The Beika Aquarium was located far from any residential areas.
This was a commercial zone, and most of the nearby shops depended on foot traffic brought in by the aquarium. But at this late hour, with the aquarium long closed, the surrounding stores had all shut their doors.
Late at night—
The streets were deathly silent, disturbed only by the low hum of vending machines' cooling fans. It was nearly eleven o'clock. Not a single car passed on the road. The only illumination came from the pale glow of the streetlamps, casting long shadows on the cold asphalt.
"The rat's here."
From the rooftop of a nearby building, Vodka spoke in a mocking tone.
Through the scope of his binoculars, he could see a man in a blue jacket with a cigarette in his mouth strolling casually toward the second alley next to the aquarium. He stopped at the entrance, checking his surroundings.
That was Hironobu Kishiyuki—the little rat the Organization had marked for disposal.
"Still missing the main actor. What's the time?"
"Five minutes till eleven, brother."
"Mm."
Hands tucked in his coat pockets, Gin watched the target from above with a cold, lifeless gaze.
At that moment, another participant in the operation grew impatient—and called Gin directly.
"Are you guys done yet? Just let me put a bullet in that rat's head and get it over with!"
"No. Wait for my order before shooting."
"Huh?"
The woman on the other end—clearly annoyed—snapped back, but Gin didn't have the patience to argue. He ended the call before she could say more.
"Compared to Chianti, Cohen's way more reliable…" Vodka muttered under his breath.
Gin didn't respond.
He hadn't briefed Chianti on the mission in full. He'd simply called her in as backup—just in case. While Kishiyuki was insignificant, he was still more capable than the average civilian. Chianti was on standby in case Hayashiki failed to kill the target.
"Brother, it's almost eleven."
"Keep watching."
Gin remained stone-faced.
Vodka didn't argue. He gripped the camera in his hands, ready to record the evidence. Once Hayashiki took action, they would capture it all. With that, the Organization would have leverage over him—ensuring control over the promising young novelist.
But by 11:04 PM, Hayashiki had yet to appear. Hironobu Kishiyuki, unaware of the danger, checked his phone repeatedly.
Gin's eyes grew sharp with murderous irritation.
"I didn't think we'd have someone stupid enough to disobey a direct order…"
His voice was low, venomous.
Gin picked up his phone.
Ever since Hayashiki had left the Daikoku Building the previous night, Gin had ordered a low-level member to keep him under surveillance—to ensure the newcomer didn't attempt anything foolish.
Of course, Gin had been vague. The only instruction was to report if Hayashiki tried to leave Beika City.
Now, with a dark expression, Gin had Vodka message the agent for Hayashiki's location. At the same time, he called him directly.
Surprisingly, the call connected immediately.
"Hello?"
"You're bolder than I expected… Novelist." Gin's voice dripped with icy intent.
"Good evening, Mr. Gin."
The voice on the other end was soft and calm.
Gin could hear the faint trace of a smile.
"You see, killing someone exactly at eleven would be a little too conspicuous. Mind waiting a bit?"
"Let me check the time… 11:05:21… just about right."
"37, 36, 35, 34…"
The line fell into a countdown.
Gin's eyes narrowed sharply.
He turned toward Vodka, who looked just as confused, then quietly covered the phone receiver and said:
"Ask Chianti if she sees anything unusual nearby."
"On it!"
Vodka immediately messaged her.
The calm countdown continued through the phone.
Moments later, Chianti reported back—she hadn't seen anything strange. She once again asked if she could shoot, but Gin ignored her. Then, she noted something odd:
"A dump truck is speeding this way—from the 3 o'clock direction."
Gin snapped his head around.
"20, 19, 18, 17… 10, 9, 8, 7…"
The steady countdown echoed in his ear.
The headlights of a massive dump truck flared in the distance, turning the road to day.
Down on the street, Kishiyuki glanced up at the sound. The truck's front tire suddenly buckled. The vehicle veered off course, its frame jerking violently. Blinding lights surged toward him.
Kishiyuki screamed and staggered backward. Inside the cab, the drowsy driver jolted awake and instinctively twisted the wheel. The truck swerved, barely missing Kishiyuki as it plowed into a nearby streetlamp with a deafening crash.
Did it fail?
Gin, watching from above, began to frown—until he realized something:
The countdown on the phone hadn't ended.
"…4…3…2…1…"
Kishiyuki, having dodged death, lay on the ground panting with relief.
But he hadn't noticed what the crash had triggered.
The fallen streetlamp had severed a bundle of power lines near the alley, which in turn dislodged the iron frame holding up the aquarium's neon sign. The sign sparked violently, hanging precariously by the damaged cables.
"Zero—"
At the very instant the word dropped—
The swaying sign, tangled in sparking wires, broke loose and came crashing down.
It smashed onto Kishiyuki just as he started to rise, pinning him beneath the twisted metal with a final, sickening crunch.
"…"
Silence.
On the rooftop, the wind blew gently—but no sound came from the phone.
Gin stared in stunned silence at the lifeless form on the street below.
After a moment:
"Mr. Gin?"
"Hello?"
Hayashiki's voice was still calm.
But Gin was anything but calm.
He mentally replayed the chain of events—the timing, the precision, the absurdity of it all.
If this had been a carefully calculated assassination, it might have been plausible. But to time it to the second?
His lips curled into a grin.
Those cold green eyes lit up with twisted excitement.
"...Truly unexpected."
"Brother, got a response."
Vodka, visibly shaken from what he'd just witnessed, handed Gin a phone.
He had received a message from the agent tailing Hayashiki.
Gin's pupils contracted sharply as he read:
"Mr. Gin, the target has been in his apartment since 7 PM. He hasn't left."
Didn't leave…?
How?
Gin realized—this was no ordinary man. The talent he had spotted was far more terrifying than he had imagined.
His grip on the phone tightened.
Interesting.
Then came Hayashiki's voice again, calm but inquisitive:
"By the way, may I ask something? When the target died… he landed on his chest, correct?"
Down below, neighbors were starting to stir. Lights came on. People peeked from windows or stepped outside to investigate.
And yet—despite the murmurs and confusion—Gin and Vodka heard Hayashiki's voice crystal clear over the phone.
"No… he landed on his back," Vodka replied instinctively.
He had seen it happen—Kishiyuki had been struck before he could rise.
There was a pause.
Then Hayashiki clicked his tongue in annoyance:
"Tch!"