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Chapter 68 c
🕑 Added 2025-03-14 16:41:47 +0000 UTCChapter 68 c
“There was no other way,” Viktor continued. “In the end, Chihiro—who was once a soldier—had no choice but to do dirty work for the Tyger Claws to pay off her debts. She spent years doing it, finally managed to clear what she owed…but because she turned out to be such a useful tool, they wouldn’t let her leave.
“When threats and bribes failed, they tried using her daughter, Ryoko, as leverage. That was the last straw. Chihiro decided she’d had enough and came to me so I could remove the trackers the gang implanted in them.”
After listening to all this, Leo couldn’t help massaging his temples with a sigh.
“So that’s why the Tyger Claws showed up here… Honestly, Old Vic, what am I supposed to say to you?”
In Night City, there was an unwritten rule: everyone minded their own business and didn’t poke their nose into other’s troubles. Yet Viktor seemed to be an exception.
Then again, so was Leo himself—so he decided he had no right to judge.
Viktor simply chuckled and leisurely removed the serrated gloves he’d slipped on, placing them back where they belonged. He reattached the specialized exoskeleton arm he used for surgery. From his calm, unhurried demeanor, no one would guess he’d just riled up the Tyger Claws.
“Watson isn’t Westbrook,” Viktor remarked. “They won’t go too far here. Still, I’m more worried about Chihiro and Ryoko’s safety than my own. I’ve got no clue where they are now. It’s been a few days since I helped them, and only now the gang comes calling. Maybe they’ve already left Night City.”
Leo nodded. “Let’s hope so.”
…
The Tyger Claws were a yakuza syndicate from Japan and among the largest criminal organizations in Night City. Most of its members were of Asian descent. They aimed to maintain control of their territory—and occasionally swallowed other gangs or took over their businesses.
Their trademarks included glow-in-the-dark tattoos, roaring motorcycles, blades like katanas or wakizashis, and flashy jackets. The Night City branch was only one division; their headquarters was in Tokyo.
Even so, here in NC they dominated some of the city’s biggest nightlife areas: bars, restaurants, braindance clubs, sex establishments, and casinos. They had more dens than any other gang and maintained ties to various corporate bigshots, who liked to frequent their establishments for fun or to blow off steam. Their connection to Arasaka ran especially deep—everyone knew Arasaka preferred to outsource its dirty work to street gangs, paying them in cutting-edge gear and military weapons.
What outsiders didn’t realize was that the Tyger Claws weren’t a monolith.
Like a parent company with many subsidiaries, the gang was subdivided into numerous groups under the “Tyger Claws” umbrella. The ones who had just gone to Viktor’s clinic belonged to the Masafusa-gumi (gumi- as in group), led by Masafusa Jōtarō. They were also referred to as the
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Walking down the street outside, pedestrians spotted the Tyger Claws and instinctively avoided eye contact, hurrying away. Normally, such fear would gratify them. But now, after slinking away from Viktor’s clinic like whipped dogs, the Masafusa-gumi members were inwardly seething.
One of the underlings couldn’t restrain himself. “Why didn’t we just fight? If word spreads that we chickened out against a single ripperdoc, how are we supposed to keep face in the gang?”
Hearing his minion’s accusation, the masked leader snapped, “You blind or what? That doc’s no ordinary street sawbones. Didn’t you see the trophies for boxing matches on his tables and walls? And those punks with him? All looked vicious as hell.”
He recalled the scene at the clinic. Normally, civilians trembled the moment Tyger Claws showed up, but Leo’s group had stayed calm, like they couldn’t care less.
“We’ll go report to Jōtarō-sama first,” the masked man said. “See what he wants to do after that… Wait, I’m getting a call.”
He frowned; the incoming number was unknown.
The masked man hesitated, then took the call. “Who the hell is this? Spit it out if you’ve got something to say.”
Whoever was on the other end didn’t waste time. “I have the woman and child you Tyger Claws are looking for.”
He stiffened and lowered his voice menacingly. “Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter. I’m just a nobody who doesn’t want trouble with the Tyger Claws or Masafusa Jōtarō-sama.”
The masked man immediately heard the toadying tone. His hostility eased somewhat. “So what do you want? The gang’s gratitude? A personal friendship with Jōtarō-sama?”
“Making friends with the Tyger Claws would be wonderful. But if I could get something more tangible—eurodollars, for instance—that’d be even better.”
“No problem, I’ll speak for Jōtarō-sama. One thousand eddies.”
“One thousand? Not enough. This intel’s worth at least ten thousand.”
“Ten thousand? You’ve got a death wish?” The masked man’s voice bristled. Yet the informant just snorted, clearly sure the Tyger Claws would fold.
“Tch… Fine, I can only promise three thousand on my own. And if Jōtarō-sama hears about it, he’s definitely not paying more than that for a lead.”
Unexpectedly, the stranger agreed right away. “All right. Three thousand is fine. Wire the money to this account.”
A text popped up on the masked man’s display, containing bank details.
“I’m just supposed to pay up when you say so? What if you run off after I transfer the money?”
“I’d never dare cross the Tyger Claws—everybody knows your reputation. Once the money arrives, I’ll hand over everything I know. You have my word.”
Gritting his teeth, the masked man finally transferred 1,000 eurodollars.
“We agreed on three thousand, not one.”
“When I have the info, I’ll pay the rest. We’re Japan’s premier yakuza, expanding to Night City—you can trust the Tyger Claws’ honor.” Now the ball was in the informant’s court; the masked man felt a flicker of apprehension. If the caller hung up here, that thousand eddies was lost. It was a gamble. Luckily, the masked man gambled right.
“That woman’s full name is Chihiro Kakyoin, a former soldier in the New United States Army. That checks out with what you know, yeah? She and I go way back. A few days ago, she came to me with her daughter, asked for two tickets to Europe—plus the paperwork so they wouldn’t get deported as illegals once they arrived.”
Ever since Chihiro deserted the Tyger Claws, the gang’s higher-ups had worried she’d flee Night City. Now this call confirmed their fear.
“And then?” the masked man pressed.
“I stalled them under the excuse that it’d take time to get everything ready. Right now, they’re holed up in an old apartment building in Watson’s Kabuki area. I’ll send you the address.”
Beep, beep—another text arrived, showing a map and a photo of a rundown apartment.
“Got it. I’ll send the remaining two thousand soon. The Tyger Claws always repay their debts. For now, keep your head down—don’t you dare go near that woman. Understood?”
“No need to tell me twice.”
After hanging up, the masked man transferred the remaining 2,000 eddies, then immediately called Jōtarō.
“Jōtarō-sama, we found them. They’re holed up in an old apartment in Kabuki.”
“That ripperdoc’s doing?”
“No, a smuggler reached out to us. Looks like she’s planning to run off to Europe.”
“Europe, is it? Well, if she wants to go that far, we should give her a fitting send-off. I’ll have Nantō Masayuki lead a crew over. We’ll make sure neither Chihiro nor her kid gets away.”
Hearing that, the masked man brightened up. “Nantō-san’s joining us?”
Nantō Masayuki was the top enforcer in Masafusa-gumi, known as the ‘Dragon of Masafusa.’ Word had it even the gang’s Japanese HQ had heard of him. Rumor said the Tyger Claw’s main boss had once tried luring Nantō with promises of power and wealth, but Nantō refused. The boss supposedly praised him: “Nantō-kun is truly this era’s Katakura Kagetsuna.”
“One more thing, Jōtarō-sama,” the masked man ventured carefully. “That ripperdoc not only removed the trackers from Chihiro and Ryoko but showed open defiance when we visited him. Should we punish him? Teach him a lesson?”
As yakuza traditionalists, the Tyger Claws believed any slight toward even their lowest members demanded swift vengeance. The gang’s leadership knew that in the long run, profitable business was better than all-out war, and sly intimidation masked as ‘principles’ worked better than raw violence. But many middle and lower-ranked members were hardened criminals who revered brutality above all else. They wouldn’t lightly overlook such insults.
