Progress towards subjugating the Koga’s branch families had been steadfast and, for the most part, his reputation as the ruthless destroyer of branch families had prevented more bloodshed than his outsider status had caused. And thanks to the Koga clan’s own intel network, he was able to connect with some fragments of the Kojima clan in south-eastern Kyushu though progress towards this end was painstakingly slow compared to the restoration of the Koga’s main family.
One beneficial fact about Omuta was that the town had been in decline for the past decade and, for the most part, attracted little attention from the head office. Thus, the Kojima’s intel network in this region had remained as sparse and neglected as he could remember. So much so that he could find the few spies he planted in Omuta after twenty minutes inspecting various public records Mr. Koga provided.
This list of the Kojima’s eyes and ears had allowed not only the old boss but also the Koga to smoothly conduct their operations right under the head office’s nose for a good while although that would not last forever.
It would be a full week later when the boss returned to Fukuoka.
He had hoped to get into contact with the Watanabe in Yamaguchi prefecture, just north of Fukuoka prefecture, and offered to help them deal with the Yamashita’s invasion on the Chugoku region. However, by the time he could set aside some time for a road trip to Yamaguchi, it appeared the Yamashita had routed the entire Watanabe clan, took control over Chugoku and was closing in on Fukuoka.
All these infightings had weakened the syndicate and exposed them all to an external enemy. He could only pray there would still be enough time after he took back control for preparations against the Yamashita.
To that end, he had done all he could in Kyushu and with all the noises the Koga had been causing in his name in the past week had made Omuta a poor place for him to stay. The seed had been planted, the farmer needed not to be there all the time and he only needed to wait for his plan to come into fruition.
For the time being, as Mr. Koga was working toward a new heir, he ought to work on his new first lieutenants. He had his eyes once again set on the three Jjangs whose tactical and strategic prowess he had witnessed firsthand. Well, not all of them as he still had no idea how Sayaka managed to lead her small army to victory against a superior force.
He could tell he was not welcome the moment he stepped foot into class 12-1. He was not ambushed this morning as the students were not expecting any teacher to show up. All of them were busy engaging in their own activities without a care in the world and to them, this school obviously was more of a hangout spot than a place for studying.
Right away, he noticed more than half of the desks were empty. His eyes scanned the classroom and finally landed on the blue-haired Jjang, whose head was still covered in bandages, at the last desk on the window isle. The boy was looking back at the boss; those defiant eyes were filled with hatred.
“Hmm? Is this everyone? he asked.
“Hey, hey! What are you doing here, old man?” a male student rose from his seat and pointed at the boss.
“Is that a real sword?” another student whispered, pointing at the curved katana in the boss’s hand.
“That sword can’t be real, right?”
Slowly, the boss brought a handheld electric megaphone to his mouth in the most dramatic fashion he could think of.
“I’ll ask again…IS THIS EVERYONE?” he shouted into the megaphone.
“What the hell is wrong with you, old man? Are you picking a fight?”
The boss continued to ignore the yelling and nagging from the students. He proceeded to the teacher’s desk at the center, in front of the whiteboards, and flipped the class registry open.
“Alright, you milk-sucking kittens! I am going to take attendance. When I call your name, you will come here and fight me.”
“Shiki said what?!”
“QUIET!” he used the megaphone to shut up any rumbling again before resuming.
“If you win, I’ll give you this katana and I will not show my face in this class ever again. To make it fair for the girls, you may fight me in a group and use any weapon you see fit…”
“And what if I accidentally kill you, old man?” the blue-haired Jjang dryly asked.
“Then you go to jail for the rest of your life or shot to death! There’s no such thing as a consensual homicide in the court of law. Murder is a crime against society itself and individuals cannot give consent to that. Also, write that down, I’m going to ask that in the final.”
That roused another wave of discussion among the students. The topic more or less was: what on Earth did this old man teach to have consensual homicide in the final.
Luckily, he had the foresight to bring a megaphone.
The old boss cracked a mischievous grin. His eyes focused on the boys.
“This is the important part! If you lose, you will give me your pants and you will wear a skirt for the rest of the day!—”
“What the fu—”
Then his eyes shifted toward the girls, who all flinched and held down their skirts in response.
“And…since I’ll be needing skirts for the boys…Girls! You’d better not lose! Errr…one, two, three…maybe your blouses too ‘cos we’re having more boys in here. I guess the boys who get blouses will have to give me their shirts instead.”
There were sixteen students in the classroom including the Jjang himself. They all stood up in protest and started flinging empty cigarette bags and soft drink cans at the boss.
“Like hell we can agree to that!”
“Get outta here you old pervert!”
“That’s sexual harassment!”
The boss brought up his megaphone again.
“SHUT UP, YOU MILK-SUCKING KITTENS! LOSERS GET NO RIGHT!”
But it was useless this time, all of them were in riot mode.
“Smash that megaphone!”
“Beat him up!”
“Yeah, let’s do it!”
The school bell rang again, ending ten minutes of daily homeroom period.
Twelve out of sixteen students were curling, crawling and sprawling under the old boss’s feet. Three girls were so scared that they literally wet their panties when the katana grazed their bangs. They might have had a chance when there were thirty-six of them but they were no match for the boss with only fifteen.
Not to mention, the boss actually unsheathed the katana and started slashing their skins. As if it was not terrifying enough to have a real sword coming at them, the wielder was also the mad man who nearly pummeled their leader to death.
That man was so old, getting a death sentence for murder and going to bed at night might as well mean the same thing in his dictionary!
“What’s wrong, young Daisuke? Can’t decide whether a skirt or a blouse will look better on you? How about both? Or perhaps, is there a special girl here whose clothes you want to exchange?”
The blue-haired boy simply sat at his desk, quiet, motionless, gritting his teeth.
“You know you can’t win against me, don’t you? You know that other girl—the boss paused, brushed his beard to appear contemplative—Sayaka…She cannot kill you. That would be the end of this school, the end of her…”family”…however twisted that idea is. That makes her weak.”
Still, there was no reply, only clenched fists pressing on the desk and the light trembles of boiling rage. The boss let out a sigh, sheathed his katana and brought the megaphone to his mouth again.
“Hmm, okay, LISTEN UP YOU MILK-SUCKING KITTENS! I am your new homeroom teacher. You will call me Mr. Shinoda, got it? The next time I hear any of you call me “old man this” or “old man that”, I will beat all of you up just like this and then I will—”
His speech was interrupted by the art teacher, Mr. Nishimura, who had just appeared at the door.
The boss glanced at the wall clock, eight-fifty it read. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice to address the fellow teacher:
“Oh? Mr. Nishimura, is it your period?”
“No, but Sayaka is asking for you. It’s your second period in 10-4.”
The boss was about to tell this spineless fool to scram and let him torment his rebellious homeroom for another period. But, if another Jjang wanted him and opened herself up to his recruitment, then he had no reason to turn this golden opportunity down.
“Alright”, the boss clapped the class registry shut, “I’m coming.”