What sort of ultimatum is that, you cheap prick?

“I’m sure you know exactly why I asked for you by name, do you not?” he asks, waiting until the teaching assistant has left
“I can assure you I have no idea, Dojima-sensei.”

How the hell did they find out my real identity? I never approach them without a mask, and I never give them my real name. Is it possible this is some ridiculous fluke?

“Don’t act so unfamiliar, Fudou-san, we’re business partners, aren’t we? Or should I call you ‘Ouroboros?’”

Not a fluke. Fuck.

“How did you find out who I am?”
“Did you really expect to keep your identity hidden from me? For someone who’s worked with us for so long, you don’t seem to understand the extent of our information network all that well.”

Of course. These Yakuza bastards have informants everywhere. If a single person saw me take off or put on my identifying mask or leather jacket, the chances are the Yakuza would know my identity within the day. I was careless.

“Alright, cut to the chase, Dojima. Why are you here? Why the school of all places?”
“Are you aware of a person that the underlings are calling ‘the Masked Judge?’”
“...I don’t know the name, but I may know who you’re talking about.”

Masked judge. A masked girl with “judgement” written on her glove seems like a good candidate for such a name.

“Well, she’s been causing us quite the bit of hassle. Prowling our trafficking routes, assaulting our couriers, being a nuisance at every possible turn. In fact, I do believe she interrupted one of your own jobs just yesterday, correct?”

Bingo.

“Your boys dropped their guts the second she showed up. Even if I’d fought her off, the job was over.”
“Oh, I’m well aware of the actions of my men. They have been… appropriately punished. But the fact remains that a high volume of Liquid Love was not delivered to those who ordered it, and the one to blame is the deranged miscreant masquerading as a vigilante.”

At least they’re blaming her and not me. I’d prefer not to get on the bad side of these crazy fuckers, especially now they know my identity. But that doesn’t answer my question.

“What exactly does that have to do with the school?”
“Well, my dear Ouroboros, our informants believe that this ‘Masked Judge’ is a student at this very school. And I intend to have her dealt with.”

…what? The vigilante girl, the one who had seemingly mastered at least two different martial arts, was a student here? How could that even be possible?

“You’re certain? The Judge goes to this school? You’re absolutely sure?”
“Well, certain might not be the right word, but our sources are rarely incorrect.”
“How exactly did they draw this conclusion?”
“You think I would reveal that to a freelancer?”

Should have known. They may hire me for jobs, but they’d never trust someone who’s not one of their own with information like this. Fuck. I’m gonna have to roll with this.

“So, what exactly do you want from me? You went through the trouble of calling me out by name, you must have some sort of job for me.”
“Is it not obvious? I may be here to find the vigilante, but I can’t fight a student while employed as a teacher. I will be responsible for identifying this Masked Judge, but you, my boy, will be the one to snuff her out and send her to us.”

My stomach drops. They want me to deliver one of my own schoolmates? I know exactly how these Yakuza types operate. Wherever it is I’d be sending her, she likely wouldn’t be leaving alive.

“Why exactly would I do that?”
“Is fifty million yen in cash a good enough answer?”
“Fifty mi-”

That’s more than every job I’ve taken from them combined. In fact, it’s enough to pay off the very thing I got involved with them for in the first place, and then some. It’s money that would solve every problem in my life. But even so…

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to decline. I’m not giving one of my classmates up for you to make an example out of. You’re on your own, Dojima.”

I can’t do a job like this. Helping them traffic drugs and weapons is one thing, but I’m not getting someone killed for my own selfish reasons. I’ll get the money some other way.

“Oh, but Ouroboros-san, do you really have a choice? After all, we know who you are now. In fact, we know everything about you.”
…oh fuck, I know where this is going.
“It’s Kasumi, right? That younger sister of yours? I hear the chemotherapy is going well, that’s good to hear.”
“What did you do to Sumi, you son of a bitch?”

If this motherfucker has laid a single hand on that girls head, I’ll beat him to a pulp, here and now.

“Do to her? Nothing. We wouldn’t hurt a defenceless young girl like that. But I’m sure chemo isn’t cheap, especially with both your parents being gone. I suppose you have no other avenue to support her but your work with us, no?”
“I’ll get a real job. I can support her in other ways if I have to.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Ouroboros. We need you to do this for us, and we’ll do whatever it takes to make sure it’s done. I’m sure you understand what that means.”

Cowardly fucking rats. Not attacking me or family directly, but going after my income instead. They don’t just want to threaten me into doing this, they want me to be completely reliant on them.

I was an idiot to ever get involved with this scum in the first place.

“…what do you need me to do?”
“Just feed me any information you can, and when the time comes, act on it. I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out the best course of action on your own.”

Absolute fucking bastard. He’s twisted my arm, and now my only options are to let my own sister die or get one of my classmates butchered. These Yakuza truly are the lowest scum in history.

“Fine, I’ll do it. But in the meantime I’m gonna need to keep working the same jobs, I can’t persist on the empty promise of a big future payout.”
“I’m glad we could come to an arrangement, Ouroboros-san. I’m sure it’ll be mutually beneficial.”
“Oh, shove it, Dojima. And don’t call me Ouroboros in front of anyone.”

My life just got a whole lot messier.