CHAPTER 3 - PROLOGUE (3)

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The quickest way to topple a king is to make him believe he is invincible.

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In the shadow of Tokyo's tallest skyscraper, a beacon of steel and glass that pierced the heavens, stood a white limousine, a stark contrast to the darkness of the night. Its sleek exterior boasted silver accents that shimmered under the city's ambient glow, while the interior, a cocoon of opulence, was lined with the finest leather seats. The car was the epitome of luxury—a chariot fit for a king—and it could be argued that one of the people inside was, indeed, a modern monarch of industry. The car's engine purred as it idled, a subtle presence in the cool night air.

A man stepped out of the vehicle with an air of practised elegance. His outfit, impeccably tailored and without a single crease, bore the embroidered sigil of the Yamato Group on the right breast pocket—a symbol of allegiance to the corporate empire he served. He moved with an effortless grace that spoke of his devotion to the cause, his life devoted to the hierarchy that ruled the world from the shadows.

Being ordered to give his superior some privacy, he took up a position with a good view of the limousine and leaned against a nearby tree. The gnarled bark pressed against his back, a reminder of nature's resilience amidst the concrete jungle that surrounded him. As was the norm for such nighttime dealings, he had prepared the finest noise-cancelling earbuds, allowing him to lose himself in music while still remaining vigilant. He would wait patiently for his master to finish his business, a loyal sentinel in the darkness, ready to serve at a moment's notice.

The limousine's interior enveloped Kurosaki as he reclined in the passenger seat, the plush leather cradling him. He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the armrest, his gaze never leaving the young man across from him.

"That's it?" His question hung in the air, a challenge.

The other man in the car, the leader of the anti-corporate movement, shifted uneasily, his face a mix of confusion and doubt.

"T-That's it?" He stammered, swallowing hard. "Kageyama-sama, with all due respect, some members say it's borderline terrorism!"

His youth was evident, an ill-fitting suit and unkempt hair revealing a naïveté that seemed out of place. He had an immature air about him, like a child playing dress-up in a world he didn't quite understand.

Kurosaki's eyes gleamed, a sly smile ghosting over his lips while his face remained a calm mask. "Terrorism, you say?" He leaned in, his voice a low purr. "I prefer the term 'activism.' It's not so different from what you've done before, is it? Create a big enough incident, and the media will swarm. That's how you spread your message."

The words flowed, a velvet noose tightening around the young man's resolve, drawing him deeper into a dangerous duet.

"But this is surely going too far, Kageyama-sama," the activist protested, his voice wavering. "We're talking about the Fair Trade Commission here—a government bureau! We were fine with other things, but this…"

Kurosaki arched a brow. "Nothing will truly change if your organisation continues with such paltry displays. To create a fairer system, greater measures must be taken," he countered. "If your organisation's conviction to the anti-corporate movement is so weak, I question the purpose of my funding."

The activist's face flushed crimson, as if slapped. The thought of their goals slipping away, of years of tireless work being for naught, filled him with panic. "No, no! We'll do it! We'll send an announcement out tonight. There'll be thousands of protesters outside their headquarters this time next week!"

"Do as you wish," Kurosaki's gaze shifted to the side. "I'm sure you'll achieve the results you desire. And remember to give the head commissioner a good scare in the righteous name of anti-corporatism."

"Of course!" The activist nodded vigorously. "Kageyama-sama, you're too kind. Sometimes I still can't believe we have an insider so close to the top!"

"You flatter me," Kurosaki waved a hand dismissively. "I am simply looking out for the common man. Like you, I want this country to be a place worth investing in. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another engagement soon. You should be off."

"Yes, you must be very busy," the activist bowed deeply. "Kageyama-sama, thank you again for everything."

"Mm."

With a curt nod, Kurosaki watched as the activist left the car. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Kurosaki to revel in the newfound silence.

'What a fool,' Kurosaki mused, his fingers drumming against the armrest. The group's plan was undoubtedly terrorism. Ransoming the head commissioner in exchange for stricter anti-monopoly laws? Absurd. Even if they succeeded in kidnapping the man, it wouldn't make a difference. Kurosaki knew that behind closed doors, such laws were already being considered—hence his decision to act now.

The young activist's fervour was useful; he didn't seem to think too deeply about the plan's fundamental nature, focusing instead on its underlying intentions.

The anti-corporate movement had been losing public support ever since adopting Kurosaki's suggested, more radical methods of "raising awareness." From blockading roads to vandalising everyday businesses, they quickly alienated the working class and drew the ire of the government. Thankfully, it seemed that after spending a year in their echo chamber, the movement's members remained oblivious to their growing unpopularity.

With carefully selected media coverage, the mere attempt to limit corporate power had become synonymous with the movement. No one dared to voice support, lest they be branded a terrorist sympathiser.

A filthy communist hoping to destroy the free market?

A pretentious progressive acting holier-than-thou?

A power-hungry authoritarian promoting government overreach?

It didn't matter what label supporters received; the umbrella was wide, and everyone fell under its shadow: a group of radicals whose methods more closely resembled those of thugs than activists. After this incident, no legislator would dare raise their hand in favour of the new antimonopoly bill.

Satisfied, Kurosaki reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a smartphone. With practised precision, he tapped the screen, bringing up his contacts. He scrolled through the seemingly endless list of names until he found the one he sought.

Yet, as Kurosaki's index finger hovered over 'FTC High Commissioner', he hesitated. A movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention, and a flicker of unease stirred within him.

'A nosy journalist?'

Kurosaki's eyes narrowed, scrutinising the scene beyond the tinted glass. Night had cast its inky shroud, but the figure was unmistakable – a mere stone's throw from the limousine. As he strained to make out the details, Kurosaki clicked his tongue in annoyance.

The man's posture was stooped, hunched like a vagrant scavenging for scraps. His clothing hung in tatters, his silhouette marred by a shaggy beard and wild hair. His face, obscured by shadows, remained a mystery.

'Just some beggar. They seem to multiply like vermin,' Kurosaki scoffed inwardly.

With a dismissive sigh, he closed the contact and stowed his phone away. The figure outside held no significance – merely a loiterer haunting the vicinity, a homeless man hoping for a morsel of kindness. The sight soured Kurosaki's mood, like a bitter aftertaste.

Irritation bristled beneath his skin, and he rapped his knuckles against the glass, raising his voice to address his driver.

"Driver, remove that vagrant from my sight! His very presence is a distraction!"

Kurosaki's shout echoed in the limousine, unanswered.

'Can he not hear me through the glass?'

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

True, the vehicle boasted the finest materials, and though its makers boasted of its "100% soundproof!" quality, Kurosaki was aware that absolute silence was a myth. His voice should have penetrated the barrier, albeit subdued.

"Oi! Driver!" he called out again, impatience simmering. "Did you hear me?" Silence. "I said, remove that vagrant!" Nothing. "Driver!" he roared, pounding the glass with his fist.

As if summoned by his outburst, the car door clicked. Kurosaki turned toward the opening, anticipation tightening his chest—

A streak of metal greeted him, a bloodied knife slicing through the air. With no time to think, he instinctively raised his arms to shield his face. The blade tore across his clenched fists, carving a crimson line into his knuckles.

"Argh——!!"

Kurosaki's cries of agony echoed within the limousine as he tumbled backward, landing with a thud in the narrow aisle. His attacker pursued relentlessly, the once-shabby figure now a frenzied force. Wild eyes and a maniacal grin twisted his face, sweat pouring down his skin as he panted like a rabid animal.

Kurosaki realised in that instant that there would be no negotiation with this madman.

Before he could fully process the situation, his assailant struck once more, burying the blade in Kurosaki's right shoulder. Agony tore through his arm like lightning, leaving him gasping for breath. Blood seeped down his shoulder, staining his immaculate suit an alarming shade of red. Each laboured breath he took seemed to intensify the pain.

'It's no good, it's no good…' Kurosaki groaned inwardly, struggling to push himself away. 'Where the hell did my driver go…?'

His attacker yanked at the embedded knife.

Gritting his teeth, Kurosaki mustered his strength and fought back. He lashed out with his legs, kicking desperately. The sudden burst of power caught the madman off guard, forcing him to stumble back, his grip faltering. The blade clattered to the floor, landing halfway between them.

Seizing the opportunity, Kurosaki made his move.

In a situation where others might have scrambled upright to face their attacker, to challenge fate in a desperate bid for survival, Kurosaki chose a different path. He refused to become a casualty of this madman's deranged assault. The cramped space and his grievous wound left him little chance of success even if he reached the blade first.

Kurosaki recognized the fleeting opportunity for what it was: a chance to escape.

Launching himself into a frenzied roll, Kurosaki moved with the desperation of a man driven by primal instinct, cradling his injured arm as he skittered along the floor. By the time his assailant picked up the knife, grinning manically, Kurosaki had reached the far door. The attacker, dumbfounded by the sight of his prey slipping away, hesitated just long enough.

"Coward! Get back here!" the vagrant screamed, but Kurosaki had already flung the door open, tumbling out onto the street. His heart pounded in his chest, each ragged breath tearing through his lungs. Clutching his wounded arm, he stumbled down the road, his body fueled by adrenaline and sheer will.

Trembling, Kurosaki fumbled for his phone, his bloodied fingers smearing the screen as he frantically dialled 110. The darkness and gore made it impossible to discern the display, but Kurosaki could only pray the call had connected.

"T-There's a madman with a knife! Rear of the Yamato Group building; in the carpark! He's trying to kill me! I need an ambulance! Help me…!" Kurosaki cried into the abyss of uncertainty.

His pride and dignity held no weight now; his body strained under the damage inflicted upon it. He knew the adrenaline coursing through his veins would only sustain him for a short while, and once it subsided, he would be at death's door. Against an armed man, particularly when he was already injured, a single decisive blow could spell his end.

'Where the hell is the driver?! Did he leave me here to die?!'

Someone was getting their pay docked tonight.

He refused to stop running—not until he knew he was safe, nestled within the comforting embrace of civilization.

Ah, civilization.

A realm where logic reigned supreme.

A domain where people adhered to rules.

A sanctuary devoid of knife-wielding madmen intent on carving up unsuspecting victims on a whim!

From where did this surge of sentimentality arise? It was an ill omen. Kurosaki recalled an irksome phrase that often littered his social media feed: 'appreciate what you have before it's gone'… Was this what was transpiring? The meticulously crafted order he'd cultivated over the years was disintegrating before his very eyes.

The CEO glanced over his shoulder as he ran. The homeless man was closing in, his footsteps heavy like a lumbering bear, yet somehow agile. No… it wasn't that the homeless man was particularly fast, but that Kurosaki was growing slow.

Peering ahead, the city lights shone like a beacon of hope, but they seemed increasingly remote. The carpark lots were engulfed in darkness, stretching endlessly before him. In the shadow of Tokyo's tallest skyscraper, it seemed fitting that Kurosaki found himself navigating Tokyo's most expansive parking complex.

His attacker was relentless, his pace undeterred. Like some twisted nightmare, the sound of the pursuer's bare feet slapping against the pavement grew louder and louder.

"Shit—!" Kurosaki grunted as he tripped over something, breaking his fall against the tarmac with his hands. The impact grazed his palms, causing him to wince in pain. Kurosaki glanced back, seeing what had tripped him.

As he was about to curse whatever had spelled his doom, words failed him at the sight. It was a body. He had tripped over a body.

At Kurosaki's feet, the body of his missing driver lay sprawled in a dark puddle of liquid.

The CEO froze; not in grief for his employee, but rather in confusion.

If his driver was dead, why was he all the way out here? He should have known to stay close to the car, not run off like this!

As the questions raced through his mind, Kurosaki felt an unsettling truth gnawing at his bones.

His driver had not abandoned him.

Kurosaki looked back, desperately searching for his limousine in the darkness. There it was. Shimmering white and silver, only a short distance away.

"Tch."

What a nauseating realisation. He had only managed to stumble a few metres from the car before falling over. What a grand escape. The pain had made Kurosaki delirious, warping his sense of reality. He had lost track of the situation. What had felt like an hour-long chase had actually lasted mere seconds; a short distance, but enough to cause a fatal miscalculation.

A sense of calm washed over the grievously wounded man as he came to this realisation.

"Kurosaki! You bastard! You thought you could get away?!" the homeless man bellowed. "As arrogant as ever!"

With a snarl, the vagrant brandished the bloodied knife. The weapon was stunted and rusty, its edge gleaming malevolently in the faint light of the car park. A weapon not designed for efficiency, but to inflict agonising pain.

'So he knows my name?'

Kurosaki's lips curled upward, forming a smile more akin to a sneer than anything else. At first, upon seeing the man's deranged expression, he had believed himself the target of an impulsive, intoxicated rage. The revelation was a delightful surprise; the man before him was a true psychopath. Not someone who acted on a fleeting moment of madness as he'd initially assumed, but one who had planned his murderous intent. Kurosaki had but a single opportunity to live: To stall for time.

Kurosaki's expression twisted into one of disdain as he spoke.

"Arrogant, am I? Do you perhaps not comprehend the meaning of that word?"

Kurosaki shifted on the tarmac, wincing in pain as he did so. He was still bleeding profusely, the wound in his shoulder now searing like a burning inferno. As he looked up, he saw the homeless man—the lunatic with the knife—closing the gap between them.

"Of course I know what it means!"

"Good. Then you must recognize that the one who is arrogant in this very moment, is not me, but you."

Kurosaki smiled defiantly at his attacker.

Even if he was destined to die, he would not allow that wretch to derive any satisfaction from it.

"Arrogance is having an inflated sense of one's own importance or abilities; and you'll never be able to compete with me, you pathetic vagrant. Right now, you are ecstatic, for no reason! When you kill me, my grave will be adorned with more gold than you could ever hope to amass in your sorry existence! My name will grace more obituaries than you could ever dream of reading! All of that will be mine. Mine!"

The homeless man's expression shifted. The manic smile vanished.

"You don't even comprehend how absurd you appear! Do not delude yourself into thinking that wielding a knife elevates you above me! You're worthless, less than dirt! Grinning so smugly when you are nothing but a filthy beggar, is that not the pinnacle of arrogance?!"

Kurosaki observed as the homeless man's gaze bore into him; his face contorted with fury. The homeless man's grip on the knife handle tightened. His attacker advanced, his eyes ablaze with hatred. His face twisted, teeth bared, and his lips curled into a snarl.

"That's right—an expression that befits a destitute like yourself. Someone with nothing should proudly exhibit that reality."

With a primal scream, the vagrant pounced upon the CEO, brandishing the knife high above his head. Kurosaki's smile remained etched on his face as the rusty blade buried itself deep into his collarbone.

"…"

Kurosaki gritted his teeth as he felt the knife cleave through his flesh. The blade was embedded to the hilt, the jagged tip carving through the skin and cartilage of his neck.

"How does it feel… to know that you will forever be inferior to me?"

The vagrant's eyes blazed like embers; his grin had vanished, replaced by an expression contorted by madness and fury. Kurosaki could see the man's teeth were fractured and stained with blood, droplets of saliva dribbling from his snarling mouth.

"Rejoice… that the only thing you will have ever achieved… will be having your name etched in history… as nothing more than a lunatic with a knife. To forever be compared to one such as me… what a privilege…"

The knife's cold metal interrupted Kurosaki as it twisted within the wound, the blade burrowing deeper into his collarbone. Sinews that once connected bone were violently rent apart with a sickening crack and pop as the frenzied figure above him bore down. Yet, the pain Kurosaki anticipated never materialised.

"Ah——"

Darkness enveloped him.