As the two were talking, footsteps suddenly sounded at the shrine's entrance.
Yato appeared. Wearing his usual tracksuit, he walked up the stairs and stood at the gate.
Seeing Kael in the courtyard, Yato was both surprised and delighted. "Yo, you're awake."
Kael nodded. "Just woke up not long ago."
Yato grinned and came closer. "Since you're awake, I have something to ask you."
"What is it?" Kael asked.
Rubbing his hands, Yato said: "Actually, I want to ask—what do you think of this shrine?"
Hearing this, Kael understood immediately. "You want to occupy this shrine."
The Harvest Shrine no longer had a god—it was ownerless. With a slight change of name, it could become a small shrine. If Yato moved in, it would be a legitimate shrine.
In Tokyo, where land was precious, building a new shrine from scratch was nearly impossible. Better to restore an abandoned one—it might even be more effective. Mai had already publicized this shrine, giving it some recognition. It was perfect for Yato, no wonder he was interested.
Yato gave a thumbs up. "Exactly. An abandoned, ownerless shrine without a god is perfect for me."
Kael agreed and looked at Mai. After all, funding and effort would come from her.
"I understand. Leave this to me," Mai said, patting her chest. "Give me a month, I'll handle it."
Yato trembled with excitement. After wandering for centuries, he longed for a shrine of his own. Now, seeing hope, he was overwhelmed.
The three discussed details, and once assured there were no problems, Kael bid them farewell and left.
By then, night had fallen. But Kael didn't go home. Having just broken through, his powerful mana left him refreshed and energetic, with no sleepiness. Perhaps it was time to deal with a small problem.
Soon, Kael arrived in Shinjuku, Tokyo's core district. On its edge stood an inconspicuous building. It was actually the base of a yakuza group—the Akiyama Group, the organization behind blond Hayato.
Even among yakuza, the Akiyama Group was notorious. Loan-sharking, forcing women into prostitution, drug trafficking—any cruel business that made money, they did. Most importantly, they targeted only women. They never dealt with men. That was why Kael called them first-class scum.
Their leader profited immensely, standing on the corpses of women. Such a group should have been destroyed long ago. Japan's police weren't useless, but the group's leader had ties to high-ranking officials in the Metropolitan Police. Protected, the group thrived, with more and more female victims.
Kael had learned all this from Hayato's memories. That was why he wanted to eliminate them.
At the entrance, several underlings stood guard. Seeing Kael approach, they blocked him. "Baka! This isn't a place for you. Get lost!"
Kael ignored their attitude. Since they only preyed on women, they naturally wanted to drive him away. He smiled. "Take me to your boss."
His voice carried a strange allure, instantly hypnotizing them. Their vicious expressions vanished, replaced by dull, vacant eyes. "Please, this way."
One underling respectfully led Kael inside. The others remained at the door.
Kael took the elevator to the third floor, walked down a corridor, and reached a double door. He pushed it open, entering the boss's office.
The office was lavish. Inside were seven people. Six were members, including the boss, Akiyama. The seventh was a half-dressed woman.
To Kael's surprise, he recognized her. She was his girlfriend Saki's mother—Mrs. Yoshida.
Seeing her there shocked Kael. Mrs. Yoshida was equally stunned to see him.
"Bakayaro!!!"
Before either could speak, the boss roared. "How did you get in? Are the men outside dead?"
The woman was his chosen prey. Under threats, she had reluctantly begun undressing. At that critical moment, an outsider barged in. His mood was ruined.
The boss was furious, ready to kill his men. The others glared at Kael. One, closest to him, rushed forward and kicked at Kael's waist.
It was a full-force strike, showing ruthless intent. He didn't care how much damage Kael might suffer.
Kael sneered, casually stepping back to avoid it. At the same time, he swung his right hand, slapping the man's face.
With a sharp crack, like in a drama, the man was sent flying, spinning 720 degrees before crashing heavily to the floor.
-----
Gimme your stones or you'll get these fists.
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