naruto-story Chapter 69 Order
Chapter 69 Order
February 10, 1988.
In the late hours of the night, a light rain mixed with fine snow fell in Bunkyo Ward.
The startled deer in the courtyard froze, no longer making a sound. The entire mansion lay dormant in darkness, with only a sliver of dim candlelight emanating from a side hall.
The sliding door opened silently.
The butler, Fujita, did not go in. Instead, he stood to the side on the veranda and gestured for the man, who exuded a chilling aura, to enter.
Dojima Iwao stepped across the threshold.
He was wearing a badly worn M65 military jacket, and his military boots were covered in black mud from the Yokohama docks. But the moment he stepped into the entrance hall, he stopped.
He bent down, untied the shoelaces, and neatly placed the dirty shoes in the corner, toes pointing outwards, the distance between the two shoes as precise as if measured with a ruler.
Then, he walked into the room barefoot.
Each step was perfectly synchronized, his back ramrod straight as a gun, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, middle fingers pressed firmly against his trouser seams. That soldierly bearing, etched into his very bones, created a peculiar disconnect between him and the disheveled air of a laborer.
In the center of the room, Satsuki knelt in the main seat.
She was wearing a dark purple silk loungewear set and holding a small silver knife for opening letters, the tip of which rested lightly on the table.
Dojima Iwao walked to within three meters of her, stood at attention, and neither bowed nor knelt.
He scrutinized the underage girl before him with his lifeless eyes.
"Former Lieutenant First Class, First Airborne Brigade, Ground Self-Defense Force, Iwao Dojima."
Satsuki's voice broke the silence. She didn't look at the documents at hand, but stared into Dojima Yuki's eyes.
"He was punished and dismissed for breaking three of his direct superior's ribs at a celebration banquet for a joint Japan-U.S. military exercise."
Dojima Yutaka's expression remained unchanged, as if he were listening to someone else's story.
"I heard you have OCD?"
Satsuki twirled the small knife in her hand, the blade reflecting a cold light.
"No."
Dojima Yan's voice was hoarse.
"I just hate dirty things."
"Is that officer dirty?"
"He was drunk, lying on the boots of the American advisor, wagging his tail like a dog," Dojima Iwao stated the facts, his tone eerily flat. "That was a disgrace to the Japanese military. He was undermining the dignity of the army, trampling on order."
"So you took action."
"Correcting mistakes is a soldier's instinct."
"Even if the price is being stripped of my military rank and forced to work like a cripple at the docks?"
Dojima Iwao remained silent for a moment.
His gaze lowered slightly, landing on the spotless tatami mat.
"To me, there is no difference between being a general in an army full of pigs and being a laborer on a clean dock."
"If you're here to beg for a job, please leave. These hands of mine are only for killing, not for shielding rich people from drinks, and I certainly won't lick someone's boots for the sake of some so-called 'greater good.'"
After saying that, he turned around neatly and prepared to leave.
The movements were precise and clean, without any unnecessary hesitation.
"What if I asked you to kill those pigs?"
Satsuki's voice sounded behind him.
Dojima Yan stopped in his tracks.
"This country is sick, Dojima Gen."
Satsuki stood up, her bare feet stepping onto the carpet, and walked step by step toward the towering man.
"The police can't catch bad guys because bad guys have money. The law can't judge the powerful because the powerful make the laws. The Self-Defense Forces have become a shoe-shining honor guard for Americans, and the government has become a cash register for tycoons."
"Like a cup of lukewarm tea that has been left out for too long, it looks calm on the surface, but it has long been rotten and smelly inside."
She walked up to Dojima Gen and looked up.
"You have a sword. You want to maintain order, you want to uphold justice. But you find that in this rotten system, you can't even draw your sword. You can only watch those scumbags flaunt their power in front of you, and watch those who break the rules rise step by step."
"So you chose self-exile. You think hiding on the dock, closing your eyes, will make the world cleaner?"
"That's the behavior of a coward."
Dojima Ichiro suddenly turned around.
He stared intently at Satsuki, the veins on his neck bulging like earthworms.
"What are you trying to say?"
"What I'm saying is, since the old order is rotten, let's smash it."
Satsuki showed no fear, and even took a step forward, approaching the beast that could suddenly attack at any moment.
"Dojima Iwao, this country no longer needs your sword. But I do."
"In my world, you don't need to abide by those hypocritical laws, nor do you need to curry favor with those corrupt bosses."
"In the Saionji family, my will is the law."
Satsuki stretched out her hand, her fair and slender palm clenching in the air as if grasping an invisible scepter.
"I'll give you a stage. A stage where you can unleash your full potential and use the most extreme methods to uphold 'order'."
"I want you to be my warden, my executioner."
"I want you to use violence to clear out an absolute sanctuary for me in this chaotic Tokyo."
"Whether it's a thug from the Black Dragon Society or that corrupt superior who kicked you out, you can 'correct' anything that breaks the rules and is dirty."
Satsuki stared into his eyes, a cruel smile playing on her lips.
"How about it? Compared to carrying boxes at the docks, isn't this job more suitable for your OCD?"
Dojima Yan was stunned.
He looked at the petite girl in front of him.
madman.
He is a complete dictator.
She is openly defying the law; she is attempting to establish lynching.
But precisely because of this...
His heart, which had been dormant for so long due to disappointment, suddenly began to beat violently.
That's the sound of blood flowing.
What he had been searching for his entire life in the army but had never found—that absolute, forceful, and unquestionable "power"—was actually seen in this girl.
He doesn't need democracy, he doesn't need warmth, and he certainly doesn't need that hypocritical "harmony is precious" mentality.
What he needs is a "tyrant" to whom he can be loyal.
A lord who can give him orders like "kill all the pests" and who can bear all the consequences.
"What do you want me to do?"
Dojima Iwao's voice was no longer numb, but carried a hint of bloodthirsty desire.
"Come with me."
Satsuki turned around and put on a black coat.
"There's a place in Akasaka that's not very clean. Go and clean it for me."
……
Half an hour later.
Akasaka-mi-tsuke, outside the construction site.
The rain and snow fell in a light drizzle, turning the ground into a muddy swamp.
Several drunken thugs from the Black Dragon Society were surrounding the construction site fence of the Saionji family's residence. They were spraying obscene designs onto the brand-new pink fence with spray paint cans, and two others were unbuckling their belts and urinating against the corner of the wall while cursing.
"Hey! Foreman! If you don't pay your protection money soon, we'll tear down your scaffolding tomorrow!"
The leader of the group, a blond-haired thug, kicked over a roadside warning sign with a loud bang.
The black Nissan Presidential Sedan was parked silently in the shadows where the streetlights couldn't reach.
inside the car.
Dojima Iwao sat in the passenger seat, his eyes fixed on the thugs through the windshield wipers.
confusion.
Dirty.
Disorder.
These people were like flies crawling on exquisite porcelain, making him feel a kind of physiological nausea, much like the extreme discomfort a person with obsessive-compulsive disorder feels when seeing a misaligned jigsaw puzzle.
"Did you see that?"
Satsuki's voice came from the back seat.
"The police don't care about them because they have no evidence. The law can't touch them because the process is too slow."
"This is the incompetence of the old order."
Satsuki lowered the car window, letting in a blast of cold air.
"Go, Dojima."
"Tell them what the rules of the Saionji family are in your own way."
"Remember, I don't want an apology, and I don't want compensation."
What I want is—quiet.
"Click".
The car door locks were unlocked.
Dojima Yan pushed open the car door.
Without the slightest hesitation, he strode into the rain.
He didn't issue a warning first, as he had done before, nor did he assume a fighting stance. He simply and slowly unbuttoned his jacket cuffs, rolled up the sleeves to his elbows, revealing his forearms covered in scars.
Then, like a precision killing machine that had been activated, he crashed straight into the crowd.
"Hey! Who are you... Ah!!"
Before the blond-haired man could finish speaking, a large hand had already grabbed his chin.
"Click."
A sharp, teeth-grinding crack.
Dislocation of the mandible.
Dojima Yan remained expressionless, casually tossing the 140-pound man into a nearby mud pit like a bag of trash.
What followed was a one-sided massacre.
Side kick, broken leg.
Elbow strike, rib crushing.
There was no wasted words, no unnecessary movements, and no so-called "showing mercy." Every strike went straight for the most vulnerable joints and nerve plexuses in the human body.
His movements were precise, efficient, and ruthless.
It's like wiping away stains—vigorously, thoroughly, leaving no trace.
Screams echoed through the rainy night, but soon turned into faint groans.
In just one minute.
All seven thugs lay on the ground. None of them could get up again, and none dared to utter a sound. Fear, like an invisible hand, had gripped their throats.
The world is quiet.
Only the sound of rain falling on the ground remained.
Dojima Iwao stood amidst the pile of people who had fallen to the ground.
He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and slowly wiped away a drop of blood that had splattered on the back of his hand.
Then, he walked up to the thug who had been spraying paint.
The thug was so scared he wet his pants and was trembling all over.
Dojima Iwao bent down, picked up the spray paint can, shoved it into the thug's hand, then grabbed his hand and pressed it against the filthy graffiti.
"Wipe it clean."
Dojima Iwao's voice was eerily calm.
"Use your clothes, or use your tongue."
"I don't like dirty things."
The thug wept bitterly, desperately wiping the wall with his half-broken sleeve, even though his hands were trembling and blood had mixed with the paint.
Dojima straightened up and looked around.
After confirming there was no other "noise," he straightened his neat collar and turned to walk towards the black sedan.
The car window slowly rolled up.
He strode back, opened the car door, and sat back in the passenger seat.
His breathing was steady, and even his heartbeat didn't quicken.
"Processed."
He said.
"How are you feeling?" Satsuki asked.
"It's very noisy."
Dojima Gen folded the blood-stained handkerchief and put it back in his pocket.
"But it's quiet now."
"That's right."
Satsuki handed her a document from the back seat.
The cover reads: "[Saionji Security Establishment Plan]".
"Dojima Iroha, I hereby formally appoint you as the head of security at Saionji."
"From today onwards, you no longer need to suppress your violence. I will give you the best equipment, the highest salary, and the most legal cover."
"There's only one thing you need to do."
Satsuki's voice echoed in the dimly lit carriage, carrying a kind of magic.
"To create an 'absolute vacuum' for the Saionji family in this chaotic Tokyo."
"In this field, there are no gangs, no thieves, and no rule-breakers."
"There are only my commands, and your execution."
Dojima Iwao took the document.
His fingers traced the gold-embossed family crest on the cover.
In the army, he was taught to obey orders, but what he saw was the weakness and corruption of his superiors.
And here.
He saw absolute power and an undisguised desire to dominate.
This is what he wanted.
It's not for some bullshit justice, but for the thrill of being able to control everything and forcibly turn chaos into order.
He turned around and looked at the girl in the back seat.
The last trace of confusion in his eyes disappeared.
"Yes, Boss."
He didn't swear any nonsense like "If this knife gets dirty, I'll break it." That's just children's play.
He was a soldier. He was also an executioner.
Having accepted a master, his master's will becomes his direction. Even if the path is paved with corpses, as long as it leads to absolute order, he will follow it without hesitation.
"very good."
Satsuki smiled with satisfaction.
"Let's get started preparing; we need to pick up our guns."
The car started, ran over the puddles, and left the mess behind.