couldn't gauge how big the gap truly was.
Even without the buffs, those two already outmatched him and Chiyoko.
He glanced at the untouched tea in front of Nishiyama. Damn... if only Chiyoko had spiked it...
But it was too late. Trying to swap the tea now would only alert them.
Maybe there's pepper spray or something around...
He racked his brain.
No luck. When their father passed away, they had inventoried everything—there was no self-defense gear in the house.
No way to fight. No tricks left.
For one fleeting moment, Kazuma considered backing down—finishing university, joining the police, and coming for revenge later.
But he crushed that thought immediately.
Because right now—he was furious.
In his past life, during the peak of the Young and Dangerous movie craze, school bullies had mimicked gangster behavior. They didn't just bully students—they even harassed teachers.
And during the financial crisis, public order had worsened. In those days, even a long-distance bus ride might run into highway robbers.
Fortunately, the government had cracked down hard in later years.
But those school bullies had left Kazuma with bitter memories.
That was why he had taken up HEMA and trained so hard—to fight back if it ever happened again.
And after all those years of kendo, was he really going to roll over now?
What was the point of all that training, then?
I'm a transmigrator! I have a cheat!
If I back down now, I'd disgrace every transmigrator!
But if he lost the fight... he'd be forced to sign anyway. Worse—Mikako would suffer, and maybe even Chiyoko too.
Kazuma's rational mind was struggling to contain the wildfire of rage inside him.
A little voice whispered: "Sign it. Live to fight another day. Be smart."
But that only made him angrier.
Why?
Why should I keep backing down? Why should I cower before life's monsters? Why should I bow to reality?
Why can't I grab fate by the throat and choke the hell out of it?!
Mikako violated? Chiyoko next? Even if I surrender today, who's to say it won't happen again tomorrow?
Sooner or later, Chiyoko might start selling herself to cover my tuition. And she'd hide it from me.
Mikako might think me a coward and run off with some delinquent.
What's the point of backing down? Will it really change anything?
And if I'm going to take revenge years from now—why not fight here and now, even if I lose?
In that instant, Kazuma's mind cleared.
Screw the consequences. Screw the tactics. Screw the odds.
A man must fight when it matters.
He seized the tea Chiyoko had served and downed it in one gulp.
It was scalding—but he barely felt it.
His chest was already burning hotter than any tea.
He looked straight at Nishiyama Heita, voice trembling with suppressed excitement. "Do you know why I practice kendo, Nishiyama-san?"
Before Nishiyama could answer, Kazuma raised his right hand, fingers spread, then slowly clenched it into a fist.
Then, in Chinese, he said, word by word:
"Let me recite you a poem.
'For whom does this righteous fist clench?
To protect the land and punish the wicked.
In harmony with the Way, to purge the demons within.'"
Nishiyama frowned. "What the hell was that?"
The next moment, Kazuma grabbed the teapot—still full of scalding tea—and hurled its contents at Nishiyama's crew.
(End of Chapter)