Chapter 2: I Am Different from You Rats in the Gutter

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Masaru’s father was once a high-ranking official in the government but later ended up in prison. The reason for his imprisonment was absurd—embezzlement. It was truly baffling, as it was clearly political donations, perfectly legal and reasonable. How on earth did it become embezzlement? The old policeman didn’t understand these matters either; all he knew was that Masaru’s father was living comfortably in prison, with no significant difference in his daily needs, even having several police officers as bodyguards.

“Why don’t you just apologize?” the old policeman suggested to Masaru. Nearby, Yumi Miyamoto’s eyelids twitched as she said to the old policeman, “He’s done so many things. Is an apology really enough to move past this?” The old policeman paid no mind and simply showed Yumi a string of items. Even Yumi Miyamoto was shocked to the point of goosebumps. How could one person possibly have amassed so many things on him? She somewhat understood the old policeman’s dilemma—it was indeed very difficult to handle.

However, “Masaru must be educated properly, or he’ll surely offend again,” Yumi insisted. The old policeman rubbed his temples, thinking: why take this so seriously? It’s almost time to get off work; just brush it off and move on. Nothing terribly serious had happened; Masaru had only just returned to the country and didn’t know that cars here couldn’t be picked up at will. Masaru was a kind-hearted person who simply wanted to adopt a lost car—what fault was there in that?

But for the passionate young woman, the old policeman didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm and said, “Yumi, you’re right, but education isn’t something done overnight. I’ll gradually help Masaru understand Japanese law. For now, just admit the mistake.” Yumi furrowed her brows but accepted the old policeman’s mature reasoning.

“Sorry, my bad,” Masaru said perfunctorily. He wasn’t even willing to say the full five words of apology. Naturally, this attitude was unsatisfactory. The old policeman’s eyelids twitched as he saw Yumi slam the table and say angrily, “Is this how you apologize?” Masaru shrugged with both hands and said, “I already apologized. What more do you want? If you’re still not satisfied, go ahead and throw stones at me or whatever. Suit yourself.”

Masaru looked at Yumi with a rogue’s grin. Seeing her anger flare up, he added directly, “Don’t go too far! You molested me, and I haven’t even held it against you!” The old policeman was stunned. He hadn’t expected Yumi to be this kind of woman. Though Masaru was indeed very handsome—even the old man couldn’t help but praise him—Yumi still shouldn’t have laid hands on him!

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“You’re a police officer, and Masaru isn’t just anyone. This isn’t appropriate!”

“Smack!”

“You’re talking nonsense!” Yumi slammed the table again, pointing angrily at Masaru. Masaru defiantly stuck out his rear and said, “Why don’t we check for fingerprints on my pants and see if yours, Yumi Miyamoto, are there?”

“You…”

“Enough,” the old policeman interrupted Yumi. “My deepest apologies!” he bowed on Yumi’s behalf to Masaru. Yumi felt deeply wronged. It was Masaru, that scoundrel, who broke the law, yet the police were apologizing to him? She wanted to protest further but was silenced by the old policeman’s stern look. She had no choice but to reluctantly remain silent.

Because Masaru really did have her fingerprints on his rear. Masaru, generous and kind, quickly forgave the police for their admission of fault. “Do you need us to escort you home?” the old policeman asked. “No, I can go back by myself,” Masaru replied. He was afraid Yumi would volunteer to take him home only to kick him off halfway.

Smiling and bidding Yumi goodbye, Masaru left the police station. Watching his retreating figure, Yumi ground her teeth until they felt like they might shatter. You’d better not fall into my hands again, or else I—well, I really have no way to do anything. Yumi thought bitterly. If Masaru hadn’t committed some big mistake, there was no way he would have been dealt with.

While Yumi was seething with indignation, Masaru hummed a little tune as he arrived at a bar. “A juice, please.” A burly man in black approached with a smile and said, “Just juice at a bar?” Masaru replied, “In Japan, you have to be twenty to touch cigarettes or alcohol. I have to obey the law.” Masaru took the juice from the waiter and took a sip. The taste was rather unpleasant. “Hello, I’m Masaru Karasuma,” he said, extending his hand to the man in black. “Karasuma?” The surname was quite familiar in their organization.

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“That name appears quite frequently as a representative in our group.”

“Heh, vodka, that Jun Do fellow is talking nonsense,” a blond man came over holding a glass. Gin placed his glass on the table and asked, “Is Akemi Miyano taken care of?”

“She’s dealt with. She won’t show up in front of you anymore,” Masaru said.

“Where’s the money?”

“Deposited in the bank.”

Gin looked at Masaru with a knowing expression. Just after robbing some money from a bank, he turned around and deposited it again. Only Jun Do could pull off such a trick without being caught. Masaru raised his glass to toast with Gin.

“But Akemi Miyano only managed to get 800 million yen,” Masaru added.

Gin frowned. How could Miyano dare to deceive him like this? Could it be that Masaru had pocketed the money? Noticing Gin’s sly gaze, Masaru sneered, “With my wealth, you don’t really think I’d care about that money, do you?” Gin considered this and agreed. Masaru’s family was one of Japan’s financial conglomerates, and as an important member, 200 million yen wasn’t much to him.

What Gin didn’t realize was that great fortunes come from countless small steps. If Masaru truly didn’t care about 200 million yen, how would he have amassed such a fortune?

Masaru handed Gin a bank card and said, “You can use this card to withdraw money, but the money laundering process will incur losses. You won’t be able to get the full 800 million yen.”

“I understand that,” Gin replied. Masaru nodded—another little profit for the organization. Gin looked at Masaru and said, “The boss entrusted you with killing traitors and moles. That saves me a lot of trouble.” He had never doubted this. The boss thought his killing nature was too harsh and worried he’d wipe out the whole organization, so he assigned those duties elsewhere. He only thought the boss wanted to spare him some hardship by finding him a henchman.

“No, no,” Masaru said. “My main job is ‘money matters.’ As for hunting traitors and moles or handling other organizational affairs, don’t come to me casually; I might not have the time.”

“Oh?”

“I’m an employee at a major bank with a bright future. I’m not a gutter rat like you, wasting my time with fighting and killing—it damages my image,” Masaru said with a sharp tone.