Chapter 207: Mike meeting Yakuzas
***South Delhi, Saket, Sai Baba Towers — 11:47 PM***
The sleek black Volvo XC90 slowed to a stop on the bustling street outside Sai Baba Towers. Even at this late hour, the area was alive with the unmistakable pulse of South Delhi’s nightlife.
Neon signs flickered in bright pinks, reds, and blues.
Groups of well-dressed people moved between luxury bars and lounges. Expensive cars lined the curbs while flashy sports bikes roared past.
The air carried the mixed scent of hookah smoke, street food, expensive perfume, and alcohol.
Discreetly dressed women and sharp-suited men slipped in and out of shadowy entrances, some heading toward the many hidden motels and private lounges that made this stretch notorious.
The man in the white suit stepped out of the backseat.
He was tall, with long hair neatly tied in a high ponytail that gave him a distinctive, almost artistic look.
His tailored white suit stood out boldly under the neon glow.
Both hands remained tucked casually in his trouser pockets as he surveyed the vibrant, sinful street for a moment. His destination, Kuruyami.
Without saying a word, he took the briefcase and closed the door.
The Volvo immediately pulled away, heading toward the underground parking lot as per his earlier instructions.
He walked toward the main entrance of building, his posture relaxed yet purposeful.
The moment he stepped inside the building, the chaotic energy of the street faded, replaced by cooler, more controlled lighting.
He took the elevator straight to the fifth floor.
The doors opened to the unmistakable heavy bass of club music.
He entered Kuruyami without hesitation, moving through the dimly lit corridor into the main clubbing area.
Red and gold lighting pulsed across the space.
Ignoring the dancing platforms and scattered VIP guests, he walked directly to the long, sleek bar counter with one hand holding the briefcase and the other in pocket.
A young northeast looking female bartender in a fitted black uniform looked up at him with a practiced smile.
The man leaned lightly against the counter, his voice calm with a subtle accent.
"Where is your madam?"
The bartender’s smile faltered slightly.
"Sir, please tell me the name of the person you’re looking for."
He reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled out a sleek black card.
’The Prometheus Labs’ logo — a stylized flame inside a double helix — was embossed in silver. He slid it across the polished counter.
"Pass it to your incharge," he said coolly. "They will know."
The bartender glanced at the card. Her eyes widened for a brief second before she composed herself and gave a respectful nod.
"Right away, sir."
She quickly disappeared through a hidden door behind the bar.
The man remained at the counter, one hand back in his pocket, his sharp gaze slowly scanning the club as the pulsing lights danced across his white suit.
The bartender returned after a few minutes, accompanied by a tall, broad-shouldered Japanese man in a perfectly tailored black suit. His posture was rigid, and his sharp eyes scanned the man in white with professional caution. A discreet earpiece was visible in his right ear.
"Sir Mike," the bodyguard said in a low, respectful tone, bowing slightly. "Madam is ready to see you. Please follow me."
The man in the white suit gave a small nod and followed without a word.
They walked past the pulsing dance floor and VIP booths, then through a hidden corridor behind the bar.
The loud music gradually faded into a muted hum as they moved deeper into the private section of Kuruyami.
The bodyguard stopped in front of a set of ornate double doors and opened them, gesturing for him to enter.
The private office was vastly different from the club outside. It exuded old-world luxury mixed with modern elegance. Dark wooden panels lined the walls, accented by soft golden lighting.
A large traditional Japanese painting hung behind the main desk.
Behind a massive mahogany desk sat a japanese woman in a striking black yukata adorned with deep red orchid patterns.
She was Ren takayama, the only member of takayama family, visiting India in her husband’s diploamtic mission.
The silk garment clung gracefully to her figure. Her dark hair was styled in an elegant updo, and her sharp, beautiful eyes held a calculating glint.
She looked both serene and dangerous.
As the man in white entered, the woman in the black yukata leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. A faint, knowing smile played on her lips.
"What brought Sir Mike to my humble hideout?" she asked, her voice smooth like aged sake, carrying a subtle Japanese accent.
The bodyguard closed the door silently and stood guard outside, leaving the two of them alone in the luxurious room.
Mike placed his briefcase on the desk and took out a thin folder. He slid it across the polished surface toward her.
"I have a job for you. It’s from the Organization."
Ren frowned, her fingers tapping lightly on the envelope. She seemed to deliberate whether to open it or not.
Mike raised an eyebrow. "What’s the matter? Got any issues?"
Ren pushed the envelope back toward him with a smooth motion. "I think Sir Mike forgot that this is my office. It is I who decides which jobs I take... and which I don’t."
Mike frowned. He straightened his posture and spoke again, this time with calculated politeness.
"Ren-sama, if I am not wrong, isn’t your presence here meant to serve the Organization’s interests? Or are you choosing to backtrack from your patriarch’s promise?"
Ren let out a dry laugh. "Hah! Playing the patriarch card now, I see..." She leaned back in her chair and drummed her fingers on the desk. "It is true that we serve the Organization’s interests — but only when they align with our own. Additional tasks outside our current objectives are not part of our agreement. Though... it would have been a different matter if you had presented it as a personal request, considering our past acquaintance. But knowing your reputation, Sir Mike, I’m afraid I must decline."
Mike smiled faintly. He opened his briefcase again and began to place the envelope back inside.
"What a shame, Ren-sama. I thought your patriarch really needed those contribution points."
At the mention of contribution points, Ren’s expression changed. She frowned deeply.
Contribution points were highly sought after in elite circles. They determined priority access and favor when requests were made through the Organization’s channels.
Mike buttoned his coat and stood up. "Perhaps I was ill-informed. My apologies. Maybe next time."
As he turned to leave, Ren’s voice cut through the air.
"Wait... You said contribution points?"
Mike smirked. He knew the bait had been taken. He turned back and sat down again.
"Or perhaps the Madam is interested now?"
Ren leaned forward, crossing her fingers. Her gaze sharpened.
"Sir Mike, I must warn you that matters like this are not to be taken lightly."
Mike feigned a serious frown. "I dare not joke about matters of the highest regard." He opened the briefcase once more and slid the envelope back toward her. "How about you give it a look now?"
Ren picked up the envelope and opened it. Inside was a classified file. She flipped through the pages in silence. On the second page, a clear photograph appeared, followed by a profile header:
[Subject: Candidate A-117]
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she read the key details:
[Female. Age: 40 approx]
[Excellent genetic compatibility ]
[Potential Tier-A donor]
As she turned to the next page, a detailed biography unfolded. The more she read, the deeper her frown became. The subject belonged to prominent family and has relationship with singhanias — one of Delhi’s most influential names.
After several moments of silence, Ren looked up, her expression cold.
"This type of extraction can usually be handled by local hands," she said, frowning. "Why do you need our people involved?"
Mike clicked his tongue in mild irritation and spread his hands in a casual gesture. "Circumstances."
He leaned back slightly. "There are many capable groups in Delhi, yes. But their leadership is currently in turmoil. I want the best for this job. And that means your organization."
Ren stared at the woman’s photo for a long moment before closing the file.
"Alright," she said. "My men can take the assignment. But we will need at least a month to gather proper intelligence, monitor her movements, and prepare a solid plan. This is not our turf."
Mike smiled, but there was no warmth in it. He reached forward and pulled the file and envelope back toward himself, shamelessly leaning over the desk.
"Two weeks," he said firmly. "At maximum. Or we might have to import other trustworthy partners for the job." A shameless grin spread across his face as he added, "Or Madam Rose will be quite unhappy."
He stood up smoothly, closing the briefcase with a click. "Apologies, but I only brought one copy."
Without waiting for a reply, Mike turned and walked toward the door.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Ren’s expression twisted. She clenched her fists tightly on the desk, knuckles turning white.
"Fucking white bastard..." she cursed under her breath, her voice low and venomous.