Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 177: Girl with Sandalwood Scent (9)

Dragon Raja 3

“No need! I still have to stay home and take care of my grandmother,” Makoto quickly waved her hand.

“He’ll provide your grandmother with a pension as well. Taking her to Italy for a vacation wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Caesar smiled.

That effortless smile—that was the real Caesar, in his fully confident form! Suave, self-assured, and generous enough to win a smile from any girl! Even Caesar himself was impressed by his own charm and elegance.

A sharp screech of tires came from outside, clearly from a car braking hard in front of the internet café.

“Is that your ride?” Makoto stood up. “I’ll go and greet them.”

Suddenly, Caesar grabbed her wrist. “Don’t go outside—it’s not just one car, it’s a whole convoy!”

Makoto perked up her ears, carefully listening. She could hear the faint sounds of people on the nearby shopping street, but outside, there was only the sound of one car. It had stopped in front of Mambo Internet Café, and its engine, growling like a beast, hadn’t been turned off. Combining that with the sharp sound of its brakes, it was clear that a heavily modified supercar was sitting outside. But half a minute later, Caesar’s words were confirmed—more engines, roaring like a pack of wild beasts, approached from the distance. It really was a convoy, a mixture of supercars and large motorcycles with powerful engines.

They circled the four-story building, and from the windows, the glaring taillights looked like a blood-red swarm of bees. A blood-red Dodge Viper was parked in front of the internet café, a vicious speed machine. It cost less than a tenth of Caesar’s Bugatti Veyron, but its engine displacement was even larger than the Veyron’s, with monstrous fuel consumption and extremely difficult handling. The Bugatti Veyron was like a wealthy young man wearing a rose gold sports watch and a casual suit, while the Viper was the reckless outlaw of American highways. Young men who drove these types of cars often installed NOS (nitrous oxide) tanks to inject nitrous oxide into the engine, further boosting the power, though at the cost of damaging the engine. It turned the car into a fire-spitting monster.

The Viper’s trunk opened, and as bikers rode past on either side, they pulled stainless steel machetes and short-barreled shotguns out of the trunk. The gang members wore exaggerated leather jackets adorned with copper studs, with hair dyed blue, orange, or green, and their arms covered in menacing tattoos.

These were members of a “warrior” biker gang, known as (Warrior Bōsōzoku). There were two types of bōsōzoku: the “civil bosozoku” ones , who merely enjoyed racing for fun, many of whom had regular jobs during the day and only went out at night to race; and the “warrior” ones, lawless youth who had typically dropped out of school, were unemployed, and gathered to race, as well as engage in vandalism and robbery. To the police, they were a nightmare. Unlike the more formal yakuza, who exercised restraint and only resorted to violence when necessary, warrior bōsōzoku were hot-headed and quick to draw blades, ready to kill over anything. They lived recklessly, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to die in accidents. They were often so aggressive that they would kill someone just to win the favor of a female gang member.

The equipment these bikers had was far superior to that of typical bōsōzoku. Their rides included Ducati Monsters, Honda CB400s, Yamaha XJR400s, Suzuki JMPULSE400s, and Kawasaki ZRX400s. These heavily modified motorcycles roared as loudly as the Viper, their bodies decorated with red flame decals. The boys twirled their machetes in their hands and performed wheelie stunts, showing off their impressive riding skills.

“They actually found us,” Caesar frowned. “How could there be so many biker gangs in this town?”

“There’s a world-class racetrack near the town, so there’s always a group of car enthusiasts around. Sho said the bōsōzoku in Chizuru Town are even more dangerous than those in Shinjuku, and warned me to never provoke them,” Makoto explained.

“These must be the vanguard forces Yamata no Orochi sent to deal with me,” Caesar muttered, drawing his Desert Eagle. He glanced at Makoto. “Are you scared?”

Makoto shook her head. She truly wasn’t scared—not of the people outside, nor of the large-caliber handgun and hunting knife in Caesar’s hands. In fact, seeing Caesar draw his Desert Eagle gave her courage. The way he moved, pressing the gun to the wall and quietly listening, was just like the invincible male leads in movies. How could someone this cool not fight his way out?

Caesar, however, was grimly aware of the situation. Despite his confident demeanor, there was only one bullet in his gun—he had removed the magazine when he boarded the Trieste, leaving just a single round in the chamber. Even if he had a heavy machine gun, it wouldn’t help much; he couldn’t exactly mow down a bunch of teenage punks. Some of these kids weren’t even eighteen, meaning they wouldn’t face the death penalty, even for murder.

He quickly analyzed the situation. Clearly, his location had been exposed, but he couldn’t figure out how. Yamata no Orochi wasn’t foolish—they should have sent the Execution Bureau after a dangerous target like him. Yet here was a biker gang of little kids instead.

A large van pulled up against the wall, blocking the window. The bikers actually had some tactical sense. The building didn’t have many windows, and with a few vans, they could block them all off. Makoto’s Kamaitachi reported that someone was climbing the fire escape, meaning they intended to seal off the roof as well. The bōsōzoku had clearly studied the building’s layout and were systematically blocking all exits to trap Caesar inside.

This was an attack—a well-organized military-style assault. These hormone-driven kids couldn’t have orchestrated something so well-coordinated, so someone must be directing them from behind the scenes.

Caesar returned to the computer and quickly typed: “I’m surrounded. I need the structural layout of Mambo Internet Café. Find me the best escape route.”

This was what Norma excelled at. She was a supercomputer capable of analyzing complex architectural layouts in seconds and identifying the most efficient and safest exit strategies. With her help, agents could often avoid fights and slip away unnoticed.

But this time, Norma didn’t respond.

“Caesar: Building layout, now!”

Still no response from Norma. The “Norma:\” icon continued to blink, indicating that Caesar was still connected to her, but she refused to answer his call. Caesar realized something was wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what.

Kamaitachi returned with the sound of hurried footsteps—bōsōzoku were already storming in through the front door!

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