Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 426: Night of Wind and Tides (6)

Dragon Raja 3

Caesar and Chu Zihang woke up to find Enxi directing the waitstaff and chefs as they decorated the stage.

She truly lived up to her reputation as a heavy drinker—despite being completely wasted the night before, she now showed no signs of a hangover. She had changed into a black uniform skirt and a golden blouse, with light makeup accentuating her pretty face and a faint scent of Hermes perfume lingering around her.

“Are we preparing a spectacular performance for the Patriarch?” Caesar gazed upward. The waitstaff had constructed a bridge over the stage, and with the help of a construction crew, they had transformed the setting into a replica of the Shinjuku nightscape—flashing neon signs of all sizes, with a high overpass cutting across the upper section.

Enxi sat on the circular sofa, crossing her legs as she lit a slender More cigarette. Caesar struck a match and handed it over, earning a satisfied smile from Enxi—she clearly appreciated a host with good instincts.

“In Shinjuku, there’s no such thing as fair negotiations between you and Yamata no Orochi,” Enxi said lazily. “My guarantee only protects you for 24 hours. After that, they can deal with this club, Chime, and you however they see fit—if you choose to protect him.”

“I expected as much,” Caesar nodded.

“By this evening, the lockdown will resume. Yamata no Orochi will begin sealing off roads and controlling stations from a few kilometers out, tightening their grip. Most businesses here will cooperate because they respect the rules of this place. And the rules here are set by Yamata no Orochi,” Enxi continued. “This is what’s called a ‘clearance operation’—before an important meeting, they remove all irrelevant parties. Once the clearance is complete, Takamagahara will become an isolated battlefield. If your ace host fails in negotiations, Yamata no Orochi will be free to slaughter at will. The police won’t interfere, and no one on the street will come to your aid.”

“Sounds absolutely terrible.”

“You should have driven off last night, taking that injured little girl and your mentally drained ace host with you. Difficult, but not impossible,” Enxi shrugged. “But you chose to stay.”

“You staked a fortune to vouch for us. What if we ran off with your money?”

“I’m not worried. In the financial world, those Japanese businessmen are no match for me. They should stick to their samurai swords,” Enxi sighed. “But what can I do? I woke up to find you still here, so I have no choice but to help you a little more.”

“From the looks of it, you’re planning to host a grand reception for Yamata no Orochi, hoping to make them go easy on us?” Caesar raised an eyebrow. He knew this cunning woman must have a plan.

“Of course,” Enxi beamed. “Shinjuku isn’t our turf, but Takamagahara is. We are the hosts here—shouldn’t we properly entertain our guests? Tonight, there will be a grand performance, setting the stage for the Patriarch to sit down in the midst of dazzling song and dance. Everyone will talk, drink, and enjoy themselves!” She tossed a phone and a printed guest list to Caesar and Chu Zihang. “Time to get to work—invite these esteemed guests to our party tonight!”

Nakajima Sanae sat by her office window, watching the sunset alone.

She had graduated from Waseda University’s architecture department and was a top-tier interior designer. Tokyo’s elite took pride in owning designs by her.

In her youth, she had been a beauty, pursued by many upperclassmen, but she was determined to study abroad. Now, she remained just as elegant—fresh and refined like an orchid. Bouquets from admirers frequently adorned her desk. But she looked down on those men. She preferred seeking entertainment at host clubs. The men who pursued her wanted to turn a renowned designer into a cautious housewife, whereas at a host club, she was free. She could drape her arms around a host’s neck, laugh and shout, and drink herself into oblivion.

Her indulgent lifestyle continued until she met Ukyo Tachibana. That night, women screamed for him, but Ukyo sat quietly, his eyes clear, as if their excitement had nothing to do with him. The surrounding chaos seemed irrelevant.

Sanae often worked late. By the time she arrived at Takamagahara, most guests were already drunk. The dance floor pulsed with hazy, sensual energy. She stood out—an outlier in the crowd. But there was another outlier there, waiting for her. Ukyo looked up at her and said, “Is this how tonight ends?” Without thinking, she replied, “No, this is just the beginning!”

She wasn’t sure if she had fallen for Ukyo, but she had certainly spent an absurd amount of time and money at that club.

“If you keep this up, you’ll never get married. No man can compete with a host. They’re paid to please you. If you use host club standards to pick a husband, you’ll be a single career woman forever,” her friends warned.

Sanae saw their point. So, she resolved to distance herself from the nightlife, arranging dinner dates with successful men instead. Tonight, for example, she had agreed to dine with Congressman Hōjō at Minotsu for kaiseki.

Her assistant entered and bowed. “Ms. Nakajima, your appointment with Congressman Hōjō is set for tonight. It’s time to depart.”

At that moment, her phone vibrated with a message:

“I wonder… how will tonight end? —Ukyo Tachibana”

Sanae shot up from her seat, slipped into high heels, let down her hair, and strode out of the office.

“Ms. Nakajima! Congressman Hōjō’s car is waiting downstairs!” Her assistant called after her in shock.

“You have dinner with him. I have a date tonight.” Sanae didn’t look back.

Meanwhile, Aoki Chinatsu was negotiating with her father.

Chinatsu was 21 years old, born into a political dynasty, yet she was a singer. At 14, she had formed the band “Zero-Colored Butterfly” with friends and signed with a major entertainment agency.

Despite her promising career, Chinatsu was scandalously reckless—wildly impulsive and addicted to shōchū. She had even missed performances due to drinking too much. By all logic, she should have failed as a pop star. But she was Aoki Chinatsu—Japan’s undisputed “Grand Champion” of music idols. She was born to reign, whether through talent or beauty.

She knew how to leverage her strengths. When her popularity waned and her agency grew indifferent, her assistants panicked. But Chinatsu remained calm. “Let’s boost my fame,” she said. “We’ll hold a concert.”

That concert became legendary in Japanese pop history. A massive glass pool was built on stage. Chinatsu, guitar in hand, leapt from a helicopter, strumming the opening chord of her song before plunging into the water. Her long black hair fanned out, her white dress clung to her body, tracing every perfect curve. The stage lights illuminated the water like holy radiance—angelic purity and devilish temptation fused into one. One minute later, thunderous applause erupted. The next morning, her agency’s executives were groveling at her feet again.

Now, she was discussing marriage with her father.

“Chinatsu, I know music is your career, and I’m very proud of you. You’ve brought honor to the Aoki family,” her father said. “But a woman must eventually marry. I’ve been searching for a good husband for you. Your bandmates aren’t suitable. We are a political family—our lineage has always married into the government…”

Her father rambled on.

“The grand performance at Takamagahara, a night of champagne and festivities—looking forward to your presence. —BasaraKing.”

Right on cue, the message arrived.

Chika Aoki toyed with her phone, thinking, Finally got your number. So, you send out customer-gathering messages too?

“Guess who I am?” She sent a message.

“Too many guests to guess. Special celebration at the club tonight, coming?” The reply was blunt.

“What special celebration?”

“Probably the boss lady’s birthday or her ex-husband’s memorial day or something. Drinks are half price, all the signature performances are on. If you wanna drink cheap, now’s the time.”

“Damn you! You don’t even remember who I am? Who the hell would accept an invitation like that?! The amount of booze I bought for you could knock out everyone on that street! Since when do I care about drink prices? Screw you!”

“Then you must be Chika Aoki.”

“What made you suddenly remember?”

“Only you buy that much alcohol, swear like a sailor, and use ‘screw you’ in texts. Get over here!”

“Damn it! I’m discussing my engagement with my father, and you’re asking me to ditch it for a host club? This is my lifelong commitment!”