Chapter 91

“Keep going.” After the karate club members left, Luo Quan said to Ansho Yu.

Ansho Yu nodded slightly, took his position at the drum kit, took a light breath, and began to play.

As Luo Quan had expected, every member of Kumo-i Akira’s band was no ordinary person.

Ansho Yu, who appeared slender and frail, unleashed astonishing explosive power behind the drums—enough to make the hearts of listeners around him pulse in rhythm. The rapid clatter of sticks against cymbals wove together into a stunning, breathtaking musical performance.

It had no lyrics, yet moved the soul more than any song ever could!

Sweat poured from Ansho Yu as he played, completely lost in his own world. His face, no longer shy, had hardened into fierce concentration—he seemed fused with the entire drum kit.

When the song ended, Ansho Yu set down his sticks with a light breath and glanced at Luo Quan, his eyes filled with silent hope for her praise.

“You’re the best drummer I’ve ever seen!” Luo Quan clapped enthusiastically, genuinely awed.

Luo Quan’s encouragement was like a goddess’s hymn of courage to a warrior; Ansho Yu’s expression grew noticeably more confident: “Luoquan… I’ve always…”

“You bastard!” Iwasaki Eiji had somehow appeared beside Ansho Yu, grabbing his collar and lifting half his body off the ground. “I was practicing over there just fine, and you’re banging away over here—driving me insane with the noise!”

“What are you doing?!” Kumo-i Akira shot to his feet, shouting. “Don’t think just because you do karate we’re afraid of you!”

“Huh?” Iwasaki Eiji turned and sneered at Kumo-i Akira. “So? You wanna spar with me?”

Sato Shuichi stepped forward. “Eiji-kun, enough. We’re all classmates.”

Iwasaki Eiji sneered at Ansho Yu. “I don’t consider this sissy a classmate. Always playing weak, more feminine than a woman.”

“I… I didn’t even bother you,” Ansho Yu grabbed at Iwasaki’s hand, struggling to break free—only to receive a hard kick to the chest.

Iwasaki Eiji sneered. “I’m in a bad mood today, and you’re making noise over here with zero sense. Who else deserves a beating if not you?”

Ansho Yu fell to the ground, clutching his chest and coughing several times—but he wasn’t seriously hurt.

He only looked frail; the fact he could drum like that proved his physical condition was far from poor. Still, Iwasaki’s kick had been brutal—he nearly lost his breath.

“That’s it?” Iwasaki Eiji sneered, staring down at Ansho Yu. “If you’re a man, get up. But if you stay lying there, maybe I’ll let you off. Then again, isn’t playing the coward your usual move?”

“This time, I won’t be a coward anymore!” Ansho Yu gritted his teeth against the pain in his chest and pushed himself up.

“Interesting.” Iwasaki Eiji sneered, stepping forward and swinging his right fist.

“Thud! Thud!”

Two wet thumps. Iwasaki Eiji clutched his right ribs and staggered backward seven or eight steps with tiny, rapid steps.

Everyone stared at Luo Quan in shock—Kumo-i Akira and Kamaya Suzune even gaped with mouths wide enough to swallow an egg.

“Luo Quan… knows karate!” Sato Shuichi’s eyes widened. Those two moves were unmistakably karate techniques—one block, one push, neutralizing Eiji-kun’s attack. That level was high!

Luo Quan looked at Iwasaki Eiji, who had just regained his balance. “I don’t know what Ansho-kun did to you, but is attacking him really justified?”

“Didn’t know you did karate,” Iwasaki Eiji rubbed his aching ribs, trying to laugh it off—but couldn’t.

“I learned a little for self-defense. Besides karate, I also know a bit of kendo.”

Iwasaki Eiji finally laughed. “So I told you—you should’ve joined our karate club.”

Luo Quan’s face remained expressionless. “With you as a member, I have zero interest in your club.”

“So you’re determined to stick up for this kid?”

“I don’t know what grudge you hold against him, but all people are equal. You can’t bully someone just because they’re weaker than you!”

“Do I need a reason to bully someone?” Iwasaki Eiji laughed loudly. “Someone like him doesn’t deserve to talk about equality. Look at his family, his talent—I’m superior in every way. I won’t even mention fighting him—that’d be bullying him!”

Luo Quan didn’t budge. “Everyone has their own strengths. Judging others’ worth by your own narrow standard is terribly limited.”

“So you’re determined to meddle in this matter?”

“What? You gonna hit a girl too?”

The truth proved that Luo Quan had underestimated Iwasaki Eiji’s bottom line—he actually took a fighting stance, preparing to strike.

“You really think you can beat me?” Luo Quan suddenly found it amusing. Those two moves earlier, she’d thought, would’ve made Iwasaki Eiji realize their difference.

“I just wasn’t paying attention,” Iwasaki Eiji said, stepping forward three paces and delivering two palm strikes to Luo Quan’s chest.

Despicable!

Luo Quan frowned and stopped holding back. She blocked his attack, then delivered a high kick that nearly knocked Iwasaki Eiji unconscious.

Luo Quan glanced at her own perfectly straight legs and thought, Thank goodness I wasn’t wearing a skirt today…

“So… strong…” Iwasaki Eiji lay on the ground for a long time, the pain in his chin making his mind hazy.

Luo Quan turned to Sato Shuichi. “Where’s your club president? If no one steps in to stop this, I won’t be responsible if someone gets seriously hurt.”

Sato Shuichi looked troubled. “The president is out today. Among the karate club members, Eiji-kun is the highest-ranked after the president.”

Luo Quan laughed bitterly. “So no one can control him?”

“Enough.” Iwasaki Eiji staggered to his feet, rubbing his chin, speaking softly. “Luo Quan, right? I’ll remember you. One day, you’ll fall into my hands.”

Luo Quan shot back: “There are plenty who dislike me. What makes you special?”

“You—!” Iwasaki Eiji flushed with rage, stepping forward—but then seemed to remember something, hesitating and not daring to go further.

“If you’re a man, come on. But if you just walk away quietly, maybe I’ll let you off.” Luo Quan repeated Iwasaki Eiji’s own words to Ansho Yu, word for word.

Iwasaki Eiji’s blood boiled—but seeing Luo Quan’s cold eyes and her poised, slender legs, he instantly cooled down.

Iwasaki Eiji said nothing, turned, and walked straight out of the activity room.

The atmosphere didn’t lighten after Iwasaki Eiji left—it grew heavier.

Jinggong Yaza sighed softly. “Luo Quan, you’ve got trouble.”

Luo Quan didn’t care. “What trouble? He’s gonna eat me?”

Kamaya Suzune’s expression turned grim. “You don’t know who Iwasaki Eiji really is, do you?”

“Just some rich kid or official brat with connections.”

Kumo-i Akira shook his head. “It’s not just ‘some connections.’ He’s the grandson of Iwasaki Yoshiyoshi, former chairman of the Mitsubishi Group.”

“Mitsubishi Group?” Luo Quan paused, then felt a chill. “The Mitsubishi Group—the biggest zaibatsu in Japan?”

Everyone nodded.

Luo Quan’s company, Sony, was one of Mitsui Group’s subsidiaries. And even a company the size of Sony was just one among countless others under Mitsui’s global empire.

Yet even this corporate giant ranked second in Japan. The top spot belonged to Mitsubishi Group.

Mitsubishi’s operations spanned everything—from power and oil to light industry and defense. Almost every item in daily Japanese life bore the Mitsubishi mark.

In Japan, Mitsubishi Group was practically a national pillar. A single stomp from them could shake the stock market.

And now Luo Quan had angered the grandson of Mitsubishi’s former chairman. This was serious trouble.

Ansho Yu was drenched in sweat. “I heard the Mitsubishi chairman had already been replaced, and he doesn’t even have the Iwasaki surname.”

“Different,” Jinggong Yaza shook his head. “The Mitsubishi Group was founded by Iwasaki Yataro. For over a century, it remained under the Iwasaki family’s control. Though recently, no suitable heir emerged to succeed Iwasaki Yoshiyoshi, so they temporarily appointed a foreigner as chairman—but he only holds the title. Ownership still belongs entirely to the Iwasaki family.”

In short, the current chairman is merely an agent. The true ruler of Mitsubishi Group remains Iwasaki Yoshiyoshi.”

“So what can he do to me?” Luo Quan remained calm, as if a giant zaibatsu were no more significant than a street corner convenience store.

Miyano Natsuko was baffled. “How are you so calm?”

Luo Quan replied: “I’m Chinese. In China, there’s no such thing as a zaibatsu.”

Though companies like Tencent and Alibaba have market caps far exceeding Mitsubishi, in China, merchants are always just merchants, and corporations are always just corporations.

Only those who can use capital to sway national policy and governance qualify as zaibatsu—and such zaibatsu, if they appear, are crushed within three minutes.

Even the emperor is subject to the law like any commoner. How much less so a mere merchant?

Of course, hiring lawyers to exploit legal loopholes for leniency is another matter entirely.

But under normal circumstances, in China, it’s extremely difficult—and far too risky—for capital to monopolize power. One misstep, and the whole internet explodes.

Growing up in this environment, Luo Quan naturally felt no fear toward zaibatsu. Especially since she held an even more powerful identity: she was Chinese.