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371 Kyousuke and His Band of Rogues
🕑 Added 2025-07-11 15:00:15 +0000 UTCKyousuke had always believed that a person’s face reflected their heart.
So whenever he reached his breaking point in an argument, unleashing all his anger, his sharp features would contort.
His brows twisted, his mouth curled at an odd angle, and his whole face distorted like a monster’s.
That, he knew, was when a person looked their absolute worst.
Just one look at a recording of themselves in that moment, and anyone would wonder if they’d been possessed by a demon.
But arguments were unavoidable in life.
After all, you couldn’t just draw a sword and decapitate someone every time a conflict arose.
So what could you do instead?
His father, a lawyer, had once given him a very practical solution.
Simple—if you don’t want to get angry, then make the other person angry instead.
Even if you still feel like the victim, watching the other person blow a fuse can instantly lift your spirits.
And in that regard, none could hold a candle to Senior Kasumigaoka Utaha.
Whether she was dealing with strangers or close friends, her elegance never wavered.
She always carried herself like she was at a perfume exhibition, untouched by the seething fury of those around her.
It was as if there were an invisible wall between them: on one side, a reeking swamp of rage; on the other, a fragrant paradise.
But she wasn’t the only one he knew who excelled in this art.
Yukinoshita Yukino was a natural-born expert.
She didn’t even have to try—her very existence seemed to drive people mad.
“Why are you angry?”
Her pale, flawless face would scrunch just slightly in confusion, her icy blue eyes and arched brows radiating nothing but genuine bewilderment.
And that was precisely the problem—her sincerity only added fuel to the fire.
She truly couldn’t understand why the other person was upset over something so obvious, and that cluelessness, so pure and honest, made people want to scream.
As for Miyamizu Mitsuha—the shrine maiden from the countryside—her approach to conflict resolution was far more direct.
And in this area, Kasumigaoka Utaha had the most authority to speak.
She’d eliminate the problem before the other person could even reveal their ugly side.
And Kyousuke?
What was his method of dealing with conflict?
Every girl around him had her own answer to that.
Sakura knew.
The rose bushes in the neighbor’s yard, the kids at the park who threw baseballs at him—they all could testify.
Shouko knew.
Teacher Takeuchi, Ishida Shouya, that agency that said she had no chance as a voice actress—they could all testify too.
Naoka, Mitsuha, Eriri… they all knew.
And now, Ishida Hidenori was about to find out for himself.
Kyousuke stood with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, hands casually tucked into his pockets.
He wasn’t even wearing his suit jacket, which should’ve made him look scrawnier, but flanked by his crew, his presence felt towering.
Behind him, Onizuka and Hatagorou wore matching grins—excited, savage, even gleeful.
They hadn’t expected today’s event to come with such thrilling side entertainment.
If anyone dared to ask who they were, they wouldn’t hesitate to answer—with their boots to your face.
They were the Rampaging Angels, feared by every delinquent in Tokyo, the reason Bunkyo Ward was considered a no-go zone, capable of dismantling entire gangs solo.
If you rushed them, you’d die.
Straight up die.
Ishida Hidenori could practically see a demonic aura rising off this gang.
It was as if their faces had been replaced by snarling oni masks.
His legs froze, like someone had dunked them in buckets of cement.
And Kyousuke—he was still smiling, speaking with that half-joking, shameless tone, like a low-level thug begging for forgiveness.
But Ishida could feel it: real danger was here.
Meanwhile, the girls on the other side of the courtyard had noticed the commotion and were making their way over.
Sakura quickly grabbed Eriri and Mitsuha, one with each hand, keeping them from launching into a rage.
Mikiko did the same with Shouko and Miki.
Miki and Mitsuha were barely keeping it together, their little faces dark with fury.
But Shouko had her tiny fists clenched—this time, not to shield Kyousuke with her face, but to deck the fool who was making a mess of things.
Eriri was already baring her sharp little canines and eyeing the box in her arms, ready to chuck it like a weapon.
Only Naoka remained calm.
She knew exactly what fate awaited the idiot in front of them.
Yukari, too. No one could hurt her god.
Utaha stepped forward, frowning as she looked past Ishida at the two men behind him.
“…Ojousama.”
The two professional actors who had been stuck to Ishida Hidenori’s side immediately bowed their heads and fell silent.
That single word—Ojousama—snapped Osaka Gou, Misaki Megaku, and Mashiro Masashi out of their daze.
They’d seen those two shamelessly buttering up Ishida earlier and thought they were just opportunistic hacks.
But after Kyousuke had taken the stage, those same two had become stone-faced and wouldn’t let Ishida leave until he’d witnessed every single second of Kyousuke’s glorious moment.
Back then, the trio had made a mental note to keep an eye on them, hoping to sniff out the puppet master behind it all.
But this?
This was way beyond what they expected.
No way—
She was the one who set this all up?
Their brains immediately clicked into place.
Now it all made sense why Ishida Hidenori had ended up walking straight into a landmine.
His snide comments in the paper hadn’t even registered on Kyousuke’s radar.
But they had absolutely infuriated the people around him.
Now staring at that breathtakingly beautiful girl, the three exchanged looks of panic.
‘Wait… have I ever offended Hojou?’
Misaki Megaku and Mashiro Masashi quickly ran through their memories and both felt relieved—they were in the clear.
Then, as if on cue, both slowly turned to look at Osaka Gou.
‘Huh? Why are you looking at me?’
Osaka Gou blinked, puzzled.
He did a quick self-audit and confirmed he had been nothing but a mentor and a friend to Hojou.
He helped him navigate the literary world, vouched for him at the mystery writers’ guild—he was basically a saint.
Even if Hojou’s girlfriends were demons, they’d spare him… right?
“Heisei Playboy,” Misaki Megaku muttered under his breath.
‘Crap!’
What woman would tolerate her man being known by that nickname!?
Three cold beads of sweat slid down Osaka Gou’s forehead.
He nervously turned to look at Professor Kasumi Utako.
And there she stood—the mastermind behind this whole trap that felt like a suicide booth—wearing a frosty expression that seemed to say, “Why is this clown still not lying face-down on the Chuo Line tracks?”
‘Oh god this is terrifying!’
For a split second, Osaka Gou imagined himself walking up on stage to accept an award… only to see the audience don clown masks in unison.
All staring at him with wide red noses. A banner unfurled from the ceiling with the word CLOWN written in huge letters.
Even the award itself turned out to be a prop.
Nope.
He needed to have a serious heart-to-heart with Hojou later.
That guy needed to get his women under control.
Wait—no, this was all an act! Hojou was pretending not to know anything.
There’s no way he wasn’t in on it!
What he didn’t know was—Kyousuke actually was clueless.
He’d even been planning to treat the mastermind behind all this to drinks.
Though Kisaki’s awkward demeanor earlier had made him slightly suspicious, the truth still caught him off guard.
‘Utaha… you're the perfect wife.’
“You’ve done well. You may step back now,” Utaha said softly, her voice cool and unreadable.
Beneath that cold Shizuka-like exterior, though, was a girl with a heart in absolute chaos.
It didn’t bother Kyousuke to know about what she had done.
Knowing him, he’d only be pleased.
But standing right beside him was Aunt Mikiko!
What if she found out and thought I’m some wicked, scheming woman?
Not suitable to be a wife—or worse, a mother?
What if she starts worrying I won’t treat his parents well?
Ugh. Those two idiots!
She had already planned rewards for the subordinates she’d brought from her family’s company, based on merit.
Those two were supposed to be promoted to section chief and assigned to branch offices.
Well, they could still be promoted… but she needed to carefully reconsider which branch they'd be sent to.
“Why not let them stay for dinner?” Kyousuke turned to her with a smile, asking in a low voice.
“Huh? Sure~” Utaha blinked, then beamed like spring sunshine as she nodded.
She turned to the two men in front:
“Tajima, Sakata, you can go back to the company afterward.”
Hearing her speak with warmth again, the two men instantly straightened, lifted their heads with shining eyes, and then bowed deeply, 90 degrees, to express their gratitude.
They were delighted—and the black-haired, red-eyed girl felt just as happy.
She’d known from the start that Kyousuke wouldn’t be upset by what she’d done.
But seeing him go as far as wanting to reward her subordinates… it brought a smile to her face that she couldn’t hide.
For a moment, even Mikiko-san’s opinion didn’t seem so important.
Kyousuke looked at her bright, radiant face and was once again convinced of that old saying—“the face reflects the heart.”
Today had brought him four great joys: winning a major award, reuniting with friends and family, having the woman he loved at his side… and watching his enemies fall to their knees.
And all of them were thanks to Kasumigaoka Utaha.
He reached out, about to gently take her hand in his to express his feelings—when suddenly, he saw something absurd.
Ishida Hidenori, who had been frozen stiff in terror, suddenly broke free and lunged toward them.
He’d thought those two men who were pretending to admire him were Hojou’s henchmen—who’d long been targeting him out of hate.
And now, faced with his “enemy,” he’d frozen like a coward.
The shame made him want to die.
But when he saw those same men bow respectfully to the woman beside Hojou and call the women beside him Ojousama, he finally understood.
‘She’s the one who set this trap. That woman in the black dress!’
He couldn’t beat Hojou in a fight.
But tearing out this b*tch’s hair and clawing up her pretty face?
That, he could manage!
With that thought, Ishida Hidenori dropped any pretense of trying to justify himself.
No more excuses about “doing it for your own good” or “wanting to inspire you, Hojou-senpai!”
Yeah, he’d said all that crap—and Hojou didn’t even respond.
But this woman dared to retaliate!?
A woman’s place was at home, doing laundry!
“You damn b*tch, it was you!!!”
With a furious scream, Ishida Hidenori—ever the “master of reading the room”—charged at the one he thought was the weakest: Kasumigaoka Utaha.
“Shi-chan”
Her editor, Machida Sonoko, shouted in alarm and tried to rush over.
But she was immediately held back by another editor, Shimomura Tetsuya.
Most people didn’t know—but Shimomura did.
His own son was a member of Rampaging Angels, so he knew exactly what Hojou was capable of.
And Ishida Hidenori?
That clown wouldn’t last three seconds—even if you cloned him a hundred times.
Still… was it really okay to let Hojou start a fight here, of all places?
Shimomura instinctively worried about the optics.
Then again… he chuckled.
Kyousuke had built his reputation from day one on being a ruthless brawler—the infamous “Handless Demon,” who kept Bunkyo Ward in line.
Ishida, of course, didn’t know any of that.
He was convinced that his speed—faster than lightning—was unbeatable.
Not even a national kendo champion could stop him!
At just two meters away, he lunged, tongue lolling out like a rabid dog, hands outstretched and ready to maul.
Kisaki frowned and started to step forward, but Kyousuke calmly stopped him with an elbow.
He also signaled to the thugs behind him, who were practically glowing with bloodlust, to hold back.
‘It’s been a while since someone had the guts to try something like this.’
Kyousuke casually rolled his neck—but with his perfect posture, it didn’t even make a cracking sound.
Well then…
Let’s give this brave fool the reward he deserves.
Utaha showed no hint of fear as Ishida charged.
Her crimson eyes were cold, almost disdainful.
A clown is still a clown—not even worthy of being Kyousuke’s stepping stone.
This was why she hadn’t told Kyousuke about her plan.
Dealing with someone like Ishida wasn’t about revenge—it was to give herself closure.
Kyousuke wouldn’t waste time on someone this insignificant.
Bringing Aunt Mikiko and the others here—that’s what truly made him happy.
‘And this idiot had the nerve to talk about my man like that? You must have a death wish.’
Whenever there was any article—magazine or newspaper—that mentioned Kyousuke, she would collect it all and study it carefully.
Of course she’d read Ishida’s idiotic statements too.
They had made her furious—and earned him a permanent spot in her little black notebook.
He wasn’t the only name in there… but unfortunately for him, he was the one who showed up today.
And now?
With Kyousuke by her side—what did she have to fear?
Nearby, the reporters instinctively raised their cameras, ready to capture what promised to be a sensational scoop.
But their lenses were immediately blocked by large, muscular hands.
Eikichi Onizuka grinned wide, baring his teeth.
He didn’t say a word—just stared each reporter down with those menacing eyes, shielding the scene behind him with his body.
Gorou and the others followed suit.
Human shield duty? They were experts.
One of the reporters was Hirota Yoshitoki from Weekly Bunshun.
He couldn’t help but think of the time a certain magazine office was smashed up by Beat Takeshi’s crew.
If not for the heavyweight backing of Bungeishunju, their publication probably wouldn’t have survived either.
Terrifying.
Despite the fear, their minds were already racing.
‘Following Hojou-sensei was the right move!’
‘Not only did we get free food—we didn’t even have to leave the venue to land a front-page scandal!’
To Ishida Hidenori, his speed felt lightning-fast.
To Hojou Kyousuke? It was slower than a snail’s crawl.
Normally, a worm like this wouldn’t be worth lifting a finger for.
But he made one critical mistake—he dared to go after Utaha.
Kyousuke’s dark eyes suddenly turned to ice, radiating a deadly chill.
His hands stayed lazily in his pockets.
He had already figured out how this suit moved back in the dressing room.
His mastery of maai—the range between fighters—was instinctual, ingrained in his bones.
The moment Ishida stepped within one meter—
A long leg lashed out like a whip.
The air cracked.
His sleek, black dress shoe slammed clean into Ishida’s hideous yellow face.
Ishida flew like a kite, spinning two and a half times in the air before crashing to the ground with a loud thud.
‘Thank god the shoes weren’t made by Naoka,’ Hojou thought with a grimace, eyeing the spit and smudged makeup on the toe.
‘If they were, I’d have to commit seppuku in apology.’
“Ah! Shi-chan—are you okay!?”
The sudden voice made Machida Sonoko whip around in shock.
‘Shi-chan? Isn't that my special nickname for her?! Who’s trying to steal my spotlight!?’
But when she turned to see who it was—ah, it was Mikiko-mom.
Oh… that’s fine then.
‘Wait, why did I just casually call her “Mikiko-mom” in my head too!? It just… slipped out so naturally!’
Utaha, who had been basking in the afterglow of her beloved’s handsome kick, snapped back to reality.
Caught off guard by Mikiko grabbing both her hands tightly, she looked confused for a moment.
Despite her acting skills, she failed to put on a “scared” face in time and could only nod blankly—then quickly shake her head:
“Ah? N-No, I’m fine. Really.”
“You scared me to death! Who knew there’d be such a lunatic around—just because he didn’t win, he went and attacked the winner? How despicable!”
Mikiko clung to her future daughter-in-law’s hands, speaking rapidly, clearly still shaken.
“Exactly! That was totally terrifying!” Sakura rushed forward as well, her face full of righteous anger.
“Uh…?”
Utaha blinked in confusion again, her eyes drifting toward Ishida Hidenori—who now looked like he was sleeping peacefully on the floor.
She might have been the one to orchestrate this setup… but even so, it was hard to keep up with the Kyousuke family’s logic.
Kyousuke let out a quiet laugh at his mother and Sakura’s words, then turned toward Kisaki and said:
“Give him your business card. We should get going—I'm starving.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kisaki nodded, pulled out a leather cardholder from his pocket, and took out a card.
He bent down and placed it right in front of Ishida Hidenori’s head with both hands.
“I’m Mr. Hojou’s secretary. Please feel free to contact me if needed.”
“Arghh… assta… kidda masshiro…”
Ishida finally rolled over and tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled mess.
Editor Shimomura Tetsuya let out a sigh of relief.
Good—just a dislocated jaw.
No teeth knocked out.
“What!? The guy can still talk? Let me at him again!” Gorou started rolling up his sleeves.
“Haha, no need,” Kyousuke said with a casual smile, shaking his head.
He had long ago mastered the art of knocking someone out without leaving a mark—back when he single-handedly took down Toman.
This time was no different.
Ishida’s teeth would start falling out in less than two weeks anyway.
Consider it a favor to society.
Not only would people be spared the sight of that disgusting mouth—it’d help local dentists earn a little, too.
Win-win.
“Honey, do you have a business card? You should give that gentleman one as well,” Mikiko said, still comforting Utaha, speaking over her shoulder to her husband.
Hojou Ichirou reached into his pocket and felt the card that read “Hojou Ranch.”
He calculated—in less than 0.001 seconds—that if he gave that card out, Mikiko wouldn’t speak to him for a week. No, a month.
“Kisaki, got a pen?”
“Of course. Here you go.” Kisaki quickly pulled out a sleek black pen.
Inside his suit’s inner pocket, he kept everything—mini notepad, mechanical pencil, pens, sticky notes—you name it.
Hojou Ichirou flipped one of his business cards over and began writing on the blank backside:
“Hojou, Uchiumi & Tamai Law Office”
Followed by a phone number.
“If you ever need to reach my son, don’t hesitate to use this number,” he said warmly, walking over and crouching beside Ishida Hidenori’s limp body.
“By the way, we should call Yuuko and the others—have them come join the fun,” Mikiko added with a satisfied nod.
She was referring to Tamai Yuuko, one of the top lawyers at the firm.
Ishida, eyes fluttering open, looked down at the business card Kisaki had left earlier. It read:
[Kisaki Tetta – Executive Director, Tansan Animation Studio.]
His jaw ached like hell, but he still wanted to curse it out loud—What kind of kiddie company is this!?
But then he saw Hojou Ichirou’s card—and his pupils shrank.
Wait.
Isn’t that the firm known for actually winning public prosecution cases in Japan!?
In Japan, prosecutors almost never indict unless they’re 99.9% sure they’ll win, which is why conviction rates are sky-high—but it also means many guilty people walk free.
And yet, this firm—“Hojou, Uchiumi & Tamai”—was notorious for defying the odds, averaging one major win against a public prosecutor every three years.
Even someone like Ishida, who wasn’t a lawyer, knew about them.
‘Hojou…? Don’t tell me… he’s related!?’
The pain in his face suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
In fact, he now wanted to rip off his own mouth and throw it away.
Just then, Osaka Gou walked over and placed a card beside him.
“Bit late now, but here’s mine too.”
It was his card as a board member of the Mystery Writers’ Association—an organization with a small army of lawyers ready to go to court at the drop of a hat.
Like a signal, the others followed suit.
Shimomura Tetsuya.
Makki Hojou.
One by one, they walked up and gently dropped their business cards in front of Ishida Hidenori.
Hatagorou reached into his pocket but found only a handkerchief.
After a moment’s thought, he simply stepped on Ishida’s face.
“Here. This is my business card. Come at me anytime.”
“Hahaha, here’s mine!”
Onizuka Eikichi let out a mad cackle and stomped down next to Gorou’s foot—for a perfect, symmetrical double-tap.
