February 10, 1988. Late at night. The weather in Bunkyo Ward was unpleasant—light rain mixed with fine snow that melted the moment it touched the ground, turning everything damp and cold. The air felt heavy, and the quiet made the atmosphere even more oppressive.
Inside the Saionji residence, everything was still. The courtyard, which usually had the soft rhythmic sound of a bamboo water feature, was completely silent because the water inside had frozen. The entire mansion seemed lifeless, swallowed by darkness. Only a faint, flickering yellow light came from a side hall, barely illuminating anything.
The sliding door opened slowly and without sound.
The butler, Fujita, stood just outside under the roof, his posture perfect. He didn't step inside. Instead, he politely gestured for the man behind him to enter first, as if he were welcoming someone important, even though the man looked nothing like a guest.
Dojima Gen stepped inside.
He looked rough. His M65 military jacket was old and worn out. His boots were dirty, covered with black mud from working at the docks in Yokohama. He looked like a laborer, someone who had spent all day doing hard physical work.
But the moment he reached the entrance, he stopped.
Without being told, he bent down and untied his boots. He didn't just take them off casually. He placed them neatly in the corner, carefully adjusting their position. The toes pointed outward in perfect alignment, and the distance between the two boots was exactly the same, as if he had measured it precisely.
Only after doing that did he step inside, barefoot.
His movements were controlled and consistent. Every step he took was the same length. His back was straight, perfectly upright. His hands hung naturally at his sides, but even then, his fingers were aligned with the seams of his pants. His posture was rigid, disciplined—something trained deeply into his body.
This created a strange contradiction. He looked like a poor laborer, but his behavior and posture were clearly that of a highly trained soldier.
In the center of the room, Satsuki sat quietly.
She was seated in a formal kneeling position. She wore deep purple silk loungewear, which made her look calm and composed. In her hand, she held a silver letter opener, its sharp tip resting lightly against the table.
Dojima Gen walked forward and stopped exactly three meters away from her. He stood straight, like a soldier awaiting orders. He didn't bow. He didn't kneel.
He simply looked at her.
His eyes were cold and empty, as if he were observing something without emotion.
Satsuki spoke first.
"Former Ground Self-Defense Force. 1st Airborne Brigade. First Lieutenant, Dojima Gen."
She didn't look at the papers beside her. She kept her eyes on him the entire time.
"Dishonorably discharged after breaking three ribs of your superior officer during a celebration banquet for a joint Japan-US military exercise."
Dojima Gen showed no reaction. It was as if she were talking about someone else entirely.
"I heard you're a clean freak?" Satsuki asked, lightly spinning the knife in her hand.
"No," he replied, his voice rough and low. "I just hate dirty things."
Satsuki tilted her head slightly. "That superior of yours… was he dirty?"
"He was drunk," Dojima Gen said calmly. "He was kneeling at the feet of a US military advisor, acting like a dog. That behavior disgraces a Japanese soldier. It destroys the dignity of the military. It breaks order."
"So you attacked him."
"Yes. Correcting mistakes is a soldier's instinct."
"And you were willing to lose everything for that?" Satsuki continued. "Your rank, your career… and end up working at the docks like a broken man?"
Dojima Gen went silent for a moment.
His eyes lowered slightly, looking at the perfectly clean tatami floor.
"Being a general in a filthy army," he said slowly, "or being a laborer in a clean place… makes no difference to me."
Then he looked back at her.
"If you brought me here to offer charity, don't bother. These hands are only meant for killing. I won't serve drinks for the rich, and I won't bow to anyone for the sake of some 'greater good' like that man did."
After saying that, he turned around immediately, ready to leave.
His movement was sharp and precise. No hesitation.
But then Satsuki spoke again.
"What if those dirty people are exactly the ones I want you to kill?"
He stopped.
"This country is sick," Satsuki continued, her voice calm but firm.
She stood up and began walking toward him slowly.
"The police can't catch criminals because criminals have money. The law can't punish the powerful because the powerful control the law. The Self-Defense Force has become nothing more than decoration, and the government only exists to serve big corporations."
She stopped in front of him and looked up.
"Everything looks calm on the outside. But inside, it's already rotten."
Her eyes locked onto his.
"You have strength. You want to enforce order. You want justice. But in this broken system, you can't even use your strength. All you can do is watch bad people rise higher and higher."
"You ran away. You hid at the docks. You thought if you ignored everything, the world would become clean."
She stepped closer.
"That's cowardice."
Dojima Gen suddenly turned around, his expression finally changing. The veins on his neck stood out as he stared at her intensely.
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying this system is already broken," Satsuki replied calmly. "So destroy it."
She showed no fear, even though he looked like he might attack at any moment.
"This country doesn't need your strength anymore," she said. "But I do."
"In my world, you don't have to follow fake rules or please corrupt superiors."
"In the Saionji Family… my will is the law."
She raised her hand slightly, as if holding something invisible.
"I'll give you a place where you can enforce order however you want. No restrictions."
"I want you to become my enforcer. My executioner."
"I want you to use violence to create a perfectly controlled space for me in Tokyo."
She smiled slightly.
"Anyone who breaks the rules… anyone who is 'dirty'… you can deal with them however you see fit."
She looked directly into his eyes.
"Doesn't that sound better than moving boxes all day?"
Dojima Gen didn't answer immediately.
He stared at her.
This girl… was dangerous.
She was openly rejecting the law. She wanted to create her own system using violence.
She was insane.
But at the same time…
Something inside him began to move again.
His heart, which had been numb for so long, started beating faster.
This was what he had been searching for.
Not fairness. Not kindness. Not harmony.
He didn't want those things.
He wanted someone with absolute authority. Someone who could give clear, unquestionable orders—and take responsibility for them.
"What do you want me to do?" he finally asked.
"Follow me," Satsuki said.
She put on a black coat.
"There's a place in Akasaka that needs cleaning."
About thirty minutes later, they arrived near a construction site in Akasaka.
The ground was wet and muddy from the sleet. Several gang members from the Black Dragon Society were gathered around a newly built fence. They were vandalizing it with spray paint, drawing ugly symbols and writing insults.
Two of them were even urinating against the fence, laughing and shouting.
"Hey! Tell your boss to pay protection money!" one of them yelled. "Or we'll destroy everything tomorrow!"
A black sedan stopped quietly nearby.
Inside the car, Dojima Gen watched them.
Chaos. Dirt. Disorder.
He felt disgusted just looking at them.
"Do you see?" Satsuki said from the back seat.
"The police won't act because there's no evidence. The law is too slow."
"This is the failure of the current system."
She opened the window, letting the cold air in.
"Go," she said.
"Show them what our rules are."
"I don't want apologies. I don't want money."
"I want silence."
The car door unlocked.
Dojima Gen stepped out.
He didn't hesitate.
He calmly rolled up his sleeves, revealing scar-covered arms.
Then he walked straight toward them.
The fight didn't last long.
Before one thug could even finish speaking, Dojima grabbed his jaw and dislocated it with a sharp crack.
The man dropped instantly.
The rest tried to react, but it was useless.
Dojima moved efficiently. Every strike was precise. He targeted weak points—joints, ribs, nerves.
Within one minute, all seven men were on the ground.
None of them could stand.
None of them dared to make a sound.
The only noise left was the rain.
Dojima stood among them, calm and steady.
He took out a handkerchief and wiped a drop of blood from his hand.
Then he walked over to one of the men who had been spray-painting.
The man was shaking in fear.
Dojima picked up the spray can and forced it into his hand.
"Clean it," he said.
"Use your clothes. Or your tongue."
"I don't like dirty things."
The man started crying as he desperately tried to wipe the graffiti away.
Dojima looked around one last time, making sure everything was quiet.
Then he returned to the car.
"Done," he said after sitting down.
"How do you feel?" Satsuki asked.
"It was noisy," he replied. "But it's quiet now."
Satsuki handed him a document.
"From today, you are the head of Saionji Security," she said.
"You don't need to hold back anymore. I'll give you resources, money, and protection."
"You only need to do one thing."
She looked at him seriously.
"Create a perfectly controlled territory for us."
"No gangs. No crime. No disobedience."
"Only my orders… and your enforcement."
Dojima took the document.
This was what he wanted.
He looked at Satsuki.
"Understood… Boss.