Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 428: Night of Wind and Tides (8)

Dragon Raja 3

The posters warned that Dark Night Ruri prowled Tokyo’s nights, leaving countless young women dead in his wake. The Yakuza Syndicate had placed a ten-million-yen bounty on his head, urging all women to be cautious when walking at night. It was said that he only targeted the most beautiful women—so the most conservative clothing was the safest.

Yet tonight, every guest wore ultra-short skirts, 20 to 30 centimeters above the knee, teetering on 10- to 15-centimeter heels. Sheer fabrics and backless dresses were everywhere. Rather than heed the warning, they flaunted their beauty even more.

According to tonight’s game, the deadly Dark Night Ruri was hiding somewhere in Takamagahara. He was a master of disguise, and guests had to identify him from among the many attractive men. The first to do so would win the ten-million-yen prize. But Dark Night Ruri himself might also approach a beautiful woman—if that happened, she could capture him on the spot. So, tonight’s theme was not just about the hunt—it was also a contest of beauty.

Every guest invited to this “Yakuza Gala” was both socially prominent and confident in their looks. Among them was rock star Aoki Chinatsu, seated at a round table, playing dice with a few friends.

Even the proprietress of Takamagahara had personally made an appearance. Despite the fact that some of these guests spent hundreds of thousands here nightly, this was the first time they realized the club even had a proprietress. A woman running a host club—it was a bit unusual to think about.

Yet Enxi won them over effortlessly. She was young, beautiful, impeccably dressed, and full of witty remarks—a socialite in her own right.

She also had an astonishing alcohol tolerance. Moving from table to table, she was followed by a waiter carrying a tray of neatly arranged glasses of amber-hued aged whiskey.

She offered a drink to every guest, her generosity earning their admiration.

It was rare for Enxi to have the chance to drink freely like this—bordering on a personal indulgence. Normally, Sakatoku Mai kept her drinking in check, knowing all too well how terrible she was when drunk. Sakatoku Mai hadn’t shown up tonight—she had met Caesar and Lu Mingfei before, and her long legs were impossible to hide, even under an Arabian robe. If she appeared, she would make a mockery of the dolled-up guests.

Enxi sauntered gracefully into the VIP box and warmly hugged Fūma Kōtarō.

“At last, Fūma-kun has graced us with his presence! All drinks are free tonight—enjoy yourself!”

Fūma Kōtarō knew full well that she was putting on an act, but he still politely expressed his gratitude.

“Su-san, since you’ve opened a club in Japan, of course, I had to come show support. But isn’t this place a bit too noisy for negotiations?”

“We’ve prepared ‘Summer Moon Room’ on the third floor—a traditional Japanese-style room with a large balcony overlooking Tokyo’s skyline. I’m sure the patriarch will find it satisfactory.” Enxi smiled. “I personally guarantee that only the patriarch and the Dragon King of the Oni Clan will be allowed upstairs.”

“A private meeting?”

“A private meeting. I believe that’s what the patriarch has been hoping for, isn’t it?”

Fūma Kōtarō nodded solemnly. “Yes. The patriarch has always said that when they meet, there should be no outsiders. So, you mean that Sakurai and I will stay here and enjoy the show?”

“This is just a four-story building, not Tokyo Tower—there’s no heaven or hell to escape to,” Enxi said with a knowing smirk. “With Tokyo’s elite socialites partying here tonight, who would dare cause trouble? In a place like this, what could we possibly do to harm the one and only Emperor?”

Fūma Kōtarō was silent for a moment, then let out a soft sigh.

“You know too much, Su-san. Your organization’s investment in us—is that also for the Dragon Raja’s legacy? I thought that was the family’s deepest secret, but it seems far too many people already know. Just how many people and organizations out there are waiting to inherit the Dragon Raja’s legacy? It’s disheartening to think about.”

“All seals will eventually break. All cages will decay. But what lies within is eternal.” Enxi smiled. “How could we stop it?”

“Are you saying that the buried civilization will one day resurface?”

“I don’t know. No one does. If there really is a wheel of fate, it started turning long ago. No one can stop it, and no one can change its direction. Compared to it, we are insignificant—we can only run atop that wheel and follow our own instincts.” Enxi’s voice was distant. “When that final day comes, I can only watch it unfold.”

“Following one’s instincts… That’s a profound thought. Hearing such wisdom from you tonight, Su-san, makes you my teacher.” Fūma Kōtarō bowed slightly.

“Oh, don’t be so formal!” Enxi suddenly laughed, slinging an arm around his shoulders and giving him a hearty slap on the back. “This is a nightclub—no one leaves sober! Everyone else is drinking—why shouldn’t we? Too bad I don’t have any women here worthy of accompanying you. What do you think of me? It’s not like you have many choices… If Sakurai-san over there doesn’t count as your personal companion, I’ll find her a handsome date!”

Fūma Kōtarō took the glass she handed him and stared into Enxi’s eyes—sometimes charming, sometimes unfathomably deep.

“I only have one question,” he said. “Did you come to Japan to free the god—or to bury it?”

Enxi smiled again. “I assure you, no matter who I serve or what my purpose is, up until this moment, I am still your friend. I came to Japan to send a god back to hell—something that should not remain in this world.”

“For those words of yours, cheers!”

“Cheers!”

Their glasses clinked. Fūma Kōtarō downed his drink in one gulp, then pulled out his phone and dialed Chisei’s number. “The deployment is complete, the environment is secure—the patriarch may enter.”

To his surprise, the person who answered wasn’t Chisei, but Crow. “Clear. Maintain control over the environment. The patriarch is ready to enter.”

Standing in the shadows, Chisei removed his earpiece, brushed the raindrops from his hair, and silently observed the revelers indulging in the pleasures of the dance floor.

He was already inside Takamagahara. Disguised as Fūma Kōtarō’s driver, he kept his hat pulled low over his face. No one would suspect that the man driving the car was the real VIP, while Fūma Kōtarō and Sakurai Nanami in the backseat were the bodyguards.

That morning, Yamata no Orochi had obtained the internal map of Takamagahara. The staircase leading to the third floor was not far away. Tonight, that floor was off-limits—where a pale young man sat in a traditional Japanese teahouse called “Summer Moon,” waiting for him.

It was an elaborate arrangement. After everything they had been through—brothers and enemies—they were finally meeting again. With so many important figures present and Tokyo’s socialites gathered around, they could sit down and talk instead of drawing their swords. Whether someone would die in that small room, Chisei didn’t care to think about. There were still ten minutes until the appointed time, and for now, he wanted to stay and watch the performance.

He was someone who preferred peace and quiet and rarely visited such rowdy places. But tonight, for some reason, this chaotic environment felt strangely warm.

Though, admittedly, it was absurd.

The waiters were all dressed in black uniforms with their sleeves rolled up, revealing tiger-and-dragon tattoos on their forearms. When lighting cigarettes for customers, they would draw pistols from their waists, flick the trigger, and ignite a bright flame at the muzzle. The hosts all wore long black trench coats over garishly colored shirts—imitating the Execution Bureau, no doubt. The club even provided cosplay outfits for guests: leather miniskirts, fishnet stockings, tight police uniforms. Tonight, everyone here was a gangster—thugs, enforcers, corrupt cops, fallen women… a grand masquerade.

Men and women shouted as they shook dice, downing their drinks in one go. Occasionally, a host would take the stage to deliver some absurd yet impassioned speech, followed by a performance. The most popular hosts drew thunderous applause, like BasaraKing’s Cleopatra act or Ukyo Tachibana’s Sakura Falls at Ganryūjima.

These lunatics had become even more unhinged in the past few days. It turned out they weren’t just hiding in this club—they were part of it.

Some say that revelry is just loneliness in a crowd. But when lonely people gather, it seems that warmth becomes real.

Even Chisei could feel the heat emanating from them.

The roar of an engine drowned out the music. A black motorcycle sped into the center of the dance floor. Caesar Gattuso, clad in a tight leather suit, was draped in silver chains, a gleaming Desert Eagle tucked into his belt. He pulled off his sunglasses and tossed them to the crowd. “My engine is burning hot—are you ready?”

“BasaraKing! BasaraKing!” A storm of roses was hurled onto the stage.

White petals rained down as Chu Zihang, dressed in a crimson leather trench coat and wearing a skull mask, descended onto the stage. Caesar charged toward him on his motorcycle, and the two engaged in an exaggerated fight, as if enacting a gangster drama.

After several rounds, Chu Zihang picked up the Desert Eagle that Caesar had dropped and fired a shot through his chest. Then, suddenly, he lunged forward to embrace the falling Caesar.

Chisei began to understand—the performance was about two gangster brothers. Caesar played the rebellious older brother, while Chu Zihang portrayed the sensitive younger one.

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