Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 377: An Old Friend From the Arctic (3)

Dragon Raja 3

“Is it for your hypocritical gentlemanly virtue, or just your animalistic urge to chase women?” Chu Zihang raged.

He rarely got this angry, but the feeling of being betrayed by two of his teammates was unbearable, especially when their impulsive actions could lead to a disaster that might wipe out an entire nation, costing countless lives to set things right.

“Maybe both—the hypocritical gentlemanly virtue or the urge to chase pretty women, it’s possible. But this is my justice. If I go against it, then Caesar Gattuso ceases to exist,” Caesar said softly, looking directly into Chu Zihang’s eyes. “If it were me, I wouldn’t have plunged a knife into that girl’s back, no matter whether she was a Dragon Queen or not.”

For a moment, Caesar thought Chu Zihang was going to kill him. The light in his golden eyes was as sharp and deadly as a scythe. Caesar had never seen Chu Zihang so vicious. But eventually, that blinding light dimmed, and what Caesar saw instead was a side of Chu Zihang he had never seen before—weakness.

Chu Zihang let go of him and slowly sat back in the driver’s seat. In the rearview mirror, the golden eyes that Caesar had once admired and feared had never looked so dim.

The rain fell in sheets, drenching the world in silence. On this empty highway, Chu Zihang suddenly reverted to the boy he had been years ago.

Caesar puffed on a cigar, exhaling faint blue smoke. This was the first time he noticed that Chu Zihang’s natural eye color was a light chestnut brown, far from imposing—almost fragile.

Glancing at his watch, Caesar estimated that the train had already arrived at Matsuyama Station. Only then did he lazily say, “There’s a perfectly good jug of coolant in the trunk. Add that, and we can head back to Tokyo.”

Chu Zihang opened the car door and went to the trunk to fetch the coolant. Along the way, Caesar hummed along to a strange Japanese song on the radio. Chu Zihang didn’t say another word.

It was late at night in Kabukicho. There were hardly any pedestrians or cars on the street, and the bars and nightclubs had closed for the night. Only the most high-end establishments still had their towering neon signs glowing.

Whale nightclub was considered one of the leading establishments in Kabukicho, so its neon sign remained lit all night. Due to the heavy rain, the club had closed early, but there was still a doorman in white gloves standing under the sign, maintaining the high-class image of the place.

A figure approached from afar, gazing up at Whale sign and muttering the name a few times. Suddenly, the figure’s face lit up with joy, as if they had found salvation.

“Excuse me… is this Whale? Do you serve male customers here?” A soaking wet foreigner slicked back his hair and asked the doorman in fairly fluent Japanese.

There were no more customers inside, and the doorman was only there to uphold the club’s image. He hadn’t expected anyone to actually show up, let alone a hulking man. The doorman eyed him suspiciously. The foreigner wore a pullover of indeterminate color, jeans that hadn’t been washed in days, and his clothes were stained with grease. His long, unkempt hair was tangled and dirty. He was holding a fast-food paper bag, with a torn hole revealing half a bitten burger inside, as if he had picked it up from the street.

This guy looked like a starving homeless man on the verge of fainting. Forget about spending money at Takamagahara—if they let him in, he’d probably dash straight for the kitchen, rip open the fridge, shove whatever he could find into his mouth, and then collapse on the floor, pretending to be dead, daring anyone to hit him.

The doorman covered his nose to avoid the foul stench and, using a relatively gentle tone, said, “I’m sorry, but Takamagahara is a club exclusively for women. We do not serve male customers.”

“But aren’t you a man yourself?” The homeless man stared intently at the doorman, seemingly eyeing him up like a predator, either attracted to the pretty-faced doorman or so hungry that he found the doorman’s curly, cornrow-like hair appetizing.

“Staff members are an exception,” the doorman replied, his heart racing under the intense gaze. “I’m an employee.”

The homeless man hesitated for a moment before turning and walking into the pouring rain.

The doorman sighed in relief, thinking that was the end of it. But after standing in the rain for half a minute, the man returned. He lowered his head, pushed back his drenched hair with both hands, and slicked it into a classic smooth-back style.

“My friend! Look at me! I’m the Yosuke Eguchi type! I’d be a great fit for staff! Can you hire me?” The homeless man’s eyes widened, his eyebrows raised, and his chest puffed up so much it looked like it would tear his shirt.

The doorman stared blankly at this bizarre spectacle, pointing at him, “You, you, you… you’re…”

“I’m the Yosuke Eguchi type!” the homeless man emphasized again.

“No, no! You’re the Tomoya Nagase type!” The doorman became a bit excited.

“Um… I haven’t been keeping up with the latest Japanese dramas. Who’s this Tomoya Nagase?” The homeless man seemed a bit nervous now.

“Lovestruck Detective,” the doorman gave a thumbs up, “Nagase Tomoya from Lovestruck Detective! He’s the main character! He’s my idol!”

“Really?” The homeless man stroked his well-sculpted Aryan chin, pleasantly surprised. “And he’s the main character?”

“Yes! He plays a hilariously cheeky character in that show!” The doorman bowed deeply. “You’ve come at the perfect time. The manager said the hosts here are all too focused on looks, and we need more funny guys. We really need talent like yours! Please, take a seat, and I’ll go recommend you to the manager right away!”

“I’m still young, and I’m truly honored by your kindness. If fate allows, we’ll meet again. Perhaps that will be the moment for a lifetime bond.” Caesar gracefully saw off the last guest of the night. “I do hope you’ll return to support me next time.”

He and Chu Zihang helped Lu Mingfei pack up Erii’s toys and clothes, delivering them to the inn’s front desk, where they asked the landlady to mail the items. Afterward, they leisurely headed to a ramen shop in the backstreets, had some sake, ate bowls of soy sauce ramen, and then returned to Takamagahara, only to find a loyal fan still waiting.

A drunken woman leaned against Caesar’s shoulder, and with Lu Mingfei and Chu Zihang’s help, the three of them escorted her out of the club.

This devoted fan was Ms. Mikasa, the vice president of a certain engine manufacturing company. At thirty-two, she was married but childless. Her husband, a sumo wrestler dedicated to his craft, had grown increasingly obese as he threw himself into his sumo career. Ignored and neglected, Ms. Mikasa turned to nightclubs for comfort, becoming one of BasaraKing’s most valuable clients.

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