Shikaku's rise to power had been swift . Backed by Jin's muscle and funded by the Manji Clan's liquidated assets, his political campaign to become Kuoh's new minister was less a campaign and more a hostile takeover.
The incumbent minister had resisted, of course. A single, late-night visit from Jin solved that. The old man, paid handsomely for his silence, happily took his retirement, vowing to never again set foot in Kuoh's political landscape.
With the "light" side of his operation secured, Shikaku used the money for boosting his public image. Donations to orphanages, funding for public works—his name was in the local headlines regularly, a mix of paid PR and genuine hype.
But light attracts flies.
With Zero's organization gone, a power vacuum had formed. Small-time runts tried to fill it, and end up trying to offer Shikaku "protection," only knowing him as a wealthy spokesperson who worked for muten all brain , no brawn image . Another late-night visit from Jin solved that problem permanently. The lesson was clear: to hold the light, they had to control the dark.
So, Shikaku built his private force from the city's refuse: local guys who had failed in academics, washed out of sports, or taken a wrong turn in life. By giving them purpose and a paycheck, he forged an extreme, unshakable loyalty. By controlling the city's underbelly, Shikaku's foundation became unshakable. He became minister, seemingly, without effort.
Jin approached the gates of that new power, a sprawling mansion. He needed to see Shikaku in person; this wasn't a conversation for the phone. Dressed in a simple hoodie, cargo pants, and sneakers, with a backpack slung over one shoulder, he looked like a delivery boy. The guards at the gate, unsurprisingly, stopped him.
"I'm here to see Shikaku," Jin said.
One guard scoffed. "You think 'Shikaku-san' is someone *anybody* can just meet?"
The second guard jabbed a thumb at Jin. "And what's with the casual name? Show some respect."
"I know him," Jin said, his voice flat. "Go tell him 'Jin' is here. He'll understand."
The guards shared a skeptical look, not wanting to take him seriously but fearing their boss. A more senior-looking guard stepped out of the security booth.
"You really know Shikaku-san?"
"Yes," Jin met his gaze.
"Okay," the senior guard sighed. "You two check him. I'll check inside."
Jin stood passively as the guards began to pat him down. *Maybe I should have just snuck in,* he thought, annoyed, *but I don't have to be subtle here .*
They checked his backpack, finding a single pair of underwear, a phone charger, a pack of cigarettes, and a thick, sealed dossier.
"Don't open the dossier," Jin said, his voice quiet.
The guard's hand, already reaching for the folder, paused. While they hesitated, Jin pulled a separate pack from his pocket, expertly flicked a cigarette out, lit it, and took a long drag, puffing the smoke in their direction.
That was the last straw for one of the guards. "That's it!" he roared. "Whether Shikaku-san knows you or not, you need to learn some respect, brat!" He lunged forward, moving to slap the cigarette from Jin's mouth.
The guard grabbed Jin's collar. "I'm going to teach you how to respect your elders."
Jin, having had enough, moved. His hand was a blur.
A single, crisp **CRACK!** echoed in the tense quiet.
The guard didn't fly back. He just stood there, shell-shocked, his head snapped to the side, a perfect red handprint already blooming on his cheek. The sheer speed and power of the slap had stunned him into paralysis.
The sound jolted the other guards. They started to move in from near there posts, ready to teach this guy a lesson. The senior guard had just returned, someone trailing behind him, and he watched the scene with fury. Seeing his underling slapped on their own turf, he started folding his sleeves.
"Boys," he barked. "No holding back today."
Behind him, Shikaku—and his six-man inner circle—had come to see who this 'Jin' was as they know true Jin . He was never the one to make visit .
They were the one who called him or go to his house to update him .
The color drained from their faces. Their stomachs dropped. They watched in abject horror as their own guards, oblivious, began to gang up on the one man they were not allowed to touch.
shikaku sprinted toward the centre of commotion .
One of the guards, seeing Shikaku himself sprinting toward the brawl, whispered to his buddy, "Looks like that kid is dead now. The boss is gonna finish him."
He couldn't have been more wrong.
Shikaku skidded to a stop, his face pale, ignoring his guards completely. "Hey, Jin. What happened?"
The senior guard and his men froze. The blood drained from *their* faces. "He... he *really* knows Shikaku-san," one whispered. "We're dead."
The guard who had been slapped, the pain finally registering, came back to his senses. All his anger was gone, replaced by pure, cold terror. "It was my mistake, sir!" he yelped, bowing so low his forehead nearly hit the pavement. "I thought he was lying! He was being disrespectful and... and I took things too far!"
"You idiot!" Shikaku roared.
His six bodyguards had finally caught up, and all of them bowed deeply to Jin.
Jin "You ought to keep them in control, Shikaku."
"I will," Shikaku promised, sweating. "So, what brings you here?"
"We need to talk," Jin said, gesturing with the dossier in his backpack. "Let's go inside."
Shikaku nodded, then barked at his inner circle. "You guys take care of this."
"Yes, boss."