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456 – A New Generation’s Bed
🕑 Added 2025-08-17 15:00:11 +0000 UTC“Put it gently… she was a goddess.”
Kyousuke stood beneath the mountain cherry tree, tilting his head up just enough for the moonlight to spill across the pale blossoms, soft as a dream.
It wasn’t some carefully crafted line. It was what he truly felt.
The men of the Yamazakura group had already retreated inside to tend their wounds. Out of respect for the elders, Kyousuke had held back a little.
Respecting the old and protecting the young—an ancient virtue worth carrying on.
Thanks to that conviction, his underlings had come out unscathed.
That was Hojou Kyousuke for you—always finding a way where everyone wins.
Kisaki, watching his boss standing silent under the blossoms, hesitated a moment before stepping forward.
“Boss… should we begin?” he asked in a hushed voice.
He wondered if his leader might spare the scene, too beautiful to destroy. After all…
“Yes. Quickly. Don’t leave a single petal behind.” Kyousuke’s answer was curt and decisive.
Good.
His boss was still his boss—ruthless, unflinching.
He guarded only his vision of beauty, and spared not even a glance at anyone else’s.
“Yes, sir.” Kisaki nodded just as sharply.
Kyousuke nudged the dozing Momotarou with his foot and turned toward the gate.
The little fluffball scrambled after him, tail wagging.
Kisaki let out a breath, shoulders loosening.
Even as Kyousuke’s closest confidant, speaking with a man who had just annihilated an entire yakuza group with one leg alone carried unbearable pressure.
“I’ll leave this to the others. Take me back to Ruyi House,” came Kyousuke’s voice, floating back.
Kisaki stiffened and hurried after him.
At the Yamazakura gates, members of the Rampaging Angels bustled back and forth, hauling in tools for harvesting.
The moment the Second Generation Leader stepped forward, they froze and bowed their heads.
“You’ve worked hard,” Kyousuke said with a faint smile.
At his words, the Angels dared raise their eyes.
He looked nothing like a mob boss—just a young man in shorts and a loose T-shirt, like someone sneaking out at midnight for beer.
And yet their hearts pounded with blazing heat.
‘We are the Rampaging Angels. And the one who leads us is the “Handless Demon!”’
Why the nickname? Not because the Boss liked using his fists.
No—because he didn’t need them.
With just one leg, he could wipe out an entire syndicate.
With a leader this strong, even ramen shops threw in an extra slice of pork.
“Yes, sir!!” they chorused.
If the Boss ordered them to pluck flowers—or embroider them, they’d obey without hesitation.
Kyousuke, unaware his men were already plotting to extort ramen shopkeepers, stepped past the threshold and felt a strange sense in his chest.
“Yotsuba would never believe this… walking out without ever stepping in,” he chuckled.
He decided he’d tease her about it tomorrow.
At the car, Kisaki hurried to open the door. If he was there, no one else got that privilege.
The ride was quiet, the cabin dark.
“If I hadn’t shown up,” Kyousuke’s voice cut through the silence, “what would you have done?”
The only one allowed to disturb the hush was Kyousuke himself.
Driver Hirata stared ahead, determined to play deaf.
In the passenger seat, Kisaki stiffened.
He knew exactly what Kyousuke meant.
The only ones who dared wage war on the yakuza were the police… or other yakuza.
Crossing that line meant someone had to take responsibility.
He had already resolved that much.
Twisting in his seat, lowering his head between them, he forced the words out through clenched teeth:
“Boss will always be a great novelist, a great manga artist—like the sun that forever hangs above the sky. I’ll take in every shadow so you don’t have to.”
“…Hah.”
At the sound of that sigh, Kisaki pressed his head even lower.
“I’ve already steeled myself. You don’t have to worry.”
Another sigh. Kyousuke raised a hand and smacked him on the back of the head.
“If that’s how you think, then I can’t keep you by my side,” he said softly.
The wheel jerked as Hirata’s eyes widened—had he heard right?
Kisaki looked worse, face frozen, mouth gasping like a fish out of water.
Kyousuke’s expression stayed unreadable.
He continued, calm as still water:
“If you can’t even graduate high school, you’ll drag down the Rampaging Angels’ cultural standing. This ship of a new generation won’t carry dead weight from some dropout fool.”
“…Huh?”
Kisaki blinked, brain stalling.
“You said it yourself, didn’t you, Kisaki? That I’m unbeatable.”
Kyousuke’s hand clamped onto his head, his small skull fitting easily in his palm.
He stared into Kisaki’s stunned eyes and enunciated every word:
“I am Hojou Kyousuke. Who do you think I am? I’m the sun. And there is no darkness the sun can’t reach.”
“Boss…!!” Kisaki’s voice cracked, choked with emotion.
“Even Hatake Gorou found someone he likes in high school. You’ve got to try too, Kisaki. You only get one shot at this. High school happens once in a lifetime—don’t throw it away so lightly. Resolve isn’t meant for something like this.”
Kyousuke ruffled his head, then shoved him back into his seat.
“Don’t tell me even a seatbelt can’t keep your posture straight. Sit properly. Go to school properly. Stop overthinking.”
“Y-Yes, sir!!”
Kisaki wiped his tears with both hands, shouting so loud the driver’s head rang from the echo.
Kyousuke gave a weary smile. Damn. His hearing would probably never recover.
Having subordinates this loyal could be such a headache.
And yet his lips curved upward anyway.
Meanwhile, back in the Yamazakura estate, the wounded sat gathered around their boss, Doma Murazaki.
Hearing the racket outside, one man snarled under his breath:
“Boss, that monster’s gone now! Let’s rush out and fight them! Everyone will know we were beaten by a bunch of punks—we’ll be the shame of the yakuza!”
The words dripped with fury, but his voice stayed small.
After all, though the monster Kyousuke had left, dozens of his lunatic Angels were still outside, picking flowers.
Doma stared at his underling, suspicion gnawing. Was this idiot a mole from the Tanaka group?
‘Fight them? After seeing that monster’s power?’
‘Where do you get the courage to say that?’
‘Even if we won, who’s paying the hospital bills?’
‘Or are you after my heirloom pistol, hoping I pawn it off to loan sharks?’
‘Everyone’s alive right now thanks to my mother praying daily for our safety—you bastard!’
Doma stayed quiet, scanning the room. Even Nakamura, who had been wild-eyed and ready to die fighting moments ago, now looked at the man with utter disdain.
Finally, Doma felt a flicker of relief.
Subordinates who fought fiercely but could also think of their boss’s burdens—those were the real ones. He smiled faintly.
“Yoshida, listen…”
“Idiot Yoshida! Didn’t you hear what Hojou-san said?!” Nakamura’s roar cut across the room, far louder than Yoshida’s squeak.
Doma nodded again in satisfaction.
‘That’s more like it.’
How could they possibly bow their heads just because the enemy was strong? No—no matter what, you had to show some backbone.
Just listen to the way he shouted “Hojou-san”! Even though Hojou wasn’t here, the name alone carried such respect!
Wait.
Doma’s expression froze.
‘…Hojou-san?’
He tilted his head, staring at Nakamura, who had suddenly stood up with eyes blazing.
“This mountain cherry tree was chosen by Hojou-san himself to be gifted to his goddess! That’s the greatest honor of the Yamazakura group! As a lonely bachelor, of course you can’t understand the greatness of love!”
Nakamura shouted, then began chanting, “Put simply, she’s a goddess… she’s a goddess…” over and over again.
Doma’s jaw dropped.
His eyes grew sharper as he looked at this so-called “loyal subordinate.”
Yoshida was just suspected of being a traitor—but this idiot?
This was open rebellion! Had his brains been scrambled in the fight?!
His gaze hardened.
Doma stood, ready to fix Nakamura’s head with his signature Home Appliance Repair Fist, when suddenly—
Clap, clap, clap.
Applause echoed from outside.
“Well said, sir.”
The one who returned was none other than Kisaki.
The invincible big brother had left, and now this scheming man had come to clean up the mess.
He didn’t even bother changing shoes as he stepped straight onto the tatami.
The arrogance of that act alone made every member of the Yamazakura group rise to their feet, glaring daggers at him.
But Kisaki only adjusted his glasses, casting a sideways glance at them.
Hands stuffed in his pockets, chin tilted ever so slightly upward, he spoke with a lofty sneer:
“To witness the strength of our big brother—that is your greatest honor. Remember the name Hojou Kyousuke. Engrave it into your very souls. But then again…” His tone turned sharper, his voice feverish, burning with charisma.
“…I suppose you won’t need reminding. Your bodies will remember it for you.”
If a campaign committee had heard him speak, they’d be fighting over who got him as their star orator.
Even the ever-calm Doma’s face turned grim.
Kisaki took in every reaction with satisfaction.
He knew exactly what they were thinking. Doubts. Schemes.
Perhaps even thoughts of plotting against big brother.
But that was why he came back—to crush such foolish notions.
To be beaten by big brother was an honor. How dare they think otherwise?
“Doma Murazaki. Address: 3-35 Minamihachiman Town, Suruga Ward, Shizuoka City. Wife: Doma Saki, maiden name Mizushima.
Daughter: attending Shotoku Kindergarten. At home you also keep a little dog—‘Kaki,’ wasn’t it? By the way, your front door has a problem.
Won’t shut properly, makes an awful squeak…”
Kisaki’s lips moved smoothly, spitting out fact after fact until cold sweat rolled down Doma’s face.
“Enough! What the hell do you want with all this?! Have you no shame?!” Doma roared, trembling.
Kisaki’s smile didn’t waver. “I just thought, since you’re injured and can’t move around, I’d arrange for someone to pick up and drop off your daughter. And repairing a door?
Easy enough. If you’d like, we can check your gas pipes too. Tokyo Energy Company is in charge of your area, right?
Their uniforms are that nice sky-blue—very refreshing. Whenever they knock on my door, I’m always happy to greet them.”
His eyes slid to Yoshida.
“You idiot. I ran away from home at twelve. I don’t even know if those two old geezers are still alive.
No girlfriend. No kids. Not even a friend. What are you gonna use to threaten me with?!”
Yoshida grinned proudly.
He knew the truth—people like him, with no ties, no weaknesses, no attachments, were the hardest to deal with.
Cross a lone wolf like him, and your enemy would live every day in fear of endless revenge.
“Ah, my apologies. So you’re a man with zero social ties.” Kisaki’s smile never faltered.
“But you see… that makes you the perfect missing puzzle piece.”
The line—straight from boss’s novel...
Kisaki sighed, disappointed. Of course.
The new generation’s great ship had no room for illiterates.
How could he expect someone who ran away at twelve to appreciate big brother’s brilliance?
So he rephrased, simply:
“No parents. No friends. Not even a dog to call your own. If someone like you disappeared… would anyone even notice?”
The glint on his glasses flashed sharp as a blade.
Yoshida stared at the thin man in front of him, at the killing intent radiating from his emptiness, and he didn’t doubt for a second that this man could make good on those words.
This was a group that could mobilize hundreds just to pluck cherry blossoms. How could they not erase a nameless thug like him?
‘Thud.’
Yoshida’s knees buckled.
He collapsed.
Kisaki’s smile remained. He turned to Nakamura.
The iron-hard man who’d once dragged himself up even after taking a chop and a whip kick from Hojou Kyousuke now shook like a leaf.
“No… not my piggy…” His mind was filled with the image of his beloved orange colored pig-cat.
“You…” Kisaki placed a hand on Nakamura’s trembling shoulder.
“Ahhh! I don’t wanna die!”
“…are a good man,” Kisaki said warmly, ignoring his panic.
Anyone who praises big brother is a friend of Rampaging Angels.
Buy three full sets of big brother’s books, and you’re a good friend.
Get your friends and family to support too, and you’re practically family.
“Eh?” Nakamura blinked dumbly.
Kisaki smiled, satisfied, and moved on.
“Uemura Tatsu. Your father works at—”
Before long, he straightened his tie, pushed up his glasses, and stepped out of the room, utterly pleased.
“What a delightful evening, gentlemen.”
He bowed politely, slid the door shut with careful hands, and left behind only the Yamazakura group sprawled across the tatami—along with the black, muddy footprints marking where he had walked.
