POLLUTION.

CHAPTER 3: The Rookies Faceoff (1)

Suzuki looked on, his face filled with pure and true horror. His teeth ground together, his fingers clenched in unbridled rage. The man who had killed his grandfather—Suzuki had known of him but had never truly understood who he was.

"W-Wait... I remember the name of the man who killed Gramps..." Suzuki muttered as he rummaged through his mind, desperately trying to recall the name of the man who had taken his grandfather away from the world.

"[Name Redacted]. That is the man who murdered your grandfather," Satoshi said in a low voice, his tone taking on a gravity far removed from their previous banter. "Fortunately, he was arrested within minutes of your grandfather's death. That day was the day that the Yūsan Fam died."

Satoshi spoke with his hands intertwined, his knees screaming in pain as he squatted next to Suzuki.

"So there were more of those fuckers?! Gramps died over 30 YEARS AGO. They have to be rotting in a cage by now," Suzuki's dim black eyes, filled with vigor and passion, stared into Satoshi's. He wanted to know more.

"Well... you see..." Satoshi scratched his head, avoiding Suzuki's gaze.

Suzuki, on the other hand, clenched his fists even tighter, to the point he thought blood was going to begin seeping from his palms. He already knew the answer that Satoshi was about to give him.

Satoshi let out a deep sigh before he spoke. "No. While we were fortunate enough to catch some lower-level members of the Yūsan Fam, its uncles still remain unknown and undetained."

Suzuki's annoyance only grew by the second as Satoshi rambled on about things he didn't know.

"You don't know a lot about someone who went head-to-head with this 'Yūsan Fam.' And who the fuck is an uncle? Are these bastards related?"

A vein bulged from Satoshi's head as Suzuki referred to him going "head-to-head" with the Yūsan Fam. He wasn't irritated by the young man but rather by someone else. Don't remind me of that time... Satoshi thought back to his days as a rookie police officer. He covered his mouth, preventing himself from throwing up as his mind wandered. But in a few seconds, his attention turned back to Suzuki.

"No, they are not related. Back in the Original Generation, gangs were more like families—unlike now, where they're responsible for companies or businesses more than anything. With them feeling like families, they went by rank: Father being the leader, Uncles as deputies, and Sons as regular members. Not so complicated if you think about it."

"So you just let two of the highest-ranked members flee? I don't give a shit about uncles, or sons, or original generations. Whoever's tied to Gramps' death is going to get a hell of an ass-whooping once I become the Superintendent General!"

Suzuki pushed himself off the ground, now standing on his two feet, his fist tightly wrapped over his chest. His scowl flipped completely upside down into an arrogant smile.

"I, Suzuki Nakamura, will free Japan of its pollution. Ya feel me?"

Clap. Clap. Clap.

As Suzuki set the stage for his dramatic, passion-filled declaration of his dreams to rid Japan of its worries, a slow set of claps emerged from the entrance of the Yamaguchi Police Department. A dimly lit silhouette slowly inched closer to the two before stopping directly between them.

"Impressive speech—for a shitty bald punk like you." Soft insults splurged out of the mouth of the man before them.

Now closer, his features were easier to see. He was a young man, around the same age as Suzuki, with long chocolate-brown hair tied neatly into a bun held up by two chopsticks. His ink-black eyes analyzed Suzuki's body up and down, his mouth dawning a cocky grin. He already wore the Yamaguchi Police Officer uniform, with a single Sakuraho patch on his shoulder.