NHK reporter Minakawa Keiko thrust her microphone toward Shiraishi Nagimitsu.
[Councilwoman Shiraishi, what is your response to Councilwoman Abe's comments today?]
Shiraishi Nagimitsu offered a dazzling smile, sweeping a hand through her cascade of dark waves.
[Hello! Kon'nichiwa!]
[I find Councilwoman Abe's statements today somewhat biased.]
[Public welfare is undoubtedly crucial, and the loss of citizens is deeply regrettable.]
[However, one cannot dismiss Tokyo's security services because of it. Without the dedicated personnel in these patrols, Tokyo would not rank among Asia's safest cities.]
[This sweeping generalization does a profound disservice to our diligent officers who serve day and night.]
[They, too, come from ordinary families. They have husbands, wives, children, and parents relying on them.]
[Merely pontificating from the podium and condemning the government solves nothing. Our duty as Diet members is to enact tangible solutions for our people's needs!]
At that moment, Abe Na-Jaku approached. She moved with effortless grace on matching black stilettos.
Reporters surged, enveloping her as well. The two women stood shoulder-to-shoulder.
Abe Na-Jaku and Shiraishi Nagimitsu stood side-by-side under the glare of camera flashes. One possessed curves concentrated in lush hips and thighs – a classic pear shape. The other radiated power from her upper body, with an extraordinary bustline threatening the seams of her crisp, white blouse.
Both women smiled flawlessly, exuding undeniable, albeit distinct, magnetism. Their beauty was undeniable, yet their auras diverged sharply: Abe, controlled intensity; Shiraishi, formidable poise. If their eyes were daggers, a silent duel had already transpired beneath the surface.
Their near-identical attire created a striking tableau: crisp white blouses, tailored black jackets, sleek trousers. Only their hosiery diverged.
Both stood in polished black heels, a glimpse of ankle and foot visible above.
On Shiraishi Nagimitsu: Black Stockings. The sheer weave stretched taut over her foot, creating a faint shadow that hinted at the flawless skin beneath.
On Abe Na-Jaku: Nude Stockings. The sheer nylon seemed almost invisible, offering only the subtlest suggestion of smooth, toned legs beneath.
Minakawa Keiko deftly pivoted, offering the microphone to Abe Na-Jaku.
[Councilwoman Abe, your thoughts on Councilwoman Shiraishi's remarks?]
Abe Na-Jaku swept her gaze over the assembled reporters, her smile unwavering:
[Councilwoman Shiraishi's words sound like an apology for bureaucratic incompetence. She offers no concrete plan.]
[Our duty as elected representatives is to oversee government departments. They are tigers – powerful beasts that belong in cages!]
[We are the whips chosen by the people. Only through constant vigilance and application can we compel them to serve the public faithfully. If they fail in that service…] Her gaze sharpened as it landed on Shiraishi. [...then resignations are warranted. What say you, Councilwoman Shiraishi?]
Shiraishi Nagimitsu's smile remained serene:
[A whip without a purpose is mere brutality, Councilwoman Abe. Caged tigers starve, and their keepers lose their livelihoods.]
[Have you considered those officers and their dependents?]
[Furthermore, our duty encompasses more than critique; it demands action. I haven't merely urged the welfare department to support the bereaved families; I have personally guaranteed a comprehensive relief program for the victims' next of kin!]
[Consulting the Meteorological Agency, I learned this summer promises unprecedented heat – exceeding 50 degrees Celsius outdoors.]
[I am personally pledging ¥20 million to initiate an emergency citywide cooling initiative. My personal finances are fully disclosed to the Diet oversight committee. To fund this pledge immediately, I will liquidate one of my residential properties!]
"Wah!"
A collective gasp rippled through the press corps.
Abe Na-Jaku's expression remained unreadable. She addressed the crowd:
[On this point, it seems Councilwoman Shiraishi and I share common ground! I, too, anticipated this dire need.] She paused deliberately. [I have already allocated ¥100 million from my private funds to assist vulnerable families struggling through this unprecedented summer heat!]
"Sss—"
Sharp intakes of breath echoed as reporters processed the figure. One hundred million yen.
Abe Na-Jaku's eyes glittered with satisfaction at the reaction. Her gaze returned to Shiraishi.
[Councilwoman Shiraishi... your late husband bequeathed a substantial estate. Surely, in light of that, your contribution seems... proportionate?]
Shiraishi Nagimitsu's dazzling smile didn't flicker.
[First, my husband's financial holdings were considerably less than public speculation. Official government probate records are available for verification.]
[Second, my commitment extends far beyond this singular act. I have directed significant resources elsewhere – though I must ask the press's forbearance to keep that specific initiative private for now.]
[I am not one for public grandstanding. I believe in action, not showcasing every deed as if laying cards upon a table.]
[The people placed their trust in me. Wherever there is need, I will act without hesitation.]
The two formidable women exchanged flawless smiles. It was a ceasefire wrapped in silk. They turned simultaneously and walked through the Diet's imposing doors, parting ways toward separate exits.
***
"Fascinating, isn't it? The dance of rival queens?" Sakura retrieved her phone, a knowing glint in her eyes as she glanced at Fang Zuo. "These two aren't just Japan's foremost beauties; they're political strategists whose moves could shift the nation's axis. Every observer predicts the next Prime Minister will emerge from this duel. And for the first time... it will be a woman."
Fang Zuo's lips curved slightly. The notion of Nagimitsu – the woman who cried "Master!" while desperately writhing beneath him, limbs locked around his waist in surrender to his force – potentially becoming Prime Minister? It was a duality her adoring public could never fathom.
"What are you thinking about?" Sakura leaned closer, her head tilting with open curiosity.
Brrring-brrring! Brrring-brrring!
A ringtone sliced the air. Sakura snatched her phone.
"Hai!... Hai? Hai! Wakatta!"
After a rapid-fire series of acknowledgments into the receiver, she hung up, her face alight with excitement. "Progress! They've decoded part of the preface in the Black Bible! They're bringing it to HQ – we need to go."
Oh?
Fang Zuo's interest sharpened. The faint, unsettling resonance of ancient Zhongyuan arts he'd sensed within that grimoire's pages demanded answers.
"HQ it is. They'll have the book waiting," Sakura confirmed.
They exited Shinyo Kikaku. The building felt hollow, a ghost town devoid of its parasitic spirits – all extracted and contained by Fang Zuo. The remaining clan members and lower-level staff, immobilized by Fang Zuo's earlier restraints, were nowhere to be seen. Evidently, the fleeing patriarch and his son had orchestrated a full evacuation – whether to a secondary Tokyo safe house or back to their Osaka stronghold remained unknown. Only scattered debris hinted at the prior chaos.
"Wait here!" Sakura commanded Fang Zuo, then dashed off towards a service corridor.
Moments later, a deafening roar shattered the relative silence.
VROOOOOM!
Wind whipped past as a sleek Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle screamed around the corner, skidding to a stop inches before Fang Zuo. Astride it, clad in form-fitting black leathers with aggressive racing armor accents, was Sakura Kuri. She flipped up the helmet's dark visor, shaking her hair free with a defiant toss. The image was startlingly captivating – fierce beauty fused with raw power.
"Stop gawking, Fujino! Get on!" she yelled over the engine's snarl, slapping the pillion seat impatiently.
Fang Zuo didn't move immediately. Arms crossed, he raked a slow, assessing gaze over the woman currently straddling nearly 200 horsepower of Japanese engineering – lingering pointedly on the tight leather contours hugging her hips, thighs, and ample bosom.
Sakura Kuri's cheeks flushed crimson. She knew exactly the trajectory of his thoughts.
"No! Dame! Dame! Stop it!" she shouted, though the roar of the engine nearly swallowed her protests. "Just get on the bike, bakayarō!"
Fang Zuo shrugged, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. In one fluid motion, he swung his leg over the rear seat and settled behind her. His arms slid around her waist – an instinctive maneuver – but his hands bypassed the outer shell of her armored jacket. His palms slipped under the unzipped front plackets, finding the softer, knitted thermal liner beneath. They settled firmly on the smooth, taut skin of her lower abdomen, fingers splayed.
The sensation beneath his palms was immediately compelling: yielding softness concealing taut muscle, like warm, supple velvet stretched over tempered steel. She was sleek, resilient, and radiated heat.