When Hayashiki returned, everything looked exactly the same.
The bartender hadn't changed. The only two patrons at the bar were still dressed head-to-toe in black.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Hayashiki greeted, walking over and sitting down next to Gin.
The bartender silently slid a drink menu toward him.
As Hayashiki picked it up to browse, Gin's cold voice pierced the air.
"Did you clean up properly?"
"You mean the dump truck?"
Hayashiki smiled faintly.
Behind his silver-rimmed glasses, his eyes narrowed slightly, as if pleased with himself. In a voice as clear as ever, he replied:
"It was just a simple accident. Nothing to do with me. I'll have a mojito, please."
Hayashiki's message was clear—he hadn't left a single loose end.
And he was clearly proud of his "accidental" kill...
To be fair, it was an exceptionally elegant method of assassination.
Even watching the surveillance footage on repeat, one wouldn't find a single clue of foul play. If Gin hadn't witnessed it with his own eyes—and heard the countdown—he'd have never suspected it was a planned murder.
Still, despite the intrigue and mystery, Gin wasn't interested in digging too deep.
The method was clever, but ultimately impractical.
Too dependent on timing, location… and the unpredictable actions of the target.
The bartender returned, placing a crystal-clear mojito on the counter, garnished with mint leaves and lime.
Hayashiki took the glass, twirled the straw between his fingers, and said casually:
"Seems like there was a car accident on my way here."
"People really don't know how to drive anymore," Vodka chuckled, clearly amused.
At that moment, Gin's phone buzzed in his coat pocket. Without checking the caller ID, he picked up.
A beat later, his expression darkened.
"What happened?" he asked, voice suddenly sharp.
Vodka, sensing the shift, set down his drink and turned toward Gin.
Whatever was said on the other end chilled the air around them. Gin's tone turned frosty before he abruptly ended the call.
"What's wrong, Boss?" Vodka asked immediately.
Instead, he narrowed his eyes and turned slowly toward Hayashiki, staring coldly.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"The Organization member I assigned to keep an eye on you died... in a very familiar kind of 'accident.'"
Vodka blinked in surprise, nearly slapping the table—until he noticed that Gin, though icy, hadn't exploded in anger.
"When you live in this world, you never know which will come first—death or an accident."
Hayashiki smiled lightly. "No need to look so grim. It was just an accident."
Gin's eyes bore into him, cold and unblinking.
Then, after a long silence:
"You are not to lay a hand on any Organization members without my permission. If it happens again…"
His voice took on the edge of a blade.
"...you'd better watch yourself."
Hayashiki simply smiled again.
Gin eventually exhaled slowly and extinguished his hostility, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.
A silence settled over them.
The tension in the room was thick enough to slice. Even Vodka, usually loud and casual, found himself moving more cautiously—he didn't even dare to reach for his glass.
Hayashiki stood and walked toward the restroom.
Vodka watched him go, then leaned closer to Gin and asked, "Boss?"
Vodka wasn't just a driver. He had solid tech skills and often brought a portable laptop with him on missions.
He powered it on, found the most recent email, and opened the attached footage.
It was highway surveillance camera footage.
Grainy, a little distorted—but clear enough.
It showed a sedan suddenly losing control mid-drive. The car swerved violently, fishtailing until it smashed into the left guardrail and came to a stop.
A moment later, the driver's side door opened. The man behind the wheel staggered out—clearly shaken, but uninjured.
Then the camera captured the passenger—Kusuda Rikumichi, the agent Gin had assigned to tail Hayashiki.
Because the crash pinned the left side of the car against the rail, he couldn't open his door and was forced to crawl toward the right side, clearly injured and struggling.
Just then, a semi-truck passed by—and a massive steel coil fell loose from its trailer.
It rolled straight toward the crashed vehicle.
The driver who had exited was lucky. He escaped.
But Kusuda Rikumichi, trapped inside, was crushed along with the car beneath the steel coil's full weight.
Vodka's hands grew clammy with cold sweat.
He often rode shotgun.
"That… that really had to be just an accident, right?" he asked, his voice uncertain.
"How could it be?" Gin scoffed coldly.
Both incidents had the same eerie flavor.
He could see the pattern now.
That guy—Hayashiki—only struck when people thought they were safe. When their guard was down. That was when he killed.
Hironobu Kishiyuki had been stationary.
Kusuda had been inside a moving vehicle—and yet, somehow, only he had died.
Gin realized, grimly, that he needed to re-evaluate Hayashiki's capabilities.
A moment later, Hayashiki returned to his seat.
As he walked past Vodka, the latter's body stiffened involuntarily. Behind his sunglasses, he stared down at his empty glass.
Gin handed Hayashiki a phone.
"This phone's yours. There's an address inside. When you're free, go there and start training."
"Can I ask what kind of training?"
"Shooting. Hand-to-hand combat. Counter-surveillance. Take your pick."
"Sounds fun," Hayashiki said with a relaxed smile.
He scrolled through the phone, noticing Gin listed in the contacts.
So now it's two-way communication… progress.
"Your skills are interesting," Gin said, extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray. "Make yourself useful to the Organization. If your performance holds up, I'll recommend you for a codename."
"Also—no one's watching you anymore."
"But what happened to Kusuda Rikumichi—can't happen again."
The final words were sharp and deliberate.
"So his name was Kusuda Rikumichi…" Hayashiki replied softly, not directly acknowledging the threat.
He didn't linger. After finishing his drink, he stood and left.
Gin and Vodka didn't stay long either—they had a deal to attend to.
Outside the Daikoku Building, Gin stood in front of his car.
"Check the car first."
Vodka nodded immediately, thinking it a wise move.
After a thorough inspection, he found nothing unusual.
He wiped his forehead and looked at Gin. "Boss, want me to drive?"
Gin's answer was cold and decisive:
"You sit in the passenger seat."