Hong Kong variety show: The mastermind behind the scenes is emerging.

The Tokyo nights are as cold as knives.

On the edge of Shinjuku, a detached European-style villa is hidden in the dense shade of ginkgo trees.

The master bedroom was dark, with cool moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains and falling on the dark gray silk sheets. Taras lay on his side, one hand resting on the woman's waist beside him, his breathing long and steady.

His wife was named Natasha, 27 years old, of Caucasian descent, with long, dark brown hair spread out on the pillow, thick eyelashes, and a peaceful and relaxed sleeping face.

She didn't understand business and never got involved in gang matters. She would just brew a pot of hot vodka for Taras every night when he came home, and then lean on his shoulder to listen to him spout some nonsense.

That was also the most precious and stable moment in Taras's life.

Unfortunately, stability is something that is destined to be short-lived on this path.

"Buzz—Buzz—Buzz—"

The phone on the bedside table suddenly vibrated, and the screen lit up with a blinding white light in the darkness.

Taras suddenly opened his eyes and frowned.

He quickly hung up the phone, then tiptoed out of bed, walked barefoot across the cold floor to the door, and then dialed the number back.

"What is it?" Taras asked, sounding somewhat displeased.

"Boss, something terrible has happened!" Sergei's panicked voice came from the other end of the line. "The Death Squad is under siege! Tenmon Pavilion, Honmaki Wharf, and our stronghold in Kansai have all been taken down!"

Taras's heart sank: "Who did this?"

"Takamagahara and the Yamaguchi-gumi... they've joined forces!"

Taras tightened his grip on the phone slightly, his face grim.

He knew without a doubt why Jiang Kou had taken action. The hatred of losing a son couldn't be erased in a year or two, not to mention that his wife had just been transferred out of the intensive care unit and was likely to never walk again. Jiang Kou would absolutely not let this go.

But why did Takamagahara get involved?

He and Takamagahara had always kept to themselves and had even had several successful collaborations before. If it was the Watanabe incident, he wouldn't have bothered them; why would they dare to come knocking on his door and provoke him?

He couldn't figure it out, but there was no time to think about it anymore.

"First, organize the defenses," Taras commanded in a deep voice. "Also, notify all key personnel still on the mainland to return to headquarters. Don't scatter, don't panic, I'll be there soon."

"clear!"

Taras hung up the phone and turned to go back to his bedroom.

Natasha had woken up sometime earlier and was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a coat, looking at him. "What's wrong?"

Taras walked to the bedside and sat down, lowering his head slightly to give her a gentle, deep kiss on the forehead: "Something happened at headquarters. You go to sleep first, I'll be back before dawn."

Natasha gazed intently at him, then reached out her slender fingers to brush a stray hair from his forehead: "...Be careful in everything you do."

"Don't worry," Taras said, his tone brimming with an arrogant disdain for everything, "no one can touch me."

"……Um."

After kissing his wife goodbye, Taras changed into his coat, picked up the well-maintained, gleaming revolver from the bedside table, took down the katana hanging on the wall, and went out the door.

Outside the villa, three cars were already running and waiting at the door.

At the front and rear were two Toyota Prados serving as escort vehicles, while in the middle was Taras's vehicle—a Toyota Century, its black body gleaming faintly in the night.

Taras climbed into the back seat, and the convoy drove out of the iron gate and headed towards headquarters.

In the early hours of the morning in Shinjuku, the streetlights cast a dim yellow glow, and there were hardly any people to be seen on the streets. Only the neon signs on the distant high-rise buildings continued to flash their dazzling lights tirelessly.

However, just as the car turned a street corner—

"boom!"

A fireball shot into the sky, and the lead car was suddenly blown away by a powerful explosive, burning into a fireball in the middle of the road. Shattered glass and parts flew everywhere, clanging as they hit the road.

"squeak--!"

The driver, Macado, suddenly slammed on the brakes as his pupils contracted.

However, before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop, another loud crash came from behind—a fully loaded truck suddenly rushed out from a side road and crashed straight into the escort vehicle at the rear.

The sickening screech of steel being crushed and twisted echoed through the night sky. The car behind was directly hit and spun half a circle on the spot, its rear end instantly flattened into a sheet of paper.

The fate of the people inside the car is unknown.

"Слабак! (Bastard!)"

When Taras saw his car stuck in the middle and unable to move, he immediately realized he had fallen into a trap. After cursing loudly, he grabbed a katana from beside his seat, kicked open the car door, and jumped out.

Seeing this, the henchmen and driver in the car also drew their guns, ready to follow, but—

"Bang! Bang!"

Two gunshots rang out from the rooftop in the distance. The henchman and the driver's heads exploded almost simultaneously, and they slumped back into the car.

"Macado! Slip!" Taras's eyes widened in fury as he surveyed his surroundings with the piercing gaze of a hawk and the wolf.

The wind blew from the end of the street, carrying the acrid smell of the explosion, and made his clothes flutter.

"Come out! All of you, get out here!!" Taras roared like a lion, his voice carrying far through the empty street. "Now that you've laid a trap, come out and let me die knowing why!"

As soon as he finished speaking, two figures emerged from the shadows across the street.

The one walking in front was not tall, dressed in a black outfit and thin-soled kung fu shoes, and walked with a limp.

The one behind was slightly taller, wearing a gray trench coat, with his hands in his pockets, looking somewhat helpless, as if he wanted to say something but forcibly held back.

Feng Yuxiu walked to a spot five or six steps away from Taras, stopped, and looked him up and down: "My friend said you're a legend from Japan. I'm a little curious, just how powerful are you?"

"Defeat me and you'll get out of here alive. Otherwise, you'll die here."

Hearing this, Xiao Fu couldn't help but rub his forehead—he had only casually remarked that "Taras is a legend from Japan," but he never expected this guy to remember it now.

Taras glared at him: "I'm willing to fight you, but I want to know who sent you."

"Your subordinate Zhemu caused trouble in Hong Kong," Feng Yuxiu sneered. "We're here to collect a debt."

A look of disbelief flashed across Taras's face: "You're from the Lu family! That's quite a feat... I didn't expect you could even get Takamagahara involved."

"Enough with the nonsense," Feng Yuxiu sneered. "Do you want to live or die? If you want to live, fight me. If you want to die, I'll have the sniper open fire right now."

Taras, of course, did not want to die.

"Weapons or fists?" he asked.

"Whatever you like," Feng Yuxiu said calmly.

"How dare you!" Taras was enraged by the contempt in his words. He suddenly drew his katana—the blade was long and slender, with a beautiful curve and water-like patterns, gleaming with a cold blue light under the streetlights.

Upon seeing this, Feng Yuxiu took an eight-sided Han sword from his subordinate behind him. The sword was straight, eight-sided, and dark gray, with only a slight ripple of luster occasionally appearing under the light of the street lamp.

Xiao Fu shrugged and took a few steps back: "Alright then, I'll be the referee. The rules are simple: whoever falls down loses."

"Ready—" Xiao Fu raised his right hand high, then swung it down sharply: "Begin!"

The seal was lifted.

His sword shot out like a venomous snake, the tip whistling through the air before grazing the tsuba's hilt and slicing a gash in Taras's sleeve, just inches from his wrist.

Taras was no pushover either. Instead of retreating, he swiftly flipped his katana, the back of the blade slicing upwards against the spine of the sword.

Feng Yuxiu's wrist sank, and the sword's momentum suddenly changed, from a diagonal slash to a horizontal thrust, heading straight for Taras's lower abdomen. Seeing this, Taras parried with his sword, and the two weapons clashed with the first crisp sound in the night.

Sparks fly!

The two passed each other, each taking half a step, then almost simultaneously turned their heads. The first round was a test of each other's strength.

The next second, Taras roared, and this time it was his turn to strike first.

Under the streetlights, two figures crossed, separated, and crossed again. The glint of swords cast long shadows on the asphalt road, sparks flew, and the clanging of metal echoed through the empty street, one after another.

Twenty moves passed, thirty moves passed... the two had exchanged over a hundred moves, but they were still evenly matched.

Xiao Fu, watching from the side, couldn't help but shout, "Hey, Lao Feng, this Russian's got some skills!"

Feng Yuxiu did not answer. His breathing became heavier and heavier, but his eyes grew brighter and brighter—it had been a long time since he had encountered an opponent who wielded a knife like this.

On the other side, Taras was also surprised that this strange man who looked like he had a limp could actually fight him to a draw. He let out a low roar, and his sword strike suddenly became fiercer, sweeping across the room and forcing Feng Yuxiu to retreat three steps.

Feng Yu retreated, and Taras pursued him.

After a few moves, just as Taras raised his katana high again, Feng Yuxiu seemed to be exhausted and dodged. Suddenly, he shifted his feet and moved to the side, leaving himself wide open.

Taras was overjoyed at the sight and immediately used his full strength to split Mount Hua in two.

However, this is what Feng Yuxiu and others were referring to.

Taking advantage of his retreat, he twisted his body sharply and thrust out his sword.

A surprise attack!

The sword tip, with a whistling sound, pierced through Taras's blade and precisely struck his heart.

"puff."

With a soft sound, Taras's frenzied movements stopped instantly.

He slowly lowered his head, looking at the dark gray sword tip that had pierced through his left chest. A drop of blood clung to the tip, slowly dripping under the streetlight, landing on the concrete ground at his feet, like a dark red flower.

His fingers loosened weakly, and the katana in his hand clattered to the ground, emitting a clear, mournful sound.

"Heh, heh..."

Taras raised his head and looked at Feng Yuxiu, his lips moving with difficulty as if he wanted to say something, but apart from the sound of blood bubbling in his throat, he could not utter any complete syllables.

Finally, he closed his eyes unwillingly and slowly collapsed to the ground.

Feng Yuxiu stood still, slowly drawing his sword. Then, using a white cloth he pulled out from somewhere, he carefully wiped away the bloodstains.

Franklin walked to his side, glanced down at Taras lying lifeless in a pool of blood: "...Dead?"

"Hmm." Feng Yuxiu folded the white cloth and put it in his pocket, then sheathed the Han sword. "He is indeed a worthy opponent."

Xiao Fu didn't reply, but turned around and waved to the other end of the alley.

A few light footsteps came from the shadows, and then several dark figures quickly approached and began to deal with the scene.

"Do you still think he's a legend?" Feng Yuxiu asked.

Xiao Fu rubbed his nose: "Maybe it was in the past."

Then he paused slightly, grinned, and said, "...But not anymore."

Feng Yuxiu showed a satisfied expression, and then the two of them walked into the deeper night of Tokyo, one after the other.