Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 54: Japan Branch (2)

Dragon Raja 3

“Cassell College, Japan Division, Gen Chisei, Executive Officer,” the man said. “Do you understand now?”

“You are…” Fear exploded in Oyama’s mind.

This fear wasn’t external but rather like an ancient tree deeply rooted within his heart. Over the years, instead of fading, it had only grown stronger. For years, he lived on the run, hiding from place to place, not daring to live in luxurious apartments or flaunt himself in public, carefully concealing his tracks. At one point, he thought he had managed to escape their watch. But only now did he realize their net had never once loosened; they had merely waited for the right moment to close it. Oyama knew what they were after—it could only be that forbidden thing that would make these people pursue him.

“You are a Hybrid, but the dragon blood in your lineage is very weak. In our surveillance list, your code is white, the safest category. Originally, you would never have crossed paths with us, but you made a mistake. As a graduate of Waseda University, you were an outstanding medical student, and you’ve been conducting genetic research related to dragon blood since your student days. Recently, your research achieved a breakthrough, and you created a genetic drug called ‘Molotov Cocktail.’ This drug enhances bloodline strength but has severe side effects. You sold the formula to a major client, who paid you fifty million yen as compensation. Additionally, you helped him conduct human experiments to observe the drug’s side effects.” Chisei stared into Oyama’s eyes. “I just need a name—the name of that test subject.”

“You’ve got the wrong person! I haven’t had contact with any Hybrids in years. I haven’t developed any genetic drugs, and what I sold was just a patent for a new type of drug!” Oyama sputtered, his mouth frothing with blood. “You’ve got the wrong person!”

“Your test subject has gone berserk and is killing people everywhere. We need to put a stop to his indiscriminate slaughter immediately. Every second we can save is precious, so we won’t waste even a second on you.” Chisei’s expression was sincere.

“Damn it! I really don’t understand what you’re talking about! Who told you I created that Molotov Cocktail? Bring them here to confront me! I really don’t know anything! I only sold the patent for a new type of refined drug!” Oyama spoke in a muffled voice, spitting out tooth fragments one after another. He knew threats and bribes wouldn’t work on these men, so he put on a pitiful face again, his eyes like a helpless animal.

“We’ve wasted enough time.” Chisei stood up. “Yasha, finish it.”

Yasha clapped his hands. “Got it! With Crow’s help, it’ll be done in half an hour!”

Crow frowned, clearly reluctant, but he still grabbed Oyama’s leg and dragged him to a large cement mixer. The pier construction required a large amount of cement mortar every day, and whatever wasn’t used was kept in the mixer overnight to prevent solidification. Yasha used iron wire to bind Oyama’s arms and legs and threw him into the vertical pit.

“Cement grade 52.5, will it crack when poured?” Crow dipped his finger in the cement mortar at the outlet and rubbed it, quickly announcing the grade.

“The cement piles used for the pier will be submerged in seawater. Grade 52.5 won’t crack in water.” Yasha expertly opened the mixer, and the cement mortar poured out.

Oyama Ryuzo understood what “finish it” meant. These men didn’t even want to spend time extracting a confession; Chisei’s order was for Yasha to deal with the body. Oyama had heard of this method. When the Yakuza killed someone, they would encase them in a cement pillar. It was said that there were countless high-rise buildings in Tokyo with skeletons hidden in the cement piles, silently supporting this grand city even in death. The vertical pit was a mold for pouring cement piles, and once Oyama was encased, he would be driven into the seabed, disappearing from this world forever.

The hot, heavy cement mortar poured onto Oyama’s shoulder, almost breaking his bones. Within seconds, the cement was already up to his thighs. Lime dust got into his eyes and throat, and he seemed to smell the stench of his own corpse. As death approached, all he could think about were the women he had toyed with—their bodies soft and exhausted while unconscious, so tempting. He wanted to confess, hoping that if he did, he could still indulge in the pleasure of violating pregnant women.

Back in university, he had liked a classmate named Mami. But Mami liked Fujiwara, the handsome young heir to an electronics store chain. He watched as Mami and Fujiwara grew closer, even traveling abroad together without telling their parents. Oyama thought that someone like Fujiwara, with his easy life, would get bored of Mami and abandon her eventually. That would be his chance to comfort her and win her over. He harbored this expectation until one day Mami came to him, pregnant with Fujiwara’s child, but Fujiwara wouldn’t acknowledge it. She asked Oyama for help, to pretend to be her boyfriend and take her to get an abortion. The opportunity he had longed for was right in front of him, but when Oyama looked at Mami’s swollen belly, he felt disgusted. He thought she was tainted, no longer his Mami, with another man’s child inside her. He hated her and wanted to teach her a lesson, so he drugged her and raped her. The whole time, he imagined himself as Fujiwara, a rich young master, and it felt incredible. Since then, he had grown to love this twisted form of entertainment.

Oyama Ryuzo still didn’t dare to speak, because he knew how brutal the buyer was. If the buyer found out that he had leaked information, his death would be a hundred times more painful than being encased in cement. Oyama clenched his teeth tightly, praying that this was just psychological warfare—these people’s method of extracting a confession. Surely they wouldn’t actually kill him, surely the cement would stop pouring just before it completely covered him… it must stop!

“Spare me, I really don’t know anything! You got the wrong guy!” Oyama screamed desperately.

His answer was the sound of Crow and Yasha humming a tune as they spoke.

“Yasha, you’ve got more experience in pouring these human piles. Will the hardness be enough if we pour it like this? If it breaks during piling, it’ll be a problem,” Crow said.

“Add more lime, and you help stir the mortar evenly. This pier is meant to last a hundred years; it has to be solid,” Yasha replied, pouring a full bag of lime into the pit. “Heave ho! Stir it up harder, brother!”

The lime mixed with the cement mortar, releasing heat that made the mixture scalding hot. Crow, covering his mouth and nose, stirred the mixture with great effort. Oyama felt like every pain receptor in his body was being roasted alive.

“Yes, yes. The song from my hometown goes, ‘The pier is father’s yoke, and my brother and I stand on either end…’” Crow hummed in a strange Kansai dialect.

“Sakurai! His name is Sakurai Akira! Spare me! Please, spare me! I haven’t killed anyone—I’m just a beast… please… spare me… spare me!” Just before the cement mortar covered Oyama’s head, his final psychological defenses crumbled. He raised his head and screamed, trying to prevent the mortar from entering his mouth.

“This guy really is an idiot. What does whether or not he killed anyone have to do with us pouring him into a pile?” Yasha said, opening another bag of lime.

“He’s confessed already—stop wasting time on him!” Crow threw down the bamboo stirring pole and turned away.

“It’s almost done. It’ll be a human pile. Stopping now would be a real waste, wouldn’t it?” Yasha called out loudly.

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