Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 70: Ace Combination (3)

Dragon Raja 3

This was a deserted coastline. Before World War II, it was a series of fishing villages, but now the fishermen had moved into Yokohama to become citizens, leaving behind the piers where they had once docked their boats, battered day after day by the tides. A black Hummer’s headlights cut through the darkness as it drove off the road’s shoulder, crossing the saline flats toward its destination. Chisei was driving, with Sakura in the passenger seat checking the GPS.

“How could there be an airport in a ghost place like this?” Chisei asked.

“There was an airport, but it has been abandoned for many years, and the runway is quite short. However, with the skill of the Sleipnir’s pilot, they should be able to land safely,” Sakura said. She was still in her black suit paired with fitted trousers, her long hair tied up in a high ponytail, and wearing plain glasses. In this outfit, she was easy to overlook when standing behind Chisei. This was the duty of a ninja—always in the shadows, a lethal blade when necessary, sometimes even a sacrificial shield.

Chisei’s support team consisted of three people: Crow, Yasha, and Sakura. Yasha was the spearhead, Crow the strategist, and Sakura the personal attendant. In ancient times, such attendants were often attractive young men, but Sakura was a real girl. In terms of combat prowess, Chisei was stronger than Yasha, given his superior bloodline. In terms of planning, Crow could only act as a strategist among the uncultured underworld crowd. Therefore, Sakura was the indispensable one in the team—without her, Chisei wouldn’t know how to handle all the small chores, and there would be no one to join in when he complained about Yasha and Crow.

“There it is, the runway ahead,” Sakura said.

Amazingly, amidst the deserted saline flats, a runway appeared—or half of one, with the other half submerged by the sea.

“This runway was built in 1941. Back then, the earth didn’t have greenhouse effects, and the sea level wasn’t this high,” Sakura added.

Chisei parked the car at the end of the runway, with the headlights illuminating it. In such a makeshift airport with no lights, the pilot had to rely on the headlights for direction.

“Three more minutes. Since it’s the principal’s private jet, it should be punctual,” Sakura said.

“Let’s make a simple preparation at least; we should have a welcoming ceremony of sorts. Tachibana Masamune said not to mistreat them, so let’s treat them a bit better,” Chisei sat down on the Hummer’s bumper.

Sakura laid a snow-white napkin on the hood, placed three tulip glasses on it, opened a bottle of champagne, and filled the glasses. She added a bouquet of bright yellow tulips next to the glasses and put three small Japanese flags into slices of lime, placing them on the rims of the glasses. This was probably the most proper welcoming ceremony in the history of the Japanese branch—there was a car to pick them up, symbolic yellow flowers representing triumph, and champagne. They only lacked a warm embrace, but Chisei had no intention of embracing those people warmly. For one, he hated physical contact, and secondly, judging from their profiles, the team was made up of a playboy, a violent maniac, and an incompetent fool. Chisei had no fondness for any of those types.

The entire Japanese branch referred to the headquarters as the “kindergarten,” since most of the agents they sent were inexperienced kids, and hosting those agents was called “babysitting.” Chisei didn’t like babysitting. He originally planned to leave the reception job to Crow and Yasha but eventually couldn’t trust them enough. Those tender and seemingly edible boys from headquarters, if left in the hands of those two maniacs… Would they even make it to the hotel in one piece? So, in the end, Chisei decided to bring Sakura himself, as a gesture of respect to the elite group from headquarters—at least a superficial respect.

There was a roaring sound from the direction of the ocean. The sky was pitch-black with thick clouds, but it seemed that a flying beast was charging forth, wrapped in wind and thunder.

“Right on time.” Chisei glanced at his luminous watch.

As it touched the seawater, Sleipnir suddenly lit all of its lamps. In the water spray, the black Gulfstream emerged like a demon appearing from the night. It taxied along the runway, which wasn’t yet submerged by the sea, its tires sparking as they rubbed against the coal slag runway. Chisei lit a Japanese “Mild Seven” cigarette, watching expressionlessly as the Gulfstream rushed forward without enough time to brake. The runway was too short for a plane that had just ended a supersonic flight. In the last fifty meters, the jet suddenly blasted forward with fire; the engines at full reverse thrust, the hundreds-of-degree-high airflow almost pushed back the parked Hummer with the handbrake on. Yet Chisei remained seated on the bumper without the slightest intention of dodging.

The Gulfstream came to a halt right in front of the Hummer, like a raging bull charging at a matador, only to be pulled back at the last moment. It missed hitting the Hummer by just a few meters; had it gone any further, Chisei, caught between the two, would have had no chance of survival.

“Maniac!” The pilot raised his middle finger at Chisei.

If the pilot’s skills had been slightly flawed, or if the Gulfstream’s jet engine hadn’t been capable of reversing, they all would’ve been dead. Even before Sleipnir landed, Chisei played a dangerous game with the people on the plane, gambling his own life against the pilot’s skills. If anyone else from a different division had pulled this stunt, the pilot would’ve jumped off the plane to beat them up. But since it was someone from the Japanese branch, his protest was limited to a middle finger; he didn’t want to deal with crazy people. The pilot knew these Japanese guys well—their ties with the underworld ran too deep, and every one of them adhered to the extreme path culture, valuing courage and a disregard for death. Only those who remained unshaken in the face of a mountain’s collapse could command thousands of troops. Being dumbfounded like a chicken was considered the mark of a true general—this was the ancient aesthetic of Japan. By that standard, Anjou was a magnificent hero, the vice principal could be considered a dusty swordsman, but the entire Gear Department were nothing more than cowardly scoundrels.

The pilot only noticed that Chisei remained unshaken; he didn’t realize that the girl holding a bouquet behind Chisei was also unflinching. The attitude of the Japanese branch was less about being crazy and more about showing contempt for the passengers.

With his status, Chisei clearly did not disregard his own life—he wasn’t a street thug gambling for kicks. But he knew who Anjou’s exclusive pilot was and how good his flying skills were, and he also trusted Sakura’s arrangements. Since she had selected this runway, it meant she was certain the pilot could land safely within such a short distance. If Sakura was confident about something, Chisei wouldn’t doubt it.

The cabin door opened, but instead of enthusiastically welcoming them, Chisei stayed seated. “Who’s got a lighter in headquarters? Lend me a light!”

He stared at the cabin door, eyes filled with an intimidating gleam. Masamune had said that Chisei possessed a pair of eyes that could command fear—cowards who met his gaze often felt like they were stung by a scorpion. Therefore, Chisei rarely looked at people directly, not wanting to make others uncomfortable because of his stare. But today, he intended to convey a message with his gaze: they had arrived in Japan, and here, the rules were set by the Japanese branch. Whatever “excellence” they had back at headquarters counted for nothing here. Family background and bloodline ranking meant nothing. If they weren’t strong enough, they’d better keep their heads down and behave, showing respect, admiration, or even awe toward their seniors, and starting by lighting his cigarette.

Chisei figured that with Sleipnir’s rough landing, the people inside the cabin must be dizzy, some of them probably hugging a vomit bag right now.