Chapter 14: Kawasaki Rika (1).
【Damn… treating me like I’m nothing, huh…】
The sensation of being a mere pawn, toyed with in someone’s palm, ignited unprecedented humiliation in Ayata Aina.
Such arrogance! Such mockery! Such utter shame!
As if her entire existence, the deep love poured into Hoshiya Kaoru, her current agony and helplessness—
To the lurker in the shadows, it was nothing but a crude, laughable stage play for their amusement!
She, the clown on stage; they, the exalted audience.
【No… I will never allow this to happen…】
A near-obsessive resolve blazed like wildfire in the dark—fanned by rage and fear in her chest.
——————
Kawasaki Rika’s parents were triumphant entrepreneurs… and abject failures as parents.
Their success dazzled: from nothing, they built a top-tier neon catering empire—brands, chains, features in finance mags, idols to aspiring founders.
Their failure stung: their daughter never became the heir they envisioned. Instead, she led a delinquent gang—a slap to their polished image.
Career-obsessed, they never spent a full day with her since birth.
Tiny Rika shuttled between pricey nannies and aging grandparents.
The elder Kawasakis poured energy into their decades-old izakaya; love for their granddaughter came in scraps.
Psychologically: chronic parental absence breeds deep insecurity, low self-worth, inferiority.
Add extreme emotional dysregulation—unhealthy outlets for anger and loss.
All manifested in Rika’s childhood.
Until third grade, she was the class “invisible”—bullied, isolated.
Quiet, timid eyes; expensive but mismatched clothes.
Turning point: a sunny afternoon.
Her brand-new cartoon pencil case snatched by a tall, burly girl, dangled tauntingly.
To reclaim it, the frail quiet girl lunged like a cornered beast.
Bit off half the bully’s ear.
Logically impossible—Rika smaller, weaker.
But her ferocity defied age: savage, reckless, insane.
Nose broken, blood flooding her young face, vision blackening—she felt no pain.
Wiped blood, eyes feral, charged again. Suicidal momentum terrified the girl into shock.
Aftermath: her “successful” parents handled efficiently, pragmatically.
Massive payout to the victim’s family, pulled strings—the girl “voluntarily” transferred.
No apology, no probing why. Just money and power sweeping it clean.
Rika’s “fame” spread. Delinquents flocked, crowning her “Boss.”
She fought well… and had endless pocket money.
Humans crave belonging.
Emotional island Rika finally found twisted “acceptance” among “bad” girls.
She trained systematically: karate, kendo, street brawls.
Good physique, innate ruthlessness—mastery grew; reputation boomed.
Loose delinquents morphed into a tight, infamous gang ruling the area.
Night fell. Dim streetlamps glowed.
A low, piercing engine roar.
Sleek, aggressive heavyweight motorcycle halted before a secluded suburban villa.
Under skilled control, it tilted obediently, balanced.
Long left leg planted firm—black leather pants.
Right swung over, studded Martin boot heel slicing air, slamming concrete with defiant thud.
She unclipped the helmet, fluid motion removing the badass full-face.
Wild ash-blonde shoulder-length hair spilled free—helmet-flattened, messy strands sweat-glued to forehead and neck, adding untamed edge.
Yellow streetlight carved her sharp profile, gray eyes icy in the dark.
“Boss Kawasaki, you’re here.”
Two punk-dressed lookouts at the gate straightened from slouch, trotting over eagerly, reverently taking the heavy helmet.
Rika nodded curtly—no extra expression.
She pushed the thick iron gate.
Instantly: deafening rock, raucous laughter, smoke-booze stench flooded out like a breached dam, assaulting senses.
“Boss is here!”
“It’s the Boss!”
“Evening, Boss!”
…