Chapter 18: Ashikaga clan
The silence stretched out for a long moment before everyone started finding urgent business elsewhere in the warehouse. Kazuma watched them scatter, then turned back to his chair with a sigh. The truth was, Koji hadn’t been completely wrong. Kazuma was jealous, more jealous than he’d ever been in his life. But that didn’t mean he was going to do anything about it. He had his pride, after all.
He was just settling back into his brooding when the warehouse door slammed open again, this time with enough force to make the whole building shake. Kazuma looked up, expecting to see one of his crew returning with their tail between their legs, but instead saw a figure that made him jump to his feet in shock.
"Kazuma! My old friend!" The newcomer was practically bouncing with energy, his arms spread wide like he was about to give the world’s most enthusiastic hug. "How long has it been? Six months? Seven?"
Kazuma stared in disbelief. "Ryouta? What the hell are you doing here?"
Ryouta Ashikaga was not someone you expected to see in an abandoned warehouse full of delinquents. He was tall and lean, with perfectly styled hair and clothes that probably cost more than most people made in a month. Everything about him screamed money and privilege, from his expensive watch to his designer sneakers. He looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine spread about wealthy young heirs.
Which, come to think of it, he kind of had.
Ryouta was the only son of the Ashikaga family, one of the most powerful and wealthy clans in the Tokyo, which appeared to have ties to government-led awakening organizations and he seemed to spend most of his time seeking out interesting people and interesting fights.
"I was on vacation and thought I’d drop by," Ryouta said, still grinning widely. "You know how it is, I get bored sitting around the family estate all day. Thought maybe you’d want to—" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes focusing on Kazuma’s bruised face and bandaged knuckles. "Holy shit, what happened to you?"
Kazuma instinctively touched his cheek, where a particularly nasty bruise was still healing. "It’s nothing. Just a disagreement with someone."
But Ryouta was already moving closer, his eyes bright with curiosity and excitement. "Nothing? Kazuma, you look like you got hit by a truck. And these aren’t just random street fight injuries either." He gestured at the careful way Kazuma was holding himself, the subtle favoring of his left side. "Whoever did this knew what they were doing. This is precision damage."