TOIGC 73

Chapter 73 …

Five Birds with One Stone (3)

Two full days passed before Hermès Japan finally reached out again.

During that time, Yoongi had enjoyed a pleasant recovery in the hospital alongside Meryl, but the moment Yamada walked into the room, Yoongi immediately put on a pale, physically and mentally exhausted mask.

“Uhm… how are you feeling?” “Ah, yes…”

Faced with Yoongi’s thoroughly fatigued expression, Yamada’s complexion grew even darker.

“I am deeply, terribly sorry. Our negligence and sloppy management have caused you immense trouble. Please forgive us.” “I hardly think this is a situation that warrants talking about forgiveness… How do you folks plan to wrap this up?”

Given that Watanabe—the actual culprit—was nowhere to be seen, Yamada casually tossing around the word forgiveness brought a bitter smile to Yoongi’s lips, though he kept it carefully hidden.

“Ah… we received a preliminary directive from headquarters. We are officially terminating our modeling contract with Watanabe-kun.” “I see.”

Just as Yoongi nodded, Yamada spoke up once more.

“Um…” “Is there something else you wanted to say?” “I’m not entirely sure if it’s appropriate for me to bring this up…” “Then you probably shouldn’t say it.”

Sensing that Yamada was severely underestimating his resolve and viewing him as too soft, Yoongi deliberately paced the conversation to keep him off balance.

“Pardon? No, wait… well, you see…”

Thrown completely off guard by Yoongi’s blunt shutdown, Yamada hesitated for a moment before blurting out what he wanted to say anyway.

“I apologize. Look… headquarters gave us that directive, but I still believe there is room for negotiation… Watanabe-kun genuinely wants to apologize, so would you be willing to reconsider this matter?”

Yoongi had already firmly decided to cut Yamada loose, but he kept the dialogue rolling.

“Reconsider, you say?” “If Yoon-san would just grant us your permission, we’d like to smooth this over, contact headquarters, and revoke Watanabe-kun’s contract termination. Watanabe-kun is still young and let his hotheaded impulses get the better of him; it would be a shame to ruin a young man’s entire life over a momentary mistake. After all, Yoon-san will reach that fiery, passionate age yourself one of these days.”

Are you shitting me, you crazy bastard? What kind of garbage is spewing out of that open hole you call a mouth?

As Cha Pil-gyu snapped in frustration, Seo Jong-hoon shot him a sharp glare.

Though Yoongi hadn’t explicitly chewed him out, the security lapse from before was a massive blunder. Seo Jong-hoon had assumed he was acting as a secretary rather than a frontline bodyguard, failing to guide Cha Pil-gyu properly, while Cha Pil-gyu lacked the experience to think of following them right into the restroom. Because of that, Seo Jong-hoon had spent Yoongi’s entire hospital stay drilling his own security experience into Cha Pil-gyu—only for Cha Pil-gyu to mess up again by popping off like this. Bodyguards had no business interrupting a live negotiation table.

“Cha Pil-gyu!” “Ugh… s-sorry. I just got so pissed off…”

If Yoongi had actually understood Japanese, Cha Pil-gyu wouldn’t have had to get so worked up. But because the conversation between Yoongi and Yamada was being relayed through Seo Jong-hoon’s translations, the downside was that everyone around them could hear every single word. Of course, the fact that Yoongi wasn’t making a bigger deal out of it was proof in itself that everything was under control.

“Yoongi, my bad.” “No worries, just keep translating for me.”

With Cha Pil-gyu giving a subdued nod, the dialogue between Yoongi and Yamada resumed.

“It’s quite fascinating that you’re asking me to forgive a guy who couldn’t even bother to show up and apologize in person. Is that how things usually work in Japan?” “Ah, no, not at all! The reason I came today is to cordially invite you to an official apology session.” “Instead of him coming here to apologize?” “Watanabe-kun feels terribly guilty and is too ashamed to show his face right now. He wants to offer his apologies in a much more formal, respectable setting. If you would graciously agree to meet him…”

Yoongi let out a loud, theatrical sigh right in front of Yamada and gave a slow nod.

“Very well. Let’s see just how sincere this apology of his really is.” “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

His face instantly lit up with relief, Yamada bowed repeatedly and poured out profuse expressions of gratitude before scrambling out of the hospital room.

“Yoongi, are you seriously going to meet him? I’ve dealt with plenty of Japanese folks over the years, and trust me, guys like that don’t do this out of genuine remorse.”

At Seo Jong-hoon’s warning, Yoongi let out a light, cynical chuckle.

“Of course I know that. I’m doing this precisely to make sure they leave zero room for excuses.” “Excuses?” “Exactly. If I actually show up tomorrow, it covers all my bases. If I refused to go, they’d just run crying back to headquarters whining, ‘We tried to apologize, but the other party refused to meet us.’ Sure, headquarters’ directive isn’t going to change either way, but wouldn’t it be better to crush them completely while we’re at it? There’s nothing more annoying than thinking you killed a bug by crushing it in tissue paper, only for it to fly away the second you lift the tissue.”

A sly, calculating smile crept across Yoongi’s lips.

The day after Yamada left the hospital room.

True to the invitation, Yoongi headed toward an ultra-luxury traditional Japanese ryokan restaurant located in Kyoto.

The sheer audacity of demanding Yoongi travel all the way to Kyoto for an apology—when Yamada should have dragged the culprit straight to the hospital room on his knees—left everyone bewildered, but Yoongi deliberately decided to play along. After all, stepping into their turf was a necessary step for his follow-up plan to click into place.

“This is Yoon-san, here by the invitation of Yamada-san or Watanabe-san.”

At Seo Jong-hoon’s announcement, the ryokan attendant flashed a practiced hospitality smile and began guiding Yoongi and Seo Jong-hoon toward the deepest interior of the establishment. Soon, they reached a corridor so long it was obvious a private VIP room waited at the very end.

“From this point on, only Yoon-san may enter.”

A man in his mid-thirties wearing a sharp business suit stepped out to block Seo Jong-hoon’s path at the entrance of the hallway, prompting Seo Jong-hoon to let out a dry, incredulous laugh.

“Cut the crap. What kind of idiot expects someone who doesn’t even speak Japanese to go in there all by himself?”

The thirty-something man maintained a stiff expression, pasting on an out-of-place, thin smile as he shook his head.

“We have arranged a Korean interpreter inside, so communication will not be an issue whatsoever.” “I said cut the bullshit.” “My apologies, but that is the establishment’s policy.”

The one who cut through their standoff was Yoongi.

“Looks like we aren’t allowed to go in together, so let’s head back.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Yoongi turned on his heel. Sensing the absolute finality in his movement, the Japanese man panicked and called out desperately.

“A-alright! Please, come inside together!”

His Korean was slightly awkward and accented. Glancing at the flustered employee with a wry smile, Yoongi resumed walking down the corridor alongside Seo Jong-hoon.

“Are you sure this is a good idea…?” “Don’t worry.”

When Yoongi and Seo Jong-hoon slid open the door to the private VIP room, they found Yamada and Watanabe seated inside, surrounded by dozens of burly men who screamed Yakuza from every pore, lining the walls like human wallpaper.

“Welcome, Yoon-san!”

Yamada scrambled to his feet and bowed deeply at the waist, while Watanabe merely gave a half-hearted twitch of his head while remaining firmly seated.

“I came here expecting an apology, but this is quite the impressive spectacle.” “Ah, please pay no mind to these gentlemen. Consider them nothing more than ornamental screens.”

As Yamada flashed a sickeningly genial smile, Yoongi simply shrugged with an air of absolute leisure, though Seo Jong-hoon’s expression turned carved-stone rigid.

Depending on how things go, I’m going to have to grab Yoongi and run for my life.

While Seo Jong-hoon frantically mapped out emergency escape routes, Yoongi radiated relaxed confidence, looking down at Yamada from a position of absolute psychological dominance.

“So, where’s the apology?”

As Yoongi settled comfortably into his seat, Yamada chuckled awkwardly.

“Ah, please be patient for just a moment. Food will be served shortly. This is an exclusive private parlor reserved strictly for VIPs, which I booked specially for Yoongi-san today.”

Yoongi had zero appetite for food; the only thing he wanted from this meeting was a formal apology. Yet Yamada’s behavior felt like scratching someone’s knuckles when their legs were itching—completely missing the mark.

“Hey, where’s the food?!”

At Yamada’s bark, dishes began filing into the room, soon spreading out a visually striking, high-end kaiseki spread.

“This is a masterpiece of traditional Japanese kaiseki cuisine. Please, help yourself.” “My doctor advised me to be very careful with what I eat for a while. Anyway, if you don’t have anything substantial to say, I’ll be taking my leave.”

Instantly, the expressions of the Yakuza thugs standing guard along the walls twisted into grotesque, menacing glares, while Watanabe let out a sharp, mocking sneer.

“Ah, my apologies. Let’s get straight to the point, then. I wanted to do this properly, so there was a bit of a scheduling mix-up.”

As Yamada spoke, he glanced toward Watanabe, who let out an exaggerated sigh, gave a perfunctory nod, and turned his gaze to Yoongi.

“Look, what happened the other day was truly regrettable. It was a situation that never should have taken place, and I admit I crossed a line. Things like this won’t happen again, so won’t you help me out just this once?” “Help you out how?”

Yoongi asked purely out of curiosity to see how far the clown show would go, but Yamada beamed brightly, eagerly sliding a sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen across the table.

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Boiled down to its core, it was a written pledge stating: I, Choi Yoongi, do not wish for the termination of Watanabe-kun’s contract.

The moment Seo Jong-hoon translated the text into a whisper, Yoongi let out a sharp, dismissive snort and tore the paper cleanly in half.

“Chikusho!” (Damn it!)

Watanabe flew to his feet, letting out a guttural snarl, while the surrounding Yakuza instantly radiated an aura of pure violence, looking ready to pounce and carve Yoongi into ribbons. At the same time, Seo Jong-hoon mentally primed himself to execute his grab-and-run extraction maneuver.

Yet, the anticipated clash never materialized.

The door burst open abruptly, and the thirty-something staff member who had guarded the entrance earlier scrambled back into the room.

“I said nobody is allowed to enter! …Ugh!”

Watanabe started to snap at the man in pure irritation, but the moment he caught sight of the sea of towering Black and Caucasian faces looming behind him in the hallway, his face drained completely of color.

U.S. soldiers in full combat gear were flooding straight into the private parlor.

“Back off!”

At the Black captain’s thunderous English command, the Yakuza thugs turned pale with sheer terror, instinctively huddling backward until they were pressed flat against the parlor walls.

It made complete sense. The armed U.S. soldiers had leveled their standard-issue M4 infantry carbines directly at them.

“If I gave the order to execute every single Yakuza in this room right now, do you think I’d face any legal repercussions or not?”

Noticing that Seo Jong-hoon was too stunned to translate, Yoongi turned to look at him, prompting a flustered Seo Jong-hoon to snap out of it and hurriedly relay the words into Japanese.

The color vanished from everyone’s faces, though Watanabe desperately tried to cling to his shred of misplaced pride.

“A-ha! Don’t try those cheap scare tactics on me!” “Scare tactics? Trash like you lot could disappear off the face of the earth and nobody would bat an eye. Want a demonstration?”

As Yoongi raised his right arm parallel to the ceiling, a chorus of sharp metallic clicks echoed through the room as the U.S. soldiers snapped their sights dead-center onto the Yakuza.

A single twitch of a trigger was all it would take to wipe out the entire squad of thugs.

Yamada wet his pants on the spot, leaking urine onto the floor, while the rest of the Yakuza dropped instantly to their knees, bowing so low their foreheads slammed into the tatami mats.

“Yurusite kudasai!!” (Please forgive us!)

Watching the Yakuza collectively beg for their lives in a unified chorus, Yoongi stood up from his seat and let out a booming laugh.

“Hey, Watanabe. What about you?”

Prompted by Yoongi’s gaze, the shivering Yakuza and Yamada lunged forward, physically forcing Watanabe down onto his knees and shoving his forehead hard against the floorboards.

As Yoongi casually rested the sole of his shoe right on the back of Watanabe’s head, pressing down with moderate weight, Watanabe trembled violently in a fit of suffocating humiliation—while Yoongi openly relished his reaction.

“You’ve already struck out twice. One more strike and your entire team loses the game. Understand? Watanabe?”

Watanabe couldn’t bring himself to speak, so Yamada frantically answered in his stead, his voice cracking with panic.

“Y-yes! We understand completely! We will make damn sure an incident like this never happens again!”

Satisfied, Yoongi ground his heel in just a fraction more before lifting his foot off the back of Watanabe’s head.

“Let’s make sure we never cross paths again, Yamada-san.”

With a radiant, cheerful smile, Yoongi strolled out of the VIP parlor.

“I honestly thought my heart was going to stop right there.”

Back inside their luxury hotel suite, Seo Jong-hoon clutched his chest in lingering panic, prompting a warm smile from Yoongi.

“Didn’t I explain it all beforehand? I told you that if they were the kind of Japanese folks I took them for, things would play out precisely like this.” “Yeah, but hearing a plan laid out and actually living through it are two entirely different beasts. What if those maniacs inside had actually lunged at us and stabbed you? I would have been a dead man walking, murdered by your own father.” “If something like that had actually happened, I’m pretty sure my dad wouldn’t have killed you—he probably would have resurrected you just so he could kill you a second time himself.”

At Yoongi’s darkly humorous jab accompanied by a lopsided grin, Seo Jong-hoon shuddered in mock horror before letting out a soft sigh and a dry laugh, shaking his head.

“Still, your connections are genuinely terrifying. Mobilizing the U.S. military? Tell me you weren’t actually planning to have them open fire, right?”

Yoongi shook his head.

“Even I don’t possess that kind of extraterritorial sovereign immunity. It was just a theatrical show. But making a theatrical show feel 100 percent real—that’s what real power is.” “Man… fair enough. Watching you stand there holding that posture, I got goosebumps staring at your arm. Felt like watching a Roman Emperor presiding over the Colosseum.”

At the remark, Yoongi struck a grand showman pose and declared:

“And that concludes today’s starring performance by Choi Yoongi!” “You really are your father’s son, just as cheerful and unbothered as ever.” “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

As Seo Jong-hoon chuckled and shook his head, a sudden thought crossed his mind, prompting him to ask:

“By the way, didn’t we come down a bit too hard on them? I seriously doubt a guy like that is going to take this lying down and back off for good. Did you see the look in his eyes when you stepped on the back of his head?” “Ah, that was intentional. I want them not to back off easily.”

The moment Yoongi finished speaking, the telephone in the hotel suite began to ring.

“Hello?”

Yoongi picked up the receiver, covered the mouthpiece with his palm after a brief moment, and whispered quietly to Seo Jong-hoon.

“Right on schedule.”