Mei handed out weapons one by one. Rifles, pistols, even throwing knives. The others took them without question, checking the weights, locking the safeties. But when she got to Executioner, he didn't even look at what she was offering. He just smiled quietly, that same cold, calm smile he always wore before a mission, and tapped the blade at his side.
"Don't need those," he said. His voice was low, steady. "This baby's all I need."
His hand rested on the katana like it was part of him. Not a tool—an extension of who he was. There was no need for backup when you could end a fight before it started.
The others chuckled. Ryota gave him a sidelong glance.
"Still old school, huh?" he muttered with a grin.
Executioner said nothing, just climbed into his car. He never talked much. Especially not before things got serious.
The engines roared to life. One after another, they pulled away. Ryota's Bentley rolled like a king's chariot, smooth and sharp. Shota leaned back in his sleek black S-Class, one hand on the wheel like he owned the road. Hiroto revved his Ferrari loud and wild, like his personality—always loud, always fast. Ling Tian's Lamborghini purred like a predator, sleek and waiting to strike. Rina's Bugatti glimmered in the streetlights, dangerous and beautiful, just like her. And Natsumi rolled forward with calm grace, her Maybach silent but powerful.
Executioner drove last, quiet as ever.
Mei's voice crackled through their earpieces.
"Alright guys, Mr. Daiki's at Kita Shinchi Club. Dress to impress. Clothes are in the trunks—something flashy enough to blend in with the rich crowd, but keep your heads down."
Executioner stayed silent, listening. Around him, zippers opened, bags rustled. He could almost picture Ryota adjusting his collar in the mirror, Shota slicking back his hair like some movie star, Hiroto probably doing too much just to stand out. The quiet clicks of belts, the soft laughter between friends—it felt almost normal. Almost like they were just regular people.
"Alright, lookin' sharp over here," Ryota's voice came through first, cheerful.
"Time to blend in with the rich and famous," Shota added.
They pulled into the parking lot of Kita Shinchi. Music pounded from the walls, people were everywhere—dancing, drinking, shouting over the bass. Flashing lights bounced off chrome hoods and expensive heels.
"Let's get this party started," Shota said, stepping out, smoothing down his suit.
The crowd turned instantly. Eyes locked on them. They weren't just dressed like rich people. They looked like something else. Stronger. Dangerous.
"Whoa… check out those riders," a woman near the entrance said, her voice laced with awe.
Inside the club, the music was almost too loud to think. The air was thick with heat, perfume, and alcohol. People danced like they didn't care who was watching.
Executioner kept his back straight, his eyes sharp.
"Let's chill for a bit," he said through the comm. "Too many eyes. Spread out. Don't draw attention."
Shota melted into the crowd like he was made for it. Smooth and confident, he moved like he belonged there. Then he saw the guy—flashing cash like a fool, girls hanging off his arms.
"Some people don't know how to spend money right," he muttered with a smirk.
He slipped through the crowd, bumped into the guy, lifted the wallet like it was nothing, and vanished into the back like a shadow.
Alone, Shota flipped through the wallet. Full of bills. Not surprising. But when he saw the ID, he froze.
Daiki.
His smile faded. He looked up. That wasn't Daiki. The guy didn't match the face at all. Something was wrong.
Shota's fingers worked quickly. The cash stayed in his pocket, but the wallet slid back into the coat. Then, with practiced ease, he lifted the man's phone.
One message on the lock screen: "They are in. Come back now."
Shota's stomach tightened. The phone wasn't his. The man was a decoy.
"Guys, we've been played," he said through the comm. "Daiki's not here. This was a setup. We need to move fast."
Ling Tian's voice came through, sharp and frustrated. "How the hell are we supposed to find him? The tracker said he was here!"
"Fake location," Shota answered, eyes narrowing as he watched the decoy trying to leave. "But this guy's not alone. He might lead us to the real one. Everyone, back to the cars. I'll follow him."
As they moved, Executioner didn't follow.
He had stopped walking.
His eyes were locked on something—a mask.
One of the men in the crowd wore it. Black, simple, but with that same shape—the kind worn by the people who killed his father twenty-one years ago.
His breathing got tight. His hand clenched.
"Executioner? You there? We're by the cars," Rina said into the comm, voice calm but concerned.
No answer.
Ryota cursed under his breath and ran back in. He spotted Executioner right away—walking toward the masked man with slow, burning steps.
"Hey—stop!" Ryota grabbed his arm.
Executioner shook him off like nothing and kept going.
Then he moved.
One hit.
The punch landed so hard, the man dropped like a ragdoll. He didn't even make a sound.
Screams erupted. People ran everywhere.
Executioner snapped out of it, breathing heavy. He reached out to Ryota, but Ryota pushed his hand away.
They walked back, silent. It was too late. The real target had escaped.
Shota slammed the car door.
"You let him get away! You blew it!"
Executioner stepped forward fast and shoved him against the car.
"Don't ever blame me again."
Shota didn't flinch. His eyes narrowed.
Rina got between them quick.
"Enough. We don't have time for this."
Ryota held up the phone.
"I still got the tracker."
Shota blinked. "Wait… seriously?"
Ryota nodded. "Yeah. It's here. Still showing Kita Shinchi."
"…Wait." Shota patted his pocket. "…I still have the phone."
Everyone groaned.
Hiroto started laughing.
"I can help," he said.
"How?" Executioner asked.
"Let me smell it. I'll track his scent."
They all stared. Then burst out laughing.
Natsumi picked him up like a toy and laughed, "You're a genius."
Rina added, smiling, "Then do your job, genius."
Hiroto sniffed the phone.
"I smell… Shota."
Faces dropped.
"I'm kidding. I think he went that way," Hiroto said, pointing.
Executioner nodded. "Kawabata Street."
Engines roared again. They sped off.
Mei's voice came on.
"Where are you?"
"Kawabata."
"Be careful. That area's crawling with killers and thieves."
Executioner chuckled. "Shota's family, then."
They laughed. Even Shota grinned.
But it didn't last long.
Hiroto suddenly slammed on his brakes. Everyone behind him swerved, tires screaming.
They rushed out.
Hiroto stood holding a small kid in his arms. The kid looked scared, dirty.
"Aww…" they all said together.
Then eight men stepped out from the bushes, guns raised.
No more laughter.
Just silence.