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385 Someone Wants to Know If the "Handless Devil" Has Been Redeemed by an Angel
🕑 Added 2025-07-17 15:00:17 +0000 UTCThe sun rose like any other day.
Kisaki Tetta slipped his phone back into his pocket.
Taking the warm towel handed to him by a subordinate, he wiped his face.
His expression returned to a calm, collected state—as if the man who had just been frantically calling someone in a fit of rage had been someone else entirely.
Yet his fists, clenched tightly at his sides, betrayed the truth—veins bulged, knuckles white.
“Strategist… what now? The boss will be waking up soon...” Hirata Toshitaka, who had also gone sleepless under Kisaki’s orders, asked hesitantly.
Kisaki gritted his teeth again.
His yellow eyes, the same color as his hair, flared with a violent gleam.
After two seconds of silence, he calmed again.
Besides the fury in his eyes, no other emotion could be read from him.
“We do nothing. Let the boss rest. Once he’s up, he’ll handle everything.”
As he said this, blood began dripping from his clenched fists.
His nails had dug deep into his palms.
Pathetic.
Kisaki Tetta, you're truly pathetic.
What kind of useless subordinate are you?
How dare you keep chasing after that man when you can't even be of help?
Is it just because he's strong enough to solve everything without anyone's support?
If that's the case—what’s the point of you? What value do you bring?
How dare you dream of achieving your ambitions using his power?
The taste of blood filled his mouth.
Kisaki’s gaze only grew darker and more savage.
If the boss hadn’t strictly forbidden his men from groveling, Kisaki would already be kneeling at the entrance of the Ruyi Dorm.
But before that, he would have made sure to kill that woman.
He would’ve preserved her ugly head in salt, placed it in a fine ebony box, and offered it to the boss as an apology.
Just like the boss always said—when faced with trouble, just close your eyes and sleep.
And if the trouble can’t be solved, then get rid of the person causing it.
Isn’t that what you’ve always done?
You’re Kisaki Tetta—the man who dreams of standing in the boss’s shadow, rising with him to the top of the world.
Evil to the core—that’s who you’re supposed to be.
Countless wild thoughts clashed in his mind.
His nails dug even deeper.
Eventually, his hands loosened and dropped naturally to his sides.
The madness faded slightly from his face, and he spoke in a flat tone, not even turning his head:
“Don’t call me ‘strategist.’ The title is Executive Director. The boss is the President. And you—you’re the driver and general affairs manager.”
After a pause, Kisaki’s tone turned low and cold:
“Know your place.”
It was something the boss had once told him.
“Yes, sir!” Hirata immediately straightened up and bowed, then stood silently behind Kisaki, holding his breath.
The sun climbed higher.
Soft morning light slowly pushed away the mist.
It should’ve been a cheerful, sunny day—but instead, a chilling air filled the street.
Streetlights flicked off.
The sunlight cast the two men’s shadows on the wall—long, then shortening again.
The cheerful chatter of housewives out for morning grocery runs abruptly halted as they neared the Ruyi Dorm.
Their expressions shifted from puzzled to fearful as they glanced at the two men in black suits, quietly moving to the opposite side of the street and hurrying past.
“Ta–Takemura-san, isn’t that Hojou-san’s house?” Mrs. Oda, whose husband was a dentist, asked nervously, occasionally sneaking peeks back.
“Yeah...” replied Mrs. Takemura, the mother of one of the triplets living in the unit across from Hojou Kyousuke.
Her husband ran a clothing factory.
Unlike the anxious Mrs. Oda, Mrs. Takemura, who had met Hojou Kyousuke more often, simply looked intrigued.
“What should we do? Call the police? Or maybe let Hojou-san know?”
Mrs. Oda pressed further.
The two of them stood at the corner of the street, pretending to chat casually, but both were clearly stealing glances at the dorm and the suited men.
“Call the police? What for?” Mrs. Takemura blinked, then realized
—Mrs. Oda probably didn’t recognize Kisaki Tetta, the man who had once come with Hojou to deliver moving-in gifts.
She quickly explained:
“He’s one of Hojou-san’s subordinates. Judging by the look on his face, something serious must’ve come up.”
That’s the only reason she felt comfortable watching from so close. Otherwise, she’d have run the other way.
“A subordinate? Then why not just ring the bell?” Mrs. Oda asked, confused.
“Oh, come on, just look at that face. You can tell he messed something up.” Mrs. Takemura sounded like an expert.
After all, her husband’s subordinates often came over with gifts and guilt when they messed up.
Their wives always wore the same look.
No mistake about it!
Still, those two really were clueless.
If they had any sense, they’d go ask one of the girls around Hojou-san for help instead of standing here like fools.
“I see...” Mrs. Oda nodded in sudden understanding.
Then her eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t expect this... Hojou-san always seems so gentle. But his subordinates are terrified of him?”
“You don’t become successful by being soft,” Mrs. Takemura said with a snort.
Even living on the same street, social standing clearly made a difference.
A small clinic like Mrs. Oda’s husband ran couldn’t compare to her household.
“True...” Mrs. Oda nodded again, recalling how strict her husband could be with the young assistants at his clinic. But her expression quickly changed.
“The supermarket sale starts now!”
“Ah!” Mrs. Takemura checked her watch and looked anxious too.
She cast one last longing glance at the Ruyi Dorm, then hurried after Mrs. Oda.
Today was special—premium scallions from Saitama were 20% off!
Time passed.
When the two housewives returned from their shopping spree, their baskets full and their spirits high, they noticed a familiar figure now standing at the entrance of the Ruyi Dorm.
“Good morning, Hojou-san.”
They greeted him with surprise.
Kyousuke—awake this early?
Usually, at this hour, it was that soft-spoken brunette Nishimiya Shouko, or the elegant Yukino Yukari who resembled a classical painting, or sometimes even Yamauchi Sakura with her sleepy yawns.
Yes, the girls had blended in perfectly with the peaceful neighborhood.
The housewives all knew them now.
“Good morning. Looks like you had a successful haul, Mrs. Takemura, Mrs. Oda,” Kyousuke said with his usual gentle smile.
“Oh, absolutely! You wouldn’t believe it—we thought it was just a scallion sale from Saitama, but then—”
Mrs. Takemura lit up instantly, ready to show off her loot as she walked toward Kyousuke.
But just as she stepped forward, her eyes caught the sight of the two men in black suits bowing at a full ninety degrees.
Even though Hojou-san still wore the same warm smile as always, those two men—bending like they might snap in half—reminded her:
Hojou Kyousuke is not as gentle as he appears.
“Stand aside,” Kyousuke said. His tone was calm, his smile unchanged.
“Yes, sir!” ×2
Kisaki Tetta and Hirata Toshitaka answered in unison and immediately moved to the side, pressing themselves against the wall without another word.
“You see this radish? I swear it hasn’t been out of the ground for more than two days—it’s so fresh!” Mrs. Oda came over, proudly holding up a gleaming white daikon from her basket.
“Wow! Looks delicious!” Kyousuke responded with just the right amount of enthusiasm.
“Right? I’ll bring some over for you later.”
“And some of those scallions too.”
“Haha, then I’ll be looking forward to it.” Kyousuke didn’t decline.
Accepting such neighborly gestures helped maintain good relationships.
His household often did the same—Eriri had even personally delivered meals in Tupperware a few times.
It was rare for the neighborhood celebrity to have free time, and Mrs. Oda clearly wanted to chat more.
But Mrs. Takemura pulled her away with a firm tug—it was obvious something serious was going on.
“Well then, we’ll be off.”
“Sure, see you later,” Kyousuke said with a friendly smile.
Once the two housewives walked a bit farther and turned around, they saw a familiar small delivery truck pulling up in front of Kyousuke’s house.
Staff in uniforms labeled Komura Food Market stepped down and began unloading crate after crate of fresh ingredients.
“…They must be loaded,” Mrs. Oda murmured, her eyes wide with awe.
“Yeah.” Mrs. Takemura nodded.
Even though both their families were solidly middle-class, ordering fresh produce and meat from such high-end suppliers felt a little excessive—not impossible, just… unnecessary.
But then they thought of the people living in the Ruyi Dorm.
No matter which man it was, if you lived with that many beautiful women, of course you wouldn’t skimp on food.
Meanwhile, Kisaki didn’t make any move to help the delivery workers to curry favor.
Instead, he took a kraft folder from Hirata Toshitaka and bowed, handing it to Hojou Kyousuke.
“Come in. Hirata, go help Komura-san unload. Then return to the car and stay on standby.”
Hojou gave a polite nod toward Komura from the food market, then walked inside with Kisaki, bypassing the living room and heading straight for the courtyard.
Behind them, the metal blinds of the living room dropped, cutting off the view.
Without needing to be told, Kisaki headed straight for the storage shed.
He fetched a folding table and chairs, set them up, wiped them down, bowed, and waited quietly at the side.
Because of the number of women living in the house, Hojou rarely discussed business indoors anymore.
If he had to meet with subordinates, he always did it in the courtyard—especially in the morning.
There were always a few idiots who’d stroll out half-dressed without thinking.
Kisaki knew this well.
If it weren’t for the boss’s order, he would never have dared set foot in the Ruyi Dorm at this hour.
If he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see, the boss wouldn’t hesitate to kill him on the spot.
Seated, Kyousuke crossed one leg over the other, set the folder on his lap, and opened it. Without turning his head, he said:
“Sit.”
Kisaki Tetta hesitated, his jaw tightening.
He didn’t think he deserved to sit.
But he also knew the boss hated repeating himself.
With a stiff expression, he sat down.
Head bowed low, fists clenched tight on his knees, he looked like a man waiting to be beheaded.
Kyousuke had barely started reading when he caught a whiff of blood.
Glancing sideways, he noticed Kisaki’s fists were bleeding again from how tightly he’d clenched them.
“There’s a first-aid kit in the tool shed. Take care of that.”
“This kind of wound is nothing—yes, sir!”
Kisaki had meant to endure the pain a little longer—to punish himself for his failure—but the moment Kyousuke looked up, all the bravado drained from him.
He shot up and rushed toward the shed.
Opening the folder, Kyousuke flipped through the contents.
The top section was filled with résumés—people Kisaki had contacted through headhunting firms or personal connections, all supposedly interested in joining his studio.
Well… most of them couldn’t exactly be called “talent.” At best, they were cogs to help get an animation studio running.
A few real talents were people he’d met while working on One Punch Man at BOX Animation Studio—others were failed mangaka introduced by his editors, whose dreams had been crushed when their series were axed.
Today had been the scheduled interview day—deliberately set to coincide with his anniversary of meeting Eriri.
This studio was supposed to be a gift for her.
From staffing to project planning, he wanted every step to be filled with memories they’d made together—just like when they were drawing One Punch Man.
He could still remember that dazzling smile on Eriri’s face as they watched the anime air from BOX’s conference room—a smile so radiant it was burned into his mind.
He wanted that smile to be a permanent fixture on her face, every day moving forward.
But now, every résumé had been stamped with the same red notice:
"Interview Canceled"
That morning, after finally dragging himself out of the devilishly comfortable bed that had been trying to seduce him into staying, he got up in high spirits, ready to cook a hearty breakfast for the whole household.
But the moment he opened the door, Kisaki Tetta was standing there—with this disaster of a report.
Everyone.
Every single candidate—whether contacted through headhunters or personal connections—had withdrawn from the interviews overnight.
Most of them had even blocked Kisaki’s number.
What the hell…
Kyousuke had to fight the urge to punch a hole through the wall.
The murderous aura that flared up in that moment had turned both his subordinates pale with fear.
But honestly?
As he looked at Kisaki, sitting there like he was waiting to be executed, Kyousuke couldn’t really bring himself to blame the guy all that much.
Kisaki was still too young—he had a long way to go.
When faced with truly formidable opponents, even his unguarded expressions could be enough to get him completely devoured.
Before long, Kisaki Tetta returned, holding the first-aid kit.
His face was dark as he silently disinfected his wounds.
The sting of pain didn’t make him flinch—not even a twitch.
“Don’t look so grim. Today’s a big day for our Carbonated Animation Studio,” Kyousuke said with a light smile.
“Yes, sir.” Kisaki forced a crooked smile, his lips trembling slightly.
“Even if someone’s got a gun to your head and you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, you still need to smile, Kisaki,” Kyousuke said as he slid the documents back into the folder.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, staring at the morning sun that was gradually becoming too bright, and continued in a calm, measured voice:
“If you can keep them from seeing what you’re really thinking, they’ll believe that cliff behind you isn’t a drop into nothing—but a field full of blooming sunflowers.
And when they come closer, curious to see for themselves… that’s when you get the chance to grab them and pull them down with you.”
Kisaki’s hands froze mid-motion as he cleaned the wound.
The harshness and gloom on his face slowly melted away into something calmer.
He still couldn’t muster a smile, but at least his expression had returned to a neutral stillness.
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s more like it. You’re my strategist, remember? If even you lose your composure, everyone else will think I’m as good as dead.”
“Understood!”
Kisaki had always known this.
As long as the boss was around, no problem was unsolvable. What he hated… was his own uselessness.
“Don’t let others read you so easily.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Do you know who’s behind this?”
Kyousuke’s smile remained gentle.
He could accept a setback—it was part of the game.
But not knowing who the enemy even was? That was unacceptable.
His dark eyes, now tinged gold by the morning sun, turned to Kisaki Tetta.
He believed in his men—they weren’t incompetent.
“Yes. The other side doesn’t seem to be trying to hide their hand.”
Kisaki reached into the folder and pulled out a single personnel file from the very bottom.
With both hands, he respectfully offered it to his boss.
Kyousuke took the file and looked it over, his expression unchanged.
