The click of a pulley lighter broke the silence. A flame flared to life, casting a fleeting glow on the cigarette it lit. Akai Shuichi stood
The click of a pulley lighter broke the silence.
A flame flared to life, casting a fleeting glow on the cigarette it lit.
Akai Shuichi stood near a traffic light, smoke curling around him as he gazed at the passing vehicles with a calm, unreadable expression.
But part of his attention was elsewhere—
Someone was following him.
He had sensed it immediately.
In fact, Akai had been feeling this strange unease for days now—like being silently stalked by a venomous snake.
And yet, his thorough investigation had turned up nothing.
He had nearly dismissed it as paranoia, until... the signs became too clear.
There were two of them.
They had clearly received some level of training.
But to Akai, they were rookies.
Could they be from that organization?
Akai narrowed his eyes. Unlikely.
If Gin had truly sent men this unskilled, then the infamous assassin must have suffered serious brain damage.
Rival gangsters? The Japanese police?
With no solid conclusion, Akai began to alter his path—leading his shadows astray.
He planned to isolate them and interrogate one.
A vibration in his coat pocket.
He pulled out his phone and unlocked it, and his eyes hardened as he read the message:
[The people in the organization are preparing to attack you. Run away, Lord!]
For a moment, the cold, precise machine that was Akai Shuichi... faltered.
A name carved into his memory forever.
Five years ago, in an effort to infiltrate the Black Organization, Akai had adopted the alias Moroboshi Dai, and faked a traffic accident.
That's how he "met" Akemi.
He got close to her and then used the relationship to access her younger sister, Shiho Miyano.
Eventually, his talents earned him the codename Rye within the organization.
But when a high-stakes FBI plan to arrest Gin failed and Akai's identity was compromised, he had no choice but to vanish.
Akemi... wasn't so lucky.
In fact, two nights before she was supposedly killed by Gin, Akai had received one last message:
[Master... if you really leave the organization, would you consider becoming my real boyfriend this time?]
He knew she was planning something reckless.
He didn't even reply.
The next news he heard…
Was that she was dead.
Now, staring at his phone, a second message came in:
[Please believe me, Lord.]
Akai stared blankly. Rationality was in his nature—ruthless rationality.
And given that Miyano Akemi was supposed to be dead, this was more likely a trap from the organization using her phone.
If it were really them, they wouldn't send amateurs like the ones tailing him now.
[They planned an "accident." Unexpected methods. Please believe me, Lord…]
What followed were small, intimate memories from their past—things only Akemi could've known.
Tiny details from their time together...
His cold heart wavered.
But still—he didn't respond.
He only watched the flood of messages keep coming.
A voice crackled in his headset—Chianti's voice—excited, tense, like a hound desperate for blood.
She watched the black-haired man cross the street with hands in his pockets, unable to hide her envy.
But for the glory of blasting his skull open with a sniper round.
"If I nail that shot," she muttered to herself, "Gin will buy me two drinks, and Cointreau might even take off his shirt and show me his abs!"
The thought made her laugh and cry all at once.
But then reality set in.
She didn't even have a gun.
(Damn Gin… He's got me doing recon instead!)
Her exasperated sigh carried through the comms and straight into Gin's ears.
But Gin... didn't even flinch.
He sat before a wall of glowing monitors, arms folded, cold eyes watching.
Beside him, Vodka tapped furiously on a keyboard, hacking into street cams, one by one.
Live feeds flickered into view.
Akai hadn't reached the ambush site yet, but thanks to the "nails" Gin had embedded across the city's intersections, his movements were predictable.
Why gamble on whether Akai suspected he was being followed?
Why not make the surveillance obvious—
and let Akai fall into a carefully staged trap?
Cohen's voice joined the channel.
Then, Hayashi Yoshiki—Cointreau—spoke up:
[Are you ready, Vodka?]
"No problem, Cointreau."
[At the Mihua Post Office intersection—when the red light hits zero, set the green light to 47 seconds.]
[Next: Third intersection on Meihua Street. Green light for 68 seconds.]
Vodka followed every command with unwavering focus.
This wasn't just a plan.
It was a choreography of death.
Gin watched from behind, his gaze sharp.
It was the first time he'd seen Cointreau manage a kill operation so... methodically.
Using traffic lights to regulate the target's movement?
Positioning obstacles and lures at specific timing intervals?
Silently, Gin admitted it—Cointreau might be the one to finally erase the Silver Bullet.
As the last adjustment was made, Cointreau's voice returned:
[If everything goes smoothly, Akai Shuichi should reach the signal between 14:37:30 and 14:37:35.]
Gin's lips curled into a thin smile.
"Have fun, Cointreau," he said darkly.