AUTHOR
The black sedan slices through the neon-washed streets of Tokyo like a shark through dark water.
Behind the wheel, Shuya Midoria's face is a mask of pleasant anticipation, illuminated by the cool glow of the dashboard. His emerald eyes, however, hold a flat, hungry light.
His phone is propped on the console, the line open. On the other end, Akane's voice is a sharp, eager crackle.
"Are you sure he's gone?" she asks for the third time, her need for reassurance warring with her excitement.
Shuya's lips curl into a patient, condescending smile. "The financial news channels are screaming his name from Seoul, Akane. His empire is crumbling around his ears. He's exactly where we want him to be. A king fighting a war on the wrong continent."
He flicks his gaze from the road to his phone, where a separate app is open. A digital timer glows, its numbers a stark, red countdown.
01:29:47
01:29:46
