In the dark of night, an armed helicopter tilted its fuselage and circled the towering buildings like a bird of prey.
Gin locked onto the fleeing enemy aircraft using the night vision targeting system, his gloved finger tightening on the trigger.
The missiles mounted beneath the helicopter's stub wings ignited instantly, streaking through the air with blazing trails.
Watching the flames erupt and the enemy aircraft spiral downward, Gin's lips curled into a cruel smile.
"Mission accomplished."
At that moment, Hayashi Yoshiki calmly removed his communication headset, his dark eyes meeting Gin's.
"Then let's retreat."
He pressed his earpiece, confirmed the status of the team, and coldly ordered Vodka:
The Osaka prefectural authorities were in a state of chaos.
The confrontation between the two organizations had unfolded in public view, even involving armed helicopters—this wasn't just a criminal incident; it looked like an all-out terrorist clash.
While Gin had been busy with aerial fire support, he'd left tactical coordination to Hayashi Yoshiki. Curious to assess the full scope of the operation, he gave the order to retrieve combat footage from each operative.
Thanks to GPS trackers embedded in the agents' comms (with the exception of Bourbon, who had been deep undercover), it was easy to compile each operative's video logs.
The logistics team got to work immediately.
Meanwhile, Vodka expertly piloted the Apache to a landing site behind a remote hillside. The rotor blades gradually slowed, their roar fading as the aircraft touched down.
"So damn noisy…" Hayashi muttered as he stepped out, tie fluttering in the mountain breeze.
"That's how it is with these birds," Vodka replied. He nearly offered a hand to steady him—but caught himself. Too subservient.
"Can we drive out now?"
As Vodka checked with Hayashi, Gin had already descended and made for the passenger seat of a waiting vehicle. Hayashi followed and climbed into the back.
Moments later, the car was rolling along the dark highway. In the rearview mirror, Hayashi watched as Gin pulled a small remote from his coat and pressed it.
The abandoned helicopter exploded into flaming debris behind them.
"The Osaka police will comb the entire region for that bird."
Watching the distant fireball in the mirror, Gin didn't look the slightest bit concerned. In fact, he chuckled.
"There's radar interference support, but I'm not in the mood for hide-and-seek with those hyenas."
Besides—without useful remains to analyze, the authorities would likely redirect their attention.
Compared to the covert trail left by the Black Organization, the enemy—that whimsical syndicate—had left an entire office building full of damning evidence: gunrunning, human trafficking, contraband, and murder. A buffet of crimes for investigators.
Hayashi didn't respond.
Vodka kept driving. On Gin's lap, the laptop pinged—video retrieval was complete.
Excluding Bourbon's, whose footage was unavailable due to his location, the logs of Tequila, Chianti, and Vermouth were ready. Each was linked to Hayashi's real-time battlefield coordination.
The first clip showed Tequila darting into oncoming traffic at Cointreau's command, maintaining a speed of exactly 147 km/h.
Chianti's sniper round struck the tanker truck's wheel at precisely the right moment. The vehicle tipped—and thanks to Hayashi's countdown and instruction to change lanes, Tequila's Hummer barely avoided being crushed and incinerated.
It wasn't luck. It wasn't even an improvised accident-based assassination.
It was a calculation.
Understandable, maybe… but to this degree? That was unsettling.
Then came the video from Vermouth's escape route.
As the scene played, Gin's eyes slowly widened under the brim of his hat.
A flying tire—dislodged in a chaotic multi-vehicle crash—struck an enemy helicopter. The impact altered the aircraft's trajectory, causing it to veer directly into a billboard support structure.
Result? Total detonation.
Gin paused. Rewound. Slowed the footage.
The smile on his face became jagged, sinister, wolf-like.
"Unbelievable…" he murmured. "Unfathomable."
Next to him, Vodka shivered.
He reached out discreetly and turned up the heat in the car.
Gin barely noticed. He played the clip again. Still no answer.
He finally looked up, about to ask how Hayashi had pulled it off.
But Hayashi Yoshiki sat with his elbow resting on the window, fingers pressed to his temple, eyes closed in apparent rest.
He looked just like he had after the last operation… utterly drained.
After a few more silent minutes, Gin spoke again:
"Stop at the pharmacy ahead."
"Eh? Brother, are you hurt?"
Vodka was confused but obediently pulled over.
"Huh? Ah—yes, understood!"
Vodka scrambled inside. A few minutes later, he returned with a small bag, holding out an oral glucose supplement and some packaged bottles.
"The clerk also recommended fish oil. Said it's good for the brain, heh."
"Yeah." Gin's reply was noncommittal.
"Cointreau… would you like one?"
Hayashi's dark eyes slowly opened.
He glanced at the glucose in Vodka's hand, then at Gin in the front passenger seat.
Gin answered for him, expression unreadable under his hat.
With a slight nod, Hayashi reached out and took the glucose.