It wasn’t a regular tattoo. There were colorful cherry blossoms blooming on his chest and the God of Fire with a furious expression on his back. Therefore, whenever he got stabbed in the back, it looked like the God was shedding tears of blood and desperately vowing to avenge as the blood flowed down. Of course, the people who had tried to kill him were all dead.

“So, how many are left?”

The person who was speaking had a strange-sounding accent that anyone could tell that it wasn’t authentic Korean. It was inevitable because he rarely left Roppongi[1] even though he was ethnically Korean. In fact, many of his relatives lived in Korea. Inagawa-kai had been formed by Korean-Japanese executives, and Takeru was the leader of the Takeru-jo, a subgroup in Inagawa-kai. He had been the one who had eliminated the Chinese mafia and Yamaguchi-gumi in Kobe. His Korean name was Hwang Kwan-Ho.

“There are thirty-three.”

“Thirty-three?” Takeru asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes.”

“That’s fewer than I thought.”

“We could have lost more if you weren’t there.”

“Just bring me water.”

Takeru didn’t have any more questions. Seok-Ju,...