Chapter 34

At eight p.m., Luo Quan wore a dress for the first time in her life—her only white dress in the closet.

“Oh? All dressed up? Going to meet an online friend?” Wen Xia joked, watching Luo Quan emerge from her room while seated on the living room sofa.

“Meet an online friend? The company needs me for something.” Luo Quan forced a smile, pretending everything was normal.

This matter had nothing to do with Wen Xia; she didn’t want Wen Xia dragged into it.

“Have a safe trip,” Wen Xia replied casually, not noticing the gravity in Luo Quan’s brow.

Outside the apartment, Luo Quan leaned against the door and took a deep breath. After a day of exhausting thought, she’d devised a temporary, superficial solution—perhaps enough to ease the immediate crisis.

Before descending the stairs, Luo Quan pulled out her phone and posted a tweet.

Outside the apartment, Sanmu, Starfield Sakura, and Sakura’s manager were already waiting in the car. Like Luo Quan, Sakura looked tense, fists clenched; seeing Luo Quan arrive, her spirits eased slightly.

“Luo Quan-san, this is from Director Ishimura—he insisted you and Sakura-san wear it,” Sanmu turned and handed over a watch.

“The watch has a recorder. If you encounter danger inside, press the button on the side—we’ll be notified immediately, and the police will be alerted right away.”

Director Ishimura said the Metropolitan Police will respond faster than ever this time—that’s the absolute limit of what the company can do.”

“I understand,” Luo Quan nodded and slipped the elegant quartz watch onto her wrist.

After giving the instructions, Sanmu turned and fastened his seatbelt, driving toward Kabukicho.

For the entire ride, no one spoke. Sakura appeared to be resting with her eyes closed, but her trembling shoulders betrayed her inner anxiety and fear.

Luo Quan leaned her head against the car door, staring blankly at the scenery rushing past outside.

Nighttime Tokyo was a vast steel forest, each “tree” lit with lights like fireflies, illuminating and adorning this world drowning in material desire.

Though ahead lay bright lights, what Luo Quan saw was only chilling darkness.

In this cage of desire, some still struggled desperately to survive, while others had crossed class boundaries and become monsters who could exploit the weak at will.

On both sides of the road to Kabukicho, dazzling street scenes sparkled like falling stars; in the center, luxury cars surged past in endless variety, evoking the image of “fine carriages fragrant along the road.”

This was the most developed district of Asia’s first international metropolis—every form of prosperity, luxury, and glamour humanity could imagine could be found here; correspondingly, every form of crime, suffering, and moral decay humanity could imagine could also be found here.

This was heaven. This was hell.

Once, Luo Quan had lived carefree—the benefits granted to her as a transmigrator had ensured a life of comfort, even excess.

But today, she gained a new understanding of this world, of life itself.

Countless thoughts surged in her mind, yet she couldn’t sort them out in an instant.

She had once believed she stood at a height most ordinary people could never reach; now, looking back, that mindset seemed laughable.

In the end, she was just a singer—no matter how talented, how beautiful her voice, she was still only a singer.

Luo Quan had finally awakened—but she didn’t know if this awakening came too early or too late.

Unconsciously, Sanmu had arrived at their destination. Before stepping out, Sakura’s manager handed each of them a pair of sunglasses.

Kabukicho was crowded; if they were recognized here, trouble would follow.

Once, Luo Quan had fantasized about this famed Asian red-light district—where, if you paid, the finest women or male hostesses would offer you the most attentive services, catering to all tastes and welcoming all ages.

The staff here used countless methods to relieve clients’ inner anguish and soothe their lonely, empty souls.

Of course, most transactions in legitimate establishments were aboveboard—clients and staff never engaged in inappropriate acts on the premises; the exchange was merely tea and conversation, in full compliance with national laws.

But when a man and woman spent too long in a room decorated with X-rated motifs, feelings inevitably shifted—so “love at first sight” was perfectly normal.

If client and staff took to each other, after the staff’s shift ended, the client could openly invite them elsewhere to continue the night’s romance—this was entirely legal and reasonable.

Though framed in noble terms and euphemistically called the “customs industry,” at its core it was merely dirty money-for-sex transactions, exploiting the personal value of the vulnerable.

Such transactions existed in every country, but only Japan had developed them into a semi-legal industry, infiltrating film and television, and establishing a complete talent cultivation system.

Once, Luo Quan had been curious about Kabukicho, eager to see what it was truly like; now that she was here, she felt deeply uneasy.

Environmentally, the place was awash in colorful neon lights, radiating desire and temptation with every flicker.

Pedestrians came and went—solitary beauties in their thirties, middle-aged men arm-in-arm.

Shops along the street were countless and varied: free consultation booths, Sakura Izakayas, and countless unnamed establishments, each with a few staff members standing at the door to lure customers.

Both men and women.

Wearing sunglasses, Luo Quan and Sakura quickly became the focus of several staff members. By common sense, women with such figures rarely had poor looks; even if they were unattractive, makeup could always make them presentable.

Soon, a handsome male host with shoulder-length blonde hair approached, smiling confidently and warmly, his voice rich and magnetic as he greeted Luo Quan and Sakura.

For some male hosts, working here was often a guaranteed profit—they could decide whether to proceed with a client based on the client’s quality.

Many lonely, wealthy Japanese housewives came to Kabukicho seeking “prey,” but in the eyes of these hosts, they themselves were the true hunters.

Without question, these two women were the most coveted prey in every host’s eyes.

To attract attention, the host deliberately tousled his wavy hair, showcasing his charm.

But the two women, lost in thought, didn’t even glance at him—they walked straight ahead in silence.

The prey’s indifference crushed the host’s pride, filling him with humiliation. He stepped forward to speak—when a man in a suit walking toward him made him flee like a kicked dog.

“Director Yamamoto has been waiting for you both.”

The man in the suit showed no expression, but in Luo Quan’s eyes, his gaze carried a hint of mockery and contempt.

“You may return. When the meeting concludes, we will deliver the two artists home.” The suit blocked the two managers.

Sanmu frowned and stood still beside Sakura’s manager.

The suit paid them no further attention, merely guiding Luo Quan and Sakura toward the front entrance of the Paradise Bar.

This bar was the headquarters of Yamamoto Kōfu, the wakagashira of the Sumiyoshi-kai; he usually met friends or subordinate group leaders here, and also met his lovers here.

Normally, the bar was open to the public, but due to its reputation, those who came to indulge were mostly delinquents or gyaru.

Tonight, however, Paradise Bar had closed to the public—its owner, Yamamoto, was hosting two high-profile guests, though the invitation had been far from honorable.

Outside the bar stood three or four guards, all in black suits, but far less physically imposing than the two men who had kidnapped Sakura; Luo Quan estimated that if her wrist hadn’t been injured, she could have taken all four alone.

But once inside the bar, she realized she’d been naive.

In the circular bar space, a full ring of men in black suits stood silently—roughly seventy or eighty of them, motionless at the dimly lit entrance to the booths, like statues of samurai.

At the far end, directly opposite the entrance, a bright seat awaited—Yamamoto Kōfu sat there.