Nine Out of Ten Gambling Losses
Two gigai crashed to the ground headfirst, their bodies mangled and bloodied.
A burst of camera flashes lit the scene as police swarmed in to confirm the criminals' deaths. Reporters rushed forward, eager to photograph the corpses and prepare tomorrow's sensational headlines.
Some of the sharper journalists immediately sought out Tai Hideo, circling him for comments.
Kimura Keiichi, however, remained grim. He knew all too well the state of the country: the burst of the bubble economy had driven countless families into poverty. Youth had lost hope for the future, and despite repeated crackdowns, the bosozoku biker gangs still ran rampant.
Shiraishi's reckless actions had shown such disillusioned people a dangerous path—one of indulgence, debauchery, and chaos. Keiichi could see it clearly: a wave of crime was about to sweep the nation.
"Don't look so stern, Keiichi. Our golden age is coming."
Takayuki Tanimoto, though fully aware of the potential consequences, could not contain his anticipation. The more chaotic things became, the more the government would rely on men like them. He had failed to secure the Superintendent General post this round, but opportunities still remained.
High above, Shiraishi—now a spirit—glanced down at the crowd with a smile. Tilting his head slightly, he murmured, "The Senkaimon can be opened."
"Understood."
Suì-Fēng unsheathed her Zanpakutō and thrust it into the air. With a deft twist, a massive gate materialized, its doors parting silently. A lone Hell Butterfly drifted out, fluttering toward them.
"Follow me."
Without lingering in the human world, Shiraishi leapt into the gate, trailing closely behind her until they reached the exit.
The difference was immediate. The dense Reishi of Soul Society far surpassed anything in the living world. Taking a deep breath of the crisp air, Shiraishi gazed up at the bright sunlight spilling across the mountain forest.
"What a refreshing homecoming."
"Yes."
Suì-Fēng's expression softened for the briefest instant before her familiar coldness returned. "From this point on, we owe each other nothing. The next time we meet, we'll settle it—who's stronger, and who survives."
"I refuse."
Shiraishi grinned and spread his hands. Before her glare could harden, he stepped forward, vanishing from the mountainside. In the next instant, he reappeared dozens of miles away on the plains.
His spiritual awareness spread outward in a three-kilometer radius. When he failed to sense the pressure of Broken Peak, he immediately employed Shunpō, racing toward the West Tenth District.
Wind howled in his ears as forests and valleys blurred beneath his feet. Shiraishi's spirit surged with exhilaration. The human world had its diversions, but bound by the limits of a gigai, his power there had always felt restrained. Here, in his true form, he felt free again.
At last, he reached the familiar paths of Mi Village. Rather than enter, he turned toward the small teahouse, Saitoya.
Beneath the thatched roof, the tables and benches stood empty.
The prices weren't unreasonable, but laborers couldn't afford to visit often. And at this early hour, few customers would come regardless.
The proprietress, Guidie, reclined in a wooden rocking chair, draped in a lavish kimono. Her raven hair was pinned in a bun, adorned with gold, silver, and jade ornaments. With a feather fan in hand, she rocked lazily beneath a blanket, her ample figure drawing the eye with each gentle sway.
Shiraishi stepped into view.
Guidie half-opened her eyes and spoke in a sultry tone: "Oh, you're finally back. Did you enjoy yourself these past two days?"
"Very much so."
Shiraishi smiled, stepping under the shade of the hut. "How are your preparations coming along?"
Saitoya was never just a simple teahouse. Behind its leisurely facade, it served as the eyes and ears of a shadowy organization—one that dealt in forbidden information and unlawful trades.
What kind of organization exactly, Shiraishi didn't know. He had no intention of joining, but he was content to cooperate when money was to be made.
"The main plan is set. I'll tell you when and where to gather when the time comes."
"No thanks."
Shiraishi shook his head. He had his own principles—he wouldn't betray them for underhanded schemes.
Guidie chuckled, abandoning her teasing. "Very well. Go rest inside."
He slept deeply until dusk.
Warm breath brushed his ear, accompanied by a soft, lilting call:
"Bai~ Shi~"
His body stiffened. Jolting awake, he sat up sharply on the straw mat. "Sister Guidie, you don't need to get that close just to wake me."
Guidie blinked innocently. "I was only worried you wouldn't hear me~"
Shiraishi now understood what he hadn't before—why men tolerated women's coquettish voices. From a beauty's lips, the sweetness could melt one's resolve, leaving no room for irritation.
"What's the rush?" he asked.
"There's a man outside asking for you. Goes by Gongping."
"Uncle Gongping? How'd he know I was here?"
Puzzled, Shiraishi caught Guidie's sly smile and realized—it was likely her reputation that betrayed his whereabouts. Others probably assumed he was one of her regulars.
Scratching his head, he rose and stepped outside. A middle-aged man in a blue kimono and straw sandals waited, his square face familiar.
"Good evening, Uncle Gongping."
Shiraishi greeted him warmly, slinging an arm over his shoulder with a grin. "Any new ways to make money for me?"
Gongping—son of an elder and well-connected in the West Tenth District—often brought him odd jobs, ranging from house repairs and dog breeding to less-than-legal deliveries. The two were close.
"I've just opened a cockfighting arena," Gongping said, smiling. "Care to try your luck?"
Shiraishi blinked. "Aren't you worried Butler Yoshizawa will interfere?"
The Kawakami family monopolized the cockfighting industry in the district. Butler Yoshizawa, with his ties to livestock, controlled the trade from the shadows, diverting chickens for fights and ensuring the losing birds fed his master's table.
Gongping spat disdainfully. "I've had enough of that old man's scraps. I'd rather strike out on my own. So, will you come?"
Shiraishi laughed. "Of course. How could I not support your venture? Though, I'm a bit short on coin."
"No issue. I trust you. You can settle later," Gongping said proudly.
"That's what I admire about you, Uncle Gongping." Shiraishi gave him a thumbs-up.
Guidie, standing at the doorway, called after them: "Bai Shi, remember—nine out of ten bets end in loss."
"A man's got to take chances."
With that, Shiraishi wrapped an arm around Gongping's shoulders, and the two departed for the mountain arena.
The cockfighting den, hidden halfway up the slope, was obscured by thick foliage. Pulling the branches aside revealed a narrow cave entrance.
No guards, no noise—only a faint firelight flickering deep inside.
Shiraishi frowned. "Strange. So quiet. Hasn't it started yet?"
"Not yet," Gongping replied. "We were just waiting for you."
"So much ceremony, it's embarrassing."
Grinning, Shiraishi stepped toward the fire. Ten figures sat around it, heads bowed. At first glance, they looked like men nodding off in boredom.
Then, his instincts screamed.
A chill shot down his spine.
The bodies of all ten—including Gongping at his side—began to bulge grotesquely, swelling like overfilled balloons.
In the next instant, they burst.