Hiroyama * Takahara Yū

Tamaro did not continue speaking.

He has no right to make decisions for Zhen.

Although she was young, she was more sensible in her speech and actions than many adults he had ever met.

He followed her silently into the depths of the alley.

The two turned a corner by a wall piled high with empty wine barrels, and Luotai's figure appeared ahead.

He was carrying Enma on his back and the baby in his arms, struggling to walk towards the base.

Hearing footsteps, Luotai turned around abruptly. Only when he saw that it was Zhen He and Tamaro did his tense shoulders relax.

She quickly stepped forward and took the child from his arms.

Luotai quickly reached out and supported Enma on his back.

Tamaro stepped forward, grabbed Enma by the back of his collar without a word, and lifted him off Luotai's back like a sack of rice. He then draped the man over his own shoulder with his other hand.

Unaware of his presence, Enma lay across his broad shoulders, swaying gently with his steps.

Luotai couldn't help but twitch his lips as he watched this scene.

Zhen didn't seem to have any doubts; she was more concerned about why that person had approached Luotai.

"That guy was an accomplice of the man who came to kill him yesterday afternoon. I think he probably wanted revenge for that guard, which is why he acted."

"Ah! Is that so?" Zhen exclaimed softly.

"Yesterday afternoon?" Tamaro paused, his brows furrowing.

Yesterday, Luotai sought refuge with the Hiroyama Family because he was betrayed by Masato. Could he be one of Masato's remaining subordinates?

He recalled the man's movements and appearance: lean build, scarred face, and swift and ruthless attacks.

Most importantly, his escape maneuvers were almost identical to those of the bodyguard who fled from the back alley of the gambling den that night.

It was him.

It seems that Masato was merely the head of a nail driven into the Land of Hot Water, not the root beneath.

Tsk, what a miscalculation, we let a big fish go.

In the northeast corner of Yuhara Pleasure Quarter, near the Rear Mountain, lies an abandoned warehouse.

Kuroo Sanjō clutched his chest, hugged the wall, and circled around two dark alleys. Only after confirming that no one was following him did he squeeze through an extremely narrow opening into the back wall of the warehouse.

It was pitch black inside. He found the hemp rope hanging on the wall and tugged at it three times, one long and one short.

A moment later, a Kakkō lit up from the opposite side, and Satō Ken emerged from the shadows carrying a small lamp. Upon seeing him, his expression changed slightly. "You're injured?"

"A minor injury." Sanjo sat down against the cargo box, hiding his severed hand under his sleeve, but everyone could still smell the blood.

"To create unnecessary trouble at a time like this." A deep voice echoed from the innermost shadows.

Wūwū Liánběi against an overturned cargo box, his straw hat still on, half his body hidden in the darkness. "Looks like the higher-ups aren't very good at spotting things."

"I met someone I wanted to kill," Sanjo said coldly. "That bastard is still alive, and he's with a few troublesome characters."

Wūwū Liánběi didn't care about that; he only cared about one thing. "Who cut off your arm?"

"Tamaro."

Kakuzu sat on the crate closest to the door, while Ringo Hayato leaned casually against the pillar on the inside, Kunai a kunai and staring at Kakuzu.

But now his attention was diverted. Ringo whistled, "Tamaro? That's the debt collector who's so ugly he can stop a child from crying at night?"

"This guy is no ordinary person," Satō Ken said. "His speed when he stopped the Ninja from the Land of Water last night was beyond what an average person could achieve; it was too fast."

"That's what you call fast?" Ringo Hayato laughed. "Then I'm lightning."

Satō Ken couldn't help but roll his eyes.

Renjō looked around and realized that one person was missing.

Does anyone know Takahara Yū's whereabouts?

Meanwhile, Hiroyama returned to his Dwelling.

He took off his shoes in the Genkan, stepped onto the cool wooden floor, and walked through the unlit side room.

As soon as he opened the study door, he saw a woman standing by the window with her back to him.

It is precisely because of the Takahara Yū.

Hiroyama paused for a moment.

Takahara Yū turned to look at him.

Her voice was soft and gentle, as if she were talking to herself. "The Land of Hot Water is so desolate before the Summer Festival. But I don't dislike the quiet; I prefer to come here in winter."

She walked slowly to Hiroyama and handed him the things she was holding.

It was a small package wrapped in paper, from which a faint sweet aroma of fruit wafted.

"I brought these fruits all the way from the Land of Birds, found them in the Mugen City, and your favorite, Flavoured Mochi. Perhaps we can have afternoon tea."

Hiroyama didn't take it. He stared at her, his gaze slowly moving down to her hand that was holding the pastry.

Those hands were so white, so white you could almost see the blue veins beneath the skin, and so white it sent chills down your spine.

Yu didn't seem to expect him to answer, and turned to walk towards the table.

While she turned around, Hiroyama quietly moved to the wall and quickly pressed his fingertips onto the hidden compartment.

He breathed a slight sigh of relief when he found no signs of tampering on the lock inscribed with the Sealing Jutsu.

"And..." Takahara Yū, with his back to him, picked up a scroll, "I found this when I was setting up the table. A scroll with my name on it, and these prints."

"The Reed Family's treasured jewels were stolen, caravan documents were lost, Stowman Reed resigned in disgrace, Daimyo of the Land of Lightning was in trouble, the cause of which was attributed to a marriage alliance with the Chinoike Clan... Wūwū Clan."

As she said this, she suddenly turned her head and saw Hiroyama tearing the painting off the wall.

The painting depicted nothing other than her portrait.

Takahara Yū raised an eyebrow, a slight, ambiguous smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Hiroyama couldn't help but lick his lips, changing the subject. "I was just figuring out your methods. Maybe you can cause some trouble in the Land of Hot Water, giving me a legitimate reason to arrest you."

"Oh?" Takahara Yū's smile deepened slightly. "But my name wasn't mentioned in any of these print reports."

"But it's obviously you, isn't it?"

Takahara Yū smiled but didn't say anything.

"It seems you're having a really tough time with the affairs of the Land of Hot Water." Takahara Yū and Hiroyama sat down at the table.

"And you, too, are looking for your next target to fool." Hiroyama crossed his arms and looked at her.

"No, not at all," Takahara Yū said with a smile. "I'm staying here until the Summer Festival ends."

Hiroyama's eyes flickered slightly, keenly catching the word: "Summer Festival?"

"Yes." Takahara Yū unwrapped the paper package and took a bite of the pastry. "My last boyfriend was so boring. He was as rigid and serious as an old man. If he weren't good-looking, I would have run away long ago."

"But the way you're dressed now doesn't look like a married woman." Hiroyama glanced at her.

Takahara Yū was dressed very lightly, with her clothes slightly open and her long hair loose. Her whole outfit was the kind of pleasing attire that was most common among Pleasure Quarter.

Her smile softened, "Yes, I've become Courtesan again."

Hiroyama didn't say anything.

He knew exactly what she meant. This woman used this identity to travel between countries, deceiving people and then running away, only to change her persona once she was done.

She wasn't like this at first.

But that's not what we need to think about right now. What we need to know is why this woman has returned to the Land of Hot Water, especially during such a sensitive time.

"How's Tamamo-no-Mae lately?" Takahara Yū put the fruit back in the paper package, propped her chin on her hand, and looked at him. "And her brother, is he still working as a debt collector?"

"Don't you know everything?" Hiroyama replied indifferently.

"There's no need to be so wary," Takahara Yū said, her voice trailing off with a hint of coquettish complaint. "I was just asking casually."

"If you can tell me what you're going to do at the Summer Festival, I'll tell you about Tamamo-no-Mae." Hiroyama looked directly at her.

"What else can we do?" Takahara Yū blinked, smiling innocently. "Shopping, having fun, of course."

Hiroyama looked at her speechlessly.

Takahara Yū lowered his sleeves and cut to the chase. "I need your help."

"I don't do anything fraudulent or deceptive."

"Don't put it so harshly." She leaned back against the table, her ample breasts resting on her arm, making Hiroyama involuntarily look away. "It's serious business. I want you to help me find someone."

Who are you working for this time?

Takahara Yū smiled brightly, looking like a country girl working in the fields.

Hiroyama sighed, "Fine, I still have to guess."

Takahara Yū took a small cloth bag from his sleeve, placed it on the table, and pushed it towards him.

The bag was loosened, and a few silver coins rolled out, shining almost blindingly in the dim light.

"I'm not your spy, take the money back," Hiroyama said.

"Then let's take it as a bet." Takahara Yū stood up, picked up her shawl, and as she passed by the wall, she re-hung the painting that Hiroyama had just torn down. She even took a step back and looked up at it for a moment.

She nodded as if satisfied, then turned and walked straight towards the door.

Hiroyama remained seated, neither getting up nor chasing after the crowd.

He watched as the door was gently pulled open and then gently closed again.

After You left, Hiroyama looked at the scroll You had left behind.

He didn't open it directly, but first used his Chakra to examine it. The scroll was just an ordinary plain white paper roll, with no Family Crest, no wax seal, and no Chakra incantation at the end.

He shuddered, then leaned closer to smell it; there was only a faint floral fragrance. Only after confirming there were no traps did he slowly unfold it.

The scroll contained only one person's information, no portrait, just a few lines of text.

The Land of Whirlpools, Uzumaki Enma.

A genius of Formations, at only sixteen years old, he has already independently completed three kinds of Compound Sealing Formations.

They excel at combining seals and Barriers, and can set up a defensive position that even Jonin cannot easily break through in a very short time.

The text was followed by a few notes, saying that he was recently in the Land of Hot Water.

Below that, there is only blank space.

Hiroyama frowned. What did she want with the Uzumaki Clan? Especially such a genius.

"Could it be that her employer wants this person dead?" he muttered to himself, but then immediately dismissed the thought. "No, if that were the case, she wouldn't have come to tell me. Killing someone would be too easy for her."

Regardless, let's find them first.

No matter what Takahara Yū wants to do, as long as he keeps that Uzumaki Enma under his nose, there will still be room for maneuver.

He stuffed the scroll into his pocket, took his coat, and strode toward the door.

As Hiroyama reached the door, he glanced back at the painting that had been re-hung on the wall. In the painting, Takahara Yū's portrait stood quietly gazing at him under the lamplight, his eyes still bearing that ambiguous smile.

He suddenly remembered many years ago, when she wasn't yet called Takahara Yū.

At that time, she was only an excellent student.

She had no surname, no cunning, and none of the aloof beauty that made her both captivating and unapproachable.

She was a plump and lovely country girl with round cheeks. Her smile was like a wild chrysanthemum just blooming on a field ridge—warm and comforting, making anyone who saw her feel relaxed.

She liked to run barefoot on the riverbank, her skirt rolled up to her thighs, not caring if people saw her.

They often met by the river at dusk. Sometimes she would deliberately splash water on him, then laugh and run away, calling him a clumsy water buffalo.

Later, the most powerful boss in the Yakuza took a liking to her.

Back then, the atmosphere of Yuhara Pleasure Quarter was said to be half-tainted with the shadows of those women.

Abducting women was commonplace, and that's how You was taken away. She didn't cry or make a scene; only on the day she was taken away, did she glance back at him. That glance was calm, as if to say, "Don't chase after me."

The leader liked her.

He liked her so much that he not only kept her by his side, but also taught her, one by one, things that women shouldn't touch.

This includes how to serve men, and also how to extract Chakra from the body.

A country girl was pulled out of the mud overnight and transformed into the most powerful woman in Yuhara.

But after she climbed to that position, she took the initiative to approach him.

That night, she sat before him dressed in plain clothes, like the same girl by the river, yet also like a completely different person.

She asked him, "Would you like to sit in my husband's seat?"

Hiroyama only asked, "What do you want?"

She laughed and said, "I want him dead."

So they conspired to kill the leader, sparking a revolutionary movement.

The leader was killed by Yu herself. Yu personally plunged the knife into her husband's chest, and when she pulled it out, she didn't even blink.

It was from that time that Hiroyama rose up, stepping over a pool of blood.

He became the master of the Hiroyama Family, with his own territory and his own rules.

He reformed Yuhara Pleasure Quarter, ensuring that the women were no longer treated like objects, and brought order to the town.

He transformed the Yakuza into something resembling Police Force.

Even the Seven Lucky Gods were alarmed, approached him, and reached a cooperation agreement with him.

And You left.

She didn't stay to share in the spoils; she only took a small bag of gold and a few scrolls with her.

Later, a woman named Takahara Yū appeared in the martial arts world.

They appear without a trace and disappear without a trace, specifically targeting powerful and influential men.

Sleep next to them, get their words out of them, and then take what's most important to them.

Each time they appear, they change their face, their clothes, and their way of life.

Looking at her now, she's nowhere to be seen as the barefoot girl who once walked on the river sand.

The soft flesh on his cheeks had long since disappeared, revealing a cold, stern look, like that of a knife cut. He was willful, unrestrained, and wild. The girl who once frolicked with him on the riverbank had ultimately become as cold and terrifying as her first husband.