I Became a Black Market Tycoon with an Inventory - Chapter 208

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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208 – Waste Factory on Tokyo Outskirts
208.
Waste Factory on Tokyo Outskirts.
Kurokawa prepared his morning green tea as he always did.
Drinking warm canned green tea in the morning was his long-established routine.
But today was different.
Today he had prepared not one, but several cups of green tea.
Moreover, instead of cheap canned tea from a Convenience Store, he had prepared loose leaf tea to be steeped.
Soon the door opened and the executives of the Waste Factory began to enter.
Today was the day of the Waste Factory’s executive meeting.
The Waste Factory had a somewhat unusual structure.
It was created by Yakuza who had dominated Japan’s underworld, pooling their strength together.
Multiple Yakuza organizations had combined their power to operate it jointly.
Former Yakuza bosses now worked together as executives.
People who once sought opportunities to cut each other’s throats,
now stood side by side under the same corporate banner.
They worked together,
and drank beer after work, but that wasn’t enough.
The accumulated hostility and rejection of years did not fade easily.
They were making efforts to grow closer,
but it was not easy to show sincerity to one another.
Yet it was unexpectedly the Investigation Headquarters that shattered that final awkwardness.
Raids, summons, media saturation.
Had even one person spoken,
had anyone confessed falsely under the strain of harsh interrogation, they would all have faced imprisonment.
But no one said anything.
They held firm to the end.
Of course, they had received help from Alex’s threatening letter,
but there were countless opportunities to change their minds.
Trusting each other until the very end and keeping their silence was entirely their own doing.
The Investigation Headquarters had cornered the Yakuza,
but in the end, they had inadvertently given them the ‘solidarity’ that the Yakuza themselves could never have achieved.
Now that they had endured the harsh trials together and been released safely,
the subtle tension that had flowed between them had vanished.
They were no longer simply a group united by profit.
They had become comrades who had faced death together,
a solid community that no pressure could break.
“I told the Boss. I asked him to leave the Investigation Headquarters’ retaliation to us.”
Kurokawa spoke up.
It was not a topic that would normally come up in the Waste Factory’s executive meeting,
None of the executives seemed surprised.
Rather, they nodded in approval at Kurokawa’s words.
“Well done. We must take our revenge ourselves.”
“We must not forget that humiliation.”
Kurokawa set down his teacup and asked.
“How should we take our revenge? Do you have any good ideas?”
Before he could finish speaking, voices filled with rage erupted.
“What’s there to think about? Just stab him, coat him in cement, and dump him in Tokyo Bay?”
“That costs too much effort. Just cut him up and dispose of him.”
“Wait, we have a Waste Factory right here, don’t we? Why make it so complicated? Just throw him in the incinerator.”
They all laughed while speaking such horrific things.
But Kurokawa was not satisfied with their answers.
Having already witnessed Alex’s methods,
these approaches seemed crude and unsophisticated to him.
Too rough and direct.
Alex’s method was different.
He tailored his tactics to suit each target.
The way he extracted Minase from the Seiwakai Headquarters where no one could penetrate, or
the way he inflicted suffering on Minase—it was so refined.
I wanted to learn from that.
Minase, Alex’s handiwork, was already half out of his mind.
He could barely speak coherently.
The shadow figure who once controlled Japan was nowhere to be found.
Once a week.
Minase underwent Wall Confinement Chamber training every Saturday.
Now, Minase trembled at the mere sight of the Wall Confinement Chamber and wet himself.
He struggled, refusing to enter.
It was remarkable how much strength this elderly man, who could barely speak, could muster in resistance.
It was astounding every time.
But it was never enough to overcome the Yakuza.
Without fail, every Saturday he was forced into the Wall Confinement Chamber.
When he emerged, Minase was transformed into something entirely different.
It was not mere violence.
It was a method of instilling fear through time and repetition.
A method of grinding away not the body, but the soul.
Kurokawa desired such refined revenge.
“Isn’t there another way? Something more sophisticated?”
After a brief silence, one man spoke up.
“Boss. I know a method that loan sharks I’m acquainted with used to employ.”
“Tell me.”
“They’re going to bury them socially.”
“Bury them?”
“Honestly, what’s left when the Police lose their reputation? They’re sensitive to scandal. We exploit that.”
“Tell me more.”
Kurokawa leaned forward with interest.
“It’s simple. The Investigation Headquarters officers turn out to be shameless sexual offenders, or they’ve been covering up their families’ corruption. That’s all we need.”
“Just that much?”
Kurokawa looked back at the executive with disbelief written across his face.
Sexual offenders?
Covering up family corruption?
Why would that matter?
Isn’t that obvious?
That becomes scandal?
That damages their reputation?
Kurokawa couldn’t believe it.
But the executive’s face radiated confidence.
“Quite the opposite. Our image has already hit rock bottom, so having mistresses or abusing authority doesn’t become an issue. But them? They’re different. Even a speck of dust becomes a scandal.”
“Is that so?”
Kurokawa asked, still unconvinced.
“That’s not all.”
“What else?”
“Similar in nature, but we transform the achievements their families earned into products of parental privilege. For example, they studied hard and landed a good job, but we reframe it as nepotistic hiring through parental influence. The parent abused their power, and the child’s accomplishments become nothing but their parent’s creation. The sense of loss those children feel is probably indescribable.”
Kurokawa clapped his hands together.
This was exactly the method he wanted.
He liked it.
Yet he still had reservations.
“Isn’t that too underhanded? Involving their families?”
“Boss. We’re Yakuza. This is almost too gentlemanly to be interesting.”
“Is that right?”
Kurokawa fell into final deliberation.
The executive added a final remark.
“And this method has never failed. Because truth doesn’t matter. We only need to create controversy. Regardless of what’s true, by then they’ve already faded from public attention. Isn’t that sufficient?”
The executive spoke with a smile.
That smile didn’t feel entirely malicious.
.
.
.
Kurokawa flipped through the photographs inside the document envelope one by one.
Warm family photos of Investigation Headquarters officers.
Photographs of someone’s commute.
And the favorite Bar he stops by on his way home from work.
The Golf course he visits on weekends.
The details of his daily life were all laid out.
It was no easy task.
I understood why Alex paid money to gather such trivial information.
Information was necessary.
Information was a blueprint.
The more information there was,
the more accurate it was, the more intricate the sketch became.
Kurokawa selected one photograph from among many.
“Let’s start with the Investigation Chief’s Son first. He’s running a business now?”
“Yes. He operates a small trading company.”
“Perfect. Plant some drugs in his cargo. Let’s frame him as a drug smuggler.”
The executive who heard this spoke with a laugh.
“His father is a drug investigation specialist, and his son smuggled drugs? The story is excellent, isn’t it? What would be a good title? The mastermind behind smuggling is the Police? Something like that would work, wouldn’t it?”
Kurokawa laughed loudly, as if imagining the situation.
“Hahahaha. How could a newspaper article be so sloppy? ‘The Crumbling Symbol of Justice: The Drug Investigation Chief’s Legacy is Drug Smuggling!’ That’s how you write it.”
“Wow~ Truly remarkable.”
The executive laughed while even clapping.
Kurokawa, gaining momentum, escalated the case.
“Create some connection to his father. Make it seem like ‘the father provided protection.’ Then the case becomes even bigger.”
“Excellent. This is exactly the kind of content the media would love.”
“No. Just say the son did it with him. Let’s make him an accomplice.”
“Good idea. Actually, even just providing protection makes him an accomplice. Khkhkhkh.”
“And that guy from the Cabinet Intelligence Bureau—let’s make him a gambling addict.”
“Understood. Should we add his name to the ledger of the secret Casino we manage?”
“That’s right. Create deposit records and put them in there. Actually deposit the money through the money laundering machine. Into his wife’s account.”
“His wife’s account?”
“That way he becomes a shameless Police officer who engaged in illegal gambling using his wife. This way the story becomes even better.”
“But if he says he didn’t do it, wouldn’t that be the end of it?”
The executive asked cautiously.
“Didn’t you hear what I said last time? What matters here isn’t the truth. If it gets reported through the media, becomes a problem, becomes an issue—that itself is the problem. If you create controversy around people who shouldn’t be controversial, then they become controversial. That’s all that matters.”
“Your words seem correct, sir.”
“That’s how they caught us. Let’s give them a taste of the same method.”
Kurokawa laughed loudly.
“Now, let’s move. The ‘techniques of fabrication’ that the Investigation Headquarters taught us. Now it’s time to return the favor.”
.
.
.
The Office of the Japanese Port Explosion Investigation Headquarters Chief.
The Investigation Chief had been reviewing case reports since early morning.
It was frustrating.
He was searching for an organization to frame in place of the Yakuza, but there was no suitable candidate.
Then, without warning, the door burst open with a loud crash from outside.
Those who appeared were former colleagues and junior officers.
Now members of the Inspection Division.
“We are placing you under emergency arrest on suspicion of drug trafficking and bribery.”
The Investigation Chief’s face drained of all color.
“What are you talking about? I’ve never done such a thing!”
The Investigation Chief was bewildered, at a loss for words.
Though he had arrested dozens, hundreds of criminals, he had never once imagined he himself would be arrested.
There was nothing he could do.
“No. I’m telling you, no.”
“I have committed no crime.”
“Drug trafficking? I’ve been investigating narcotics for years now.”
But the Investigation Chief’s cries rang hollow.
The evidence presented by the Inspection Division was flawless.
Methamphetamine that had disappeared from a search site where he had led the operation was found in the possession of the Investigation Chief’s Son.
Large sums of money with unknown origins had been deposited into the Investigation Chief’s Son’s account.
“This is fabrication. This makes no sense. If you’re police, you should conduct a proper investigation. How can you come with such doctored evidence?”
The head of the Inspection Division spoke in a flat voice to the screaming Investigation Chief.
“Don’t you know? Evidence takes precedence over emotion. That’s what I learned from you, Teacher.”
Those words crushed the Investigation Chief’s heart.
It was the principle he had hammered into his subordinates relentlessly.
The ironclad logic he had created had now returned as a noose tightening around his own neck.
The Investigation Chief’s head hung low.
.
.
.
The Police Headquarters Lobby was filled with numerous reporters waiting.
When the Investigation Chief appeared in handcuffs,
camera flashes erupted from all directions, and questions poured in.
“Is it true that you smuggled drugs together with your son?”
“Was the smuggling route your own idea?”
“Please explain what happened to the missing seized items.”
“There are claims that your extensive investigation of the Yakuza was to cover up evidence—is that true?”
“What do you think of the nickname ‘Yakuza in uniform’?”
Questions continued to pour down, but the Investigation Chief could say nothing.
The questions were not inquiries.
They had already condemned him as a criminal.
No matter how loudly I proclaimed the truth, no matter how righteous I claimed to be, opening my mouth here would be suicide.
Every word I spoke would be edited by the devil’s hand and transformed into shameless excuses.
I had fallen victim to my own tactics—summoning public opinion when circumstances turned unfavorable.
The Investigation Chief had no choice but to lower his head and board the transport vehicle.
It was a perfect, refined social assassination—not a single word of defense permitted.
.
.
.
At the same moment.
Executives gathered in Kurokawa’s office.
They all watched together as the Investigation Chief crumbled.
What they held in their hands was neither beer nor sake, but warm green tea.
It was a calm, ordinary day—not a celebration.
“Look at that. It’s truly satisfying.”
“He must have enjoyed it when he was the one putting others in.
“He fell for his own scheme.”
The conference room filled with laughter,
but Kurokawa did not laugh.
He simply stared expressionlessly at the Investigation Chief’s face on the screen.
The image of the Investigation Chief interrogating him in that interrogation room surfaced in his mind.
“Guys like you always burn in the end.”
That gaze from back then.
The Investigation Chief had already defined Kurokawa as someone to be broken.
He had not seen Kurokawa as a person,
but had categorized him as something to be controlled at any time.
It was only a matter of time.
The pressure to extract a confession by any means.
That gaze had contained both the threat of pain and the temptation of relief if he surrendered.
He had despised that gaze so much.
So he had clenched his teeth all the harder and endured.
Just as celebration began to bloom among the executives,
Kurokawa spoke.
“This is only the beginning.”
The air in the room settled once more.
The atmosphere must not loosen already.
This was only one.
There were still others who needed to be caught.
It was not yet time to raise a toast.
“The others have all begun their operations.”
“What about the Investigation Chief’s Son?”
“He’s completely lost his mind. For now, he’s insisting on his innocence. He claims he lost contact with his father long ago. He even said, ‘I never had a father like that.'”
“What about the media?”
“Shin is taking the lead, reporting everything as-is. It’s sensational enough that the view counts are skyrocketing.”
A method of tearing families apart.
The fastest way, the deepest way to inflict a wound.
“Good. Let the media handle the emotional angle. We move forward with other operations.”
“Understood.”
“What happened with the gambler situation?”
“We’ve already made the deposit, and we’ve naturally obscured the money trail. We’re planning to expose it through the Broker. We’ve filed a complaint with the Inspection Division···”
In the executive office of the Waste Factory, a conversation utterly incongruous with the facility itself was taking place.
Yet the executives’ expressions were bright.
Having faced the same crisis and resolved it together, they had finally become one.
At last, they could bear the name Yakuza.

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