Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 429: Night of Wind and Tides (9)

Dragon Raja 3

They grew up orphaned but vowed to rise to the top. The elder brother learned that politics and the underworld must work hand in hand to succeed. So, they drew lots: one would become the king of the yakuza, defeating all rival gangs; the other would attend the University of Tokyo, become a renowned lawyer, and eventually rise in politics.

Fate decided that the rebellious older brother would enter politics, while the sensitive younger brother would fight his way through the brutal underworld.

They obeyed destiny’s decree, vowing never to contact each other. Yet, at critical moments, they always helped one another. No one knew that the rising political star was the brother of the underworld boss, nor did anyone understand how the younger brother’s gang always managed to survive anti-gang crackdowns.

Twenty years later, the older brother had become a congressman. His ambition now unrestrained, he launched an anti-gang campaign, dealing a devastating blow to all crime syndicates. The younger brother had no choice but to stop him. He argued that the yakuza had a long history in Japan—many relied on it to survive. If the underworld were destroyed, the government wouldn’t be able to support the displaced masses. It would crush society’s weakest members.

But the older brother declared that his vision for the future had no place for the yakuza. Some sacrifices were necessary for his political ambitions.

And so, the brothers agreed to duel beneath the cross-sea bridge in Tokyo Bay—the place where they had drawn lots and parted ways.

In the end, the younger brother shot the older brother through the heart.

As the play reached its climax, the older brother, dying, revealed the truth—he was terminally ill and could no longer secretly protect his younger brother. He feared that, after his death, his introverted sibling would be unable to control the vast underworld. So, he had used his iron grip to wipe out the yakuza.

“Remember our promise—to be Japan’s number one gangster king!” His last words rang out. “My little brother will be the greatest in Japan!”

The applause was deafening. The audience wept.

The acting was crude, and Chu Zihang’s broken Japanese sounded like it had been learned in Java or Turkey. But it didn’t matter—everyone here either loved BasaraKing, loved Ukyo, or loved both. Their flaws were overlooked. After enough drinks, everyone was swept up in the moment, coming here precisely to laugh and cry.

Among the crowd, Chisei spotted a familiar face—Nakajima Sanae, a renowned designer. Years ago, when Tachibana Masamune personally sought her help to restore their family shrine, she had coldly refused, claiming that working with the yakuza would damage her firm’s reputation. Now, here she was, openly sobbing at a gangster drama.

Few in the audience truly understood the significance of this makeshift play. Only Chisei recognized the veiled mockery—these lunatics had put on this entire “gangster festival” as a parody of him and Chime. He had to admit, they were quite dedicated.

As the older brother died, a melancholic Chinese song played:

“How many years have you been by my side—
Through forests and storms, our journey fierce and wild.
Flowers bloom and wither, our path rising and falling,
Spring, summer, autumn, winter—dissolving into dust.
The curtain has yet to close, another year has passed…”

The lyrics didn’t perfectly match the story, but the mood was right. In any case, the audience was mostly Japanese—few would understand the Chinese lyrics.

But Chisei understood them perfectly.

It was an autumn-like song, the kind that left one feeling quiet inside. The line “How many years have you been by my side” echoed in his mind.

Life was fleeting. Who could truly stay by another’s side for many years?

Counting on his fingers, he could think of only three people who had accompanied him through the years—Tachibana Masamune, Sakura, and Chime.

Now, two of them were nothing more than new graves.

How many years have you been with me? How many years can I repay you?

He hummed the song softly, lost in thought. Not far away, in a VIP private room, Fūma Kōtarō was also humming the same tune, tapping his fingers rhythmically on his knee.

In the center of the dance floor, the servers placed a large bronze vat, pouring bottle after bottle of champagne into it. The guests had ordered too much alcohol tonight—wealthy patrons kept swiping their cards, gifting a bottle of champagne to every table. Eventually, all the excess champagne was poured into the vat so that anyone could take a drink from it at will.

There was more alcohol than anyone could finish in a single night, even if they drank for an entire day. At this point, buying more drinks was just a way to boost a particular host’s sales numbers, but everyone was happy to do so. It was a night of miracles—the atmosphere at Takamagahara had reached a fever pitch even before midnight.

Tonight, anything was possible.

A guest nearby noticed Chisei, her gaze shifting subtly. She must have mistaken him for a host—after all, in this club, every man was either a server or a host. With his appearance, it was impossible for Chisei to be a mere server.

Chisei plucked a rose from a nearby vase and handed it to her with a faint smile before turning away, heading toward the staircase through a passage restricted to guests.

In the basement dressing room, Chime was applying makeup, while Lu Mingfei sat backward on a chair, watching in admiration.

He recalled a famous writer once saying that watching a woman put on makeup was the most magical sight in the world. They would apply layers of delicate colors with gentle strokes, as if smoothing the feathers of a fledgling bird, and as the pale face gradually brightened, traces of allure would surface between the brows, the eyes growing more vibrant. The whole process was like witnessing a master painter creating a portrait—time seemed to flow around you, and your mood shifted like clouds drifting across the sky.

Watching Chime apply makeup evoked the same feeling. His makeup was subtle, using only the lightest touch of color. With faint hues of vermilion and bluish-green brushed over his brows and the corners of his eyes, he gradually took on an androgynous beauty—both bewitching and unnatural.

He was using makeup to forcibly transform himself back into the defiant Kazama Ruri.

“Wouldn’t it be better to see him as your true self?” Lu Mingfei couldn’t help but ask.

“I don’t want to meet him looking weak, as if I’ve come to beg for his help,” Chime replied. “Tonight, he’s meeting the Dragon King of the Oni Clan—Fūma Ruri. So I’ll give him Kazama Ruri. Only Kazama Ruri can persuade him.”

Lu Mingfei was silent for a long time. “You still hold some resentment toward him, don’t you?”

Chime paused, his gaze suddenly distant. “Of course. How could I not? When I realized I was an Oni—at my most desperate, my weakest—the one person in this world who should have stood by me instead drove a blade into my heart.

I never had a choice in my bloodline. I was born this way—this filthy thing. But he thought I was dirty, too. He was so radiant, so righteous, that he couldn’t have a filthy Oni for a brother…

But family is supposed to be the closest bond in the world! If the roles were reversed—if I were the Emperor and my brother was an Oni—I would have stood by him, even if it meant making the whole world my enemy. Compared to the person closest to you, what does the world even matter?”

His voice trembled slightly, and tears began to fall in heavy drops, smudging his carefully applied makeup.

Lu Mingfei could feel the overwhelming sorrow, like a tidal wave. Clearly, Kazama Ruri had been suppressing this emotion for a long time, but now, on the verge of seeing his brother again, he could no longer hold it back.

This kind of emotion was clearly unfavorable for negotiations. Lu Mingfei felt like he should say something to comfort him. But he couldn’t.

Because if your closest family member turned out to be an Oni, could you truly abandon them?

From a family’s perspective, “righteousness above kinship” was a cruel concept. There should be at least one person in this world for whom you would be willing to betray everything—even morality and justice.

But morality and justice were paramount, weren’t they? From childhood, teachers always told them those were things you could never betray.

Lu Mingfei couldn’t figure it all out at once. He only felt a deep, unshakable sadness.

“I’m sorry,” Chime said suddenly, his voice calm once more as he began fixing his makeup. “I do this too often. I lose myself in my own performances—one moment laughing, the next moment crying.”

“That’s why you’re the most popular host, huh?” Lu Mingfei said casually. “Every girl loves you.”

Unlike me, he thought. Even if I put on a host’s uniform and stood in a host club, I’d still just be the guy carrying the trays.

He wanted to say: You can make people feel this much pain just by crying and laughing. Even I, a thick-skinned guy, was moved. If it were a girl, she’d probably be in tears by now.

“Everyone is performing, in one way or another,” Chime said softly. “Life is like a play, and the role you play is never really your true self.”

“Not necessarily,” Lu Mingfei countered. “Boss always plays himself. I do too—the difference is, Boss plays the rich, handsome guy, while I play the loser.”