From the outside, it looked like just another ordinary commercial building.
The cocktail bar on the top floor was discreet. It rarely saw customers on weekdays and was often closed to the public.
Hayashiki arrived almost exactly on time.
As he pushed the door open, his first impression was how deserted it seemed.
The bar wasn't very large.
Dim yellow lights spilled from the ceiling, illuminating the cypress-wood counter and the well-stocked shelves behind it. The bartender stood silently behind the bar, polishing glasses until they gleamed. Only two patrons sat at the bar, both dressed in black.
One was tall and burly—Vodka, like a personal bodyguard. The other was Gin, a cigarette burning between his fingers.
"Here comes this guy, bro," Vodka muttered with a sneer as he spotted Hayashiki approaching.
Gin's cold eyes shifted in his direction.
Half-hidden beneath the brim of his hat and messy bangs, Gin's dark green eyes locked onto Hayashiki's with a chilling lack of warmth.
"Good evening, Mr. Gin, Mr. Vodka," Hayashiki greeted them in a soft voice, his smile calm. "What did you need from me tonight?"
Compared to his daytime appearance, he now wore a pair of silver-framed glasses.
His smile curved exactly the same as always.
Yet the way his eyes narrowed behind the lenses gave off an unsettling feeling—gentle, yes, but there was a glint of something darker behind them.
Vodka found him repulsive. He could hardly suppress a sneer.
Gin, on the other hand, gave a faint grin.
His pupils, smaller than average, radiated a sinister and predatory intensity.
"There's a job for you."
Instead, Vodka handed over an envelope.
Hayashiki took it calmly.
As he sat down at the bar, the bartender asked, "What would you like to drink?"
The bartender began preparing the cocktail in silence.
Hayashiki opened the envelope. On top was a photograph of a man, likely in his thirties, wearing a black turtleneck under a light blue jacket. His face was well-formed and attractive.
Below the photo was a name and brief profile:
After memorizing the man's appearance and name, Hayashiki heard Gin speak:
"Tomorrow night at 11 o'clock, in the second alley west of the Beika Aquarium—kill him."
"Eleven o'clock? Are you sure he'll be there at that time?" Hayashiki asked without hesitation.
"Of course," Vodka replied with a smirk. "He won't suspect anything. As far as he knows, it's just another routine meeting."
"He's just a little rat," Gin growled, eyes flashing with menace. "Sniffing around the organization, doing dirty side deals. If he were a traitor, I'd kill him myself."
That was classic Gin.
He had a reputation as the Organization's top enforcer, not just because he was constantly killing traitors—but because he relished it.
He had no tolerance for weakness or betrayal.
The only sound in the bar was the quiet rhythm of cocktails being mixed.
The bartender placed a glass of clear amber cocktail in front of Hayashiki.
He picked it up, took a small sip, then set it back down.
Gypsy—a vodka-based cocktail mixed with French liqueur and a dash of bitters. It had a light sweetness, but the herbal aroma couldn't mask the strength of the alcohol.
The bartender then brought out a second drink.
"Orange Blossom, for you."
A vivid orange-red cocktail served in a classic glass.
This gin-based cocktail was far more pleasant. Though Cointreau added to its alcoholic strength, its dominant flavors came from fresh orange juice, lime juice, and pomegranate syrup—a much smoother finish.
Each man had ordered a drink based on his code name.
Both spirits were highly distilled—gin being flavored with botanicals like juniper and citrus peel, while vodka was simply diluted with water.
No wonder Gin always dragged along Vodka—his less refined, dimmer counterpart.
After finishing the Orange Blossom, Hayashiki placed the target's dossier back in the envelope, tucked it away, and stood up.
"If there's nothing else, I'll be going."
Neither of the two responded.
Hayashiki left the bar and stepped into the street.
Even at 9:30 p.m., the city was still buzzing.
Passing a sharp-looking stranger on the sidewalk, Hayashiki raised a hand and hailed a taxi. As he got in and gave the address, he pulled out a pen and a slip of paper.
It was a torn page from the Death Note.
Since arriving in this world, he hadn't expected to get involved with the darker elements so soon. He had become affiliated with the Organization—low-ranking, and without a code name.
Although Gin's "model employee" reputation had almost become a meme in later arcs, Hayashiki knew better: the man was genuinely lethal.
So he had prepared ahead of time.
With the Death Note, which could dictate the cause of death like a screenplay, things became far simpler.
-> At 9:00 p.m. on March 18, he wandered around the Daikoku Building in Beika City. He remained there for 48 minutes until he witnessed a young man in a black coat and silver-framed glasses calmly leave in a taxi. He then lived a normal life until dying by suicide—hanging himself at 3:46 a.m. on April 10.
The exact cause and time of death didn't matter.
What mattered was that he would see Hayashiki's calm exit.
That moment of being observed gave Hayashiki an airtight alibi.
As the taxi made its way toward Mihua Second Apartment, Hayashiki's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.
A sudden sensation made him feel as if he were being watched.
He began scanning the cars behind them.