Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 286: The Last Emperor & The Last KGB Officer (1)

Dragon Raja 3

Late at night, on a small street behind Tokyo University, a wooden food cart was parked by the roadside. In Japan, such a human-powered cart is called a “ramen yatai,” designed to sell ramen while traveling through streets and alleys. The windows flipped open to become a rain shelter, with two wooden stools placed underneath. Customers sat on the stools to eat while the ramen chef worked inside the cart. Despite its small size, the setup had everything it needed: a soup pot, ingredients neatly arranged on the counter. When customers sat down, the deep blue curtain provided them with a private space. Compared to ramen in shops, the environment and taste here were simpler, but so were the prices, attracting many poor students from the university. Master Koeru, the cart owner, had been running his business here for many years and had earned a decent reputation.

“Oh, Koeru-san! Still open in this rain after the earthquake?” a student asked as he lifted the curtain, glancing at the pouring rain outside.

“I’ll pack up if there are no more customers. By the way, I haven’t seen that girl you brought here last time,” Koeru said, clearing bowls while chatting casually with the customer.

Koeru was getting on in years. His white hair was neatly parted, and he wore the typical white linen uniform of a ramen chef, a black towel tied around his forehead, giving the impression that he’d spent his entire life making ramen.

“Are you talking about Yui or Asuna? I’ve brought them both here for ramen before,” the student replied.

“Oh, I can’t remember the name, but she looked like a rich girl. Her hair was dyed brown, with braids on both sides, and she wore white knee-high socks.”

“Koeru-san, you’ve got a good memory,” the student laughed, scratching his head. “That was Asuna. I only brought her here once, and you still remember. You’re quite the charmer, Koeru-san.”

“How could I forget? She had such a… impressive chest, practically resting on the table as she ate! And those legs—such a tempting absolute territory! Didn’t you hit it off with her?” Koeru said with a sly grin.

“She’s just a girl I met in the astronomy club. Lots of people are after her in school. She’s a goddess, with a rich family. The fact that she came here for ramen was already more than I could ask for.”

“It sounds like you still have a thing for her, though,” Koeru teased as he set a cup of sake in front of the student.

“I just don’t have what it takes,” sighed the student, whose last name was Kirigaya, clearly a regular at the cart and on familiar terms with Koeru. “I thought about it for a long time but decided not to pursue her. Failing to win over a goddess would just lead to mockery from my classmates, right?”

“Who cares about losing face? Life is about embarrassing yourself again and again until you grow up. But if you don’t try to be with the person you like the most while you still can, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” Koeru stirred the soup pot as he spoke, his voice serious despite the crude nature of his words. They had an oddly persuasive quality that tugged at the student’s heart.

Kirigaya lowered his soup spoon, his thoughts drifting back to that night when he sat beside Asuna, eating ramen. He imagined his future self, twenty years later, looking back on that moment.

Both the chef and the customer seemed lost in their own thoughts as the rain drummed steadily on the roof. At the end of the alley, a sleek black car appeared, gliding through the water like a panther hunting in the night. The car came to a quiet stop by the roadside, and its wipers cleared the rain from the windshield. Through the cleared window, Koeru saw the man inside—a white-haired elderly gentleman in a black suit, wearing a rose-colored bow tie. He didn’t look like someone who would be out for late-night ramen.

Kirigaya was too lost in his daydreams to notice the arrival of the black Maserati. However, Koeru’s expression subtly changed the moment the car appeared. Though still dressed as a humble ramen chef, he now carried an air of someone standing atop a distant peak.

The car door opened, and a pair of polished custom leather shoes stepped into the rain. The elderly man held a black umbrella, from which the rain poured in sheets.

“Oh! A Maserati! That’s a fine car you’ve got there!” Kirigaya turned to glance at the vehicle and raised his cup in a toast to the elderly man.

“Kirigaya-kun, I’m closing up for the night. This last drink is on me—my apologies,” Koeru said calmly.

“But isn’t that customer here for ramen?” Kirigaya pointed to the man standing beside the Maserati.

“Whether he’s here for ramen or not, I’m still closing. People out at this hour come for all sorts of reasons—maybe he’s on his way to a funeral,” Koeru said, handing Kirigaya his bag. “Good luck with Asuna. Bring her back for ramen when you win her over.”

Koeru walked Kirigaya a few steps and brushed past the elderly man by the Maserati, his gaze fixed on something far away.

Returning to the cart, Koeru turned off the string of colorful lights around the sign, leaving only the small lamp above the soup pot. The elderly man had already taken a seat under the awning and was sipping cheap sake from a small cup, drinking like any ordinary Japanese salaryman.

“I’ll take a bowl of ramen. I came as soon as I got your message—didn’t even have time for dinner,” the elderly man said.

“Are you deaf? I said I’m closing.”

“But I didn’t plan to pay, so that means you’re not really open for business.”

“Anjou, you’ve been an asshole your whole life!” Uesugi Koeru was fuming. “What do you want to eat?”

“The usual, I suppose.”

“You talk like I used to be your personal ramen chef!” Uesugi Koeru angrily threw the noodles into the soup pot. “It’s been over sixty years, can’t you be a little more polite?”

“Who says I’m impolite? Katsu, just a mere house head, sent people to the airport to pick me up with dozens of bodyguards and a fleet of Mercedes cars, locking down the whole immigration hall. The reception party was held at the most luxurious club in Shibuya, with dozens of girls covered in gold powder dancing provocatively, and idols pouring me drinks and lighting my cigarettes.” Anjou chuckled. “But look at you, the supreme of the underworld, offering me a bowl of ramen. That’s pretty stingy hospitality, isn’t it?”

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