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ALMOST WIPEOUT
SIDE 2 / Sub-Contents:No heroes. No justice.
Only those too sharp to obey—
and too proud to be saved.In Nagahama’s underground,
she kills with words.
His denial of salvation.The Yakuza of Iyo.

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THE YAKUZA OF IYO

In the first year of Genroku,
the outlaws of the upper provinces were steeped—
steeped—
steeped in sin.There was this one fool they called Foobie
Not evil, exactly.
But trust me—he ain’t the tail-wagging kind.Introduce him to some idiot who says, “Names reveal nature,”
and you’ll end up watching that idiot cry.⸻Bit odd, isn’t it?
Now that I think about it—
So many folks live lives completely opposite from the names they’re given.
Don’t you think so, Nana?Li-hachi? Ever seen him do anything useful?
Take “Takezou,” the guy’s as quiet as a monk.
And the ones named “Gaku” are usually thugs.
In the end, I guess genetics beat out a parent’s hope.Aha—aha—ahahaha.Haaah…⸻That’s how these half-baked yakuza types are.Right off the bat, what you see in Foobie is this:
He always plays the attack.
Always knows what hurts, and what won’t be forgiven.Makes sense—he’s an ex-samurai.
A certified bandit with a rap sheet long as hell.
No doubt about it—
He’s one of those rough, lawless types.He’d storm into the underground like a fireman in festival garb,
stirring up a scene one minute—
and the next,
he’s sweet-talking sugar and sake into the sleeves of noblemen.Then he gets clever:
pairs indulgences with contraband.
A combo that probably felt like
pure, sweet liberation.⸻Yeah—
You could call it what it was:
a private harvest in an unguarded orchard.
He partied under the Tokugawa crest.
No punishment.
Greedy hands, easy riches.His street-learned sense of money?
Soaked deep in black syrup.⸻“Umaa. Umaaahhh.”
(Yumm yummm) in EnglishThat’s what he’d say.
Kakunari - GiggleLook at the guy now. Just look.
See those eyes?
Dark as midnight.
No bottom to that kind of black.⸻You should go sometime—
Nagahama’s summer festival.
Worth seeing at least once.Daytime’s not bad,
but at night, that underground market is pure culture.
You smell it?
Sweet soy glaze in the air.⸻Kamado-chan.
You eat sweets, don’t you?
Come by once you’re settled.The market bubbles under the surface.
The people who pass through—
they’ve got dry eyes.
You can feel the quiet violence in them.They drink it down like it’s nothing.That kind of gaze.
Not the trendy kind.
No—
from bureaucrats to commoners,
they’ve all got something… not quite human behind their stare.Though to Nana-chan, they’re probably just puppies.⸻Hey… that scar on your face?
How’d that happen?
You’re young—
weird that it never healed.

INTRODUCING;
KAKUNARI 角成
THE TABLE SOVEREIGN

She runs the underground in Nagahama.
They call her the Guest Chamber Magistrate.Her words?
Quicker than a blade.
Sharper, too.Kakunari doesn’t waste her intelligence on anything
other than language and power.Her philosophy?
“Thrones are seized through the palm, not the sword.”⸻She has this eerie, almost divine way of grasping people—
especially people no one can understand.A daimyo once wept reading the apology she wrote for him.
A pirate from the South Seas?
Bowed deep, right on the deck of his own ship.⸻“Sometimes,
a well-written sentence can take off a man’s head
before the blade ever swings.But in the underground,
you need something even faster than a letter.You need wind.”⸻It starts with a glance.
Two people connect in that instant.
When it’s over,
you leave them feeling the wind.
They actually heard / felt;
"Don’t do anything stupid."

Kamado felt like she’d just sat through a full damn play.
Only thing she could say back was—“You saying all that just so you can tell someone else later?”⸻Kakunari’s mouth moved like a shop curtain in a strong wind.
(That’s how it looked to Kamado—
a face-blind girl seeing movement instead of identity.)⸻And then, like she couldn’t help herself,
Kakunari softened—“Nooo, that’s not it, not at all! Jeez.”
Eyes narrowing,
letting that strange affection leak out.⸻“Haahh… I guess I’m done then.”But Kakunari pouted—“I’m saying this ‘cause I care about you, Nana—”Almost like she enjoyed saying it.⸻“Anyway, if you’re gonna keep coming around—
stop by here sometimes, alright?”⸻Kamado instinctively tightened her legs—
ready to stand.But something above felt…off.
The curtain didn’t drop.Too late.Kakunari was already back on the stage.“Alright, then—I’ll keep going, yeah?”⸻Pushing a curtain that won’t move.
That’s what it was like.Kamado realized:
this woman doesn’t do endings.⸻She locked eyes,
expression flat as two marbles.
No emotion.Decided, right there:
This is just prep.
Get through it.
Just let my eyes open and collexr ONLY useful information.⸻

ALMOST WIPEOUT

liked goldfish. A lot.When asked why,
he’d say this:“I want to save.
But I don’t want to be saved.People who assume they know your heart—
I can’t stand that shit.Folks try to scoop you up without even knowing your will.
That’s not kindness.
That’s arrogance.Whether they’re fellow gangsters or some clean-living type,
come at me with that pitying look like I’m the sad one?Try to ‘save’ me, and I’ll wreck you all.”⸻Even during the rowdy heat of festival nights,
civilians knew to avoid his gaze.
Whenever they tried not to look—
even rowdy crowds would suddenly go quiet around him.⸻The reason he got stuck running the goldfish booth
had nothing to do with goldfish.
It was just that he wouldn’t wag his tail
for the people at the top.
And he couldn’t move money, either.The smell of dead fish ruined his mood.(No one’s coming to save me anyway.)⸻Any money he made from the gang
was all spent feeding himself.Just like those half-dead fish.He wasn’t “cash.”
He wasn’t tail-fin bait either.He was a tool for violence.
A shield for violence.
And now—
the next expendable bullet.⸻Foobie lived his life with one belief:
If no one’s coming to save me,
then I’ll live cleaner than anyone.⸻Once, during Nagahama’s summer festival—
Lord Hijikawa, drunk as hell,
grabbed a goldfish barehanded from a booth.
The stall owner? Furious.
A whole brawl broke out.⸻Foobie hadn’t planned to fight,
just to shut the guy down.
But things escalated.Meaty fists slamming back and forth.They meant to kill each other.⸻At another festival in Matsuyama,
same story—
Hijikawa tried to scoop goldfish barehanded again.“Do you really trust the strength of this paper?”he said,
with absurd confidence.Then he added—“If it only works because you can’t catch the goldfish,
then change the name to Uncatchable Goldfish Game.”That was his logic.⸻At island festivals, people always talked about him—
that Hijikawa guy.
The guy who’d listen real close,
then punch you mid-sentence.
Weird talent for timing.⸻Folks would even bet drinks
on whether his crew would start a fight at that festival.⸻Then there was that voice,
quiet but full of warning:“You there, warehouse boy.
Yeah, you.
Don’t look away.”Hijikawa’s face was too memorable.
Foobie never forgot it.⸻Already, the air was thick with violence.
Festival decorations trembled like swords.Even the oversized lion mask from the Matsuyama parade
shrunk into the crowd.⸻⸻Far from the chaos of the crowd,
the only sound was grass underfoot.The harbor flickered in the distance.
Hijikawa and Foobie stood side by side.⸻Why the hell am I getting into it with this monster?
Foobie sighed.
Just apologize and end it.⸻But then—“You know how to play shogi?”That stopped Foobie cold.Not from fear.⸻“You ask a gambler that?”He was pissed at himself—
for sounding so friendly.
This guy had literally been pounding him
with kill-level fists a moment ago.⸻They were perfectly matched.
Neither could beat the other in a straight brawl.And when men reach that level—
they can’t forgive “softness.”
Whether it’s a smirk or a stab,
by the next morning it’s:“How do I take this bastard down?”Your regret fuels your strategy.
You stand tall until you get the edge.⸻The festival noise faded behind them.
Hijikawa said nothing—
just placed a single shogi piece down.
Did he say anything after?Maybe. Maybe not.Foobie just stood there, dazed.
Thought he got hit again.⸻He didn’t even call out to that man’s back
as he walked away.
Before he realized,
his own feet had turned from the harbor lights.He’d already started walking.⸻Looking back now?
If he saw some fool walking naked toward a sacred mountain,
he’d laugh in his face.But back then,
it wasn’t funny.He was standing on a massive board of shogi,
his own camp like a sheet of thin ice.All that tail-wagging?
Just more shame
pinned to his back.⸻Total defeat.
Even to a man like Hijikawa,
starting with only pawns and knights.Not even frustrating.
Just devastating.⸻The kind of intricate, delicate moves
you only see in the underground.
Flawless, like handcrafted mistwork.“My bad.
I’m just better at this game.”No joy in the win.
Hijikawa touched two fingers to his temple,
pressed lightly.Still no emotion in that guy’s face.⸻“Foobie.
You said it yourself, didn’t you?‘True yakuza are the embodiment of selfishness.
Once they start begging for salvation,
the game’s over.’
That was your line, right?”⸻“If that was just talk,
I’d tell you to get lost.But I like it.”“Still—
I don’t believe you.”⸻“You almost died once, right?
No one helped.
You gonna say that same line
when your life’s dripping out your neck
and death’s staring you in the face?Then prove it.
Show me.”⸻Words hit like a fist.
Didn’t need a thermometer to measure that heat.Foobie didn’t answer out loud.But his eyes were asking—“What do you really mean?”⸻“You can take it home and think it over.
But listen up:I will take control of Nagahama Port.
I’ve got the muscle to shut the whole damn place up.You—
that suicidal playstyle of yours?
You’re perfect.”⸻“Hey, Foobie.
If you really mean it—
if you truly don’t want to be saved—then quit the yakuza.
Live that lie to the bitter end.”⸻“Stand in danger like a Rook swung wide.
Dive into the abyss of Hijikawa’s underworld.Carve a path straight through Nagahama.”⸻“Show me.”⸻**And so, Foobie
became known as… Foolibi
The Flying Rook.（振飛）⸻