"Colonel Solon, I'm relying entirely on you for this."
In the most exclusive VIP room of a high-end Western restaurant in Tokonosu City, Adrian Black—currently wearing the face of Masao Busujima—raised a glass in a drinking contest with a burly, blonde Caucasian man.
In his previous life, Adrian had been a homebody who despised forced socialization. But in this life, things rarely went according to personal preference. Sometimes, out of necessity, one had to do things they hated.
Just like drinking with this damn foreigner.
The renovation work on Mount Yokomizo was proceeding smoothly. With his generous funding greasing the wheels, the massive outer walls had been completed in just over ten days.
Now, only the internal construction remained. In addition to the first line of defense at the foot of the mountain, Adrian planned for secondary and tertiary defensive lines further up the slopes.
In his vision, Mount Yokomizo would be a fortress. The outer defenses weren't just for dispersing zombie hordes; they would also serve as a containment zone for the refugees he planned to gather.
Of course, he wasn't doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He wasn't trying to be a saint or a savior.
He did it for the quality of life.
He had to survive in this damned world for a full year. If it were just him and a few girls hiding in a hole, wouldn't life become boring? Furthermore, he hadn't spent a fortune installing industrial facilities on the mountain just to live like a savage.
If he merely wanted to survive, with his current skills, finding a remote bunker and stocking up on canned food would have been easy. But everyone has ambitions. With a powerful System, invincible combat skills, and immense wealth, why should he settle for mediocrity?
So, after securing the perimeter, he turned his attention to firepower.
Admittedly, his current identity was that of a Sword Saint, but times had changed. Even the most powerful swordsman was no match for a heavy machine gun, let alone a mortar.
The Japanese government's control over firearms was notoriously strict; even the Yakuza usually only possessed small-caliber handguns. This was precisely why martial arts dojos still flourished in Japan—in a land without guns, the man with the sharpest sword was king.
But Adrian knew what was coming. He needed military-grade hardware.
Originally, he planned to commission weapons from a local zaibatsu like Mitsui or Mitsubishi, but he quickly reconsidered. Why go to such lengths and risk exposure?
There was a US military base just outside Tokonosu City. If he wanted weapons, why not buy them directly from the source?
Through some back-channel connections, he had contacted Colonel Solon Adolf, the highest-ranking officer at the local base.
"No problem! It's just weapons! Leave it to me!"
Colonel Solon, currently embracing two giggling geishas, replied with slurred confidence.
Trading military-grade weapons on Japanese soil was a serious felony, potentially an international incident. But laws were for ordinary citizens.
Masao Busujima might have to worry about social impact, but Colonel Solon? He was an American officer on occupation soil. Could the local Japanese police really touch him?
"What I actually want to do is build a tourist memorial park," Adrian said smoothly, offering the cover story. "Those weapons are merely being 'borrowed' from your unit to be placed in the park for educational display. They will be returned in three months."
While Solon could act recklessly, Adrian still needed to be mindful of the consequences—at least until the apocalypse started. If the Japanese government thought he was planning a coup and arrested him now, his vacation would end prematurely.
"Understood, understood! A win-win situation!" Solon laughed, patting his chest. "Those are just surplus assets from our base, temporarily stored at your facility for... cultural exchange, Mr. Busujima. If anyone dares to use this as an excuse to cause you trouble, I'll have my boys deal with them!"
Solon didn't care. It was just reselling some inventory. He moved crates off the books every year; otherwise, how would he support his seven mistresses in Japan and his wife back in the States?
Besides, this Busujima guy was a complete sucker, willing to buy the hardware at three times the market price. Solon felt he absolutely had to cultivate such a foolishly generous customer. With this deal, his vacation home in California was as good as paid for.
"Then I'll leave it to you, Colonel. I won't disturb your... enjoyment."
Seeing that Solon had already stripped the kimono off one of the geishas and was preparing for a live performance, Adrian stood up immediately.
"Mr. Busujima, won't you join us?" Solon asked with a lecherous grin, smacking the snow-white buttocks of the woman on his left.
"No. Please enjoy yourself, Colonel."
Adrian declined coldly and walked out.
He had no desire to be naked in a room with another man, nor could he bring himself to touch those women. Admittedly, to ensure the deal went smoothly, he had hired the most expensive geishas in the city. But no matter how expensive the prostitute, she was still a prostitute.
Compared to playing with used goods, wouldn't it be better to go home and properly discipline his lovely daughter and disciple?
After a brief drive to inspect the progress at the mountain construction site, Adrian leisurely returned to the Busujima Dojo.
As he pulled into the driveway, he spotted a familiar Isuzu parked near the entrance. A knowing smile curled his lips.
"Master, Mrs. Katsura is waiting for you in the quiet room."
Seeing his car return, the servant guarding the gate quickly ran over to report.
"Did she go to see Kotonoha?" Adrian asked.
"No. Miss Kotonoha and the Young Miss are practicing swordsmanship in the backyard. Mrs. Katsura didn't encounter them when she arrived, and she specifically asked us not to disturb them."
"Very well. You may go."
Waving his hand to dismiss the servant, Adrian walked directly toward the secluded guest quarters.
Creak.
He slid the door of the quiet room open.
Inside, Manami Katsura was already kneeling on the tatami mats. At the sight of his tall, imposing figure, a visible shiver of anticipation ran through her body.
For the past half-month, Manami had visited the Busujima Dojo six times. The official reason was always to check on her daughter's health and progress.
But the reality?
"Master!"
Manami's eyes were filled with a hazy, seductive charm. She didn't stand up. Instead, she lowered herself onto all fours and crawled toward him.
She licked her lips hungrily, moving with the desperate eagerness of a sow in heat.
The comparison to a sow wasn't just metaphorical. As she crawled, her two enormous breasts dragged heavily across the tatami mats, rolling back and forth with the friction of her movement. She looked less like a graceful woman and more like a livestock animal bred purely for breeding, utterly debased and loving every second of it.
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