Tokyo: From Lawless Madpolice to Minister
Chapter 298 - 279: The Undercover Agent Who Turned to Evil, Blessings Spread Across the Country_2

Chapter 298: Chapter 279: The Undercover Agent Who Turned to Evil, Blessings Spread Across the Country_2

Some people are immersed in Tokyo’s glittering nightlife, but others are not at peace tonight.

"Ding-dong, ding-dong."

The jarring sound of the doorbell rings incessantly.

"Mosi, Mosi?"

A cautious male voice comes through the intercom.

"Mr. Murakami, good evening, we are staff from the Debt Collection Department at Nozawa Financial Corporation. We have noted that your loan payment from last month is overdue by almost half a month. May I ask if it would be possible for you to make a repayment?"

Outside, a collector in a suit and leather shoes speaks with a polite and gentle tone.

"Why is it you again, idiot! I’ve told you I have no money! I’ll pay when I can, idiot! Stop bothering me and get lost!"

Murakami Hiroaki curses, showing no intention of repaying his debt. At first, he had been quite afraid of the collectors, but once he realized that all the staff from the Nozawa Financial Corporation were these polite types, he became increasingly arrogant and offensive.

After all, it’s easy to point a gun at a good person.

"Bang!" "Bang!" "Bang!"

The next moment, the door is subjected to violent pounding.

"What the hell are you doing? What is this?"

Murakami Hiroaki yells through the door.

But the collector outside does not respond to him.

Instead, the persistent pounding continues.

"Bang!" "Bang!" "Bang!"

"You’re breaking into a private residence! If you don’t stop, I’ll call the police!" Murakami Hiroaki threatens.

"Fine, Mr. Murakami, please go ahead. Calling the police is your right, but repaying your debts is your obligation."

"Idiot! You think I won’t call the cops?" Murakami Hiroaki curses, turns, and walks to the living room to pick up the phone and dials 110. "110 Emergency, I want to report a violent debt collection."

"Hello, may I ask if you know the company to which the collection staff belong? We need to register it here."

"It’s Nozawa Financial Corporation! The biggest loan company in the country, Nozawa Financial Corporation! They are completely lawless! Aren’t you police going to do anything?" Murakami Hiroaki angrily questions.

"Alright, sir, our advice is for you to repay the money quickly and not to misuse police resources."

Upon hearing it’s Nozawa Financial Corporation, the operator’s tone drops, and the call is abruptly disconnected.

"Beep, beep, beep."

Listening to the busy tone in the handset, Murakami Hiroaki stands there, still somewhat dazed, not quite able to grasp the situation.

"Bang!"

Finally, the door is violently broken open from the outside.

"Ah!"

"Daddy!"

Murakami Hiroaki’s wife cries out in shock, and their children hide in their mother’s arms, shivering in fear.

Murakami Hiroaki turns to look, only to see a young man in a black suit and white shirt carrying a briefcase walking in, followed by four tattooed men who clearly appear to be veteran Yakuza members.

"Mr. Murakami, our apologies for the broken door. Our association will fund the repairs," says the young man in the suit, bowing slightly and smiling in an attempt to be reassuring.

A legitimate company did everything in a legitimate way.

Looking at the four Violent Gang members behind the young man in a suit, Murakami Hiroaki’s face turned pale, no longer carrying his earlier arrogance, he said with a gloomy face, "I really don’t have any money now, do you have to force me to death?"

"Mr. Murakami, it’s not like we forced you to borrow money in the first place, did we?" The debt collector asked with a smile, then continued, "Besides, our company’s interest rates are within the legal range and quite reasonable. Since you can’t pay it back, why didn’t you consider this when you borrowed the money?"

Nozawa Financial Corporation had a rule that all debt collectors must serve with a smile, as they represented the company’s image; the violent methods were left to the Violent Gang.

"I have no money now anyway; you might as well kill me!" Murakami Hiroaki began to act shamelessly.

"Mr. Murakami, our company is a legitimate company; we can’t just resort to violence like that," the debt collector said with a smile, and then took out a contract from his briefcase, "Actually, for customers like you who have difficulties in repaying, our company has fully considered your predicaments and has a special repayment assistance plan."

"According to the information you provided when you borrowed, you were previously a senior technician at some electronics corporation. I’ve found you a job; you work there for a while, and naturally, the money will be enough to settle your debt."

Murakami Hiroaki looked skeptical; a lending company helping to find a job - could there really be such a good thing?

He took the contract and glanced at it, his face turning green; the salary offered was only half the market price.

This was simply deceiving him into being exploited and squeezed.

If he could accept low wages, he would have found a job long ago. Would he even need to rely on borrowing to live?

"This... this is ridiculous! Why not just make me work for free? What if I refuse to go?"

Murakami Hiroaki threw the contract on the ground and asked.

"Of course, that’s your freedom," the debt collector replied, bending down to pick up the contract—but instantly followed with a change of tone, "But in that case, our company will have to proceed through legal channels, and your house will be auctioned off to repay the debt. Next, someone from our legal department will be in touch with you. I’ll take my leave for now."

He bowed and then turned to leave.

He had just stepped away when he stopped, turned back with a slight smile, and said, "By the way, to prevent you from selling your house and running away, the four staff behind me will temporarily stay at your place. Don’t worry, they won’t be staying for free; they’ll help by taking your kids to and from school every day."

"But they’re a bit rough around the edges and might have an oversight or two. If something were to happen to the children on their way to or from school, please don’t mind too much."

Murakami Hiroaki’s face instantly turned red, and he rushed forward intending to punch the debt collector but was immediately kicked to the ground by a burly man with tattoos on his hands.

He lay curled up in agony, wailing non-stop.

"Mr. Murakami can report him to the police. He’s not an official employee of our company, and what he does has nothing to do with us," the debt collector’s smile remained on his face.

"Ahh!" Murakami Hiroaki pounded the ground in anger and helplessness, then squeezed through his teeth, "You’re tough; I’ll go! I’ll go!"

"That’s a wise choice, congrats on getting out of unemployment," the debt collector immediately came back, handing over the employment contract and a pen for him to sign.

Nozawa Financial Corporation established deep partnerships with many employers, specifically sending these people who couldn’t repay their debts to sweatshops, where the wages were far below market rates. Nozawa Finance took a commission, which did not count towards the repayment of the debt.

After all, they’d provided them with a job, so what’s wrong with taking a little appreciation fee out of their monthly salary?

Of course, the debtors were unaware of this.

The salary figures on their contracts were the numbers after Nozawa Finance had taken its commission.

From the moment they borrowed the money, they’d either dutifully pay the interest to generate profits for Nozawa Finance, or they’d be sold into a factory, or they would work off their debt unpaid to Nozawa Finance.

Thinking of not repaying the money was out of the question; Nozawa Finance had plenty of ways to recoup its losses.

Murakami Hiroaki was not alone.

He was a reflection of many Japanese.

Mr. Aoyama’s good fortune was spreading across the nation.

With his own efforts, he revolutionized the loan industry’s legitimacy, boosted consumption, even raised the nation’s employment rate; a national hero, if ever there was one.

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