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401 The Angel Came to Me
🕑 Added 2025-07-24 15:00:17 +0000 UTC"Roger that!"
Kisaki responded loudly, then hesitated for a couple of seconds.
Deciding there was no need to block the door, he pushed it open and dragged Aki Tomoya out by the leg.
The whole time, Aki’s head with its mess of hair scraped noisily across the floor.
When the boss personally handed someone over for him to handle, there was no need for restraint.
Kisaki may have strayed off the path the moment he joined the delinquent scene in middle school under his boss’s lead becoming a fake delinquent over time
But before he ever dreamed of ruling the country, he’d done more than enough research into the world of real punks.
If it were someone like Onizuka and the rest, still naïvely clinging to ideals of "chivalry," the worst they might do is drag someone into a bathroom for a beating, or force them to frog-jump laps around the schoolyard with bamboo sticks.
Even if it came to fists, they’d courteously tell the guy to take off his jacket so it wouldn't get dirty.
Downright considerate.
But Kisaki Tetta was different—he was someone prepared to be the boss’s dark side.
He wouldn’t claim mastery over every dirty trick in the book, but dealing with someone like Aki Tomoya was a child’s play.
Incidentally, he was the one who "took care" of Ishida Hidenori last time, too.
Instead of escorting him home like the boss instructed, he dragged the guy to the nearest station Shinano Station on the Chūō Line and pinned his head to the edge of the platform.
Then, in vivid detail, he described exactly what it would look and feel like to jump.
Kisaki thought he’d have to pull out some suicide footage from the net to finally break the guy, but no.
—just mentioning that the train company would demand reparations from his family even after death was enough to make Ishida cry out, screaming “Honey, I won’t do it again!” like some pitiful wreck.
What a joke.
Looked like he’d already resigned himself to spending eternity being bossed around by his wife.
Pathetic.
Compared to that, handling a shut-in nerd like Aki Tomoya was even easier.
Once Kisaki confirmed what school he went to, he wouldn’t even need to plant underlings inside it.
Just spread the rumor—“Aki Tomoya pissed off the Rampaging Angel”—and the local delinquents would jump him without hesitation.
Real punks were like balloons they lived to pick on the weak.
Fear made them swell with power, but just one sharp jab from someone stronger, and pop—done for.
He didn’t even need to say what Aki did.
The delinquents would make up their own stories: “Aki licks girls’ desks before class,” or “Aki gropes women on the train…”
Absurd rumors, sure. But in Japanese schools, they weren’t impossible.
One whisper—“that girl’s a liar”—and it was enough to ruin someone completely.
Students were mentally fragile like you wouldn’t believe—or maybe just overly delicate.
Still, since the boss had personally ordered this, Kisaki didn’t want to read Aki’s name in a suicide note that blamed the boss.
So, this time, he’d go with something a little more… legitimate.
He still had the file the boss asked him to compile years ago on Aki Tomoya.
At the time he hadn’t connected the dots, but after overhearing the conversation with Miss Sawamura earlier, the pieces had finally clicked into place.
And the best part? He didn’t even need to lie.
All he had to do was share what Aki had done in elementary school with his current classmates and neighbors.
After that, his work was done.
Aki Tomoya… used to be a bully.
Sure, anime and manga culture were widely accepted in schools nowadays.
Clubs for games and manga weren’t exactly unpopular anymore.
But someone like Aki chasing strangers around trying to shove manga into their hands, hijacking class meetings to rant about anime, hogging the PA system at lunch to blast anisongs on repeat…
Even hardcore otaku would cringe at behavior like that.
It was people like him who gave the fandom a bad name.
To normal folks, he was just another nuisance on par with a thug shaking people down for lunch money.
Oh, right. Aki’s in high school now. He’s probably working part-time.
Can you imagine any store manager putting up with a guy who hijacks morning meetings to talk about anime?
Sure, elementary school was a long time ago.
But in Japan, once you’re branded with something like that, it never really goes away.
Resolved, Kisaki Tetta began dragging Aki Tomoya down the stairs.
Each thud of Aki’s head on the steps made a delightful thunk thunk thunk sound
—It was almost enough to make Kisaki crave watermelon.
When they reached the ground floor, a group of underlings were leaning against the wall, having already finished cleaning.
They looked more like gang members than employees now.
As their eyes turned to him, Kisaki let out an exasperated sigh and snapped:
“How many times do I have to tell you idiots—stop crowding the hallway like that! You’re gonna scare people off! We’re a legit animation studio, damn it! Show some professionalism! If the Chief sees this, he’s gonna be pissed!”
Seriously.
The boss had finally dropped by—what if a surprise inspection happened next? That would be a disaster.
“Yes, sir!”
The group stood at attention, shouting in unison.
“Idiot! Now you look even less like normal people!” Kisaki barked again.
“Chief Strategist, maybe we should—”
“Call me Executive Director!” Kisaki snapped, cutting off the driver, Hirata Toshitaka.
“Yes! I’m terribly sorry! I won’t forget—Executive Director Kisaki!” Hirata apologized with a deep bow before continuing.
“How about we change into gym clothes instead?”
“You idiot! Are you trying to get promoted to Chief’s personal attendant? I ought to throw you out of the organization!”
Kisaki groaned internally.
Even he hadn’t dared dream of becoming the boss’s personal aide.
Hirata must be getting bold—was he planning this coup?
Still dragging Aki Tomoya with one hand, he used the other to adjust his gold-rimmed glasses and coolly scanned the group in front of him.
Hirata Toshitaka, driver and sales rep—broad forehead, looked like a low-budget video game NPC.
Sanada Ryōzō, receptionist and liaison—mid-length hair, narrow eyes, lurking in shadows like a professional assassin.
Ōkawa Shinji, head of the tech department—frizzy yellowish hair, wide black-rimmed glasses.
Should’ve looked meek, but gave off serious “unstable” energy. That said, he was a whiz at fixing computers and equipment.
Kojima Asato…
Kisaki swept his gaze across the crew and sighed. Honestly, besides the boss, he was probably the only one in this entire company who looked remotely like a decent person.
No wonder the neighbors kept calling the cops.
Even as Kisaki struck a casual pose adjusting his glasses, there was a sharpness to him—a venomous aura, like a cobra raising its head, ready to strike.
“Wh-What’s wrong, Executive Director Kisaki? Is the Boss angry?” Hirata was pushed from behind and stepped forward to ask, eyeing the seemingly lifeless body Kisaki was dragging behind him.
“I was just looking at your fingers,” Kisaki said thoughtfully.
“Fingers...?” Hirata swallowed hard.
He’d worked all night alongside Kisaki and knew full well that something major had gone wrong at the company.
And something this big always needed someone to take the fall.
“O-One finger or two?” he asked through gritted teeth.
He didn’t quite get why Kisaki had just told them not to act like thugs, only to now ask for fingers, but if that’s what it took to take responsibility, he was ready.
“Hm? Of course I mean all ten!”
Kisaki frowned, genuinely confused about what the idiot was even talking about.
“T-TEN!?”
Everyone in the hallway shouted at once, and the air was sucked right out of the room.
They stared at Kisaki in sheer horror.
Okay, forget “not a criminal gang”—what kind of actual gang was stricter than this?!
Hirata turned ghostly pale.
For a moment, it felt like his fingers were already gone—no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t even feel them anymore.
“Yeah,” Kisaki continued calmly, “I was just wondering how we can show the neighbors you still have all ten fingers.”
“Oh… those ten!”
“Thank god, Hirata! Your fingers are safe!”
“Ugh… what do you mean safe!? I messed up—I should be offering my fingers to the Boss!” Hirata sniffled, caught in the emotional whiplash of having lost and regained his metaphorical “girlfriends.”
Even the toughest guy would tear up at that.
“With this, maybe our company’s image in the neighborhood will improve,” Kisaki mused.
“Well, I think the one who most needs to show his fingers is you, Executive Director Kisaki,” said Okawa Shinji, the eccentric head of the tech department.
For a man obsessed with electronics, fingers were sacred.
“Me?” Kisaki blinked.
“Yeah. I mean, not everyone qualifies to cut off a finger.”
Okawa said this matter-of-factly, and the others nodded in agreement.
In Tokyo, if you were in charge of even a single block, chances were you were missing a pinky.
“…You’re not wrong.”
Kisaki nodded solemnly, pondering how he might show the neighbors his fully intact fingers.
With a casual flick, he flung Aki Tomoya aside.
“This guy came here to cause trouble. You all know what to do, right? If not, call Onizuka.”
And with that, he headed upstairs.
Unlikely as it was, he might need to drag down another one.
“Osssuu!!”
Everyone responded in unison.
“Nooooo! Don’t cut my fingers! I need them to pose my figurines!!!”
Like a zombie springing back to life, Aki Tomoya suddenly scrambled to his feet, flailing desperately as he tried to squeeze past the crowd and bolt for the door.
Unfortunately for him, these weren’t just any employees—they were handpicked former members of the Rampaging Angels.
If they didn’t have a special talent, they had strength and size to make up for it.
Less like a Japanese street gang, and more like something out of the Italian or Russian mafia. Or a private security force.
Just two of them standing shoulder to shoulder were enough to block the entire hallway. Aki wasn’t going anywhere.
Strangely, no one—not Kisaki, still pondering the company’s image, nor the crew who’d just been scolded for acting too much like gangsters—found anything odd about the fact that Aki was trying to make a break for it.
After all, the person they followed was Hojou Kyousuke.
They idolized that man—his unmatched dominance, his overwhelming violence.
They were utterly captivated by his absolute strength, and willingly groveled at his feet as loyal lapdogs.
Whether it was real or just her imagination, Kosaka Akane could’ve sworn she heard Aki Tomoya scream from downstairs.
No way. That loser had a concussion—there was no way he was awake already.
She tilted her head up, staring at Hojou Kyousuke, standing before her.
A feeling washed over her—one she hadn’t felt since the day she realized her debut work had turned into a steaming pile of garbage.
A kind of despair and helplessness that pierced the soul.
Just as she began to fear that he might slam something into her skull next, the man finally spoke.
“President Kosaka, do you know what a corporate war really is?”
His voice was clear and composed, his demeanor gentle and refined—as if the beastly rage from earlier had never happened.
The way he shifted so fluidly between extremes was almost terrifying, like he had dissociative identity disorder.
Wait. Actually…
Judging from the completely different tones of his past works, it wouldn’t be that surprising if he was a little unhinged.
Strangely, that realization didn’t scare her.
After all, she wasn’t exactly normal herself. What kind of sane person would be willing to put their life on the line for a story?
“Corporate warfare?” she echoed. “The simplest way is exactly what I did today—poach your opponent’s key people and cut off their potential at the root.”
Now that she realized she and Hojou were the same breed, some of her usual fire returned.
“No, no, that’s far from the simplest.”
Kyousuke chuckled and gently shook his head, giving her the warm look of a kind-hearted teacher, as if encouraging a student to try again.
“Flood the market with ads to brainwash the audience?”
“Nope.”
“Steal the rival’s ideas and blueprints?”
“No.”
“Fill up every niche in the market with garbage before they get a chance to?”
“Still no.”
He shook his head again, then decided not to waste more time letting Kosaka Akane guess—clearly, she still wasn’t quite getting it.
“A philosopher once said: The weapon of criticism cannot replace the criticism of weapons.”
He lifted the “Silver” in his hand and gave it a light shake.
His smile remained gentle, calm—even soothing.
Kosaka Akane swallowed hard.
Yep—philosopher or not, this guy was definitely nuts.
Was he seriously saying that when words fail, you just pull a sword?
“…You’re right. Truly the simplest corporate war strategy,” she said, nodding stiffly.
Her mind was filled with a stampede of expletives.
‘What the hell kind of novelist are you!? This is way too violent!’
‘Writers are supposed to turn violence inward, not outward!’
"President Kosaka already showed me just how powerful you and Mars are before we even met."
Kyousuke lowered his head, examining the blade in his hands.
Even with its oddly-shaped hilt, the jet-black sheath shone without a hint of dullness.
The lightning pattern etched across it remained just as striking and beautiful.
"But remember this—true power isn’t something built on money and influence, something that crumbles with a single push.
Real power is absolute. It’s the kind of force that cuts through anything standing in its way without hesitation.
And when I hold that kind of power... it’s not easy to restrain myself from crushing ants just by walking past them."
As he said this, his right hand suddenly drew the blade in a flash.
Without even looking, a streak of silver carved through the air in a sharp and elegant arc before he returned it smoothly to its sheath.
Kosaka Akane was just about to wonder if this lunatic had cut straight through an atom or something—when she noticed the chair she’d been sitting on earlier… had been sliced perfectly in half.
Clean through.
Even the metal frame hadn’t been spared.
A monster.
Her eyes widened in shock, her jaw dropped so far she could’ve swallowed the entire hilt of his sword.
What kind of monster is this?!
This wasn’t something you could explain with reflexes or athletic ability.
She’d sat in that chair for quite a while—she knew it wasn’t some trick prop or rigged furniture.
How can someone like this even exist in the real world?
Why isn’t he out there ruling the planet?!
Her gaze flicked between Hojou’s face and the blade in his hand—Shirogane (Silver).
Now she understood what he meant by how hard it was not to crush the ants beneath him.
Taki Tomoya… and everyone else who had ever faced Kyousuke in a kendo match…
They should count themselves unbelievably lucky that this man had such terrifying control over his strength.
"So the next time you think about using your mighty multimedia empire for something…"
Kyousuke took a step back, casually holding the sword in his left hand, then raised his right toward the door.
"Just remember—I command the most violent organization in all of Tokyo."
"That’s right! If Kyousuke decided to run for Prime Minister, Kisaki and the others would probably go assassinate the current one!"
Eriri chimed in at just the right moment, puffing herself up with a smug little smirk, riding on his coattails like a fox behind a tiger.
‘Pfft. As if.’
Even though Akane was still in awe of Hojou’s absurd strength, she couldn’t help but scoff inwardly.
"Absolutely!"
Kisaki, who had just reached the doorway, responded loudly.
If his boss ever got such an idea, he’d immediately organize a top-secret assassination squad himself.
He stepped into the room, proudly puffing out his chest.
"Heh… such loyal little underlings."
Akane let out a couple of dry chuckles.
After a moment’s thought, she decided it was time to ease the tension that Aki had stirred up between them.
"Um, this might not be my place, but… do you need help with the interviews today? If you don’t mind, I could personally reach out to the applicants."
"Hah! You really think something like that could ever trouble Kyousuke?" Eriri replied smugly, hands on her hips and voice bright with pride.
"Huh?" Akane turned to Hojou, puzzled.
"Excuuse meee sorry for interrupting~ is this the place for the interviews?"
A new voice suddenly rang out from the doorway.
Huh???
What the hell was wrong with this company? Say something and it just magically happened?
Akane spun around, curious to see who had managed to slip past her blockade and show up at the Tansan interview.
If Kyousuke weren’t as absurdly powerful as he was, anyone showing up now could only be… a literal angel?
