Chapter Forty-Nine: The True Meaning of the Orange

Tokyo beneath the snow.
Anhe steered his motorbike swiftly through the traffic.
The moment his previous call ended, he dialed Blackrai Fusuko’s number without hesitation. The line connected quickly—nothing unexpected happened.
Yet Anhe couldn’t relax.
The caller had precisely named both him and Blackrai Fusuko, clearly already aware that it was he who had spirited her away.
Why they hadn’t gone directly for Fusuko, but instead reached out to him, remained unclear for the moment. Still, since they’d agreed to meet in person, there was room for negotiation.
“At worst, I’ll play the actor in Fusuko’s place!”
Anhe thought fiercely, convinced that with his looks and the experience of thousands of films in his past life, he’d surely be the top star if he took the role.
All he’d hope for then was that they’d blur his face.
Of course, the mosaic should be on his face.
He added this mentally.
Perhaps because of the snowfall, the streets were less crowded, and Anhe reached the café mentioned in the call in just over ten minutes.
He found a free parking spot, brushed the snow off his jacket, and headed toward the roadside.
He had no idea what demands these people might make.
While pondering this, his gaze fell upon three figures ahead.
The one in the middle was a woman, her black hair flowing down to her waist, her waist slender and her hips full—a striking figure, even from behind.
But what shocked Anhe most was her attire.
Despite it being winter, she wore a black yukata, her pale ankles tinged with pink exposed to the cold air.
Beside her, two companions—one with dyed blond hair, the other with a hood—stood close. The blond was speaking incessantly to her; they were too far for Anhe to catch the words, but the other drew a frown.
Because the hooded one held a knife—not visible unless viewed from Anhe’s oblique angle.
Tokyo beneath the snowy curtain: two lonely youths, weapons in hand, escorting a respectable woman toward a distant alley. This promises to be an unforgettable winter scene! Of course, witnessing all this, your heart—being that of a model youth—has already made its decision: if everyone’s taking advantage, why not add your little brother to the mix?
...
You really deserve damnation!
Ignoring the narrator’s lengthy, detailed description, Anhe flexed his wrists, donned his gloves, and briskly jogged toward the trio.
On the other side—
Feeling the sharpness pressing against her back, the woman’s face was full of fear, yet her calm eyes betrayed her true thoughts.

How many years had it been?
Since becoming the boss’s wife, this was the first time someone had threatened her with a knife.
The thought made her eyes grow colder.
As a few black-clad figures approached, she signaled with a glance, and they passed by without interference.
She wanted to see where these two would take her, what they intended to do—so she could decide how best to kill them later.
As she pondered, a sudden gust came from behind. Before Tachibana Shin’i could turn, the one holding the knife was sent flying sideways.
With a dull thud as flesh struck the wall, both Shin’i and the blond spun around abruptly, only to find a young man in a white sweatshirt standing behind them.
His leg was still raised from the kick, and beside him, the hooded man who had been controlling Shin’i now clutched his waist, sliding slowly down the wall.
“What—!”
The blond’s eyes widened, but before he could react, the youth lowered his foot, bent to pick up the dropped fruit knife, and examined it with a mocking tone.
“Tch. You really dare use something like this to rob people?”
With that, Anhe gripped the tip and flicked it aside.
The blade spun through the air with a sharp swish, landing precisely on the wall—three meters from the hooded man.
Well... it was actually the handle that hit the wall first.
Silence fell around them, but Anhe, thick-skinned as ever, broke the awkwardness by speaking up.
“Are you going to lie down yourself, or do I have to kick you over?”
He addressed the blond, though the latter seemed oblivious to his kindly intent. His expression changed, just about to speak—
Anhe suddenly raised his leg.
With a heavy thud, the blond staggered backward five or six steps and collapsed to the ground.
“Given the chance, you still fail,” Anhe commented, clenching his fist and moving forward to deliver another blow. But the blond, enduring the pain in his stomach, propped himself up and shouted at Anhe, “Bastard! I was about to say I’d lie down myself!”
...
“Tch. Still daring to curse me!”
Anhe selectively ignored the latter part, grinned wickedly, and rushed forward, unleashing another flurry of kicks at the blond.
There were two types of people he hated most in this life.

One was blonds, the other freeloaders—though female blonds were an exception.
Behind him, Tachibana Shin’i finally reacted, her mouth, agape in surprise, closed again, a smile appearing at its corner.
“Quite an interesting fellow,” she murmured, folding her arms and staying put, watching Anhe’s violence with amusement.
Since this was happening in the streets of Tokyo, Anhe’s actions quickly drew a crowd, and soon two uniformed patrol officers hurried over.
“Stop! Stop at once, don’t hit him anymore!”
The leading officer pushed through the crowd, warning Anhe as he reached for his baton.
Seeing this, Anhe immediately withdrew, stepping aside.
The officer, noting Anhe had stopped, let go of his baton and knelt to check on the blond.
Sensing the police’s arrival, the blond erupted in wails that echoed through the air.
“Enough, stop howling.”
After a thorough check, confirming the blond had no major injuries, the officer gently tapped his head, silencing him instantly.
He then turned to Anhe, frowning, and asked, “Why were you fighting?”
“I was acting out of justice!”
Anhe promptly corrected the officer, pointing to the woman beside him. “This lady was threatened by that blond and his accomplice with a knife. I saw it and intervened.”
The officer’s brows shot up, and he quickly looked to the woman.
Seeing his attention, Tachibana Shin’i immediately put on a fearful expression, her voice trembling and tearful: “That’s right, sir. Those two forced me at knifepoint to follow them into the alley…”
As she spoke, she tried to point to the hooded man who had previously threatened her, but upon turning, found only a knife on the ground—no sign of the culprit.
A faint figure could be seen fleeing in the distance.
“Hey, don’t run!”
Realizing something was wrong, the officer immediately gave chase. As soon as he left, the blond tried to follow suit, hoping to escape like his companion.
After all, armed kidnapping was a serious crime.