Kami-Jutsu: The Yakuza's Son is Aware-Chapter 2: ...I’m the Shinigami Ō

***

The building was in front of me.

An abandoned structure deep in the Okutama mountains.

One of the accursed Spiders’ hideouts.

It was raining as I stood there in my black outfit, the robe’s hood covering my head.

I was there... but I couldn’t move.

This will go wrong.

At the end of the day, they’re dangerous mafia—even if they’re small.

I should just spare myself the pain and return home.

If it gets out that the Kurosawa heir got in a fight and died, it wouldn’t speak well.

My heart began to beat faster.

My breathing turned strange as I held my chest.

Fear? Indecision? Cowardice?

Is that what I was feeling?

Maybe I’d felt them before, but this degree—this intensity—was far too high.

Good. Good. Feel it.

I wonder how it’d feel... if I betray these danger bells telling me to turn back—

"Hm? A kid?"

Someone had come outside—probably for a smoke and some fresh air—and spotted me.

There’s no turning back now, Ken. What are you doing this close to a mafia base?

"What’re you doing here, brat?"

They’ll find out who you are and use it against your father.

"Oi! I’m speaking to you!"

It’s not too late, Ken.

Just tell him you’re lost!

RUN!!

"...I’m the Shinigami Ō," I answered in my dry, yet clear, voice.

"Huh? What’s with that?" He laughed. "You got eighth-grade syndrome or something?"

I looked at his waist: a handgun hung there.

"Go home, kid. It’s 11 PM."

"Shoot me." I said from under my hood.

"Excuse me?" He frowned.

"Shoot me. I’ll... show you that I am the Shinigami Ō."

My hands are shaking...

What is this thrill? 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

Ken, you’ll die if shot—shut up...

The man sighed.

"It’s like you won’t leave till your curiosity is satisfied, huh?"

He reached for his waist and drew the gun.

But then he began explaining things about the model—its kill count and technical specs—but I didn’t care.

Ah, I see.

This Aho truly thinks some middle schooler came out to play with him.

Alright. No more hesitation.

As he rambled on passionately, I began to plan.

It was a three-story building, office-like, with an elevator.

If I go in now and begin, the ones upstairs will have enough time to prepare—maybe even enough to challenge Father and his crew.

There’s no way I could massacre them all before they knew it.

I’ve been practicing with these particles for two whole months now...

I’m almost certain these people won’t defeat me.

But I’m not immune to bullets. Or blades.

All this thinking is bogging me down.

I’ve got it — let me no longer think.

I drew a deep breath, then released it.

From the faint glow within my hood, I could see my eyes had turned golden: a clear sign I was using the particles.

I stepped forward, deliberately, towards the man who had been talking.

"Hm? What’s this?" He smirked. "You want a closer look, huh? Can’t be helped — let me show you the—"

"IF YOU WANT TO LIVE, ONII-SAN, GO HOME."

I said that. Then walked past him, right into the building.

He froze.

Probably because of the look in my eyes.

*

"Huh? Hey, how did you get in he—"

Before the man could finish his question, I raised my hand.

He was lifted by something unseen — something so forceful he exploded midair into red smears and pulpy chunks that stained the white ceiling and bulbs.

The room turned red. Literally and figuratively.

BANG! BANG! KACHING!

Bullets rained the moment I turned to the others.

I raised a hand in front of me, condensing the particles into a dense front, so not a single bullet could pierce.

Then, like a car with failed brakes, I charged.

I tore through everything vaguely human as I approached.

A heavily tattooed man unsheathed a katana and lunged.

I brought my hand down with a half-gesture. He smashed into the ground so violently that his skull sank in — and he stopped moving.

The others, still trying to comprehend what was happening, retreated toward the stairwell to join the ones on the first floor.

I chased after them, hand outstretched, bulldozing everyone inside the elevator like a boulder slamming into bags of tomato sauce.

Then I hit the button.

As the elevator doors closed, I looked over the result of my work... but what I saw was the scene of a slaughterhouse.

The doors sealed. The elevator began to rise.

I was breathing hard and my hand trembled violently.

Looking down at the pile of crushed flesh and fractured bones — a red stew of former men — I vomited.

Then suddenly, water started dripping from my eyes.

Wait, tears?

Beautiful.

I had finally secured the ability to cry.

It happened when I started substituting the faces of the men... with my family’s.

It was extremely gutting.

And all the more fuel for what I was doing now.

Ken, you’ve already come this far — don’t think. Thinking at this point is irrelevant, dangerous.

As the elevator doors began to open—

The bullets started again.

They’d already alerted the floor above.

And I suspected the top floor was loading its own war drums too.

The bullets came, but stopped a few inches from my outstretched hand, as if they’d struck something immovable.

I forcefully widened the range of the particle densitization, and the ones nearest—just meters away—were blown apart, together with the desks they hid behind.

I stood in a position where I could properly guard against all their bullets.

Because If even one hit me, I’d die.

Using one hand for shielding, I used the other to wring, break, shatter, and compress humans into meat paste.

The level of strength this particle manipulation gave me shocked even me.

I swung both arms in a slashing motion and, like a storm of cutting wind, all 36 men there were severed in half—their blood paving a path for me.

The ones farther from my reach weren’t sliced but broken—bent in strange ways, their limbs twisted unnaturally, as though their bones had turned into some type of elastic materials.

Wailing, shouting, crying.

It was like hell on earth.

And honestly, it was... terrifying.

I headed straight to the elevator that would take me to the top floor.

Normally, one would assume that’s where the final boss would be.

But unless they had a grand strategy—or whoever was up there also had control over particles—I didn’t believe I could be stopped.

It was oddly peaceful in the elevator.

No blood, no flesh, no pungent stench of ruptured organs.

Just soft music—so gentle, even I found myself nodding to the rhythm.

That didn’t last, though.

The doors slid open.

"..."

Everything was silent.

No thunder of gunshots or manly war cries like the other floors.

But they were waiting, terrified, and armed.

About forty of them.

Which could potentially mean some from the lower floors had retreated up here.

No matter.

"Well, what do we have here?!" a loud voice rang out from deep within.

A flashy blonde man in shades strutted forward—leopard-skin trousers, fur-lined coat, and a spider tattoo crawling proudly across his bare chest.

"Now, before you die," he grinned, "can you tell me who sent you? The White Wolves? Emojis? Kusakabe...?"

He held his chin theatrically. "Or was it those old-school Yakuza, Kurosawas?"

I didn’t flinch, nor did I move an inch.

But inside, I was very flustered.

Under no circumstances should this trail lead back to my family.

But then he said—

"Nah, can’t be them, right? Those old fools know when to sit and watch the show, instead of waving their little flag of ’restraint’. They should just quit or let us swallow them alrea—!!"

Before he could finish spitting on my clan’s name, I raised my hand.

"Pfft! What’s that? Some kind of cult g—"

SPLASH!

It was over in a heartbeat.