I Became a Black Market Tycoon with an Inventory - Chapter 178

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

178 – Gun Incident
178.
Senryukai had decided to strike Aoichimoji, a Criminal Organization with roots in the same city of Osaka.
Aoichimoji was close by and vulnerable.
The deliberation was brief.
The urgency matched that brevity.
Swallowing Aoichimoji would double their revenue.
Two hundred million won a day.
That would significantly increase the odds of winning money back from GoGo Casino.
Even if they lost, they could recover.
Senryu’s mind had been reduced to that level of simplicity.
He could see nothing beyond the immediate horizon.
Osaka Outskirts.
A black van blocked the entrance to the Aoichimoji Office.
The door opened and Senryu stepped out.
He surveyed the surroundings once.
Overcast sky.
No people, no vehicles in sight.
Perfect weather for the job.
“Alright. Go to work.”
Senryu spoke in a low voice.
“Yes.”
At Senryu’s command, men wielding blades burst into the building.
They kicked down the door, shattered the windows, and stormed inside.
They were all older men,
but in this moment they moved with remarkable speed.
Dull thuds echoed from within.
The sounds of shattering glass and destruction.
Screams pierced the air.
In truth, such crude, direct assaults were rarely employed these days.
The collateral damage was disproportionate to the results.
Even subduing the enemy without significant casualties posed problems.
Japan had exceptionally stringent legislation, including anti-gang ordinances,
and orchestrating large-scale brawls like this could make the entire Criminal Organization a target.
The organization could be dissolved, or its members frozen out.
It was a high-risk operation.
But Senryu’s vision had already narrowed to nothing else.
Devour or be devoured.
That was all that mattered.
The building’s interior descended into chaos in an instant.
Aoichimoji couldn’t mount a proper defense.
Aoichimoji had never been built for combat in the first place.
Real estate, redevelopment, subcontractor management.
They had money, but they weren’t an organization that fought with their bodies.
Before Senryukai, they crumbled helplessly.
Blades slashed through the air,
tables overturned,
and bodies fell.
Senryu stepped back, observing the carnage unfold.
It was unfolding exactly as expected.
‘It’s over.’
That was the moment.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
An unfamiliar sound pierced the air.
It wasn’t the clash of blades and fists.
Senryu’s face hardened.
“What the—”
He instinctively dropped low.
Through the smoke drifting upward, I saw the Aoichimoji Chairman swaying on his feet, already half-delirious.
A rifle was gripped in his hands.
Senryu’s eyes widened.
Surely not.
But it was unmistakable.
An 89-series rifle.
I knew it well.
Because I’d received one too.
From Alex.
The bag Alex had handed me contained this very rifle.
Along with ammunition.
I’d thought there’d be no use for firearms in Japan, where they were prohibited, but I’d accepted it just in case.
But Aoichimoji had one as well?
This was a miscalculation.
I hadn’t anticipated this.
I’d assumed there would be no need for guns, but I couldn’t simply take this lying down.
We were almost there.
Just one more step and I could consume Aoichimoji, but I couldn’t retreat now.
Senryu steeled his resolve and issued a command.
Senryu gave the order as if he had steeled his resolve.
“Hey. Bring ours too.”
The Captain hesitated for a moment.
“Are you really going to use it?”
Senryu nodded silently.
The Captain brought the bag, and Senryu gripped the gun in his hand.
The cold sensation of metal registered against my skin.
Drawing a breath, Senryu pulled the trigger immediately.
Gunfire echoed through Osaka.
*******
“What’s going on?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Takahashi, a detective from the Violent Crimes Division at Osaka Police Headquarters, muttered quietly as he surveyed the scene.
A rainy dawn.
The alley in front of the Aoichimoji Office was already cordoned off.
Yellow police tape.
Blue emergency lights.
Patrol cars, riot vehicles, and ambulances were tangled together.
“A gunfight in the heart of Osaka. Insane.”
Takahashi reached for a cigarette, then put it back.
This wasn’t just a simple brawl scene.
The ground was marked with blade cuts, blood stains, and tangled footprints.
And spent shell casings scattered about.
It didn’t seem right to smoke in a place like this.
“Detective.”
A forensics technician in a white protective suit called out to Takahashi.
Takahashi nodded and approached.
The technician carefully lifted a shell casing with tweezers.
“This casing. It’s not from a handgun.”
The technician spoke while placing the casing into a transparent evidence bag.
Takahashi accepted the bag and examined the casing inside carefully.
“I see. A rifle?”
The technician nodded.
“5.56mm caliber.”
“Hmm…”
The technician hesitated before continuing.
“I apologize for saying this, but it’s likely from a Type 89 rifle.”
“What?”
The surroundings fell silent in an instant.
Detectives nearby turned their heads.
“Are you certain?”
“I’m more than 90 percent certain. The cartridge specifications, the rifling marks on the bullet, the chamber impressions. And most decisively, the crescent-shaped mark stamped on the cartridge shoulder. That’s a distinctive feature unique to the Type 89 rifle.”
Takahashi’s expression hardened.
It was already strange enough that firearms were being discharged in Osaka, but a Type 89 rifle used by the Japan Self-Defense Forces? That made it far worse.
“Just one?”
“No, sir.”
The agent produced another envelope.
It too contained multiple spent cartridges.
“At minimum, two or more. It appears they were attacking each other.”
“So they were attacking each other, and both were Type 89s?”
“Yes. Identical models.”
The detectives murmured among themselves upon hearing the agent’s words.
“Yakuza with Type 89 rifles?”
“How did they even obtain these weapons?”
“Could they have come from a Japan Self-Defense Forces armory?”
“That seems unlikely. There must be some reason behind this.”
Takahashi desperately wanted a cigarette, but he couldn’t smoke in here.
First, he needed to organize the situation.
“Where are Type 89 rifles used?”
“The Japan Self-Defense Forces, and perhaps research facilities.”
The National Forensic Service agent answered.
Either the weapons had leaked from the Japan Self-Defense Forces,
or they came from a research facility. That was it.
A comprehensive investigation would reveal the truth.
Then a detective beside him casually threw out a remark.
“There’s also the manufacturer. The Type 89 rifle is made in Japan, after all.”
Takahashi nearly forgot about that.
That these rifles were being manufactured in Japan.
He’d almost overlooked what could be the most promising lead.
Takahashi looked at the detective who had spoken.
“The Type 89 is managed by a specific contractor from production through maintenance to disposal.”
The man added further explanation to his own point.
Takahashi thought for a moment, then picked up his phone.
“Yes, sir. All firearms are presumed to be Type 89s. At minimum, two or more units. We’ll need to investigate starting with the Japan Self-Defense Forces, then research facilities, and all defense contractors.”
There was no response from the other end of the line.
After a long pause, an answer finally came.
“We might struggle with this on our own.”
“We’ll transition to a joint investigation with the Public Security Bureau.”
“We’ll also conduct a formal investigation into the defense contractors.”
The official investigation into the shooting had begun.
Not just the Japan Self-Defense Forces, but research facilities and defense contractors as well.
*******
“Things got pretty chaotic out there.”
“Really?”
Scott filled me in on the situation.
His account was brief, yet laden with implications.
I hadn’t known because it hadn’t made the news, but the fallout seemed far more extensive than I’d anticipated.
To be precise, it hadn’t been reported at all.
It was simply dismissed as a yakuza dispute in Osaka.
The government had clearly imposed a media blackout.
Not even an embargo—they’d issued an outright ban on coverage.
A gunfight in the heart of Osaka.
If this became public knowledge, the entire nation would be gripped by fear.
So it had to be buried completely.
And the source of those firearms had to be traced quickly.
Found and sealed off entirely.
Osaka’s police alone couldn’t handle it.
The prosecutors got involved, and the Public Security Intelligence Agency mobilized.
The Cabinet Intelligence Bureau joined in, forming a massive task force.
The Osaka Gun Incident Joint Investigation Headquarters was established.
.
.
.
Everything changed.
The yakuza went underground in unison.
They vanished so completely they couldn’t be found.
They extinguished the lights in their offices, closed their accounts, and scattered.
Meanwhile, the institutions faced scrutiny.
The Japan Self-Defense Forces underwent a comprehensive audit of their firearms.
Armories were opened, serial numbers cross-referenced, and storage records examined.
The results were immaculate.
No missing weapons, no ammunition discrepancies, and impeccable management records.
The research facilities were equally clean.
Experimental, test, and storage firearms were all meticulously maintained.
As a result, all suspicion fell squarely on defense contractors.
Defense contractors found it far more difficult to clear their names.
With the Self-Defense Forces, if they received 100 guns, having 100 guns present was sufficient.
And they’d verified exactly that.
But defense contractors operated differently.
Delivering 100 guns didn’t mean they’d manufactured exactly 100.
There could be defective units, or prototypes.
There could be trial products, improved versions, test models.
There are records of how many units were produced, but there’s plenty of room for suspicion.
Forgery at that level was entirely possible.
They claimed they were innocent,
but they had to explain themselves, and that was far too difficult.
.
.
.
In any case, my objective had been achieved.
My goal was to create suspicion that firearms manufactured by defense contractors were circulating outside their control.
Firearms made by defense contractors not being properly managed and circulating within the country?
People using those guns to kill someone?
It was bound to become an enormous problem.
This wasn’t a simple crime.
It was a problem with the national system itself.
To construct that narrative, I had brought in Type 89 rifles through Dennis.
There was only one reason Dennis said Type 89 rifles were difficult to obtain.
Because they weren’t exported.
They were hard to find overseas.
Except for Japan, no one used Type 89 rifles.
Thanks to that, whenever a Type 89 rifle appeared, it could only be traced back to Japan.
Dennis said he’d bought it from a Japanese soldier who had lost it during his service with the UN Peacekeeping Force.
If someone went on a shooting spree with that gun, it would become a social issue,
and defense contractors would inevitably come under suspicion.
The question was who would fire that gun.
From my perspective, it didn’t matter who did it.
They just had to fire it.
Whether yakuza used it or civilians—it made no difference.
I simply handed it to whoever seemed most capable of using it.
And the yakuza performed that role very well.
Very cleanly.
In return, I cut off the payments I’d been giving the yakuza.
I couldn’t keep funding them indefinitely.
The funny thing was that the money deposited into GoGo Casino was more than what I’d given them.
In any case, they were considerate yakuza—they returned the money I gave them to spend.
This incident wouldn’t completely sever the relationship between defense contractors and the government.
Whether they performed well or poorly, defense contractors were necessary.
They were essential to protecting the nation.
But perspectives would shift somewhat.
Reports would become more rigorous, and questions would multiply.
Surveillance and oversight at the scene would only grow more stringent.
At least for the time being, the government would stop playing the fool for the sake of defense contractors’ profits.
That much was excellent.
.
.
.
“You may return home. However, you are prohibited from leaving the country. We will summon you again within two to three days.”
Sato of Mizuhara Heavy Defense, having finished his interrogation at the Osaka Gun Incident Joint Investigation Headquarters, stepped out of the building.
He clenched his teeth as he walked.
Fury burned through him to the tips of his hair.
He was furious at the investigators’ attitude.
No matter how many times he insisted it wasn’t true.
Even when he provided evidence, they refused to believe him.
“Could the evidence have been fabricated?”
“Are there no items unrecorded in the ledgers?”
“How do you handle defective products?”
“Can you be certain?”
The questions never ended.
They twisted similar questions slightly and hurled them at him relentlessly.
No matter how much truth he laid bare, they refused to believe him.
It was as if they had already decided on their answer before speaking.
If this continued, all the defense contractors would end up taking the fall.
He had to do something.
In the car on his way home, Sato pondered.
How could he overcome this crisis?
What method existed to navigate through this predicament?
Then, suddenly, Miyamoto from the Defense Equipment Agency’s Export Strategy Division came to mind.
A man capable of moving guns overseas.
Someone with a reasonably high position.
And a man with excessive ambition and loose morals.
What if he pinned the blame on that man?
It was a wicked thought, but without it, all the defense contractors would inevitably become sacrificial lambs.
Sato quietly gathered people from the defense industry.
And they put their heads together.
It didn’t take long.
They planted documents on Miyamoto’s computer and left traces of him receiving money.
It was meticulous and silent.
Days later.
Breaking news.
Miyamoto, the Export Strategy Division Director of the Defense Equipment Agency, has been found dead in his residence.
The Police have confirmed that Sato experienced severe psychological pressure during recent investigations and believe he made an extreme choice.
No suicide note was found.
Sato turned off the television and stretched both arms out wide.
It’s finally over.
A long and exhausting battle.
Through the Inventory, I had become a magnate of the black market.
178 – Gun Incident
E-book Publication
/ January 22, 2026
Author
/ Black Card
Publisher
/ Son Je-ho
Published by
/ Munpia
Address
/ Doosan Landmark Tower 12F, 308 Gangnam-daero, Gangnam-gu, Seoul
List Price
/ 100 Won
https://munpia.com
[email protected]
© Black Card, 2026
This e-book is
Munpia
published in accordance with a contract with the copyright holder, and
Munpia
without written permission from, this e-book and its contents may not be used in any form or by any means.
This e-book is a copyrighted work protected by copyright law, and unauthorized reproduction or duplication may result in legal liability.
979-11-11-99634-4

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————