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585 – You’re in Trouble
🕑 Added 2025-10-13 16:21:35 +0000 UTC“Training camp” usually means a group of people living together for a set period, sharing a dorm, and doing joint practice or training.
But in truth, there are two very different kinds of training camps.
The first type happens when a club’s budget is overflowing, so they decide to “use it up” by treating everyone to a mini vacation.
They find a scenic spot, eat and drink to their heart’s content, and call it “team bonding.” Training is mostly symbolic: a few stretches under the sun.
Then barbecue at sunset, and at night they crash on futons in a big tatami room, gossiping about cute girls from school.
The second kind, however, is the real deal — hardcore training meant to sharpen skill and endurance.
Wake up earlier than school hours, clean the dorm, train all morning, eat a quick lunch, train again, have dinner, and then… keep training.
Some maniacs even keep going until three or four in the morning, catch a few minutes of sleep, and start again the next day.
That was the kind of camp Hojou Kyousuke had planned which was why he’d dragged Megumi’s cousin into it in the first place.
But he hadn’t expected Kisaki to turn the whole thing into such a massive event.
So, the plan had to change.
Kyousuke knew he could whip his idiotic subordinates into shape, maybe knock a few extra IQ points into their heads so they’d be too busy training to think about anything else.
But looking around at all the girls who had shown up, the ever-considerate “boss” in him couldn’t bring himself to be that cruel.
So, after knocking Keiichi down five times in a row Kyousuke finally called for a break.
The quiet dojo instantly exploded with noise.
The Kaihin High gang went out to the yard with the Onizuka crew to check out the row of cool motorcycles.
The Higashi boys? They just collapsed on the spot, giving each other massages and rubbing on ointment.
Lunch wasn’t an issue.
A few girls from Kaihin High offered to help cook, but the ever-prepared Kisaki had already arranged takeout from a nearby restaurant.
At mealtime, boxes of food would simply be delivered right to the door.
Of course, Kisaki wasn’t one to “waste good business on outsiders.”
He had wanted to order from Okudera Miki, the big sister figure who ran her own restaurant, but she was already drowning in dine-in customers.
So, he handed the order to one of his underlings whose family owned a restaurant.
Worth noting — the entire dojo project, from location to design, from blueprints to construction materials.
Kisaki had deliberately chosen companies run by his organization’s people.
Not to save money, but to build influence. It was his way of showing their families that their kids weren’t just loud punks who went “vrooom vrooom” every night, but part of a real, structured community — a family with a future.
That’s how you build loyalty.
That’s how you build unity.
Through little details like this.
Of course, paying “friends-and-family” discounts on everything was just a nice bonus.
While Kisaki was on the phone finalizing the lunch order, a few guys from outside suddenly rushed in — faces pale.
“Boss, a couple of police cars just pulled up!”
“Oh, crap… they actually came!”
Saimenji Mizuki gasped.
No wonder the little police box nearby had been so quiet — they’d just been waiting for backup!
“Onizuka-senpai! We’ll block the front gate — you guys should get out of here!”
Mikiyo Ryuushi, who had been posing on Onizuka’s bike for photos, shouted heroically.
In his mind, he was a law-abiding citizen — at worst, he’d get charged with “obstructing justice” or maybe just a scolding.
But Onizuka? Yeah, not so lucky.
“Hah? Why should I run?” Onizuka frowned, confused, while the camera crew cheerfully snapped photos of the girls around him.
“What do you mean why? You’re still cracking jokes at a time like this? You really are a born comedian,” Mikiyo said admiringly.
“Obviously, because you’re the bad guy here.”
“Me? A bad guy?” Onizuka pointed at himself in disbelief.
Sure, he tinkered with bikes, drag raced, broke speed limits, got into fights, and maybe had an unhealthy curiosity about what’s under girls’ skirts.
Sure, his dream was to marry a 17-year-old high school girl when he hit 40. But that didn’t make him a—
Wait… hold on a second.
“Me??”
Onizuka’s eyes widened. His voice went up an octave.
“Yeah, you! The cops are definitely here for you,” Mikiyo said with certainty.
“You totally look like a bad guy,” Mizuki added.
‘Gulp.’
As the two police cars rolled through the gate, Onizuka recalled all those glorious moments of outrunning highway patrol on the expressway.
‘So this is it, huh? I really am the bad guy.’
Eikichi Onizuka realized his sins.
‘Kisaki, you bastard… why’d you have to build the walls this high?’
“Ryuji! You go first! You’re the worst rider here!” Seeing the cops step out of the car, Onizuka shouted to his brother-in-arms.
After countless close calls together, they both knew the rule: let Danma Ryuji run first.
If he didn’t make it over the wall in time, the cops would focus on him, giving Onizuka a clean shot at escape.
Then he could circle back later and “heroically rescue” his friend.
That was the unspoken strategy of the legendary Onibaku Duo — flawless except for the occasional beating Ryuji took.
Still, better one in the hospital than both.
Even Hojou Kyousuke would have given them a thumbs-up for that logic.
“No. This time, I’ll hold them off. Eikichi, take care of yourself!” Ryuji’s voice was firm as he shoved his brother toward the wall.
“Ryuji… you…” Onizuka was speechless, eyes welling up with emotion.
‘What happened to the plan, bro? Have we really drifted this far apart?’
Ryuji didn’t know what was going through his partner’s head.
He gave him another hard push and yelled,
“RUN! Eikichi Onizuka, RUN!!”
Tears glistened in Onizuka’s eyes as he dashed barefoot across the white stone courtyard toward the dojo wall.
Along the way, a few younger guys just stared blankly at him.
‘Ah, youth…’ Onizuka thought.
If he were just a few years younger, he probably wouldn’t run either — not because of bravery, but because juvenile law would still protect him.
‘Freedom feels so far away.’
The courtyard that had felt huge and fun just minutes ago now seemed endless.
Sharp gravel cut into his feet with every step, pain stabbing deep — but he didn’t stop.
He couldn’t.
He didn’t need to look back to know his brothers were right behind him.
As the former head of a biker gang, it was his duty to set an example — to show the next generation how to properly mess with the cops.
‘They must all be looking at me right now — eyes full of admiration and awe.’
‘That’s right, kids. Watch and learn. This is what true leadership looks like.’
Barefoot, Hojou Kyousuke stepped out of the dojo and stopped at the edge of the veranda.
His sharp gaze followed the sight of Eikichi Onizuka, charging toward the wall like a wild gorilla.
Kyousuke’s eyebrows furrowed tightly.
“…What the hell is he doing?” Even with his razor-sharp intellect, the great Kyousuke couldn’t figure out what Onizuka was up to this time.
Before Saimenji Mizuki or Mikiyo Ryuushi could explain, the older members — including Danma Ryuji — suddenly burst into laughter.
“Hahahahahahahaha—!”
Kyousuke’s eyes twitched.
He still didn’t get it, but he didn’t have time to deal with those idiots right now.
Knowing them, it was probably just another prank at Onizuka’s expense — nothing new.
Both sides were used to it by now.
The only thing that ever changed was how ridiculous the prank got.
For now, he had more important matters — like welcoming a “distinguished guest.”
As both a “son-in-law candidate”… well, unofficially… and a writer, Kyousuke had met his fair share of big shots.
He’d collected business cards from half the senior bureaucrats in the Ministry of Culture.
If he wanted to, he could easily attend two or three networking parties every weekend.
But that was all under his other identities.
Right now, he was simply a high school student, captain of the Kaihin High kendo club.
The most high-ranking people he’d ever officially dealt with in this role were the officials running the national tournaments or math competitions.
Sliding on his wooden geta sandals, Kyousuke strode toward the black sedan that had just pulled up.
Two cars in total — one police cruiser with Tokyo Metropolitan Police markings, and one black Toyota sedan.
As he approached, Kyousuke silently thanked the heavens that he’d managed to “tame” Kisaki and the others early on.
Otherwise, he might have been riding in one of those police cars instead.
“Arisugawa-san, welcome,” he greeted with a calm smile, extending his hand.
“Hahaha, sorry to intrude. You must be young Hojou-kun,” the man replied warmly.
The visitor was none other than Arisugawa Gouri, father of Arisugawa Ren — a strict, precise man who usually carried the expression of someone who’d rather be solving national budget issues than small talk.
Yet, today, his smile was surprisingly genuine.
Despite Kyousuke’s age, Gouri didn’t look down on him in the slightest.
He shook his hand firmly, smiling with the politeness of a man who knew exactly who he was dealing with.
A few gray-suited men stepped out of the cars behind him, carrying briefcases and packages.
Kyousuke and Gouri kept shaking hands, both wearing the kind of bright, diplomatic smiles that made it look as if they were long-lost family friends.
Meanwhile, over by the wall, Eikichi Onizuka finally reached his destination.
A three-meter wall meant nothing to him.
He sprinted, pushed off, leaving black footprints on the pristine white surface, grabbed the top, and hauled himself up with ease.
Standing proudly atop the wall, Onizuka didn’t just think of saving himself.
No — he turned around, ready to lend a hand to his less experienced juniors.
That was how he and Ryuji had always done it — he’d climb first, then help pull his brother up.
But now, things were different.
Ryuji had stayed behind to buy them time, to block the “enemy” — truly a man’s man.
And Onizuka? He wasn’t just some idiot running for his life anymore.
He was a leader — a senior who reached out to his juniors with the hand of hope.
“Come on, guys! I’ll get you all out of here!” Onizuka roared, turning dramatically toward the yard.
…
Silence.
Absolute silence.
He looked down — no one. Looked up — everyone.
The courtyard was full of people staring at him.
Hojou Kyousuke, Arisugawa Gouri, and the rest of the guests had all turned toward the sound of his shouting.
And there he was — a broad-shouldered man in a kendo uniform, standing on a three-meter wall, one arm extended dramatically like a Broadway performer mid-song.
“…What is that?”
Mr. Arisugawa hesitated, glancing sideways at Kyousuke.
He wanted to ask, but also didn’t want to risk stepping on a sore spot.
‘He’s… probably mentally unstable,’ Gouri thought to himself.
Now it all made sense.
He’d been wondering why this dojo’s walls were built so ridiculously high — clearly, it was to keep this lunatic from escaping.
Still, looking at the scene now… it seemed even a wall that tall couldn’t contain a heart that yearned for freedom.
Kyousuke closed his eyes in pained resignation and sighed.
“That kid… he’s a little mischievous,” he said with a strained smile.
“Perhaps a barbed wire fence would help,” Mr. Arisugawa offered politely. “Some people are… spirited, but even they tend to respect pain.”
“You might be right,” Kyousuke nodded thoughtfully. Though honestly, he doubted barbed wire or even live current would stop Onizuka from doing something stupid.
A more effective measure might be giving him headphones that constantly play the sound of motorcycle engines — keep his brain comfortably idle 24/7.
“Hey! Hey! What the hell’s going on here?!” Onizuka yelled, craning his neck.
From his view, it looked like the cops were chatting happily with Kyousuke instead of arresting anyone.
Then, as if the universe wanted to humble him, a sudden gust of wind hit.
Onizuka wobbled, lost his balance, and tumbled backward — only saving himself at the last second by hooking one hand over the wall’s edge.
‘So close. I almost missed lunch.’
That was when Mikiyo and Mizuki ran over, finally realizing their mistake.
“Sorry, Onizuka-senpai! We panicked when we saw the police cars and yelled for you to run!” Mizuki apologized, bowing quickly.
Even after making a total fool of himself, Onizuka wasn’t heartless.
He could tell the girl was genuinely worried. He sighed and smiled wryly.
“No problem. Guess I just… look like a criminal, huh?”
“Haha, exactly! When I first met you, I almost called the cops too,” Mikiyo joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Good thing you’re just scary-looking. Inside, you’re harmless.”
“…Thanks,” Onizuka muttered flatly.
As for Arisugawa Gouri, there was a reason he could casually mix police business with school visits.
The police department had a whole kendo instruction division that often collaborated with schools.
Back in the old Showa days, they’d regularly organize neighborhood kids’ kendo tournaments.
As the chief himself, all it took was one word from him to pull a little “community engagement” budget — enough to buy gifts or supplies without touching his own wallet.
And if the schools involved in this little camp ended up winning future competitions?
Well, that would go down as one more successful initiative under his name.
A win-win for everyone — except, perhaps, for one barefoot ex-biker dangling off a wall.
