Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 173: Girl with Sandalwood Scent (5)

Dragon Raja 3

“Gattuso-san?” the girl asked.

Caesar was startled. He looked up and scrutinized her face carefully. “Miss Makoto?”

It turned out to be Asou Makoto, whom he had met a few days ago at the toy store! No wonder he had felt a sense of familiarity when she entered, though she had kept her head down so they hadn’t made eye contact before.

“Yes, it’s me! How did you get here?” Makoto was pleasantly surprised. She had just graduated from high school and spoke relatively fluent English for a Japanese person.

Caesar thought, How did I get here… I rode a motorcycle…

Makoto took two steps forward, clearly both surprised and happy to see this foreigner again. She recalled that rainy night—it felt like a dream. The red Ferrari pierced through the rain, speeding forward. Men in black trench coats stylishly stepped out of the car, their coat tails flapping in the wind, revealing the brilliant silk lining. Makoto had been scared out of her wits, feeling like making that distress call had been a mistake—as if she had opened the gates of hell and unleashed demons. She had heard of the yakuza’s ways, appearing polite on the surface but making their enemies disappear without a trace. Who knew how many bodies were encased in the concrete of Tokyo’s high-rises? She genuinely thought these people would cut off Noda Shou’s hands, but it turned out these seemingly vicious men had a sense of humor. Once the matter was resolved, they all sat quietly on the couch reading manga, while the rain pattered on the rooftop.

Makoto had been afraid of rain since childhood. The thunder and lightning, the rain pounding on the old fiberglass roof, the cold wind slipping through the window cracks—it always made her shiver under the covers. Yet that night, the sound of the rain seemed soothing, even beautiful. With those fierce men sitting by the door, it felt as though no evil could invade the store. Among those men, Caesar left the deepest impression on her. She had only made him a cup of instant coffee, but when Caesar took it, he smiled like sunshine breaking through clouds. He took a small sip and looked astonished, as if he were tasting something extraordinary, as if that cup of coffee made his whole life worth it. Then, in broken Japanese, he said loudly, “Arigato, Good Coffee!”

Of course, that was just the nobleman’s politeness. Whenever a pretty girl served him food or drink, Caesar would always repay her with a smile and praise. Once, when he was in the Amazon rainforest, a beautiful young indigenous girl served him freshly brewed cassava beer. Caesar knew full well that the beer was made with water straight from the Amazon River, without even being filtered, but he ignored the guide’s warning, accepted the beer, and loudly praised it before downing it in one gulp… resulting in three days of diarrhea.

The stomach upset was a small matter. To Caesar, refusing a pretty girl’s offering would be a far greater disgrace. However, this time, Caesar cautiously stepped aside to avoid any contact with Makoto. Though it was only for an instant, Makoto caught a glimpse of Caesar’s panic. She remembered where they were and the roles they both played. After a few seconds of silence, she slowly stepped back, lowered her head again, and both of them remained there, heads bowed, their hands on their knees, in a long, awkward silence. Seconds ticked by, and the computer screen switched to its screensaver—images of large-breasted women with long legs flashed across the screen, blowing kisses and striking suggestive poses.

Caesar had never felt so awkward in his life, but Makoto probably felt even more embarrassed. Her long bangs hung down, covering her face. They both needed to say something to ease the tension, but neither knew what to say.

If Caesar had been an emotionally expressive intellectual, he might have pounded his fists on the tatami, tears in his eyes, and lamented how cruel society was to force an innocent girl into such a sordid place. He might have moved closer, gently patted her on the shoulder, and said, “Don’t be afraid, girl, this cultured uncle understands your plight…” If he were a despicable lecher, things would have been simpler—he could just push her down and laugh maniacally, but that would cut this scene short by a good 3,780 words… And if it had been Pompeii in this situation—no need to think about it, his father was a legendary lecher himself!

Caesar’s mind was a mess. He wanted to tell Makoto that he respected her personal choices, that working in an adult shop was still legitimate work, and no one had the right to criticize her for it. But then he thought, What does this have to do with me? I’m just here to use the internet! You’re not the internet!

“Would you still… like your shoes polished?” Makoto asked softly.

“Shoe polishing?” Caesar was stunned.

“You came here for a shoe shine?” Caesar thought to himself, You’re offering a shoe shine while dressed like Cleopatra seducing Roman Consul Antony.

Makoto opened the box she had brought with her, revealing an assortment of shoe polish, waxes, brushes, and cloths. “Yes, I work here as a shoe shiner.”

Caesar’s thoughts were all over the place. Am I overthinking this, or is this shop just bizarre? He imagined Antony being utterly bewitched by Cleopatra’s seductive looks, only for her to suddenly pull out shoe polish and a brush and ask, “Would you like to try Egyptian shoe shining? A basic shine is three coins, a premium shine is six coins, and if you pay me a silver coin, I’ll give you a foot massage after I’m done…” But then, seeing Makoto’s tight qipao, he immediately understood the game. The real attraction wasn’t the shoe shine itself but the young girl’s body. No wonder the back of her qipao was just a thin layer of mesh—when the girls crouched to shine shoes, the customers could sneak a glance at their nearly bare backs, feeding a sense of satisfaction from having a young girl kneeling at their feet. This was still an adult shop, though not as blatant as Caesar had initially imagined. It was more about subtle fantasies.

“Let me polish your shoes for you. Did something happen? You don’t seem well. Is there anything I can help you with?” Makoto asked in a low voice.

At this point, refusing would be rude. Caesar took off his mud-caked leather shoes and placed them on the tatami. “Don’t worry about me, I’m just here to use the internet.”

Tokyo, Shinjuku District, Genji Heavy Industries.

The VIP elevator descended to the ground floor, and Gen Chisei stepped out briskly. Sakura was already waiting in the lobby with his trench coat and long sword.

“Is the intel reliable?” Chisei asked as he donned his coat and strode forward.

The Execution Bureau’s convoy was already waiting outside, with officials placing police lights on the cars’ roofs. It was rush hour, and the best way to cut through traffic was to pose as the police. This wasn’t the first time the Execution Bureau had done something like this.

“Three minutes ago, Kaguya-hime triggered an alert—every network attack from the college’s headquarters is aimed at an internet café in Chizuru Town. That internet café could be the college’s safe haven,” Sakura said, quickly catching up. “Caesar and his group are most likely heading there. Additionally, I received intel that a ship returning to Nagasaki Port rescued a stranded sailor. Our people have already met with the captain, and based on his memory, he drew a sketch of the sailor.” She handed a fax to Chisei. “It’s definitely Caesar Gattuso! If Caesar is alive, the chances of the other two surviving will increase significantly!”

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