Chapter 2 : No Deal for the Damned

Morning settles over the towering glass building of Hatabe CyberDynamics, painting its reflective surface with a soft silver glow. The company stands proudly in the heart of Okayama’s business district—a monument of innovation and technology that symbolizes the quiet, peaceful life Takeshi Hatabe has built from the ashes of his past. Even at early hours, the inside of the building hums with relentless activity.

The lobby is alive with movement. Employees from various departments hurry through automatic doors, tapping ID cards, straightening ties, carrying laptops and folders. The IT division, the heart of the company, is already absorbed in their work—monitoring servers, patching security systems, maintaining massive traffic across global clients. The marketing team rushes to prepare presentation material; accounting staff pore over reports and spreadsheets; the Human Resources division coordinates training sessions and new project allocations.

Deep below, the server room buzzes like a mechanical beast. Racks of blinking machines fill the cooled environment with a constant hum. A fresh shift arrives to relieve those who have been awake all night, eyes red but spirits determined. Two new IT employees, Jiro and Taro, sit at the break table with steaming cups of coffee, slumping back in exhaustion.

“I don’t get it,” Jiro mutters between sips. “How does Mr. Hatabe handle all this pressure?”

Taro nods, rubbing his temples. “Seriously. I swear he doesn’t even blink when something goes wrong. Last week when the firewall crashed—he fixed it in ten minutes. Ten.”

“It’s like he has… superhuman concentration or something.”

They laugh quietly, unaware of the truth—that their calm, meticulous CEO once survived life-and-death battles, that the pressure of a collapsing server is nothing compared to standing alone against armed shinobi in the dead of night. They don’t know that his discipline was forged through blood and terror. They see only a brilliant CEO, a natural leader.

None of them know that he was once The Devil Butcher—the most feared shinobi in the world.

Upstairs, the front doors slide open with a soft hiss.

Takeshi Hatabe walks in.

He wears a perfectly fitted charcoal suit, his tie neatly tightened, his hair combed back just enough to look professional but not strict. In his right hand is a bento box—Fumi’s cooking wrapped in a checkered cloth. Despite his intimidating posture, his smile is warm, disarming in a way only a man who has survived hell and chosen peace can display.

“Good morning, Mr. Hatabe!”

“Kachō! Ohayō gozaimasu!”

“Morning, sir!”

Staff bow respectfully as he passes. Takeshi smiles back, bowing slightly in return. “Good morning, everyone. Let’s work well today.”

His voice is calm but carries a confidence that settles nerves and sharpens minds. Even those who barely speak to him feel more certain about their tasks when he walks by.

His assistant, a quick-moving woman named Mika, approaches him with a digital tablet already displaying today’s schedule.

“Sir, here is the agenda. At 10:30 a.m., representatives from Avalon Electromotive Corporation will arrive for the investment meeting. Their board members and financial liaisons will be present. Your presentation is ready, and we’ve prepared the conference room on the 12th floor.”

Takeshi nods. “Thank you, Mika. I’ll look over the files.”

He steps into the elevator, calm expression unchanging.

The doors close.

As he ascends, the reflection on the mirrored walls shows something deeper than the crisp suit and modern professionalism—a faint shadow in his eyes, the remnant of a man who once carried blades instead of documents, whose instincts were honed for battle, not business.

The elevator stops on the executive floor.

Takeshi walks past framed awards and certificates—proof of what he has rebuilt. He enters his office, a spacious room overlooking the city skyline. Sunlight spills across the conference table where a stack of reports waits. Standing by the window is Toru Hizuki, the company’s CFO—a sharp, perceptive man with gray-tinted hair and intelligent eyes.

“Takeshi,” Toru greets with a tired sigh. “I’ve finalized the research on Avalon Electromotive Corporation.”

“And?” Takeshi asks, placing his bento neatly on his desk.

Toru crosses his arms. “There are… problems. Rumors say they’re funding illegal nickel mining in several parts of Africa. Nothing confirmed yet, but the pattern is suspicious. Hidden transactions, unregistered subsidiaries…”

Takeshi sits, folding his hands calmly. “So they’re cutting corners to drive down battery costs.”

“Exactly.” Toru’s eyes narrow. “I don’t like this, Takeshi. They’re powerful, influential, but their methods…” He hesitates. “You know what I’m saying.”

Takeshi nods once, his decision immediate and absolute.

“We don’t work with people who exploit others. Cancel any agreement proposals.”

Toru lets out a relieved exhale. “I figured you’d say that.” A faint smile lifts the corner of his lips. “This is why I trust your judgment.”

Takeshi shrugs lightly. “It’s simple. We don’t cross certain lines.”

Of course, he’s familiar with men like the Avalon executives. Men who manipulate and destroy without facing consequences. Men who resemble the leaders of the old clans, leaders who once took innocent lives in the shadows.

Toru closes his folder, satisfied. “Alright. I’ll prepare the rejection notice. Good luck with the meeting—though I doubt you’ll need it, since you already know the answer.”

He leaves the room.

The office falls quiet.

Takeshi exhales slowly and picks up his phone.

His fingers move with an ease that betrays his affection.

He texts Hatsuko:

“How is your first day of school so far?”

A moment later, her reply appears.

“It’s going well, Dad. Everything is fine.”

He smiles softly.

“I’ll pick you up later.”

A pause.

Then Hatsuko replies:

“It’s okay, Dad. Yumiko and I can walk home together.”

Takeshi leans back in his chair, tapping lightly on the desk.

“Alright then. Tell Yumiko I’ll give her a ride home sometime.”

He sets his phone down, gazing briefly out the window toward the distant horizon. The sky is bright, but a faint heaviness stirs in his chest. He does not yet know what Hatsuko has endured today—nor the tears she hid behind her smile.

But instinct tells him something is shifting.

Somewhere, faint and quiet, the shadows of the past ripple beneath the peace of the present.

The atmosphere in Class 10-A grows heavier as the physics lesson progresses. The teacher’s chalk sweeps rapidly across the board, leaving behind a dense constellation of formulas, vectors, and force diagrams that twist into increasingly complex shapes. Many students begin to slump in their chairs, quietly surrendering to the overwhelming barrage of numbers. Yumiko, who has been valiantly trying to keep up, presses both palms to her forehead with the exaggerated misery of someone experiencing spiritual death. She squints at the board, her eyebrows knitting together as if she is trying to decipher an ancient text written for a lost civilization. “I can’t… my brain is melting,” she whispers under her breath, drawing a small chuckle from the girl beside her.

But Hatsuko is different. She sits tall, shoulders steady, her eyes sharp and unwavering as they trace each symbol the teacher writes. Where others see chaos, she sees patterns. Lines of force weave together like threads in a tapestry she instinctively understands. Her mind begins working not with panic, but with precision—the same silent focus that once defined her father on the battlefield, the same calculative sharpness Takeshi used to read enemies in the past. Hatsuko imagines the described motion as if she herself is the object being propelled, resisting, accelerating. Each scenario the teacher presents unfolds in her thoughts with elegant clarity. She plots the vectors, senses the changes in momentum, tests possibilities. Every equation becomes a moving picture in her mind.

So when the teacher pauses, taps the edge of the board, and asks, “What happens to the resulting acceleration if this force is either pushed further or allowed to remain constant?”, the room falls into a thick silence. Students stare blankly at the diagrams. Yumiko slides lower in her seat, praying not to be called. But without hesitation—almost before the question is fully finished—Hatsuko raises her hand.

The teacher blinks, surprised but pleased. “Yes? Hatabe-san?”

Hatsuko stands slightly from her chair, voice steady and clear. She explains that the first step is isolating the primary vector, then calculating how much friction must be overcome before equilibrium shifts. She maps out the relationship between increasing force and the resulting change in acceleration, then describes precisely how velocity adjusts once the friction threshold is broken. Her explanation flows like water—clean, logical, accurate. Even her gestures are precise, tracing invisible lines of math in the air. When she finishes, silence consumes the entire classroom.

Not confusion.

But awe.

Aoi’s jaw drops. Kikuro whispers, “Did she just solve the whole question?” Yumiko, still rubbing her temple, cracks a proud grin because she has seen this brilliance countless times. The teacher smiles deeply and offers Hatsuko a nod of genuine respect. “Excellent answer, Hatabe-san. Outstanding work.”

Hatsuko sits back down quietly, cheeks warming, but she cannot hide the faint glow of satisfaction. The admiration around her is palpable—soft murmurs, impressed side glances, and even Yumiko giving her a subtle thumbs-up under the table. For the first time today, Hatsuko feels her confidence bloom in this unfamiliar environment.

Far across the city, at the edge of Okayama’s harbor, the world is entirely different. The salty scent of the morning sea drifts through the vast yard of Kuroyama Cargo Line, where steel containers rise like metal mountains. Heavy trucks rumble along marked paths, forklifts crawl between stacks, and workers shout instructions over the wind. Within this orchestrated chaos stands Renjiro Hisashi, his presence radiating a firm discipline that molds the entire environment.

He moves from container to container with the sharpness of someone trained to scan danger from miles away. Every document he checks receives the same level of scrutiny a shinobi once used to evaluate mission intel. His eyes travel across manifests with surgical precision, and he compares timestamps, weights, seals, and signatures as though human lives depend on it. Workers scramble to keep up with him, sweating under the pressure of his high expectations.

“Double-check the seal number,” Renjiro commands while handing a clipboard to a trembling junior. “It doesn’t match the record. Fix it before you forward this cargo.”

“Yes sir!” the worker stammers before darting off.

Under Renjiro’s supervision, the entire warehouse maintains near-military discipline. When some employees grow overwhelmed, he doesn’t get angry but corrects them sternly, showing exactly how to inspect containers properly—how to verify documents, how to identify inconsistencies, how to evaluate damage. His tone is strict but precise, as if passing down ancient training rather than giving warehouse instructions. The younger employees follow him like recruits following a veteran.

“And one more thing,” Renjiro says, voice dropping an octave as he turns toward the gathered workers. “Never accept money outside your salary. No tips. No bribes. No favors. Do you understand?”

A chorus of nervous voices answers, “Yes, sir!”

Satisfied, Renjiro nods and continues his inspection. As he walks between rows of towering containers, the harsh metallic clank of machinery echoes around him, but his senses remain focused—even after so many peaceful years, a part of him will always scan for danger, for irregularities, for shadows that do not belong.

Then his phone vibrates in his pocket.

He pulls it out and types a message with brows slightly furrowed:

“Gaku. Don’t cause trouble today. And remember—you’re responsible for watching over Hatsuko and Yumiko. Don’t forget.”

For a moment he waits.

Then the reply arrives: a single salute emoji.

(￣^￣)ゞ

Renjiro exhales sharply through his nose. “That brat…” he mutters, though the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrays his amusement. Gaku’s playful defiance is irritating—yet comforting. The boy is growing strong, confident, and just reckless enough to remind Renjiro of himself at that age.

As the morning sun climbs higher above the port, Renjiro pockets his phone and returns to work. Steel, salt, discipline, and labor fill the air. It is a different world from the days of blades and blood, yet his instincts remain the same. And as long as he stands here, neither illegal goods nor shadows from the past will breach this safe harbor.

Far away, in a quiet classroom filled with physics textbooks and soft sunlight, Hatsuko Hatabe unknowingly earns the admiration of her classmates. And across the port, Renjiro Hisashi unknowingly ensures that the world she lives in remains steady and safe.

For now, at least.

The conference room on the top floor of Hatabe CyberDynamics glows softly under the white morning lights. Sunlight filters through the tall glass windows, casting long reflections over the polished table that stretches across the center of the room. The air hums with tension—an unmistakable tightness that hangs like an invisible thread between every employee present. Members of the board sit stiffly in their leather chairs, some tapping their feet, others adjusting their collars or smoothing their ties in nervous habit. Their eyes flick repeatedly toward the door, waiting for the arrival of one of the richest electric-vehicle companies in the world.

But Takeshi Hatabe is utterly calm.

He sits at the head of the table, posture straight but relaxed, gently twirling a pen between his fingers. The subtle metallic click of the spinning pen cuts the silence rhythmically. Every now and then, he hums—so soft, so subtle, but unmistakably a lullaby. A melody once whispered into the ears of dying men in a darker life no one in this room knows anything about. Now, it sounds like nothing more than a quiet tune of a man at ease.

Beside him sits Toru Hizuki, the CFO, arms folded and expression sharp with controlled confidence. Mika, Takeshi’s young but highly capable assistant, stands poised near the display screen, clutching the meeting agenda. Three senior analysts—Taneda, Morimoto, and Yuji—sit further down, scrolling nervously through shared documents, double-checking everything. And yet, their glances drift back like magnets to Takeshi, whose tranquility seems almost unreal under this pressure.

Finally, one board member clears his throat. “Umm—Hatabe-san… if I may ask… why are you so calm? This partnership with Avalon Electromotive Corporation could be the opportunity of a lifetime. Their assets, their electric systems, their global reach—if we secure this deal, our position in Asia will grow tenfold.”

Another member leans forward, nodding vigorously. “Yes, sir. Avalon’s breakthroughs in automated drivetrains alone could elevate our cybersecurity division for years. This kind of collaboration doesn’t happen twice.”

Takeshi smiles politely, the pen still rolling between his fingers. “I see you’ve all done your homework,” he says gently. “But you haven’t done mine.”

Their faces freeze.

He glances at Toru, whose lips curl into the faintest smirk, then he shifts his gaze back to the anxious group of executives.

“You speak of Avalon Electromotive Corporation,” Takeshi continues, “as if all that glitters around them is pure gold. As if you truly know the company you are begging to work with. But you don’t.”

Board members exchange confused glances.

One older member folds his arms defensively. “Hatabe-san… are you implying you know something we do not? You sound… overly confident.”

Takeshi rests his elbows on the table, fingers steepling as he leans slightly forward. His eyes—dark, steady, unblinking—lock onto them with unsettling clarity. For a moment, the room grows still.

“I’m not confident,” he says in a calm voice that somehow cuts deeper than anger. “I’m simply informed. Avalon is surrounded by many rumors.” He pauses as the pen stops spinning. “Illegal mining operations in the Congo. Quiet disappearances in Zimbabwe. Smuggling of rare metals that are banned for exportation. Lawsuits silenced before reaching court.”

The board stiffens. Someone swallows hard.

“But those are just rumors,” another member says weakly, fear creeping into his voice. “Unproven. Speculation. Nothing concrete.”

Takeshi tilts his head slightly. “Perhaps. But if even one of those rumors is true, then partnering with them means we drown with them. And when that happens—” His gaze sweeps slowly across the table, each man shrinking under the weight of his words. “—you will all sell your shares, flee, and wash your hands clean. Leaving who behind?”

Silence.

Only the hum of the building’s ventilation fills the void.

“Leaving me,” Takeshi finishes softly, “to face every consequence. I have no intention of dragging my family into another form of war for the sake of your greed.”

The board members drop their eyes, humbled—if not shamed. Toru hides a smile behind his hand, enjoying how effortlessly Takeshi dismantles their desperation. It reminds him of old days—when a single glare from “The Devil Butcher” could silence an entire clan. But here, Takeshi does it with words, not blades.

A soft knock echoes from the door. Mika straightens immediately. “Sir—they’ve arrived.”

Every board member jolts to attention like recruits hearing a drill sergeant. The door opens, and in steps Peter Klopstein, Chairman of Avalon Electromotive Corporation, followed by five representatives in tailored suits. Klopstein is tall, blond, his steps confident but arrogant—the kind of man used to walking into rooms where people kneel.

He expects awe.

Respect.

Maybe even envy.

What he sees instead is Takeshi Hatabe standing with a calm expression and offering a polite, steady bow.

“Welcome to Hatabe CyberDynamics,” Takeshi says warmly. “It is an honor to host you today.”

Klopstein returns the bow with a slightly forced smile, surprised by the politeness but even more surprised by the lack of visible nervousness. He shakes Takeshi’s hand firmly—but for a split second, there is a strange hesitation. As if in the depths of Takeshi’s eyes, he senses something ancient and dangerous, buried under layers of corporate calm.

Takeshi turns to gesture toward the room.

“This is Toru Hizuki, our CFO,” he introduces smoothly. “Mika Saegusa, my assistant. And these are the members of our board and analysis division.”

Klopstein nods to each of them, wearing a polished corporate smile.

But what he doesn’t know—what no one in this room knows—is that the most dangerous man on the continent is sitting at the head of the table, humming lullabies and carrying a lunchbox prepared by his loving wife.

And the moment Klopstein begins his presentation, Takeshi Hatabe is already analyzing him, dissecting him, calculating every word, tone, micro-expression… exactly the way he once read targets before killing them.

Peace may rule modern Japan.

But beneath the fluorescent glow of this meeting room, the instincts of the Devil Butcher still breathe.

The glass walls of the executive conference room bathe the interior in a cool silver glow as morning sunlight reflects across the skyline of Okayama. The view is stunning—towers rising like steel monuments, clouds drifting lazily above them—but no one in the room pays attention to the scenery. The atmosphere is thick, weighted, tense with expectation. Hatabe CyberDynamics rarely hosts guests of this caliber, and the company’s board members feel the pressure as though a giant hand presses down on their shoulders.

Despite that, Takeshi Hatabe sits perfectly composed at the head of the long obsidian table. His posture is regal yet casual, one hand resting on the smooth surface while the other spins a silver pen between his fingers. His expression is unreadable—calm, steady, reflective—but beneath that serenity lies a subtle sharpness, a quiet force that unsettles those who glance his way for too long. To the board, he is their CEO. To Mika and Toru, he is a leader with unmatched instincts. To the Avalon delegation, he is an intimidating unknown. And to the ghosts of the past, he is The Devil Butcher—an identity long buried, but never truly gone.

Peter Klopstein continues his introduction with an air of polished confidence. His voice flows with corporate charisma, the kind crafted through years of presenting to investors and politicians. “Thank you once again for receiving us, Hatabe-san,” he says, placing both hands on the table in a display of openness. “It means a great deal to us that you and your exceptional team offered such hospitality.”

Takeshi inclines his head politely. “The honor is ours, Klopstein-san.”

Klopstein’s smile widens, revealing teeth that are too white to be natural. His suit catches the light—fine Italian wool, expertly tailored—giving him the air of a man who lives in the upper echelons of power. His team, dressed equally sharply, arranges laptops and tablets on the table, connecting devices to the central holographic projector. When the Avalon logo blooms across the center of the room, the board members straighten instinctively, as though standing before royalty.

Peter clicks his remote, and the Avalon logo dissolves into a shimmering blue diagram of a massive circular energy core. The image rotates slowly, casting a faint glow over everyone’s faces. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces in a tone smooth as velvet, “allow me to introduce our next global breakthrough: The Hyper Energy Initiative.”

At once, the board members lean forward. Their eyes widen. More than one person inhales sharply. Even Mika, who is usually composed, cannot help but raise her brows in fascination. Taneda scribbles hurried notes while Morimoto adjusts his glasses to inspect the details more closely.

“This project,” Peter continues, standing to emphasize his point, “is designed to redefine energy production on a global scale. Clean. Powerful. Stable. Sustainable. With the right cybersecurity framework and operational architecture, Hyper Energy will stand as the world’s most efficient renewable power system.” He points at the hologram. “And we believe Hatabe CyberDynamics is the perfect partner for this vision.”

The board nearly glows with pride. A few whisper excitedly. Someone mutters, “Incredible… if this works, it could change everything…”

Takeshi doesn’t react.

He lets the words wash over him, lets the excitement spread among the board, lets the illusion of opportunity fill the room like perfume. But nothing escapes him. Not the way Peter exaggerates their “global interest.” Not how he avoids specifics about the materials needed. Not how he sells dreams too eagerly. Takeshi sees through the presentation the way a shinobi sees through a smokescreen.

Peter moves to the next slide, revealing architectural illustrations of energy hubs, sleek designs rising like futuristic temples. “We have spent six months refining our proposal,” he explains proudly. “Many companies expressed great interest—some even begged to participate—but we chose you, Hatabe-san.” His voice lowers almost reverently. “Your company’s precision and discipline are extraordinary. Your cybersecurity innovations alone set you apart from every competitor.”

The board practically beams.

Toru hides a smirk.

Takeshi simply smiles politely.

Because he knows Peter is lying.

No global company begged for this deal.

They all rejected it.

Every single one.

Not because the project lacked vision—but because the stench of Avalon’s rumors spreads far across continents. Whispers of illegal nikel mines in African conflict zones, bribery of government officials, smuggling of restricted metals through unmarked routes, and quiet disappearances whenever a whistleblower grows too bold. The kind of rumors that make CEOs stay far away.

And now here Avalon sits, presenting their poisoned project wrapped in gold foil.

Peter continues as though he carries the world’s blessing. “This initiative does not promise millions,” he says proudly, “but billions of dollars in the first year alone. And with clean, non-polluting materials, the environmental impact is virtually nonexistent. We aim for a future untainted by the mistakes of the past.”

Toru lifts a hand, his tone polite but sharp enough to slice through Peter’s smooth speech. “Klopstein-san, forgive me, but how do you guarantee billions in profits? The materials needed for such output are heavily restricted. Securing import permits alone could take years.”

Peter waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, you need not worry about that. Avalon has connections… allies… in very high places. We have access to channels that bypass unnecessary obstacles. Everything will proceed smoothly.”

A ripple of discomfort passes through the board—not terror, but unease. The phrase “very high places” is a double-edged sword. It could mean legitimate political support… or dangerous individuals who operate beyond law and ethics.

Takeshi hears the implication clearly.

He even sees the pride—no, arrogance—gleaming in Peter’s eyes as he says it.

Peter finally turns to Takeshi. “So then, Hatabe-san… shall we proceed? Hatabe CyberDynamics and Avalon Electromotive—together, shaping the energy of tomorrow?”

The board collectively holds its breath.

Even Mika grows still.

The Avalon team watches eagerly.

But Takeshi remains motionless.

He lets silence gather like storm clouds.

He lets impatience tighten in the room.

He lets the weight of the moment simmer until every eye is locked on him.

Then he speaks—not to Peter, but to his analysts.

“Taneda-san. Morimoto-san. Yuji-san,” he says quietly but firmly. “If Hatabe CyberDynamics integrates its system architecture into Hyper Energy… and the project collapses for any reason—what is the projected impact?”

The analysts sit up straight, startled but ready.

Yuji clears his throat, glancing briefly at Takeshi before addressing the room. “If the system fails… the core of Hyper Energy will destabilize. Every connected node will collapse. Infrastructure across entire regions may fail. Energy output would plummet to zero, causing blackouts on national scale. And any nation relying on this system would place full blame on the companies involved.”

Taneda adds, “The financial loss would be… catastrophic.”

Morimoto finishes softly, “Billions. Possibly tens of billions.”

Peter’s smile cracks.

The board members grow pale.

And Takeshi Hatabe, still calm, still composed, closes his fingers around the pen he has been spinning and rests it quietly on the table.

He has all the information he needs.

And the room waits for his judgment—with a fear they cannot fully explain.

Because even if they do not know Takeshi’s past, they feel something from him.

Something dangerous.

Something resolute.

Something final.

Silence settles over the meeting room like a tightening noose. The air that moments ago buzzed with the grandeur of Avalon’s promises now grows cold and heavy, thick enough to suffocate anyone unprepared for the shift. Peter Klopstein stands at the front of the table, hands loosely clasped, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he watches Takeshi Hatabe. The Avalon team shifts nervously behind him, sensing the tension even through their polished smiles.

Peter inhales, trying to regain control of the room. “Hatabe-san,” he begins smoothly, “I assure you—this project poses no danger. There will be no leaks, no instability, no structural failures. Hyper Energy is safe. Reliable. Our most perfected work to date.”

But before he can continue, Takeshi lifts a hand.

The gesture is small.

Quiet.

Almost gentle.

Yet it cuts through Peter’s speech like a blade.

“I appreciate your confidence, Klopstein-san,” Takeshi says, his voice soft but firm enough to command the entire space. “And I respect Avalon Electromotive Corporation for reaching out to us… but the risks are greater than the advantages.”

A ripple of shock runs through the board. Several members straighten abruptly, their shoulders tensing. One of them silently curses under his breath. Another grips his pen so tightly the plastic creaks.

Takeshi continues, his tone unwavering. “We must abide by the law. All of it. Without negotiation. Without exceptions. And certainly without forging import permits or bypassing regulations in ways that jeopardize the integrity of our company.”

Toru hides his smile behind folded hands.

There it is, he thinks.

The answer he knew Takeshi would give all along.

But the board members—the ones who hungered for billions—look horrified.

Peter Klopstein studies Takeshi’s face carefully, his gaze sharpening. For the first time since entering the building, his charming smile falters. Something in the CEO’s calm eyes unsettles him. It is not arrogance, nor naivety, nor fear. It is knowledge. Ancient and cold. The look of a man who has seen more than anyone else in the room could ever imagine.

“You… already know, don’t you?” Peter murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “About us. About the rumors.”

Takeshi says nothing.

But his silence is louder than any confirmation.

Peter exhales slowly, losing the last of his corporate mask. “Very well, Hatabe-san. Then I assume you’ve reached your decision.”

The room seems to hold its breath.

Takeshi places both hands on the table. His posture is straight, dignified, resolute. “Hatabe CyberDynamics declines your offer,” he says calmly. “We wish Avalon Electromotive the best… but we cannot participate.”

The effect is immediate.

Peter’s jaw tightens. His polite demeanor collapses in on itself, leaving behind a dark, simmering frustration. His team stiffens, exchanging glances. The board members—those who dreamed of wealth—nearly explode in fury.

Peter leans forward, eyes blazing with thinly veiled contempt. “Hatabe-san… you are making a terrible mistake. A catastrophic one. This partnership could have made your company unstoppable.”

Takeshi simply smiles at him.

A small, peaceful smile.

The smile of a man who has stood at the edge of death and returned.

The smile of someone who knows threats far more terrifying than businessmen in suits.

“Thank you for the warning,” he replies.

Peter’s nostrils flare. “You will regret this,” he says coldly. “You and your company. When Avalon rises above the global market, when Hyper Energy becomes the new standard… Hatabe CyberDynamics will be nothing but dust beneath our feet.”

He snaps his briefcase shut.

“Let’s go,” he orders his team.

Instantly the Avalon representatives stand, gathering their things. Takeshi and his staff stand as well out of courtesy. Formal bows are exchanged—cold, stiff, far from genuine. Peter forces a final thin smile. “Thank you for your time.”

And then he leaves without another word.

The door closes behind him with a sharp metallic thud.

For a moment, everything is still.

Then chaos erupts.

Several board members slam their hands on the table. Others raise their voices, nearly shouting. “How could you?!” one barks. “Do you realize what you’ve done?! That was a once-in-a-lifetime offer!” Another points a trembling finger at Takeshi. “This company could have expanded globally! Billions, Hatabe-san! Do you understand—billions!”

Toru immediately steps forward, placing himself between Takeshi and the furious board members. “Enough,” he snaps. “We do not accept offers built on illegal frameworks. We do not risk this company’s future for greed.”

“Oh please,” one of the directors scoffs. “You’re just scared of taking risks!”

“And you,” Toru fires back, “are blinded by your wallets.”

The argument intensifies until the board members, frustrated and humiliated, gather their documents and storm out of the room. One of them throws a final warning over his shoulder. “Find us a client who actually brings money next time.”

The door slams again.

Silence returns.

Mika sighs, rubbing her temples. Taneda, Morimoto, and Yuji exchange uneasy looks.

Then Mika steps closer to Takeshi. “Sir… there’s something else,” she says quietly. “I’ve received notice from legal. If Avalon decides to retaliate, they may… pressure us. With connections like theirs, there could be threats… or lawsuits.”

Toru tenses, ready to intervene. But Takeshi simply places a hand on Mika’s shoulder, a reassuring gesture that instantly steadies her.

“Tell everyone in the company not to worry,” he says gently. “We broke no laws. We signed nothing. We only avoided a catastrophe.”

His confidence spreads through the room like warmth in winter.

Mika nods, relieved. Toru exhales slowly, tension leaving his shoulders. Even the analysts seem calmer.

None of them know why Takeshi can be so calm.

So certain.

So unshakably composed.

None of them know the man he once was.

None of them know the weight of blood that once coated his hands.

None of them know that danger—true danger—does not come from corporations or international threats.

It comes from shadows.

Steel.