Chapter 125: Masato Fujimura?
Inside the cab, Rohit couldn’t stop frowning as he looked at the address again. It was in Chanakyapuri, Delhi’s elite diplomatic enclave, a highly guarded area filled with government-allotted estates and foreign embassies. Security here was among the tightest in the city.
Masato Fujimura was clearly not a government diplomat, yet he had secured a residence in this area. That alone spoke volumes about his power and influence.
And he wants to meet me... Why?
As expected, the entrance was heavily regulated by Delhi Police checkposts. But once they reached the designated lane, private security took over by sharp-looking Japanese guards in professional black suits.
The residence itself was a single-storey compound designed in elegant zen architecture. Even the trees, pathways, and landscaping followed the same minimalist aesthetic.
A guard greeted him at the gate with a polite bow.
"Fujimura-sama has been expecting you, Sir. Please follow me."
To Rohit’s surprise, there were no further checks or formalities. He was simply waved through.
Inside, the compound opened into a serene courtyard: clean white walls, dark wooden beams, carefully pruned bonsai trees, and a serene zen garden with raked gravel and stone lanterns.
Even the air felt different here, quieter and more refined.
Long wooden corridors with sliding doors ran along both sides, leading to various rooms. Everything was crafted from rich, polished wood.
The guard stopped at the entrance and bowed again.
"Please go straight, then take the right corridor."
Rohit nodded and walked ahead. But after a couple of turns, the layout became confusing. The corridors all looked similar. Thinking he was following the directions, he took the rightmost path.
Instead of the main hall, he found himself in a quieter inner section. There was no one around, but the faint sound of someone exerting effort reached his ears.
Curious, Rohit moved toward the sound. A wooden door was slightly ajar.
He peeked inside.
In the center of a spacious training room, a woman was practicing with a katana
She wore a minimal black yukata-style dress that barely reached her upper thighs, secured only by a thick silk obi(panties). The dress had slipped off one shoulder, revealing a massive, intricate dragon tattoo that coiled across her entire back. Sweat made the thin fabric cling to her athletic curves.
Artwork.
The room was dead silent. The only sound was the steady rhythm of her breathing.
She stood barefoot on the polished wooden floor, grip loose on the katana, blade pointed downward.
Then she moved.
A sharp diagonal cut sliced upward from bottom-left to neck height. Without pause, her wrist flipped and reversed into a horizontal slash at waist level, as if gutting an invisible opponent. She spun on her left foot, the sword becoming a silver ring aimed at neck height once more — clean, lethal, meant to decapitate.
Suddenly she dropped low into a sweeping leg cut, the short yukata riding dangerously high and exposing her toned thighs. As she rose, her torso twisted powerfully. The dragon on her back seemed to come alive, muscles flexing beneath glistening sweat.
She flowed into a rapid series of strikes : high, low, spinning, thrusting, each one faster and sharper than the last.
Her long, slender waist flared into a plump, firm ass that shifted with graceful power as she moved barefoot across the floor.
In one final, powerful thrust, she raised her right leg high. The yukata flared open completely, clearly revealing the white panties underneath.
She held the pose for a heartbeat.
Then her head snapped toward the door.
In one terrifyingly fluid motion, she spun and hurled the katana.
WHOOSH.. THUNK!
The blade hit the wooden wall and stuck deep. The metal shook, making a high ringing sound.
The doorway was empty.
"...Fast," she said quietly.
***
Meanwhile, Rohit moved quickly in the opposite direction, heart steady but alert. A sharp burning sensation stung his neck. He touched it with his fingers and felt a thin line of a shallow graze from the blade. Barely any blood.
’What a sharp perception’, he thought. ’If I had been even a second slower, she would have cut my throat.’
He retraced his steps back to the main corridor and deliberately took the left path — the one he should have chosen from the beginning.
At the end of the corridor stood a single open door. Inside, Masato Fujimura was clearly visible, sitting calmly and waiting for him.
The middle-aged man looked up and greeted him with a warm, composed smile.
"Welcome, Rohit. Or should I call you Young Master Singhania?" Masato Fujimura’s voice was smooth, cultured, and carried the quiet confidence of someone used to power. "I hope you didn’t face too much trouble finding the place."
Rohit stepped into the study, taking in the room at a glance. It was a perfect fusion of Japanese minimalism and quiet luxury : low teak table, comfortable visitor chairs, a sleek laptop on one side, and soft natural light filtering through elegant shoji screens.
Pleasure is mine," Rohit replied calmly as he took a seat. "Just a little confusion with the corridors. Glad I made it."
Masato chuckled softly and began preparing tea with practiced hands.
"It’s understandable. We only moved in a few days ago. Thanks to some previous connections, of course." He gestured gracefully around the room. "This entire estate was arranged by the Indian government for important guests. The zen garden outside, the woodwork, even the stones in the courtyard, all imported. I like things that reflect balance and control."
He poured steaming Sencha into two cups and slid one toward Rohit.
"Try it. Japanese Sencha. Known for its refreshing, grassy flavor."
Rohit took a sip, nodding appreciatively. They exchanged light conversation for a few minutes like weather, Delhi traffic, the beauty of the diplomatic enclave. But the atmosphere slowly shifted as Masato set his cup down, his expression turning serious.
"There is a reason I called you here today," he said, voice low. "I saw your interview regarding the police visit and your missing friend. I couldn’t help but feel moved by your situation. You won’t believe how strong my connections are with your government. I’m certain I can help you bring your friend back safely."
Rohit had his doubts from the beggining. He took another slow sip of tea before replying.
"I’m grateful for the offer, Mr. Fujimura. But what’s the catch? I don’t think a man of your stature would call me here just to be generous."
Masato’s eyes gleamed with approval.
"Sharp mind. I like that." He leaned forward slightly. "I want you to expedite the demolition drive your company has been delaying. Business runs on time, Rohit. We are losing a lot of money every single day it’s postponed."
Rohit smiled, finally understanding the situation. The project had been handed to them by this man, and if he wished, he could take it back just as easily.
The earlier delay in demolition had already stalled construction, clearly affecting his profits. Aggravating him now wouldn’t be wise. But backing down on his own word would derail his plans just as badly.
"I think you’re misunderstanding me, Mr. Fujimura. I’m not a stakeholder in the company yet. I only recommended my father to pause the demolition until the deadline. We also have to think about our joint venture’s reputation. The protests are rising and a week’s delay would save us from future complications. Its like ensuring crediblity without taking any responsiblity. win-win."
Masato nodded, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
"Yes, yes... good suggestion. But don’t you think one week is still too long?"
Rohit remained calm as he titled his head. "Again, I’m not the final decision maker here. I would suggest you contact my father directly. He would never deny our biggest client’s request."
For a brief moment, Masato’s polite mask cracked. A flicker of irritation showed before he quickly hid it behind another smile.
"What a fine young man. I’m glad we talked." He slid a sleek black business card across the table. "Feel free to contact me if you ever need anything. I see great potential in you as a negotiator."
Rohit accepted the card without flinching, maintaining eye contact.
"Thank you, Mr. Fujimura. But I think I already have your card from before."
Masato’s eyes narrowed. He reached into his purse and took out a photo, turning it to Rohit. It was the wedding photo of Riku, his past life and his squad.
"Good... good. By any chance, do you know this person? Or ever met him before? "
Rohit was in the middle of sipping his tea when his gaze fell on the photo. He froze mid-motion.
Anything but this.
The cup slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the table, tea spilling slightly.
Masato’s tone and entire persona shifted dangerously, as if he had become a different person.
"So you knew him."
Rohit stared at the picture in silence for a long second, his face carefully blank. Inside, his mind was racing.
He slowly placed the cup down, forcing his expression to stay calm.
"Sorry, I got rattled by that photo, thinking of someone else?" Rohit asked, voice steady. "Who is he?"
Masato sighed, watching him closely. "He was one of my colleagues... He died few weeks ago. I noticed some similarities between you two and thought perhaps he was your mentor, or someone you knew."
Rohit’s eyebrow rose. Li Wei... after plastic surgery? What the hell he is doing here?
Before Rohit could reply, a sweet, melodic voice came from behind.
"Ara ara... It seems we have a guest, and I wasn’t informed."
Rohit turned around and froze.
It was the same woman from the dojo, yet she looked entirely different. Dressed in a proper kimono and wearing glasses, her hairstyle and entire demeanor had shifted. Only now did Rohit recognize her.
Masato’s voice cracked slightly. "Meet my wife, Ren Takayama. You might have seen her at the previous banquet."
Ren looked at Rohit, her eyes narrowing for a split second as she noticed the faint graze on his neck. But her smile remained perfectly polite as she brought her hands together.
Artwork.
"Namaste," she said gracefully in hindi, thick with foreign accent. "It’s always a pleasure to welcome Indian guests. Please feel free to visit us more often. "
Masato forced a laugh. "Haha, yes... Ren has always had a soft spot for Indian guests." He clapped his hands once. "Well then, I think we should conclude our meeting here. If possible, please speak with your father about that matter. We’ll talk again later."
Rohit nodded, sensing the forced exit but feeling relieved. "Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Fujimura. It was nice meeting you both."
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A/N//: Please refer the artwork gallery for artwork of this content. Unable to upload in priviledge section