Burakumin.
The moment that word slipped out from one of the reporters’ mouths, everyone reflexively turned their heads toward the sound and froze.
As countless reporters turned their heads in unison, the reporter who had uttered “Burakumin” awkwardly cleared their throat.
[ Hmm, cough, cough! ]
[ Don’t you know that’s a forbidden word? ]
[ You’re not supposed to use it in any articles. We don’t want to get lumped in and blamed too. ]
[ I get where you’re coming from, but still… tch. ]
[ Why use a word like that? ]
Burakumin (部落民).
These are the people who were historically discriminated against in Japan.
In other countries, they would be considered the underclass, but unlike others, the Burakumin were often involved in professions that others avoided, such as butchery, execution, or leather processing—so-called “cruel and dirty” jobs.
In a Japan heavily influenced by Buddhism where killing was frowned upon, these professions were a perfect justification for discrimination, which became deeply entrenched over time. Furthermore, in isolation from mainstream society, this group was pressured into forming villages where they sought refuge among themselves, hence creating “buraku” or “hamlets,” which solidified over the generations. Over time, the term “Buraku Min” (部落民), or “Burakumin” in Japanese, became synonymous with individuals who were inherently discriminated against, and treated as underclass citizens.
This discrimination has persisted up until now.
Officially, the caste system was abolished long ago, but the shadow of the “Burakumin” heritage continued to burden their descendants. An informal “blacklist” that marked the names of Burakumin descendants circulated among the influential to prevent them from being properly integrated into society. As a result, these individuals were branded and ostracized as acceptable targets for discrimination and oppression by the majority.
It was only recently, with the establishment of anti-discrimination laws, that using the word “Burakumin” itself became prohibited. Officially, discrimination was curbed via legal restrictions. Additionally, some Burakumin, unable to secure legitimate jobs due to bias, found themselves drawn into organized crime or the Yakuza, gaining influence that discouraged casual mention of the term.
It’s one thing to look down on others, but it’s quite another to do so while risking retaliation.
[ Alright, alright. I was wrong. It just slipped out. Who knew it was so sensitive…]
The reporter muttered under their breath but quickly apologized.
Because it was indeed his fault for uttering the forbidden word in a gathering of journalists, and worse, the term used in a way that carried its own set of problematic implications.
For warriors, there is an excessive fixation on honor.
Had the honor of the warriors been diminished upon comparison with the Burakumin?
If a warrior felt scorned, retaliation would leave the offender without an excuse.
Especially now, with the dojo on the brink of demise, there were even more reasons to avoid provoking retribution.
[ We should watch our words. If this dojo falls, you might end up sliced in half while walking alone at night. ]
[ As a journalist, you should be mindful of your words. Tsk tsk…]
The reporters quickly distanced themselves from the offender, shaking their heads in disapproval. Then, they scattered, pretending as if nothing happened, furiously taking photos.
Click.
Click.
But pretending that nothing happened wouldn’t erase the impact, especially when there was someone watching the whole situation in real-time.
“Bu-ra-ku-min…!”
Teeth grinding.
The head of the Yatadoarangkryu sect, Michisige—a warrior group whose honor had been dragged through the mud by the comparison to Burakumin—was grinding his teeth so fiercely that they might shatter. He glared daggers at the nervous reporter with bloodshot eyes.
The murderous intent in his gaze was palpable. The kind that made the warning of someone meeting their end by being split in two while walking alone at night seem almost realistic.
But Michisige’s rage didn’t last long.
[ Look here! ]
[ You see that altar over there? ]
[ Is that an altar? It was hidden behind the cage; didn’t notice it earlier. ]
[ Oh wow. There’s even a picture drawn here? Looks legit. ]
[ What’s the picture supposed to represent? Do you know, Priest? ]
[ Yes, I believe I do. It seems to be related to Maori mythology. This image appears to depict Whiro-te-tipua. ]
[ Whi-ro te? What exactly does that mean? ]
[ Commonly referred to as Whiro, this is a deity of the underworld, representing darkness and evil. This god is known to use wicked forces and disease and sustains its power by consuming the bodies of the dead. ]
An altar, previously concealed behind the cage, was now found, and not only its existence confirmed, but its identity was explained in detail by a Shinto priest wearing a fox mask.
“But…”
Michisige stared at the priest with a face of disbelief, momentarily forgetting about the murderous intent aimed at the journalist.
“How could you…”
Certainly, the altar existed, and there was an image on it representing Whiro, a Maori god of darkness. However, the altar’s symbols had all been deliberately stripped away, disguising it as a common workbench for butchery. The image was distorted beyond recognition due to layers of bl**d and paint, making it look like mere geometric abstract art.
Yet somehow, the priest recognized it as “a dark deity from Maori mythology.”
What’s more, the explanation didn’t end there.
[ Hmm. Would you dismantle this ‘workbench’ a bit? Thank you kindly. Indeed, it seems they’ve tampered with the internal structure here. All sorts of plant roots and darkened, decaying bones. And furthermore, there are items that appear to be magical artifacts used by necromancers. This seems a way to enhance the symbols of the underworld. ]
[ Excuse me! Priest! Are these… human bones? ]
[ Yes. Clearly human skulls. ]
[ What madness! They used human bones to construct the altar?! ]
The priest casually requested that the altar be torn apart, leading to the exposure of the items Yatadoarangkryu had hidden there since the altar’s creation.
The roots of poisonous plants.
The various magical artifacts used by necromancers, gathered from illicit black markets that had proliferated throughout post-war Japan.
And the skeletons of workers killed to completely conceal the existence of a secret space.
Human sacrifices! Human sacrifices!
These warriors were nurturing their power through human sacrifices!
They were violating laws, performing forbidden sorcery—and not just any sorcery, but human sacrifices! Isn’t this insane?!
Evidently, those influential individuals weren’t wrong to band together to attack us!
They’re not proper Japanese citizens—these are despicable people who shouldn’t exist within Japan!
These disgusting non-citizens!
The reporters shouted in unison.
This sect of warriors, these maniacs, were non-citizens.
They were an illegitimate existence unworthy of being in Japan.
They were foes who must be banished!
Watching this scene unfold, Michisige felt despair.
Everything was exposed.
The facility that Yatadoarangkryu had secretly established since breaking away from Shiheng’s real combat style was revealed.
The unethical sorcery they conducted while evading the eyes of onmyoji (masters of yin and yang) and the government in pursuit of mana and power had come to light.
Thus, Michisige had no choice but to give up on everything.
“Ah, it’s finally gotten a bit easier to cook.”
The inspector lowered their smartphone and looked at Michisige, now disheartened and resigned to total collapse.
Because of the despair stemming from every shattered achievement, Michisige was now an ideal “criminal” ready to spill his secrets.
*
The inspector was relentless.
Relentless, brimming with malice, and insidious.
Before starting the formal interrogation, they ensured that Michisige’s group, the Yatadoarangkryu sect, was completely dismantled and labeled as an axis of evil, all broadcast live. Even as Michisige wallowed in despair, no time was given to recover; instead, he was constantly tormented with words that deepened his plight.
“Take a look. The tradition you belonged to is over. You saw it all, right? All those reporters came, subdued your warriors, and documented every detail of your supposed human sacrifice altar. What do you think will happen once this becomes public? Huh?”
“There were no human sacrifices! I only offered animals!”
“Animals? Hahahaha! That’s funny. Listen, sect master. Or should I say, criminal b*stard, who’s going to believe that? Huh? Who would buy that story?”
“I… I only sacrificed animals!”
“Now, that’s laughable. Your claim might have had a shred of credibility if we’d only found animal corpses. But when we dismantled your altar, what did we find? Human skulls! Human skulls, you fool. Are you going to claim they’re monkey skulls? Any idiot could see they were human skulls. Right?”
“Then…!”
“Going to say you robbed tombs? Sure, that’s fine too. But hey, modern science and cops are top-notch these days. Did you know how amazing the wizards at the scientific investigation institute are? Send them evidence, and they send back information you’d rather not know. I was shocked when they identified a criminal’s health status just from a cigarette stub!”
“And by the way, do you think the onmyoji will sit still after what you’ve done? They aren’t just letting this slide.”
“…”
“Going to keep quiet, huh? Go ahead. Next live broadcast, we’ll see.”
Sometimes, instead of words, they showed videos, repeating what they had done before: real-time footage of Yatadoarangkryu’s collapse.
“See that? The onmyoji’s arrival. You know how persistent they are, right?”
They also showed real-time footage of the onmyoji demolishing the dojo, upturning the soil to uncover traces of sorcery.
“Sorry! They left us no choice! They bribed us with carrots while whipping us with threats. They snuck into our sleeping quarters at night and intimidated us, but they also whispered that vast sums of money awaited us if we closed our eyes! We had no choice!”
“Do you have evidence? Evidence?”
“No evidence, but I’ll testify!”
“That timeline doesn’t add up? Oh, yes! It’s the shock! You know how traumatic events can seal away memories! That’s exactly what happened!”
“Regardless, all those wrongdoings I committed—it’s all their fault! It’s all their fault!”
And they showed videos of people who, in chorus, shifted all their blame onto the Yatadoarangkryu.
But despite all the cruel torment, Michisige bit his tongue, refusing to speak. He ignored the inspector’s incessant attempts to coax a confession with tricks, choosing instead to stubbornly repeat that he was innocent.
And finally,
“Tch. You. Hold on a sec.”
The interrogation, which had felt like a tour through Hell, had come to an end.
