Cocktail Bar.
Nothing had changed since the last visit.
The same bartender stood behind the counter, and the only two patrons were still draped in black.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Hayato Masaki said, sliding onto a stool beside Gin.
The bartender slid over a drink menu.
As Hayato glanced at it, Gin's frigid voice cut through. "Did you clean up properly?"
"You mean the dump truck?" Hayato replied, a serene smile playing on his lips.
Behind silver-rimmed glasses, his eyes narrowed with a hint of amusement. In that clear, steady voice, he continued, "Just a simple accident. Nothing to do with me. I'll have a mojito, please."
"Hmph."
Gin let out a cold sneer.
Hayato's meaning was crystal—he'd left no traces.
And he was likely smug about his "accidental" kill.
It was, admittedly, a masterful execution.
No amount of scrutinizing footage would reveal human interference. Had it not played out under Gin's nose, timed to that eerie countdown, he wouldn't have pegged it as premeditated murder.
Intriguing, yes, but Gin wasn't one to dwell on the how. The method's limitations were obvious—too tied to location, timing, and the target's reactions.
"By the way," Hayato said as the bartender set down a sparkling mojito, flecked with mint and lime, "on my way here, I heard there was a car crash."
"People drive so carelessly these days," Vodka said with a snicker, almost gleeful.
Just then, Gin's phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered without checking the caller. "It's me."
His calm expression darkened instantly. "What happened?" he demanded, voice like ice.
Vodka set down his glass, leaning toward Gin.
Whatever was said, Gin's aura grew colder. He hung up abruptly.
"What's up, Bro?" Vodka asked.
Gin didn't answer. His gaze slid to Hayato, chillingly sharp. "You've got guts."
"What's that?" Hayato asked, unfazed.
"The member assigned to tail you is dead. Another very familiar accident."
Oh?
Vodka's jaw dropped at Gin's words. He half-wanted to slam the counter but held back, noting Gin's measured tone.
"Life's unpredictable—death or accidents, who knows what comes first?" Hayato said, his smile unshaken. "No need for such a scary look. It was an accident."
Gin's terrifying eyes bored into him.
After a long pause, he spoke, his voice laced with menace. "No moves against Organization members without my say-so. If I catch you again…" He trailed off, the threat clear. "Watch yourself."
Hayato just smiled.
Gin reined in his killing intent, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.
Silence fell.
The air grew heavy, and Vodka's movements slowed, his hand hovering warily from his empty glass.
Soon, Hayato rose and headed toward the restroom.
Vodka watched him leave, then turned to Gin. "Bro?"
"Check your laptop."
"Right…"
Vodka wasn't just a driver—his IT skills were sharp. On missions, he often lugged a portable computer.
He powered it up, quickly finding a new video in his inbox.
A grainy highway surveillance feed.
It showed a sedan cruising, then suddenly swerving, skidding wildly before veering into the left guardrail.
After a pause, the driver stumbled out, unsteady but seemingly unharmed.
Then came the passenger—the Organization grunt assigned to shadow Hayato, Rikudo Kusuda. The crash had jammed the left door, forcing him to crawl toward the right. But at that moment, a heavy steel coil broke loose from a passing semi, rolling straight for the wrecked car.
The driver, already clear, escaped unscathed. Kusuda, slowed by injuries, wasn't so lucky. The coil flattened him and the car into scrap.
Vodka broke into a cold sweat.
He often rode shotgun.
"It's… it's gotta be a coincidence, right?" he stammered.
"No chance," Gin scoffed.
Both accidents reeked of the same signature. Hayato, Gin realized, liked to strike just when his targets let their guard down.
But how?
Kishio had been stationary, an easier mark. Kusuda was in a moving car, yet only he was killed with surgical precision.
Gin knew he'd need to reassess Hayato's capabilities.
Minutes later, Hayato returned to his seat.
As he passed Vodka, the man stiffened, his gaze locked on his empty glass behind mirrored shades.
Gin slid a phone across the counter.
"It's yours now. There's an address inside. When you're free, go there for training."
"What kind?" Hayato asked.
"Shooting, combat, counter-surveillance. Whatever you want."
"Sounds intriguing," Hayato said with a grin.
He flipped through the phone, noting "Gin" among the contacts. A step up from one-way communication.
"Your skills are… interesting," Gin said, grinding his cigarette into the ashtray. "Put them to good use for the Organization. Perform well, and I'll recommend you for a codename to the Boss."
He paused, eyes narrowing. "No one's watching you anymore. But Kusuda's death? That can't happen again."
"So his name was Kusuda," Hayato said, his smile coy, sidestepping a direct reply.
He didn't linger. Finishing his drink, he left.
Gin and Vodka didn't stay long either, heading out for a deal.
At the base of Okuro Building, standing by his beloved Porsche, Gin stopped Vodka. "Check the car first."
"Good call," Vodka agreed.
After a thorough sweep, they found nothing amiss.
Vodka wiped his brow. "Want me to drive, Bro?"
"Take the passenger seat."
"…Right."
***
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