131: Chapter 131 Taking the Bio-Army to Ginza
The night in Ginza is flowing gold.
The streets after the rain reflect the dazzling neon signs on the buildings on both sides. The massive logos of Chanel, Hermès, and Louis Vuitton vie for attention in the night, and the air is filled with the scent of expensive perfume and the fermented aroma of money.
This is the heart of Tokyo and the vortex of desire.
"Boss, are we really going to walk?"
Victor followed behind Chen Yuan, wiping sweat while nervously looking around. "There are too many people here, and it's hard to maintain security. What if someone takes a potshot at us…"
"Staying in an armored car is for cowards."
Chen Yuan kept his hands in his trench coat pockets, walking leisurely. "Since we're here for a 'tour,' we naturally need to keep our feet on the ground. Besides, do you think anyone can get through this wall?"
He pointed to his side.
Ten T-103 Mass-Produced Tyrants in custom black suits formed a diamond formation, tightly guarding Chen Yuan in the center.
With heights of 2.2 meters, shoulders as wide as doors, plus those don't-mess-with-me sunglasses and earpieces, these ten people standing on the street were like ten mobile heavy tanks.
The originally crowded sidewalk instantly cleared into a vacuum zone.
"Sugoi… who is that big shot?"
"Is he a sumo champion? No, sumo wrestlers aren't that tall!"
"Don't look! Let's go! That aura, he's definitely a foreign Yakuza godfather!"
Passersby retreated in terror to both sides, automatically clearing a wide path. A few hosts who were chatting up women on the street saw this spectacle, and were so scared that they dropped the cigarettes they had just lit, shrinking into the corner and trembling.
This is the pomp brought by absolute force.
It's more effective than any police escort.
"It seems that Japanese politeness is truly engraved in their bones."
Chen Yuan watched the passersby who didn't even dare to make eye contact with him, a playful smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "They all know to yield the way to guests."
"Boss, Red Queen indicates there are twelve suspicious targets in the vicinity."
Alice's voice sounded in the earpiece. "Heart rates are abnormal, and they are carrying metal objects. They should be the 'cleaners' sent by the Fujiwara Family."
"Twelve?"
Chen Yuan stopped, standing in front of the display window of a jewelry store, pretending to admire the priceless pink diamond necklace inside.
"Too few. Does the old man Fujiwara look down on me?"
Just as he stopped.
In the crowd, a man wearing a loose hoodie and a mask suddenly accelerated.
He looked like an office worker in a hurry to catch the subway, carrying a briefcase, head down, charging straight toward Chen Yuan.
"Excuse me! Excuse me!"
The man shouted loudly in Japanese, trying to create chaos.
Just as he was about to collide with the outer defense line, his right hand, hidden under the briefcase, suddenly thrust out.
A cold glint flashed by.
It was a poisoned dagger, aiming straight for Chen Yuan's heart.
The movement was fast and stealthy.
If it were ordinary bodyguards, they might still be stunned at this moment.
But unfortunately, what he was facing was a T-103 Mass-Produced Tyrant.
"Snap."
A huge palm reached out without warning.
It was like pinching a fly trying to steal a bite.
The assassin's movements instantly froze.
Tyrant No. 3 gripped his head with one hand. That palm, larger than a basketball, covered the assassin's entire face, lifting him bodily off the ground.
"Mmph! Mmph!"
The assassin's feet left the ground, kicking wildly, and the dagger in his hand uselessly scratched against the Tyrant's arm, not even tearing the suit fabric.
The surrounding passersby were stunned.
Someone was about to scream but was tightly gagged by their companion.
"Don't scream! You'll die!"
Chen Yuan turned around and glanced at the assassin hanging in mid-air.
"Is this the Fujiwara Family's way of treating guests?"
He shook his head, his tone full of disappointment. "Sending this kind of trash to me, are you insulting my taste?"
He pointed to a large recycling bin on the side of the road.
"No. 3, throw him away."
"Since he is trash, he should stay in the trash can."
"Roar."
Tyrant No. 3 let out a low response from its throat.
It carried the still-struggling assassin and strode to the trash can.
"Thump!"
A muffled sound.
The assassin was shoved head-first directly into the bin marked "Combustible Waste." The Tyrant even thoughtfully helped him close the lid, then lightly punched the lid.
The tin lid instantly dented and jammed shut.
A muffled banging and whimpering came from inside, but it soon went quiet.
The whole process took less than ten seconds.
Smooth, silky, and full of black humor.
"Let's go."
Chen Yuan straightened his collar, which had been ruffled by the wind, and continued walking. "Don't let such a small interlude affect our mood for shopping."
The next 500 meters of the journey turned into a comical game of "throwing out the trash."
Every few distances, an ignorant assassin would rush out.
Either disguised as a drunk or pretending to be a girl handing out flyers.
But their fates were surprisingly identical.
Before they could get within five meters of Chen Yuan, they would be picked up by a large hand that appeared out of thin air, then arc through the air in a graceful parabola, landing precisely in roadside trash cans, flower beds, or even sewer manholes.
"The eighth one."
Victor counted from behind, his expression changing from nervous to numb, and finally, he even wanted to laugh a little.
"Boss, are you helping Tokyo clean up its city appearance?"
"You could say that."
Chen Yuan stopped in front of a quaint, wooden building.
Although it was in the bustling Ginza, it was a quiet spot amidst the noise. A wooden sign hung at the entrance, with no text, only a cherry blossom painted on it. Two red lanterns swayed slightly in the wind, exuding a mysterious and ambiguous atmosphere.
"Sakura Ransacking".
The most high-end membership club in all of Tokyo, and also a private stronghold used by the Fujiwara Family to entertain core allies.
"This is it."
Chen Yuan looked up at the wooden sign.
"Natasha said that the current head of the Fujiwara Family, Fujiwara Ichiro, is hosting a banquet inside tonight."
"Seems like they are celebrating some new breakthrough in the 'Amaterasu Project'?"
Chen Yuan sneered.
He stepped onto the stairs.
The waiter in a kimono at the door turned pale with fright when seeing this group of dark giants approaching, stammering to stop them:
"Sir… Sir! This is a private club, without a membership card…"
"Membership card?"
Chen Yuan stopped.
He looked at the waiter who was about to cry, and reached into his bosom to pull out a black card.
That was not a membership card.
It was the identification card given to him by David Rockefeller before he left, representing the highest authority of the Rockefeller Family.
"Is this enough?"
Chen Yuan flicked it casually.
The card flew out, spinning like a throwing knife, and embedded itself deeply into the wooden sign with the cherry blossom painted on it.
"Thud!"
It went three inches deep into the wood.
The waiter looked at the card, then at the ten T-103 Mass-Produced Tyrants behind Chen Yuan who were flexing their wrists, his legs went weak, and he knelt directly on the ground.
"Please… please come in!"
"That's a good boy."
Chen Yuan stepped over the threshold and walked into the long corridor covered with tatami mats.
Behind the wooden sliding doors, the sound of shamisen music and the low singing of a Geisha could be faintly heard.
The air was filled with the scent of high-grade incense.
Chen Yuan walked to the center of the hall.
He didn't take off his shoes, his leather shoes stained with mud and water stepping directly onto the expensive tatami mats, leaving a trail of black footprints.
The music stopped abruptly.
In the hall, a dozen Japanese dignitaries in gorgeous clothes were drinking and having fun with Geishas. Seeing this group of uninvited guests barging in, everyone was stunned.
"Baka! Who are you?!"
An old bald man sitting in the main seat slammed his wine glass onto the floor and roared, "Who let you in? Security! Where the hell did the security go!"
Chen Yuan ignored his roaring.
He looked around and locked his eyes on the bald old man.
Although he had never seen him in person, that face was 70% similar to the Fujiwara Ichiro in Natasha's files.
"It seems I came at just the right time."
Chen Yuan walked to an empty table, pulled over a cushion, and sat down in a domineering manner.
The Tyrants quickly dispersed, controlling all exits.
That mountain-like sense of oppression made the dignitaries who were originally clamoring shut their mouths instantly, their faces pale, and most of their drunkenness gone.
"You… you are that Chinese person?!"
Fujiwara Ichiro finally recognized Chen Yuan, a trace of panic flashing in his cloudy eyes, but more of it was anger. "How could you still be alive? My Shadow Squad…"
"Your Shadow Squad is roasting in hell right now."
Chen Yuan interrupted him.
He picked up the wine pot on the table, poured himself a cup of sake, and sniffed it.
"Not bad wine."
He looked up, looked at Fujiwara Ichiro, raised his glass, and a brilliant smile appeared on his face:
"Mr. Fujiwara, nice to meet you."
"Please bring up the best wine you have here."
Chen Yuan drank the wine in the cup in one gulp, then slammed the cup heavily on the table.
"By the way."
"Tell your family head."
"His creditor has come to collect the interest."