Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 216: Boy in the Thorns (19)

Dragon Raja 3

“What?” Inuyama instinctively replied.

“Still speaking like a child at your age. How many times have I told you, don’t let others lead the conversation.”

Inuyama could only stay silent, feeling embarrassed. Even answering casually earned him a scolding, which was utterly humiliating in front of his adopted daughters.

“It was a boy’s sorrow,” Anjou continued. “Back then, I wondered why an 18-year-old boy from a Yakuza family, whose job was to introduce Japanese prostitutes to American soldiers, would have such pure sadness in his eyes.”

Inuyama turned his head sharply, trying to avoid Anjou’s gaze. He was an old man now, and old men tend to lock away their pasts, never to revisit them. Reflecting on one’s past with bitterness was something only boys did.

He didn’t want anyone prying into those memories, but Anjou’s gaze pierced through his eyes and into his heart, scrutinizing him, mocking him from above.

“Don’t hide, Katsu. A man can evade all the demons in the world, but he can never escape his own cowardice,” Anjou’s voice was deep and heavy.

“I keep a file on every student, and I secretly investigated your background as well. Before the war, the Inuyama family was the weakest of the Yamata no Orochi because they earned money through prostitution, and the other families looked down on them for it. Your father was a supporter of the invasion and often mingled with radical young officers. He wanted to do something significant to prove that the Inuyama family wasn’t just a bunch of pimps. But when Japan lost the war, on the day the Emperor announced the surrender, he committed seppuku. You were left with only two sisters. The other families began encroaching on the Inuyama family’s business, taking your women and trade. Your eldest sister, Inuyama Yuki, died in a street fight, defending the last shred of dignity your family had. Your enemies demanded that your family offer up its only son to atone for her death—and that useless heir was you.”

“No, stop!” Inuyama shouted, his eyes red with fury.

“Your second sister begged for help, but no one in the family reached out. The rest of the Yamata no Orochi waited for the Inuyama family’s collapse, eager to see the Orochi reduced to seven families. But your sister came up with a way to save the family: she offered herself, famous for her beauty, to an American officer. The U.S. military agreed to protect your crumbling family…”

“No… stop saying it!” Inuyama trembled, his face ashen.

“Coward!” Anjou slapped him hard across the face. “If you can’t even bear to listen, how can you face it? How can you defeat it?”

Inuyama was stunned into silence.

“You were eighteen back then, a boy in a tattered kimono, running through the rain, holding a few black-and-white photos touched up with paint. You connected Japanese prostitutes with American soldiers. If they hit it off, they’d give you a few yen as payment. You were the last man of the Inuyama family, stubbornly holding on to the sex trade. An American colonel lived in your family’s ancestral home. He was your sister’s benefactor—and her lover. Every day, he toyed with your sister without paying a single cent. That was his price for helping your family. You didn’t dare go home because you couldn’t bear to see it. You swore that one day you would kill that American colonel and reclaim the Yamata no Orochi, making them pay for your sister’s death.” Anjou grabbed Inuyama’s hair. “But you, this coward, couldn’t do it! Deep down, you knew you couldn’t!”

“You were so lowly, unable to even protect yourself, but you were kind to the prostitutes. You fought clients to protect their interests, getting beaten up for it. In your eyes, these women who sold their bodies for money were just like the sister you never wanted to see again. You thought that by protecting them, you could atone for your ‘failure.’”

The girls knelt down. They knew little about the family’s past and had never imagined that their once proud family head had such a terrible childhood. To stand while hearing such a sorrowful story was an insult to their master.

“But that’s strength, Katsu!” Anjou slapped Inuyama’s pale face. “You’re not the most talented among my students, but you have strength buried within you. There is no force stronger than sorrow and anger. When that sorrow and anger break free, it will turn into a lion. All I had to do was awaken you, to turn the last boy of the Inuyama family into a real man. I never encouraged you because it wouldn’t work. Encouragement would only coddle you, helping you forget your pain. Instead, I knocked you down again and again, insulted you, mocked you, made you remember your weakness, made you remember that there were things in this world you couldn’t do. I wanted you to remember your sorrow forever! Let me be the greatest evil in your life, so you’ll give everything to defeat me! I’ve been waiting for the lion inside you to roar.”

“I see the results today. Ninth-level Satsuna, 512-fold speed slash. Very good,” Anjou nodded slightly. “I’m quite pleased.”

He stood up, walked behind the sofa, and placed his hands on Inuyama’s shoulders, the warmth from his hands seeping into Inuyama’s body. Suddenly, Inuyama recalled many years ago when Anjou took the 18-year-old him to the harbor to see warships. Anjou had stood behind him just like this, and an officer from the U.S. Navy, who happened to have a camera, joked with Anjou, “Is this your Japanese son?” while pressing the shutter. At that time, Anjou had placed his hands on his shoulders in the same way.

Anjou stubbed out his cigar, draped his coat over his bare back, and began walking out: “You’ve made it through the thorns, Katsu, congratulations.”

Inuyama’s body ached as though it was about to break, but he still managed to support himself and turn to watch the old man’s retreating figure. In that single glance, sixty years seemed to pass in an instant.

Decades had gone by. He had grown into a highly respected leader, thinking he could finally bury the miserable years of his youth forever. But the man who held his memories had returned—Hilbert Ron Anjou. It turned out that all these years, his true youth had remained with Anjou… Some memories Inuyama had selectively forgotten, which is why he always thought of Anjou as a tyrant, the man he would one day defeat.

That year, cherry blossoms fell on the half-naked bodies of prostitutes, and Inuyama rolled on the floor of a rundown classroom, his face covered in nosebleeds, with English curses echoing in his ears… Finally, he remembered—that was his real first encounter with Anjou.

The day the Iowa docked in Tokyo harbor, Inuyama had successfully introduced two Japanese prostitutes to two American soldiers. He rode in a jeep with the soldiers to an abandoned school. The impoverished prostitutes had set up wooden beds in the old schoolhouse to conduct their transactions in secret.

“Kid, are these the women you hooked us up with? They look like ghosts!” one of the soldiers complained.

“The other one looks like she hasn’t even hit puberty yet!”

The fifteen-year-old girl was curled up in a corner, trembling. One of the soldiers pulled off his belt, waving it around, intending to chase Inuyama out.

Inuyama suddenly realized that the soldiers didn’t want to pay. Once they drove him away, they could do whatever they wanted to the two women. In this remote place, even if the women screamed for help, no one would hear. Inuyama was sixteen at the time, the only man who could save them. He took off his jacket, revealing his proud tattoos, and charged forward with a wooden stick. He was beaten down repeatedly by the belt, the brass buckle leaving deep welts on his body.