Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 63: Japan Branch (11)

Dragon Raja 3

She was Yabuki Sakura, an Execution Bureau agent. From the beginning, her mission was to control the target and prevent him from harming the passengers. While Akira was engrossed in Maru’s story about her and her cat, feeling warmth and kinship for the first time in his life, he had no idea that “Ogata Maru” had dozens of ways to attack if provoked and dozens of ways to defend herself if attacked. If Akira had really torn apart “Ogata Maru’s” school uniform, he wouldn’t have seen the body of a young girl but a myriad of blades instead.

“Sakura, you’re always so cautious, never giving Crow and me a chance to peek. At this rate, we’ll never be able to keep up our fantasies about you,” Yasha said, giving her a once-over.

“Akira always mistakenly thought ‘Ogata Maru’ wore black stockings for warmth, but now that Sakura had removed her school uniform and socks, the truth of her attire was revealed. It was a full-body black armor made from ultra-fine fibers and metal threads, like a second layer of skin clinging tightly to her body. Key areas had protective steel plates and various blades embedded. Sakura always wore similar armor; some were even the same color as her skin. So even if she took off her clothes, Crow and Yasha could only appreciate her curves, never seeing her skin.

“That’s why we need imagination, my friend,” Crow said, closing his eyes and pressing his forefingers to his temples. “Imagination, imagination… ah! A vision! Sakura is an African ninja, her skin is black, smooth, and tender!”

“The power of imagination is that strong? Now I kind of understand why that lunatic let Sakura go!” Yasha said, closing his eyes with a lecherous smile.

Sakura stopped responding and sat on the railway track, folding her school uniform and socks. She bundled them with the handmade ceramic urn and the little cat hairpin, stuffing them into a plastic bag labeled “13”. Seeing the ceramic cat urn made Akira dismiss any doubts he had about Sakura. He wouldn’t have thought that, as a ninja, Sakura had dozens of identities ready to be used, and by simply changing her hairstyle and makeup, she could alter her apparent age by a decade. Of course, there was no such cat as Little Nian either—it was all part of a script long prepared. When an ordinary person tries to disguise themselves as someone else, they always reveal flaws, but ninjas spend years imagining themselves as another person, gradually adding details until that persona becomes vivid and convincing. That’s how “Ogata Maru” was created. From the beginning, Akira underestimated the Execution Bureau. In the face of this violent institution that had existed for over a century, he was merely a naïve child. The Execution Bureau had executed targets far more cunning, vicious, and experienced than Akira, and the means they had accumulated over the years were beyond what someone with Akira’s mediocre intelligence could ever grasp.

The trembling of the carriage stopped, and the door opened. Out of the thick smoke came Chisei.

Yasha and Crow were taken aback. In the past, Chisei might have looked tired when he came out, but he was always spotless. Today, however, his long coat was full of tears, and the silent weariness was several times heavier than usual.

“Are you alright, Young Master?” Sakura asked.

Chisei shook his head, wrapping the hilt of his sword with a white handkerchief and handing it to Crow. “There’s some of the target’s blood on this. Collect a sample, clean the rest, then burn the blade.”

Crow carefully took the ancient sword. The blood on it was almost black, bubbling slowly, as if undergoing some kind of chemical reaction.

“Yasha, take care of the aftermath,” Chisei said as he leaned against the railing, a cigarette between his lips, looking up at the sky, lost in thought.

Crow squatted down to begin cleaning the ancient sword. Such high-level weapons were numbered alchemic artifacts, often more effective against Hybrids than bullets. After each use, they had to be cleaned and maintained. After wiping away the dark blood, Crow quickly ran a blowtorch over the blade to prevent any of Akira’s genes from remaining in the metal. Finally, he tested the finely polished blade with his fingers; it was still smooth as a mirror. Satisfied, Crow whistled and sheathed the sword.

“His final expression was one of relief,” Chisei said softly after a long time. “I suppose he felt he had spared you, proving that he was still, somehow, human.”

“Did he still want to be human? Wasn’t the purpose of injecting that drug to evolve into a dragon?” Sakura said coldly, though she knew the answer.

“Many people harbor a mixed sense of both disgust and attachment to their past.”

“He was just a child.”

“Yes, just a child.”

“He loved you very much, didn’t he? In the final moments of his life, he suddenly met someone who understood him, someone as pure as a young girl. Psychology tells us that people are particularly prone to fall in love under such circumstances—a true love at first sight, even willing to sacrifice their dirty lives for you to live cleanly.” Chisei continued, “That’s the only explanation I can think of, otherwise why would he let you go? He wasn’t afraid of killing; up until then, he hadn’t spared a single prey, and each one died.”

“Maybe there’s another explanation.” Sakura handed over a thick notebook. “In the end, he handed his travel bag to me for safekeeping. He said he was going to Otaru to bury a friend, but inside the bag, there was only this notebook—a novel, one he wrote himself.”

Chisei opened the notebook. Every corner was filled with blue pen writing, accompanied by pen-drawn illustrations: an adventurous young man wielding a giant sword taller than himself, with an enchanted short gun strapped to his thigh, and a tall, dark god standing behind him; a ponytailed girl with a Japanese sword, her feet on roller skates. It was an adventure story—an adventure of Akira, the Child of Light and Darkness. He named his sword “Azure Judgement,” and that enchanted short gun was called “End of the World.” His journey was about opening the gate to the Celestial Route and pioneering the path among the stars. For this, he constantly honed himself to defeat the martial god, Farin Ming, who sealed the Celestial Route. During his long journey, he encountered the Colorless Spirit User, Leila G. Nami, and formed a fateful bond with the ponytailed, sword-wielding girl…

“What a typical middle-schooler story. Was he the protagonist?” Chisei didn’t want to read any further.

“It looks like he’d been writing it for over ten years, and was still writing recently. His middle-school years lasted until he was twenty-three,” Sakura said.

“In those 15 days, he traveled through so many cities, hunting down women, and only carried this one notebook. Was it because he couldn’t bear to throw it away, or was he hoping to bury his past far away?” Chisei lit the notebook on fire and tossed it off the railway bridge, watching it fall and become a burning flower. “Don’t dwell on these irrelevant things. We are just Executioners; we only need to do our job. We don’t have to try to understand our prey. We’re not beasts—how could we know what beasts are thinking?”

He paused. “Only the moths born in darkness know the terror of darkness. Butterflies that fly in sunlight can never understand.”

“Damn! That guy died in peace, but the carriage looks like it’s been hit by a bomb,” Yasha said, dragging out a black body bag.

“Have you ever been to Otaru, Young Master?” Crow asked. “Follow the tracks straight ahead, and you’ll get there. They say it’s a beautiful place, with a Kamakura-era temple in the mountains. The rice wine and hot springs are good too, and there’s a mixed bathing hot spring popular with girls with smooth skin.” Crow was purposely talking up Otaru, trying to get them a short vacation there.

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