Page 119 of Kotori
The accusation hangs in the air. Several advisors shift uncomfortably, recognizing that we've moved beyond political maneuvering into direct challenge.
"That's a serious allegation, Hiroshi-san. I trust you have evidence to support such accusations?"
"The method. The timing immediately after accusations about the victim's relationship with your daughter. Professional execution designed to send messages." His voice strengthens with conviction. "And your convenient absence last night during a family emergency meeting."
Each point builds his case with prosecutorial precision. But Hiroshi has made one fundamental miscalculation. He assumes I'm trying to hide what I did.
"Interesting theory," I say conversationally. "But I'm curious. We in the business kill all the time. So, why would someone's death be considered murder rather than justice?"
The question shifts the entire dynamic. Several advisors straighten, recognizing the verbal trap closing around their chosen champion.
"Because vigilante violence undermines proper authority."
"Whose authority?" I interrupt. "The civilian legal system that protects perverts through technicalities? The government justice that prioritizes procedure over protecting children?" My voice drops to deadly calm. "Or the older authority that demands blood payment for crimes against family honor?"
I rise from my chair, suddenly towering over the assembled men while they remain seated. The psychological reversal is immediate and absolute.
"Let's discuss what actually happened to Daichi Shuichi. Let's examine the evidence you're so eager to present."
I begin walking slowly around the table, hands clasped behind my back.
"For three months, your twenty-five-year-old colleague systematically groomed my eighteen-year-old daughter. Convinced her that sexual exploitation was education, that degradation was preparation for marriage, that compliance with his demands demonstrated sophistication."
Sho's face crumples with fresh shame and horror, but he doesn't protest. He knows I'm telling the truth.
"He used her natural curiosity about adulthood against her, made her believe that sending explicit photographs and messages was normal communication between sophisticated adults. Positioned himself as teacher and guide while systematically destroying her understanding of appropriate boundaries." I stop behind Hiroshi's chair, close enough that he can feel my presence like pressure against his spine. "Then, when his psychological manipulation was complete, he used that same evidence to force marriage negotiations. Presented himself as generous salvation from the shame he'd created."
The revelation ripples through the room. Several advisors exchange glances, their sympathy for the "victim" beginning to shift.
"Sho-san," I say gently. "Tell them what you've learned about your son."
Sho rises on unsteady legs, face wet with tears of shame and grief. "What Oyabun says is true. My son was achikan. A sick pervert who groomed an innocent teenage, exploited her trust, violated every code of honor we claim to follow." His voice breaks completely. "I raised a monster and never saw his true face."
Any remaining sympathy for Daichi evaporates as they confront the reality of what they were actually mourning.
"So I ask," I continue, completing my circuit around the table, "was Daichi Shuichi's death murder, or justice? Was eliminating a sick bastard who groomed children evidence of compromised judgment, or exactly the response traditional honor demands from a father protecting his daughter?"
Hiroshi's face has gone white as he realizes his carefully constructed case is crumbling. "You had no right to act alone."
"I had every right." The words cut through his protest with absolute authority. "The right of a father protecting his daughter. The right of an oyabun eliminating threats to family honor. The right earned through sixteen generations of men who understood that some crimes require immediate, permanent response. But your real objection isn't to violence, is it, Hiroshi-san? Your problem isn't that I killed a pervert—it's that I did so without committee approval. Without consulting advisors who think leadership requires their permission to protect what belongs to me."
His mouth opens and closes without sound. Around the table, former allies begin shifting positions, recognizing that their chosen champion has led them into a trap from which there's no honorable retreat.
"This is about authority," I continue with deadly calm. "About whether the Matsumoto oyabun answers to his advisors or commands their loyalty. About whether sixteen generations of leadership culminates in a man strong enough to make hard decisions, or someone who needs permission to defend his own children. So let's settle this question permanently. Do you challenge my authority as oyabun? Do you believe yourself qualified to lead this family better than the man chosen by blood and tradition?"
The direct challenge hangs in expensive air like a death sentence. In yakuza culture, questioning the oyabun's authority demands immediate response—submission or war.
"I was merely expressing concern for proper procedure," Hiroshi whispers, finally understanding the depth of the trap he's turned on himself.
"Concern noted. And answered." I stand, signaling the meeting's end through body language that brooks no argument. "My daughter's protector lives. Her exploiter is dead. Familyhonor has been satisfied through methods our ancestors would recognize and approve."
I bow slightly to the assembled advisors, acknowledging their service while making clear that challenge time has ended. "Any advisor uncomfortable with this resolution is free to seek employment elsewhere. Any man who believes this family requires different leadership is welcome to issue formal challenge through traditional methods." My voice drops to absolute finality. "But understand that questioning my authority again will be considered treason, with consequences that reflect sixteen generations of methods for dealing with betrayal."
One by one, they rise and offer respectful bows. The rebellion that began with whispered doubts has ended in complete capitulation.
When the room empties except for Hiroshi and Sho, I study the broken opportunist who thought he could exploit a child's suffering for personal gain.
"You have twenty-four hours to clear out your office and surrender all family assets," I say with cold finality. "Your pension is forfeit. Your housing allowance ends tomorrow. Any attempt to contact current or former associates will be considered interference with family business."
