The kill was done, but the job wasn't over—
As Gin fired and the target crumpled, Vodka had already unbuckled and swung open his door.
He circled to the passenger side, crouching to rifle through the corpse's pockets, grinning when he found the phone still worked.
"Got the phone, Bro."
"Move."
Gin's voice was flat.
Vodka slid back into the driver's seat, started the car, and peeled away, leaving the body behind.
They drove only a short distance before pulling over at an alley. Vodka turned to Hayato. "Hey, pass me that bag back there."
Polite, almost.
Recalling Vodka's sneer from their first meeting, Hayato smiled, handing over the briefcase.
Inside was a portable computer.
Vodka plugged the dead man's phone into it via a data cable and began typing rapidly.
Green code cascaded across the screen, reflecting off his dark sunglasses.
Soon—
"Bro, got it. This guy deleted a ton of chats and texts."
"Recover the texts."
"Already on it."
Hayato was quietly impressed.
The Organization's tech was leaps ahead of the world. Beyond the APTX drug that sparked the whole mess, in an era of bulky desktops, Vodka's sleek laptop felt almost futuristic.
"Found it. He was secretly dealing with these two numbers. I'll have someone trace who they are."
Vodka fired off a text.
While waiting, Hayato glanced at his watch. Five seconds to 10:09 p.m.
Vodka, done packing, started the car again.
Ten meters out, just as they began to speed up, Hayato caught a motorcycle's high beams closing in fast from behind.
"What the…"
Vodka noticed too, initially unbothered, until the bike overtook them and cut them off, forcing him to slam the brakes—
"Hey, you trying to die?!"
He rolled down his window, shouting, but the man dismounting the bike staggered forward, lurching toward the passenger door, pulling a knife from his coat.
Gin lowered his window, hand slipping into his coat—likely gripping his gun.
"Yo, kid, cough up everything you've got!"
Tsukita Taku, a rough-looking middle-aged man, glared with bloodshot eyes, spit flying as he jabbed the knife through the window at Gin.
Hayato noted his ragged breathing, dilated pupils—probably high on something.
Gin's face stayed blank as he raised his gun and fired.
Even expecting it, Hayato barely followed the motion. With the suppressor's hush, the brass bullet punched through Tsukita's forehead, leaving a charred hole.
"Urgh… ah…"
Tsukita's pupils trembled.
His eyes lost focus, the knife slipping from his grip. It nearly fell into the car, but Gin snatched it, driving the blade into Tsukita's neck and shoving him aside.
Not a drop of blood hit the car.
Vodka pulled away.
From the backseat, Hayato glanced at Tsukita's lifeless body, feeling nothing.
Two deaths in five minutes—tomorrow's papers would buzz. Tsukita's robbery and death would make headlines, and the exact haul would confirm Hayato's test.
Vodka steered back to the city's bustle.
When his phone pinged, he pulled over, opened the laptop, and checked an email.
"Here it is… two more damned rats."
The email held two files—profiles, photos, and daily routines of two men.
"Masaki."
Gin stared at the screen, not turning. "Prove your worth again. Take care of these two."
"Fringe players tied to the Organization, huh." Hayato studied the faces with interest.
"Yeah, too many punks getting cocky lately. Even some gang types think they can double-cross us. Idiots like these sell out the Organization for pocket change," Vodka sneered.
"Alright." Hayato toyed with his phone. "How soon is 'quickly'?"
"Sooner the better, but no more than five days." Gin, mindful of Hayato's unique methods, gave leeway.
"Hm, two days then. Any preferences for how they go?"
"Your call. I just want them gone."
A kill was a kill—fancy or plain, it didn't matter.
Gin couldn't care less.
Still…
(An artist of murder?)
He glanced at Hayato, who smiled calmly, unfazed by the task. Gin's mind wandered.
That aquarium hit showed Hayato's kills were layered, meticulous. Perfect execution—yet when the target landed back-first, smashed, Hayato's mood soured instantly.
A flaw in his flawless scene irked him.
(Boring perfectionism or just OCD?)
Gin smirked inwardly.
He didn't care about his underlings' quirks or thoughts—as long as they were skilled and loyal, that was enough.
If Hayato proved himself again, Gin wouldn't mind giving him a boost.
"I'll do it my way, then. Send me those files too. And if there's nothing else, can you drop me at Beika Second Apartments?"
"Bro?" Vodka looked to Gin.
"Take him."
The car sped off.
Hayato grinned to himself—the Organization wasn't so bad. Show some skill, and even Gin might play chauffeur.
***
If you enjoyed this story, don't forget to drop 5 stars and your power stone. And if you want to read more than 30 chapters in advance, feel free to visit: pat reon . com / KangTL