dkrc Chapter 72 Black Defense Line
Chapter 72 Black Defense Line
February 25, 1988.
Jiangdong District, Shenchuan.
This old warehouse area, located right next to Tokyo Bay, is perpetually filled with the smell of rust from seawater corrosion and the stench of silt from receding tides.
Deep within an abandoned cluster of cold storage facilities for deep-sea fishing, a massive warehouse numbered "S-01" is shrouded in a suffocating silence.
The warehouse's dome was fifteen meters high, and several high-pressure sodium lamps emitted a buzzing electrical sound, casting a pale and murky light.
One hundred and twenty shirtless men are undergoing a stress test called "extreme load".
This is not only physical exploitation, but also spiritual torture.
They worked in pairs, one wielding a solid iron bar covered in thick rubber, while the other could only use their arms and specific tactical movements to block and deflect the force. There was no protective gear, only the dull thud of muscles colliding with the rubber-coated iron core.
"Bang, bang, bang."
Sweat dripped down their bulging muscles, landing on the cold cement floor and shattering instantly.
Among this group were detectives who had been dismissed from the Metropolitan Police Department for using excessive force, boxers who couldn't make it in the Shinjuku underground fighting arena, and paratroopers from the Self-Defense Forces Airborne Brigade who had just retired and whose eyes still held the smell of gunpowder.
They were once a pack of untamed beasts, but now they were like cogs in a sophisticated machine, sharing a sense of perfect unity and obedience. Even as they grimaced in pain, not one of them uttered a groan.
"drop."
The sound of the stopwatch being pressed could be clearly heard in the empty warehouse.
Dojima Iwao stood on the iron corridor on the second floor, holding a black military-style writing board in his hand. Unlike those third-rate instructors who roared and spat at the trainees in the mud, he was like an engineer, examining this killing machine that was being tested.
His gaze was fixed on a group in the corner.
"Third group, Matsuda."
Dojima Iwao's voice came through the loudspeaker, steady, indifferent, and without any emotional fluctuation, yet it made the former Self-Defense Force member named Matsuda freeze.
"exist!"
Matsuda immediately tensed up and responded loudly.
Where are you looking? At their stick?
"A 0.3-second delay in movement. In a real mission, that 0.3 seconds means the VIP you're protecting has been killed three times, and your carotid artery has been severed."
He drew a heavy line on the form, the tip of his pen tearing through the paper.
"One demerit. Three demerits, and you're out. Go back to the docks and carry heavy loads."
"yes!"
This was the prototype of "Saionji Security".
Dojima Iwao's mission is not to train a group of street thugs who only know how to fight, but to build a private armed force in the heart of Tokyo that can adapt to high-intensity commercial warfare and even quasi-military conflicts.
What he wanted was absolute efficiency, a violent machine that could carry out the will of the Saionji family.
As for how to allow a private armed force to appear in Tokyo, that's something for the higher-ups to consider.
"stop."
Dojima Iwao pressed the stopwatch, producing a crisp zeroing sound.
The more than one hundred people below immediately stopped what they were doing and stood still. Although everyone's chest was heaving violently and they were sweating profusely, no one dared to collapse to the ground.
"gather."
In less than ten seconds, the disorganized crowd quickly formed ranks. The discipline they displayed was even more impressive than that of a regular army.
This took only two weeks.
Dojima Iwao walked down the stairs, his heavy military boots making a rhythmic "clang, clang" sound on the iron steps.
He walked up to the front of the line, and the intense pressure he exuded made the people in the first row instinctively hold their breath.
A blackboard behind him was suddenly pulled open.
Instead of depicting fighting moves, the diagram above shows a complex organizational structure with hard lines and strict logic.
"Many people think that bodyguards are scapegoats, human shields that take bullets."
Dojima Yan tapped the blackboard with his pointer, and chalk dust fell in a flurry.
"Wrong. Those are third-rate bodyguards, expendable supplies."
"Top-notch security is a 'system.' It's like a spider web; if you touch one spot, the whole web knows."
He wrote the names of three departments on the blackboard, his strokes conveying a sense of menace.
"After these two weeks of training, you have all become qualified components."
"From today onwards, the personnel will be reorganized. Forget your former identities; even if you are a karate champion, you are just a cog in the machine here."
"Group One, Counter-Intelligence."
Dojima Yan's gaze passed over the muscular burly men and landed on a few men in the group with sinister eyes, thin bodies, and faces that would be hard to spot in a crowd.
"It's made up of retired personnel from the former Public Security Investigation Agency and reconnaissance soldiers. You don't need muscles, or even guns."
"I want you to learn how to use the latest radio monitoring equipment, and how to distinguish between a killer and a passerby in the bustling crowds of Shibuya at a glance. Your task is to investigate wiretapping, counter-surveillance, and conduct background checks on everyone who gets close to the employer."
"You are the ears and eyes of the Saionji family."
"Second group, VIP Protection Unit (Close Protection)."
Dojima looked at the tallest and most robust former Mobile Squadron members.
"You are the last line of defense, a mobile wall. Know the evacuation routes of every street in Tokyo, and ensure that VIPs are moved to safety within three seconds of an attack. If necessary, fill in the gaps with your own bodies."
"Third group, Special Tactics."
Finally, Dojima Iwao's gaze fell on the men who exuded the strongest murderous aura, even carrying a hint of madness. Most of them were mercenaries with combat experience overseas, or top-tier enforcers from yakuza organizations.
"You are responsible for 'active defense'."
Dojima Yan lowered his voice, which carried a hint of bloodlust.
"Eliminate the threat before it reaches the defenses. If anyone intends to harm the Saionji family, you must crush their fingers before they draw their guns."
"Methods are not limited. As long as the result is achieved."
The division of labor is clear and the hierarchy is strict.
This is no longer a group of bodyguards, but an army.
"Now, everyone, turn right."
At Dojima Iwao's command, the roller shutter door on the side of the warehouse, which had been tightly closed, slowly rose with the roar of the motor.
"Splash—"
All eyes turned to them, followed by a collective gasp.
That wasn't a locker room, but an equipment room that resembled an armory.
The walls were covered with custom-made black suits, their linings lined with thin Kevlar bulletproof layers. Neatly arranged on the table were telescopic titanium batons, gleaming coldly under the light.
There were also boxes of high-lumen tactical flashlights, stab-proof gloves, and Motorola encrypted communication headsets that were not available in the Japanese market at the time and were only issued to the U.S. Secret Service.
"This is a gift that the young lady prepared for you."
Dojima Iwao picked up an earpiece.
"Put these on. From this moment on, you are no longer thugs, no longer outcasts."
"You are the fangs of the Saionji family."
......
3 PM.
The warehouse door was pushed open again.
Sunlight streamed into the dimly lit room, and dust particles danced in the beams of light.
Satsuki walked in. She was wearing the uniform of Seika Academy, with a black cashmere coat over it, and carrying a folder in her hand.
Behind her followed seven young men dressed in black suits, their expressions solemn.
Fujita Tsuyoshi, and the sons of six other hereditary retainers.
The moment these seven people entered, their "clean" demeanor clashed sharply with the warehouse's atmosphere, which was filled with the smells of engine oil, sweat, and hostility.
"Young Miss".
Dojima Iwao stepped forward, stood at attention, and saluted.
"The first phase of training for the security department is underway. Currently, the attrition rate is 30%, leaving 120 personnel. The organizational structure of each department has been completed."
"This is the detailed report; please take a look."
He handed over a detailed report.
Satsuki glanced through it and nodded in satisfaction.
"Thank you for your hard work, Minister Dojima."
She turned to the side and pointed to Fujita Tsuyoshi and the others behind her.
"Let me introduce you. This is Fujita Tsuyoshi, my captain of the guard. From today onwards, these seven men will join special training."
Dojima Iwao's gaze fell on Fujita Tsuyoshi.
That was the look a wolf gave a domestic dog.
"This is the 'last line of defense' you chose?" Dojima Iwao made no attempt to hide the coldness in his tone.
Fujita took a step forward, his brow furrowed. He could sense the strong stench of blood emanating from the other man, something completely different from the sword energy refined in the dojo.
"Mr. Dojima," Fujita Tsuyoshi's voice was steady and powerful, "we have received rigorous martial arts training since childhood and are sworn to protect the young lady with our lives. You need not trouble yourself."
"Martial arts?"
Dojima Yan laughed.
He beckoned.
"Yamada, step forward."
A man who was only 1.7 meters tall and looked rather thin walked out of the "Special Duty Section" line. He looked unremarkable, even a little hunched over, like a drunkard on the street.
"He retired from the Shinjuku Police Station two years ago," Dojima Iwao introduced casually. "Fujita-kun, why don't you have a match with him? The rule: protect the dummy behind you."
Dojima Ichiro pointed to a plastic mannequin standing next to him.
Fujita took a deep breath, took off his suit jacket, revealing a white shirt underneath. He assumed a standard karate starting stance, lowered his center of gravity, and stared intently.
Please advise.
Before he could finish speaking...
The man named Yamada suddenly moved.
He didn't make any show of force, but instead pulled out a handful of coins from his pocket and threw them at Fujita Tsuyoshi's face.
"Splash!"
A dozen or so coins flew through the air.
Fujita instinctively raised his hand to protect his eyes; this is a human instinctive reaction.
In that one tenth of a second.
Yamada slithered into Fujita's arms like a slippery snake. Instead of throwing a punch, he rammed his shoulder into Fujita's ribs, while simultaneously brandishing a ballpoint pen and stabbing it viciously into the mannequin's throat.
"puff."
The ballpoint pen pierced the plastic.
Fujita was knocked back two steps by the impact. By the time he realized what was happening and tried to retaliate, Yamada had already retreated five meters away, playing with the ballpoint pen in his hand.
You lost.
"Dojima Yan said coldly."
"If this were a real battle, the young lady would already be dead."
Fujita Tsuyoshi's face turned a deep liver color.
"Despicable!" one of his retainers couldn't help but shout. "Using concealed weapons? Is this your training?"
"mean?"
Dojima Iwao walked up to Fujita Tsuyoshi and stared into his eyes.
"Outside this warehouse, nobody talks to you about martial ethics. Killers will use guns, bombs, poison, and trucks. They'll use sunlight, dust, and your damn 'bushido dignity.'"
He pointed to Yamada.
"That move he just used saved his life three times. And your karate, in the face of a real attack, is nothing more than a dance for show."
Fujita clenched his fist, his nails digging deep into his flesh.
He was unwilling to accept it. But he couldn't refute it.
Because the hole in the plastic mannequin's neck was so glaring.
That's enough.
Satsuki's voice broke the silence.
She walked between the two of them.
"Tsuyoshi, Dojima is right. Times have changed."
Satsuki looked at Fujita.
"The Saionji family has never doubted your loyalty. But loyalty can't stop a bullet."
"I want you to learn from him. Forget the rules of the dojo, learn how to survive in the mud, learn how to bite the enemy's throat with your teeth."
She turned to Dojima Iwao.
"Dojima, they are my 'shield'. Their advantage lies in absolute trust and the tacit understanding of close-quarters defense."
"I want you to train them into an 'iron wall'. Not the kind of meat shields that can only take hits, but intelligent defense lines that know how to cooperate, utilize the environment, and even anticipate danger."
Dojima Iwao remained silent for a moment, then saluted again.
"Yes, sir. I will rewrite their training syllabus."
He turned around and looked at the seven young people whose faces were full of resentment but also deeply hurt.
"Meet here at five o'clock tomorrow morning."
"I will strip away your 'aristocratic airs' layer by layer until you become true professional bodyguards."
……
The conflict was resolved, or rather, transformed into a higher-pressure training motivation.
"Come with me."
Dojima Iwao led the group to the deepest part of the warehouse.
Two enormous objects were covered with black tarpaulins.
"This is the 'mobile fortress' you requested."
Dojima Yan lifted the rainproof cloth.
Two brand-new Mercedes-Benz 560 SEL Guard (factory bulletproof version) sat there quietly. The black paint was as deep as an abyss, exuding a suffocating sense of oppression in the dim light.
"VR6 ballistic protection standard".
Dojima Iwao opened the heavy car door and knocked on the five-centimeter-thick bulletproof glass.
"This is the best equipment I've tested in the Airborne Special Operations Group. The doors are filled with Kevlar and ceramic armor, and the chassis can withstand anti-tank mines. The tires are solid, so even if they're punctured, they can still travel 50 kilometers at 80 kilometers per hour."
"Moreover," he pointed to the trunk, "I installed an independent oxygen supply system and an encrypted communication base station inside."
"Once you get into these two vehicles, no one can hurt you or Mr. Shuichi unless the military is called in."
Satsuki stroked the cold car body.
Two hundred million yen per vehicle.
In this day and age, this is an astronomical figure.
But compared to the impending storm, this money was well spent.
"very good."
Satsuki turned around and looked at the private armed force that was already taking shape.
On the left is the ferocious "counterintelligence" and "special operations" force led by Iroha Dojima.
On the right is the loyal VIP protection unit led by Fujita Tsuyoshi.
In addition to these two steel fortresses.
The Saionji family's safety net has finally been strengthened by the last weak link.
"Dojima."
Satsuki spoke.
"exist."
"Starting today, we are activating Level 1 alert."
Satsuki's eyes became incredibly sharp.
"The money we make will make many people envious."
"The Black Dragon Society is already making moves. And those rats hiding in the gutter are all watching us."
She took a photo out of her bag and handed it to Dojima Iroha.
The photo shows an old man with a face full of scars—Onitsuka Toranosuke.
"Remember this face."
Satsuki's voice was soft, yet it carried a chilling murderous aura.
"He is our first enemy."
"I want you to expand the counterintelligence network. From the main family residence to the Ginza building, and to every SA outpost."
"If he dares to put his hand in."
"Chop it off."
Dojima Taken the photo, glanced at it, and then carefully put it into his pocket.
"clear."
"As long as he dares to come, there are a few empty freezers in the cold storage in Fukagawa."