Chapter 61: I Really Dislike Your Attitude

"Cherry blossoms fade and wither away, the idle spring rain washes over me."

"Slap!"

Hearing that sound once more, Ai's eyelids twitched.

Ooka Momiji was sitting seiza-style directly opposite Masakazu, the corners of her eyes faintly shimmering with tears, her cheeks puffed up in a pout as she glared at Masakazu with a look of utter defiance.

"Never before had the gods witnessed such a wondrous sight, painting the waters of the Tatsuta River in hues of bright red."

"Slap!"

Momiji's hand was batted away by Masakazu yet again.

She rubbed the back of her hand, baring her little canine teeth as she glared fiercely at Masakazu.

Masakazu's expression remained unchanged as he took one of his own karuta cards and placed it into Momiji's territory.

"Ai, keep going," Masakazu said.

Ai looked at Momiji's somewhat red and swollen hand, her heart fluttering nervously.

Did they really have to keep going?

It was just a game of karuta, there was no need to take it this seriously.

"Keep going!" Momiji said angrily.

Ai continued to chant the poems without any particular melody, while Masakazu and Momiji searched for the corresponding cards on the floor, racing to slap the cards down or pin them to the ground ahead of their opponent.

Every time Masakazu moved, he was a fraction slower than Momiji.

Yet the speed of his strike once in motion was blazing fast, allowing him to swat Momiji's hand away every single time.

"Spring sunlight shines warm and bright, why must the cherry blossoms scatter and fall?"

"Slap!"

Another collision of hand against hand; the sound made Ai's ears ache.

Perhaps they should just call it quits.

Masakazu looked at Momiji with a bored expression and said softly, "You're about to lose."

"Keep going!"

"Slap!"

"Slap!"

"Slap!"

By the time Momiji's hands had been struck so many times she could barely hold the cards, she finally lost.

Glancing at Masakazu, who was sipping some water, Momiji said, "You were deliberately breaking the rules. That's a desecration of the millennium-old culture of 'Hyakunin Isshu'."

"I haven't played in too long, I forgot the rules," Masakazu replied offhandedly.

If he didn't break the rules, he didn't know how to play.

He had always been a sore loser, and rather than emulate the legendary chess sage of yesteryear, resorting to rule-breaking was his only option.

Momiji clenched her hands tightly at her sides, only to release them due to the stinging pain.

She tossed the newspaper she had brought behind her onto Masakazu and said indignantly, "I originally intended to help you crack down on these newspapers spreading false rumors. But now I've changed my mind. I'm going to give this newspaper to everyone I know!"

Masakazu glanced at the newspaper Momiji had thrown at him, and sure enough, it was the *Justice Daily*.

"Thank you," Masakazu said.

Momiji was taken aback.

If you're going to say thank you, I suppose I could still help you out.

"This is the newspaper company Masakazu runs," Ai said quietly.

Ever since she saw the photographs she had taken printed inside the *Justice Daily*, Ai had completely shifted from a fan to a hater.

A shameless plutocrat who cared for nothing except money.

The mere thought that the money she earned at home by washing Masakazu's dishes and serving him tea had been used to buy this very newspaper filled her with agonizing shame.

Could one truly never manage to make any money off of Masakazu?

"What? This is your newspaper company?" Momiji asked in astonishment.

"That's right," Masakazu saw no need to conceal it.

This was something that only needed to be hidden from the newspaper's employees and the general public; there was no reason to hide it from anyone else.

Momiji frowned and muttered, "Then this is far too provocative."

In truth, the relationship between Japanese plutocrats and the general public was not terribly tense.

The populace generally believed that the major financial conglomerates had made significant contributions to post-war economic recovery.

Moreover, the American occupation's dismantling of massive zaibatsu like Sumitomo and Mitsubishi had, to a certain extent, alleviated sharp class conflicts.

"I don't know why, but people always seem to dislike me," Masakazu said with a helpless shrug.

Ai curled her lip.

It's completely normal for nobody to like you. Who could possibly like a villain?

"Fortunately, little Ai likes me a lot."

When Masakazu's gaze shifted toward her, Ai instantly flashed a shy, sweet smile.

Her acting skills were improving by the day.

"You'd better be careful, then, lest someone assassinates you," Momiji said, resting her chin on her hand and tilting her head slightly as she pondered. "I don't recall hearing of anyone from a zaibatsu family ever being assassinated out of popular hatred, but you might just be the first."

Momiji looked at Masakazu with bright, expressive eyes.

"I'm already drafting plans to establish my own dedicated security team," Masakazu replied. "Besides, the content of the *Justice Daily* won't keep targeting me forever."

The *Justice Daily* was gradually undergoing a transformation.

Since it aspired to be a newspaper that spoke for the people, it naturally couldn't just blindly engage in mudslinging.

Instead, it had begun pairing Kogoro Mouri and Heiji Hattori—two notorious detectives—side by side for comparison, subtly stirring up controversy.

Furthermore, the *Justice Daily*'s solicitation campaigns were in full swing.

Some talented writer had even penned pieces like, "The air in America is simply sweeter and more fragrant than Japan's."

Moreover, the *Justice Daily* was far more adept at uncovering the dark underbelly of Japanese society than any other publication.

The Organization itself was a massive predator lurking in the shadows of Japan, and Masakazu could glean a wealth of news stories directly from them.

In time, the publication would completely shed any association with his personal name.

Seeing that Masakazu had his own arrangements in place, Momiji said no more. She sat back down seiza-style and asked, "Shall we go again?"

Just as Masakazu was about to take his seat, Momiji pointed at him and said, "You be the referee! Let Ai play instead!"

Masakazu had no choice but to exchange places with Ai with a resigned expression.

"Slap!"

Ai stared at Momiji in shock.

How on earth did you start copying Masakazu?

...

After playing with the two girls for a while, Masakazu did not neglect his own safety concerns.

He was well aware of what the general public thought of him, far better than Momiji and the others realized.

The time had truly come to hire bodyguards.

"Hello, Gin."

"What is it?"

Gin's voice was as cold and sharp as ever.

"Any interest in coming to work as my bodyguard?" Masakazu asked.

Gin fell silent, seemingly startled by Masakazu's proposal. *Have you lost your mind?*

"You can hire bodyguards with your own money," Gin said.

"Those pampered flowers bought with money can't possibly compare to the professionalism of the Organization's assassins," Masakazu replied.

How could those sheltered individuals ever compare to Organization operatives who danced with death at every turn?

"Heh, then how about I send Vodka your way instead?"

Masakazu decisively refused. "I'm not short of a driver."

"And the Organization is not your personal talent agency," Gin said coldly.

This fellow had previously wanted to recruit Sherry to work for him.

It was only after Sherry escaped that he had dropped the matter. And now he wanted the Organization to dispatch a bodyguard to his side.

What did he take the Organization for?

The Organization was not his private talent pool, and the Organization's members were not his subordinates.

"I really don't care for your attitude."

"Heh."

Gin hung up the phone without a single expression on his face.

Cointreau was far too full of himself. Just because he was the scion of a financial conglomerate didn't mean he could order the Organization around to do whatever he pleased.

Helping him capture directors and audiences earlier had purely been a matter of mutual profit.

As for his personal safety? Not a single person cared.