Cocktail Bar
When he came again, nothing had changed.
The lights were low, the air still thick with quiet jazz and the faint scent of whiskey. The bartender remained the same, polishing a glass with practiced indifference. At the counter, only two customers dressed in black sat silently—unchanged since last time.
Haruki approached with a calm smile.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
He slid onto the stool beside Gin. The bartender handed him a menu wordlessly, but Haruki only glanced at it.
Before he could speak, Gin's cold voice sliced through the air.
"Did you clean up the mess?"
Haruki looked up from the menu, silver-rimmed glasses glinting under the dim lights.
"Are you talking about that dump truck?"
He smiled faintly. Behind his lenses, his eyes narrowed slightly, as if savoring a private joke. His voice, as usual, was smooth and clear.
"That was just a pure accident. Nothing to do with me. Mojito, please."
"Hmph."
Gin gave a low scoff, his expression unreadable.
Haruki's words were clean—flawless, in fact. Not a single detail left behind. And he seemed rather pleased with himself… proud of a kill dressed up as coincidence.
It was, undeniably, a clever execution.
Even if the scene was analyzed frame-by-frame, there would be nothing unnatural—no trace of human manipulation. If Gin hadn't been watching with his own eyes, he might never have guessed it was premeditated.
Still…
It was a fragile kind of murder.
One that required the perfect setting, timing, and an obedient victim. Too many variables.
"Speaking of which—" Haruki twirled his straw as the bartender placed a crystalline Mojito before him. "There seemed to be an accident on the road just now."
He sipped casually.
"People these days drive so carelessly."
Vodka gave a dark chuckle. "Heh. Ain't that the truth."
Just then, Gin's phone buzzed. He picked up without checking the screen.
"It's me."
Silence.
Then, his expression shifted. Slightly. But enough.
"What happened?" he asked, voice low, sharp.
Vodka's hand froze halfway to his glass.
Gin said nothing more. He listened, face darkening. Then, with an icy finality, he hung up.
Vodka leaned in. "What's wrong, Aniki?"
Gin didn't respond right away. His gaze, frigid and piercing, slid over to Haruki.
"You've got guts."
Haruki paused mid-sip. "Is something the matter?"
Gin's voice dropped another octave, heavy with threat.
"The Organization member assigned to monitor you died… in a very familiar kind of accident."
Ah. That one.
Vodka stiffened, ready to jump to his feet, but hesitated when he noticed Gin hadn't drawn his gun—yet.
Haruki smiled again. Unmoved. Calm.
"People in this world can never predict whether death or an accident comes first," he said gently. "Don't look so grim—it was just an accident."
Gin stared at him in silence, gaze sharp enough to slice glass.
After a long pause, he finally spoke:
"You don't touch Organization members without my approval. Ever. "His voice dropped to a whisper that could cut bone. "If I find out it happens again… you'd better watch your back."
Haruki merely lifted his glass.
Gin's killing intent hovered like smoke in the air—but then dissipated as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a flick of his thumb.
Silence followed.
The tension in the bar was suffocating.
Even Vodka, who wasn't new to bloodshed, found his hands a little unsteady as he picked up his drink again.
Moments later, Haruki stood and walked toward the restroom.
As soon as he was gone, Vodka turned to Gin.
"Aniki?"
Gin tapped ash into the tray. "Check your computer."
"Oh—right."
Despite his bulky frame and thuggish appearance, Vodka was no amateur. His IT skills were sharp, often used on missions. He pulled out a slim black laptop and booted it up on the bar counter.
The email was waiting.
A video file.
He clicked it open: grainy highway surveillance footage.
A sedan swerved violently across lanes, skidding out of control before slamming into the left guardrail. After a brief silence, the driver crawled out, shaken but unharmed.
But the passenger side—the side closest to the rail—was crushed shut.
Inside, Kusuda Rikumichi, the Organization agent tasked with tailing Haruki, struggled. He tried the door—jammed. Then tried to climb across the seat—
That's when it happened.
A semi-trailer passed by.
From it, a massive steel coil slipped loose.
It fell directly onto the wrecked car, flattening it completely.
Kusuda never stood a chance.
The driver, who had exited just moments earlier, stood dumbfounded at the scene—alive purely by luck.
"…!"
Vodka stared at the screen, hands clammy.
He glanced at Gin, then back at the footage.
"This… this has to be an accident, right?"
Gin didn't reply.
His silence said more than words ever could.
"How could it be?"
Gin scoffed.
These two "accidents" carried the same unmistakable scent. He had figured it out—that guy liked to unleash his true killing intent exactly when people let their guard down.
But how was it done?
Unlike Toji, who had been standing still, Kusuda Rikumichi and his companion were in a moving vehicle. Yet somehow, only Kusuda had died in the crash...
Gin narrowed his eyes.
He might need to reassess Haruki's abilities.
A moment later, Haruki returned to his seat.
As he passed behind Vodka, Vodka's body stiffened instinctively. He stared straight ahead at his empty glass, the glint of his sunglasses hiding the unease in his eyes.
Without a word, Gin handed Haruki a phone.
"This phone is yours. There's an address saved in it—if you have time, go there for training."
Haruki tilted his head slightly. "May I ask what kind of training?"
"Shooting. Combat. Counter-surveillance. Anything you want to learn."
Haruki gave a low chuckle. "Sounds interesting."
He flipped through the contacts. Seeing "Gin" listed among them, he smirked. Two-way communication now—definitely a promotion.
Gin crushed his cigarette into the ashtray.
"Your ability is... intriguing. Serve the Organization well. If your performance holds up, I'll request a codename for you from the Boss."
He paused.
"Also—there are no eyes on you now. But what happened to Kusuda Rikumichi must not happen again!"
By the end, Gin's voice was cold, his tone sharpened with warning.
Haruki's expression didn't change. He swirled the last of his drink, then downed it in one go.
"So his name was Kusuda Rikumichi..."He smiled faintly, neither confirming nor denying anything.
Without another word, he turned and left.
Gin and Vodka didn't stay much longer either—they had a transaction to complete.
When they reached the bottom of the Daikoku Building, Gin stopped in front of his beloved car and said flatly:
"Check the car first."
"Ah, okay."Vodka nodded, thinking it a smart precaution.
He gave the vehicle a full inspection. Nothing seemed out of place.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Vodka turned to Gin."Big Brother, should I drive?"
Gin slid into the driver's seat."You sit in the passenger seat."
"...Okay."