Apartment 11

"I really give up on you," Masaki Kyosuke said, sounding rather annoyed.

Upon hearing Masaki’s agreement, Hojo Kyosuke immediately brightened, and the motorcycle beneath them roared to life.

"Slow down! Slow down! We're going to crash!" Hojo shouted in terror.

"Hahahaha, get a good look at the prowess of the fastest man in Tokyo!" Listening to the panicked voice in his ear, Masaki chuckled to himself. That’ll teach the kid to be so cocky.

Hojo finally understood why, even though the Onibaku duo was currently being besieged, Masaki remained so unhurried. He was truly the leader of the Bosozoku for a reason; it felt as though, on this bike, he could cross the entire country in a single day.

"Not bad, right? My machine, the Crimson Lotus ZII. If I ever retire, I’ll pass it on to you. Too bad that’s not an option right now."

As Masaki rode, he grew excited, his tone tinged with teasing.

"I don't want someone else's leftovers."

"What are you saying, you brat? This is our tradition! Entrusting something important to a trusted successor is incredibly meaningful, don't you think?"

"If it's so meaningful, you should keep it for yourself. I'll take care of my own bike."

"No can do. I’ll have one ready for you. Consider it a gift to celebrate you becoming my successor."

As soon as he finished speaking, Masaki burst into laughter. He knew the kid behind him wasn't exactly thrilled about joining the Bosozoku Angels.

Sure enough, Hojo retorted, "I don't think this is something worth celebrating."

"Hahahaha, no, at least for the Bosozoku Angels, it is. Because they’ve welcomed a leader capable of taking them even further."

...

Toyama Park, one of the places in Tokyo with the most ghost stories. Unlike other parks where the lights were already on and citizens were out for evening strolls, this place was devoid of both people and light, permeated by a chilling atmosphere.

The Onibaku duo had been cornered here by the Aimi-Aiju Kendo Club.

By the time Hojo and his group arrived, the sun had completely vanished. They had spent a long time at the Kendo club after school, and the journey had taken even longer.

Toyama Park was the kind of place where you could shoot a horror movie without any set dressing; within a few hundred meters of the park, people were nowhere to be found.

Masaki twisted the throttle to the limit, the roar of the engine echoing through the silent, dark night, carrying far into the distance.

"Let’s go, Leader. Show those bastards from the Aimi-Aiju Kendo Club what you're made of." With that, he led the way into the park.

"You wounded guys just stay here and behave. Kisaki, keep an eye on them. I’ll be back in a bit."

Hojo grabbed Masaki’s injured right arm, yanked him backward, tossed him toward Tsuzuki Yoshio, and then, amidst Masaki’s cry of pain, strode into Toyama Park.

Just like the Tojo Middle School group, this was another group from some nameless school’s sports club that had given themselves a bizarre name: Aimi-Aiju.

The moment Hojo entered the park, he felt a chill, and everything before him was pitch black. Fortunately, the headlights of the Aimi-Aiju Kendo Club’s motorcycles were visible in the distance; he simply had to walk toward the light and the noise.

In a sea of white uniforms from the Aimi-Aiju Kendo Club, Hojo, dressed in his pitch-black school uniform, stood out starkly. He was discovered the moment he entered the center circle.

"Hey, kid! Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The Aimi-Aiju motorcycles were parked in a ring, their headlights trained on him.

Having entered middle school, Hojo now stood over 1.7 meters tall and weighed nearly 65 kilograms. His tailored black uniform made him look remarkably upright and tall, and combined with his clean-cut black hair, he cut an imposing figure. Although his face was cast in shadow by the headlights behind him, the delinquents were still visibly annoyed by his refined appearance.

What was this? It looked like some young master had come to inspect construction workers at his own site.

Ignoring the delinquent, Hojo slowly drew his bamboo sword from its bag, methodically folded the bag, and tucked it into his pocket.

Shouldering the bamboo sword, Hojo finally raised his head to look at the troublemakers. The delinquents were now able to see his face clearly thanks to the light from the other side.

The softness of youth had vanished from his face; his jawline was sharp as a blade. His naturally noble-looking eyebrows were now slightly furrowed, revealing a hint of ferocity.

The parallel headlights stretched his shadow, making him appear larger, casting a pall over all the delinquents.

Without a word, Hojo charged into the crowd, bamboo sword in hand.

*Cut, cut...*

The Aimi-Aiju delinquents who were struck all lay on the ground, clutching their arms and wailing. Hojo’s brutality caused the group to crumble instantly; the shrieks only made the delinquents in front run faster.

"Don't come any closer!"

"I surrender!"

Hojo ignored them, rewarding each one with a clean strike.

Some of the delinquents in the back, realizing they couldn't escape, knelt and begged for mercy, even voluntarily raising their hands to make it easier for Hojo to strike.

Though he didn't understand why they were offering their hands to be struck, Hojo obliged them.

Soon, the members of the Aimi-Aiju Kendo Club were either running away or lying on the ground.

Hojo approached the Onibaku duo, who were tied to the base of a statue in the center of the park. He flicked his sword to clear the blood; it had accidentally picked up a little from the others, but thanks to the special craftsmanship of the bamboo sword, it was as clean as new after the flick.

He didn't put the sword back in its bag immediately. Even though the blood was gone, he was still a bit picky and afraid of dirtying the bag, intending to clean and maintain it properly when he got home.

"Onizuka Eikichi? Danma Ryuji?"

Hojo looked at the two, whose faces were battered, bruised, and covered in blood.

"Mmph! Mmph!"

Don't misunderstand; they weren't crying, their mouths were just stuffed.

Hojo initially planned to remove whatever was in their mouths, but upon realizing they were smelly socks, he decided against it and simply untied the ropes instead.

You have to say, the Japanese really are masters of rope art; the knots on the two of them looked incredibly artistic to Hojo.

Just then, Masaki arrived on the scene.

"Masaki-san, I'll leave the rest to you. I'm heading back."

Hojo yawned. After a busy night, he was starting to feel tired. The Aimi-Aiju Kendo Club hadn't been much of a challenge; it ended just as he was starting to get excited.

"Yoshio, take the Leader home," Masaki commanded as he helped the Onibaku duo untie their bindings.

The ride back was silent. Upon returning to the apartment building, Masaki told him that a ceremony would be held at Nezu Shrine tomorrow night, where all members of the Bosozoku Angels, including those from the branches, would attend.

Only then did Hojo understand what the "Headquarters Unit" on his leader uniform meant; it turned out there were branch chapters in addition to the ones at Tojo.

"I’ll have your bike ready by tonight. It’s a great machine, every bit as good as the Crimson Lotus ZII!"

With that, Masaki revved his engine and roared away.

One night? Where was he going to get a good bike? Hojo couldn't help but feel a flicker of anticipation.

Back in his apartment, Hojo took a shower.

The apartment was small, but it had everything, though the layout was a bit peculiar.

Upon entering, to the right of the entryway was the shoe cabinet. Directly facing the door was a mini open-concept kitchen with a two-burner gas stove, a range hood, and a sink. Connected to the stove was a dining table large enough for three people to sit side-by-side.

The refrigerator was one Hojo had found at a second-hand shop; it was cheap and sat in a corner next to the kitchen.

To the left of the entrance was the bedroom, or rather, the living room. The lease stated it was 12 square meters, a rectangular space partitioned from the kitchen by a glass wall to keep cooking smells from drifting in.

Hojo had divided the space: half was the living room, featuring a sofa and TV also from a second-hand shop (he’d replaced the sofa cover himself) and a bohemian-style rug.

The other half was the bedroom. Don't ask—the bed was definitely from a second-hand shop, too. The bedding was a mix of things his mother had bought and pieces from Sakura, Shoko, and Naoka. The patterns included Doraemon, Hello Kitty, and other cute anime characters Hojo didn't recognize. In short, it screamed "cute."

Hojo had tried to resist, but he was mercilessly suppressed.

"I'll be staying here sometimes too, so my things have to be here!" Yamauchi Sakura had forcibly pushed him out of the room alongside Shoko and Naoka to help him make the bed.

Beyond the bedroom was a large balcony where Hojo practiced Kendo every day. It was separated from the room by glass doors fitted with triple-layered curtains.

The owner of the apartment was reportedly a relative of Hojo’s family who had initially offered it to him for free, but Hojo had insisted on paying rent.

After his shower, Hojo realized he hadn't had dinner and was starving.

He opened the refrigerator to find it packed with beef, all sent by his mother, Hojo Mikiko, back home.

In the past, Hojo used to laugh at his father for coming up with flimsy excuses to send them beef. Now, it seemed his mother was even worse; she didn't even bother with excuses. As soon as she estimated that Hojo was running low on beef, she would order his father, Hojo Ichiro, to have one of the farm’s cows "sacrifice itself."

He prepared the beef while the rice cooker ran on quick-cook mode. Before long, a hearty beef bowl was ready.

He brought the meal to the small coffee table in the living room. Hojo never ate at the dining table; he had to be watching something to start his meal.

He flipped through several channels, but they were all news. Sighing, he resigned himself to watching the news as he ate. He was too hungry to wait for something better, or else his food would go cold.

Hojo Mikiko, doting on her son, sent only top-quality beef. What he was stir-frying now was chuck eye roll—the beef from behind the neck and along the spine. This meat was tender and juicy with well-distributed fat, creating a beautiful marble pattern, much like wagyu.

It was a bit extravagant for a simple stir-fry, but the flavor was undeniable. He took a bite mixed with vegetables; the rich aroma of the fat and the fresh fragrance of the vegetables blended together, followed by a mouthful of rice.

Hojo chewed briefly before swallowing eagerly. He leaned back on the sofa, letting out a sigh of contentment, as if reborn, before picking up the remote to flip through the channels again.

After finishing his meal, he washed up and went to bed.