"The bodies have been cleaned up. Probably because this is gang territory, no one even reported it." Jack showed Ma Seok-do the photos he had taken that afternoon.
The address of the Korean branch of the "Ichijo Group" had been obtained by wiretapping Zhou Xingzhe's phone. Jack had sneaked in earlier in the day, just ahead of them, to take a look around.
Realizing something was off, he quickly withdrew. At the same time, he noticed someone seemed to be keeping an eye on the place, so he brought Ma Seok-do along in the evening to stake it out, hoping for an unexpected windfall.
"Look at these bloodstains seeping into the floor. There are quite a few similar marks. At least seven or eight people must have died, probably more. Those bastards likely executed everyone inside suspected of betraying the main branch—classic Yakuza style."
After hearing Jack's analysis, even Ma Seok-do couldn't help but look more serious. However, that was the extent of it. He had dealt with plenty of ruthless gangsters before—if one punch wasn't enough, he'd just throw another.
Still, he understood why Jack had insisted on using extreme measures from the start. The "Ichijo Group," a faction under the infamous "Yamaguchi-gumi," was not only extremely ruthless but also highly organized.
The fact that they had killed so many people yet managed to keep it hidden from the police was almost unbelievable. Sure, a lot of Korean cops were incompetent, but at the end of the day, law enforcement was still a government-backed force, and Korea's overall security wasn't that bad.
"So, what's our next move? Wait for him to get the drugs, catch him in the act, and force him to give up Zhou Xingzhe?" Ma Seok-do asked, listening to the faint sounds of demolition and smashing coming from the distance.
"What's the rush? The goods need to reach Zhou Xingzhe for them to be useful. We actually need to make sure he gets them."
Jack had his eyes on the drug money the gangsters were using for the deal. If Zhou Xingzhe didn't get his hands on the stuff and take it to trade, there would be no way for Jack to hijack the deal.
Just as they were talking, a black Mercedes-Benz G-Class roared into view, screeching to a stop in front of the house. Four Yakuza, armed with knives and bats, jumped out, led by a white-haired man in a red suit.
"Ah, fuck!" The moment Ma Seok-do saw the white-haired man, he flew into a rage, placing a hand on the car door, ready to jump out and charge at him—only for Jack to hold him back firmly.
"Calm down," Jack muttered, sending a message to call for backup while keeping a tight grip on Ma Seok-do's arm.
"That bastard was the one driving the car that hit me! Richie was sitting right next to him!" Ma Seok-do struggled for a moment before looking at his right hand in disbelief. This FBI kid… was stronger than him?
"Are you trying to save someone by charging in now?"
Ma Seok-do hesitated. "Of course not. Why would I save Zhou Xingzhe's men? For all we know, he was involved in Jeong's death."
Seeing that he had finally stopped struggling, Jack loosened his grip. "Then let's just sit back and watch the show. That kid is dead meat. This is a trap. We follow them, and we'll find Richie—the real leader."
Sure enough, before Jack even finished speaking, a buzz-cut kid rushed out of a nearby building, bowing and reporting to the white-haired man in the red suit while pointing at the house still echoing with the sounds of walls being smashed.
Then, the "Ichijo Group" hitmen stormed into the house, and soon, the sounds of fighting and screams filled the air. However, within moments, everything fell silent.
A few minutes later, after a final, agonized scream, the white-haired man emerged from the house, wiping the blood off his wakizashi. He waved to his men, who helped a wounded comrade into the car, and then they drove off.
As the black Mercedes-Benz G-Class began to disappear into the distance, Jack calmly started the car and followed.
——
"This is the place."
The Mercedes pulled up in front of a Japanese-style izakaya not far from Incheon Port. Jack turned the wheel and parked in a side alley.
Before he could even put the car in park, Ma Seok-do was already shoving the door open and charging out.
This guy… is reckless as hell. Jack quickly opened the trunk, grabbed a crowbar he had prepared earlier, and ran after him. "Wait, are you seriously just going to bust in there like this?"
"Why not? I've always handled this kind of thing alone. My colleagues only ever show up after everything is over."
Without another word, Ma Seok-do raised his foot and kicked the shoji-style wooden door straight off its hinges.
"Bakayarou! What the—"
A Yakuza guard reacted quickly, drawing his wakizashi and lunging.
Jack reached for his SIG Sauer, ready to shoot, but Ma Seok-do, who was ahead of him, was even faster. He lowered his stance slightly and threw a straight punch—
"Boom!"
"Crash!"
The Yakuza's chest caved in, and he was sent flying into a row of tables and chairs. He barely had any breath left in him.
Jack's eyes widened slightly. Damn. Ma Dong-seok-level strength. When Jack had just broken past a physique stat of 20, even he probably couldn't have pulled off something like that.
"Who the hell are you?!"
Inside the izakaya, the "Ichijo Group" thugs, who had been drinking and partying, were stunned to see intruders storm into their hideout.
"You think this place is a joke?!" The Yakuza pulled out their wakizashi and surrounded them, but as soon as they noticed Jack's gun, they hesitated, retreating slightly.
The wakizashi was essentially a short katana, typically between 30 and 60 centimeters long—more like an oversized dagger. A practical weapon in Japan's Sengoku period, but against firearms? Not so much.
"No matter how much people hype up samurai swords, they're still melee weapons. Unless they can cut bullets mid-air, they better sit the fuck down."
"Prosecutor Kim told me to keep an eye on you. He said to make sure you don't shoot—even hitting their legs is off-limits." Ma Seok-do stated blankly.
Jack sighed. So many damn restrictions. Anyone else would struggle to be this guy's partner. He reluctantly holstered his SIG Sauer and switched the crowbar to his right hand.
No choice. According to their plan, these Yakuza needed to be taken alive for questioning. Killing them would complicate things.
"Ahhh!"
Seeing that one guy was unarmed and the other had a gun but wasn't using it, the Yakuza regained their confidence and charged forward, screaming.
Jack's crowbar, however, was no ordinary tool. It wasn't the kind used to pry open car tires—it was a heavy-duty rescue crowbar, over a meter long and weighing a solid seven or eight kilograms. In Jack's hands, though, it felt as light as a twig.
"Whoosh!"
"Clang!"
The hooked end of the crowbar sliced through the air, knocking a wakizashi clean out of a Yakuza's hand. The blade spun away, its trajectory nearly grazing the man's scalp, leaving a fine mist of blood in its wake.
Shit, used too much force. Jack mentally adjusted. He forcibly altered the swing's path; otherwise, that guy's head would've exploded.
Before the Yakuza could breathe a sigh of relief, the crowbar arced back and smashed into his back with a sickening crack. He collapsed like a broken doll, his spine shattered.
The severed nerves left him with no control over his bladder or bowels.
Not dead, but might as well be in a life sentence.
Jack sidestepped another strike, lifted the crowbar, and shattered another thug's jaw.
Enjoy your meals through a straw from now on.
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