CHAPTER 17: THE KAKEROU CLUB
The atmosphere shifted.
The moment Q-Taro slammed ten million yen onto the table, the very air in the room seemed to turn into thick, muddy sludge. It was suffocating.
"..."
Ren Shiroki narrowed his eyes, scanning the room. He noticed that everyone's reaction was different.
The most obvious—and the most "normal"—was Kaji Takaomi. One second he was nodding off from boredom, and the next he was jolted awake, his eyes bulging at the mountain of cash.
"Ehh!?"
What was this old man talking about? Suddenly pulling out that much money... had he lost his mind from gambling too hard?
"Ten... ten million yen!?" Kaji gasped, his voice cracking. "That's a lot... but how exactly are we supposed to gamble for it?"
This reaction was exactly what Q-Taro was looking for.
"My, my! You've never seen this much money at once, have you? It's actually quite simple..."
"You just have to take the money and leave this building!"
Q-Taro slapped the table again, his eyes gleaming with a manic light. "Just carry it out the front door, and it's yours. Go on! Take it! Don't be shy!"
The weight of that manic energy combined with the visual of ten million yen was crushing Kaji. For a regular salaryman, saving ten million yen would take five years of never eating or paying rent. Now, someone was offering it for free? All he had to do was walk out the door?
"Ugh... huff..."
Kaji's breathing grew ragged. He knew it was a trap, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the cash.
Q-Taro had seen this a thousand times. At this stage, it didn't matter what the prey thought; money reduced humans to the level of trained animals. Their actions became incredibly easy to predict.
No one can turn this down... right?
But a sliver of doubt began to creep into Q-Taro's confidence. Aside from Kaji, the other three weren't reacting "correctly" at all. In fact, their expressions were chillingly different.
The Man of the Divine Realm, Akagi, was still casually smoking his cigarette, as if the ten million yen were a pile of scrap paper.
The massive one, Ren, was rolling his neck, his eyes darting around the room as if he were looking for something specific.
And the lean white-haired youth, Baku, was actually analyzing the gamble, but his attention wasn't on the money—he was staring directly at Q-Taro with a thin, sharp smile.
"You're a bit off the mark, aren't you?"
Baku shrugged. "I thought you were finally going to show us your real face, but this 'bait' is barely attractive at all."
"Ever since I stepped into this building, I've smelled a thick scent of blood..."
"As for you—you smell like an executioner."
"..."
Hearing this, Q-Taro realized that tonight's guests were far from "helpless prey."
"...I see. You have a very keen eye, young man."
"I originally planned to let you take the money before explaining the catch, but very well..."
Q-Taro maintained his smile and gave a sharp snap of his fingers.
Snap!
A figure materialized from the shadows, standing abruptly at Q-Taro's side. His presence was so heavy and violent that it instantly commanded the attention of everyone in the room.
It was a man wearing a terrifying, primitive mask. His hair was styled into jagged, upright spikes. He was shirtless, his torso bound by crossing leather straps, and his muscles were carved like statues.
In terms of build, the masked man was a match for Ren Shiroki. But where Ren's aura was fluid and casual, this man radiated pure, unadulterated killing intent. He was an "Abnormality" personified.
"He... he is..." Kaji was speechless, trembling.
Ren, however, remained calm. Although the details differed from his memories, the person he expected had finally arrived. He looked into the masked man's eyes and felt something strange—a sense of "childlike innocence" that contrasted sharply with his monstrous physique.
There was no mistake. This was Rodem—the "Demon of the Abandoned Building," a tool used by Q-Taro for his murderous amusement.
"As you can see..." Q-Taro began his pitch. "If you can leave this place with the money, you win. I have my own 'helper' here who will do his best to ensure you stay... permanently."
"A very simple game, right?"
"..."
Ren reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo of the missing Nogi Group employee, sliding it onto the table toward Q-Taro.
"I see how it is."
Ren looked at the old man. "When the Nogi Group's guy came here, you played the same game with him, didn't you?"
"Yes, exactly!"
Q-Taro clapped his hands, laughing as he glanced at the photo. "I remember him! A nice young man. He'd just bought a house in Tokyo and was worried about his mortgage. I told him if he won, I'd pay off his entire debt to the Nogi Group myself."
Ren stared into Q-Taro's eyes. "So, what happened to him? Where is he now?"
"Who knows? Is he missing?"
Q-Taro laughed until his shoulders shook. "Telling you the result would spoil the fun! Did the poor boy fail, lose the money, and run away in shame? Or did he win big and go off to live a life of luxury in secret? It's such a mystery..."
"..."
The meaning was clear: the employee was dead, slaughtered somewhere in this tower.
Ren's expression darkened. He didn't care about the Nogi Group's profits, but as a martial artist who lived by the fist, his empathy for the "human" element was becoming razor-sharp.
Looking at that photo again, Ren felt a surge of genuine disgust. To that employee, it was just a job, a chance to get a promotion. Instead, he was lured here and murdered for sport.
If you can't pay the debt, don't gamble. But if someone isn't a gambler, you have no right to force them into a death match. Q-Taro's "game" wasn't a competition of skill; it was a psychopathic safari.
Beside him, Madarame Baku noticed the shift in Ren's mood.
Seeing the atmosphere turn icy, Baku let out a long, weary sigh. "Well, if there are four... no, five of us in this game, ten million is a bit of a joke, don't you think?"
Q-Taro could hear the "hook" in Baku's voice. The prey was interested.
To add fuel to the fire, Q-Taro reached for the telephone on his desk. "I agree. I also hate boring games. To ensure tonight is truly spectacular, I've taken the liberty of inviting a 'Neutral Party' to oversee the stakes."
"—A Referee from the Kakerou Club."
"..."
The moment those words were uttered, Kaji noticed that Baku went completely still.
He had always seen Baku as the ultimate "poker face," a man who couldn't be shaken. But right now, Baku's expression was dark, almost somber.
Baku whispered the name under his breath. "Heh... Kakerou..."
Ten minutes later, there was a sharp, disciplined knock on the office door.
A man entered. He was elderly, dressed in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit, his posture as straight as a spear. He exuded an aura of impeccable refinement.
The old man removed his hat and gave a graceful bow to the group.
"Forgive my late arrival. I assume you are the member, Master Kujo?"
He introduced himself with a calm, melodic voice. "I am the Number Two Referee of the Kakerou Club—Yagyo Hikoichi."
That night, Kaji Takaomi—who had lived his entire life in the "normal" world—finally realized how small and fragile the morals he'd been taught were.
Human beings... were capable of anything.