Prime Minister Jingan was a very, very dangerous man.
Akira could feel it from the marrow of his bones, a low hum of instinct that warned him louder than any scream.
This was a man who had placed the Emperor himself on uncertain footing. A man who stood without armor before the throne and still carried the advantage.
Akira had seen the expression on Emperor Takeshin's face. He had seen the small moments of hesitation, the careful phrasing, the forced smiles.
He had watched how a ruler of overwhelming strength offered ground like a merchant forced into a trade he could not afford to refuse.
And it was all because of this man.
A man who openly stared at Princess Yuki as though she were already draped across his arm. A man who spoke of legacy and bloodline in the Emperor's own hall, with the girl's father sitting right there, and yet received no retribution.
What kind of father could swallow that?
Only one of two kinds.
Either the kind who was hollow beneath his crown, or the kind whose strength was being locked away, clamped tight by a force he could not move.
And from what Akira had seen, Emperor Takeshin was not hollow.
Which meant his pride, his decisions, his voice itself had all been sealed in some hidden vault, controlled by the hand of the man now standing calmly in the hall with blood still drying on the floor and the mysterious Royal Element of Time still warping the air.
The Prime Minister's spell had reversed time's flow on the two nobles, causing their bodies to simply return to a state where the damage had never existed.
It was elegant.
It was terrifying.
And it meant only one thing.
"This bastard's ability to weave the Element of Time is at a very high level. God damn it. He would be a very, very troublesome opponent to have." Akira thought grimly.
The two nobles stirred on the floor, faces pale and damp with sweat, their limbs were whole again but their souls had very nearly left their bodies in fright.
Prime Minister Jingan said nothing for a moment, and then he pointed to the hulking youth.
"Huh? Master…? Wait. WAIT! MASTeeerrr…"
The words barely left his throat when the youth's hair lost all color in an instant, draining to a brittle grey. His skin wrinkled and sagged, his muscles collapsing inward as if hollowed from within.
His breath caught once. Then again. Then stopped.
He crumpled in on himself, limbs curling, eyes wide and frozen in confusion.
Within seconds, he became a dried husk.
Prime Minister Jingan turned and walked away as if nothing had happened. There was absolutely no need for him to say anything. Whatever needed to be said… Had been made more than clear.
"I am strong. I can kill you easily. I will kill you soon. But not yet. You live. At my discretion. Now… Win me The Port of Tokyo. Or else…"
Akira stood motionless, spine straight, breathing lightly.
His fiercely proud heart forbade him from bowing to threats and his iron balls gave him a fearlessness that would have shocked even the wildest barbarian.
No, there was no bloody way he would fail to gain entrance into the Royal Academy of Japan now, even if it was only to spite the living daylights out of Prime Minister Jingan.
Even if every wall of that institution closed against him, he would batter them down.
Even if his name was blacklisted by every elder in the Empire, he would force them to acknowledge him.
Should Prime Minister Jingan know that his "cool" demonstration of his power would backfire so ridiculously and cause Akira to strive his hardest to do otherwise, he would have howled in frustration.
But alas, he had misread Akira's nature from the start.
He believed fear would force obedience and pressure would bring submission.
Instead, he had only lit the indignant flames of a soul who refused to be dominated and threatened.
Still, even though Akira had determined to make Prime Minister Jingan lose his Port of Yokohama to the Emperor, he still needed to find a way to survive the Prime Minister's wrath.
His only way out was to become stronger than Prime Minister Jingan in a month, if he even had that long.
Or to kill him within that month.
"One way or another, I will see the Prime Minister dead or put in his place." Akira thought as he turned and began to walk away, his footsteps quiet and measured while the crowd of attendants rushed in from the far end of the corridor.
Their expressions were filled with panic and confusion, but none dared block his path.
As he passed the trembling noble, who had barely managed to remain upright after witnessing the death of his companion, Akira stopped.
He sneered once, then struck a precise blow to the side of the neck.
The noble collapsed instantly, his body spasming before falling limp.
For the next several weeks, he would not be able to walk or hold a teacup without help.
Akira had considered ending him of course, his blood was still hot with the echo of Jingan's threat.
But he understood the price of such action.
Killing him would be a message. It would declare open defiance.
That message would reach Jingan within the hour, and he would be met with probable deadly response.
Why would the Prime Minister leave him alive to threaten his control over the Port of Yokohama? Better for Akira to die and find another way to get the Port of Tokyo, than to risk losing his port in exchange for a small chance to win the Emperor's.
No, the Prime Minister would have definitely moved to kill him if Akira had killed the noble.
Akira needed more time.
Enough to grow.
So instead, he gave the noble a wound that would fester only in pride.
It was a calculated move.
The Prime Minister would interpret it as a moment of restraint. A gesture that acknowledged the weight of his warning. A signal of temporary compliance.
That signal would buy Akira the days he needed.
And in those days, he would not waste a breath.
He would train.
He would grow stronger.
He would study the Prime Minister's methods, connections, and history.
And when the time came and when the conditions were right, he would return everything.
Twice over!
XXXX
The rest of the day ended without much drama, and very soon, Akira found himself attired in the simple uniform given to all candidates of the Royal Academy of Japan, staring dumbfoundedly at a miraculous "Magic Kitchen".
It loomed silently over him, a sleek, two-meter-tall vending machine with glowing script and a faint, constant hum. Its screen showed an animated bowl of rice cheerfully waving a spoon.
Akira stared at it. The machine blinked back.
He frowned.
"…What is this?"
A soft chime sounded.
"Welcome, Candidate. Please select your meal."
Akira stepped closer, suspicious.
The menu glowed with tempting dishes, ramen, curry, donburi, pasta and each one had a short description like it was offering him divine enlightenment through food.
He squinted at the screen.
"…Who's in there?" he asked quietly.
Silence.
He pressed the button for "Pork Cutlet Rice."
"Spice level?"
"Normal."
"Processing. Estimated time: 45 seconds."
The machine lit up inside. He could hear small mechanical clicks, a faint sizzle, and the aroma of real soy sauce and frying oil slowly creeping out from the base vents.
His eyes widened.
"You're actually cooking in there…?"
He looked around for a vent or hatch that might hide a crouching servant. Found none.
Akira leaned in.
"Oi. You. Inside. Are you alright?"
No response.
"How do you manage to cook in such a tiny space? Who forced you in there?"
The machine continued to hum.
He lowered his voice, a mix of pity and outrage settling over his face.
"This is torture. I may be ruthless as a shinobi, but I've never treated prisoners like this. No space, no honor, no thought to life."
He placed his palm lightly on the machine's side panel.
"…Do you want to come out?"
A soft ding answered.
"Your order is ready. Please collect."
The hatch opened and a perfectly sealed bowl of pork cutlet rice slid forward and gently landed in the tray.
Akira didn't move.
"You're scared. I understand."
The screen blinked.
"Thank you for using this Vending Machine."
"You don't have to be afraid anymore." He picked up the bowl solemnly. "I'll come back. I'll finish the food you've worked hard to cook, and then return to save you."
The animated rice bowl on the screen smiled wider.
Akira narrowed his eyes.
"Don't smile just because they tell you to. Stay strong."
From behind him, a student coughed.
"You… know it's a machine, right?"
Akira turned, dead serious.
"I saw no signs of magic runes complex enough to simulate a full cooking process. Which means someone is in there. Likely a servant. Possibly a hostage."
The student blinked.
"It's just cryo-storage, mana burners, and steam valves—"
"They've trained you well," Akira said grimly. "You don't even question it anymore."
He turned back to the vending machine and nodded.
"I'll be back for you. Don't worry, I am a man of my word."
The machine hummed once more.
"We look forward to serving you again."
Akira blinked in sympathy, already thinking about how he would destroy such an evil contraption.
After he finished his Pork Cutlet Rice, of course.
"No wonder they captured him and placed him in there." Akira thought as he sniffed at the food. "This smells pretty damn good!"