Chapter 25: Are You Trying to Recruit Me?
This sudden statement—appearing like a question, yet acting as a statement of fact—made Akai Shuichi's heart tighten silently for a second.
His brows pulled together slightly, a flash of wariness and confusion surfacing in his eyes.
"Mr. Eshima... what makes you say that?" Instead of denying it outright, he threw the question right back.
"The very first time I saw you, I felt there was something special about you. So, I took the liberty of having someone look into you."
Gojo Satoru shifted into a more comfortable sitting posture, resting a cheek casually in one hand, his fingertips pressing lightly against his temple: "The info I got back was pretty interesting, you see."
Like reciting a file from memory, he began laying out the details smoothly.
"Moroboshi Dai, American-Japanese mixed race. Mother is Japanese, father unknown—never fulfilled a day of parental duty. Spent his early years running around the streets of Los Angeles, basic education spotty at best. Joined a local gang after his mother passed away, possessing great skill and ruthlessness. Five years later, due to financial disputes, he fell out with the gang boss, killed a few core members, and fled the scene."
"Next, you bounced between cities, becoming a freelance hitman making a living off black market contracts. Pity your old enemies still tracked you down, forcing you to run again. In the end, you chose to leave America, and about a month ago... well, through less-than-legal means, landed right in your mother's homeland, Tokyo, Japan."
"Without a normal resume or valid identity, your days in Tokyo have been pretty rough. You could only work temp jobs that don't require ID, none lasting more than a week."
"If I'm not mistaken... you must be pretty short on cash right now, aren't you?"
[Ding! Impression value from plot character Akai Shuichi increases by 300 points!]
As his voice fell, a deeper silence settled over the entire hospital room.
"..."
Akai Shuichi's throat bobbed slightly, as if forcing down a bitter, cold lump.
Simply because every single word the other person casually dropped matched the background details crafted specifically for him by the FBI down to the finest detail.
He wasn't surprised that Caesar could uncover all this. The scary part was that from their meeting on the roadside to him waking up from unconsciousness, it had been less than two hours total.
In such a short window, Caesar had thoroughly investigated his fake persona, right down to his most hidden grey past...
What kind of terrifying intelligence network and execution capability was this?!
At the same time, a subtle sense of relief quietly surfaced.
Everything Caesar uncovered was carefully fabricated by the FBI—stuff they wanted him to see. Stripping away this layer of "Moroboshi Dai" completely actually meant his real identity as "Akai Shuichi" remained hidden beneath the mist, which was a good thing in its own right.
With these thoughts flashing by, Akai Shuichi looked straight at the person across from him, his lips pressed into a hard, cold line.
This time, he no longer hid the sharp edge in his eyes—an icy sharpness forged through years of crawling between life and death in the dark world, packed with vigilance and irritation from being stripped bare.
"Heh, uncovering someone's entire background based on a few tiny clues... Mr. Eshima, you aren't an ordinary person yourself, are you? A detective? Or a cop?"
"How could I be?"
As if hearing something absurd, a low laugh bubbled out of Gojo Satoru's throat. "If I had to say, I just happen to have a bit more curiosity than others. When I see an interesting puzzle, I just can't resist trying to solve it myself."
"I am quite curious, though," Akai Shuichi narrowed his dark green eyes slightly: "On what basis... did you decide I was 'special'?"
The curve on the white-haired youth's lips deepened a bit, looking as if he were admiring a piece of art finally showing its true form.
"Gun calluses," he spat out the first term slowly: "The calluses on the web of your thumb and the inner side of your index finger carry marks left by holding firearms long-term. Their positions and thickness are very distinct—not something a shooting club enthusiast could build up."
"Then there's your breathing pattern. Even while half-unconscious, you maintained a specific rhythm. That's muscle memory formed only through specialized training."
"On top of that, Moroboshi-kun's vibe is quite out of the ordinary... Certain things might go unnoticed by others, but to me, they stand out like a lighthouse in the dead of night."
Gojo Satoru spread his hands, his tone taking on a thought-provoking edge.
"So, rather than saying I felt you were 'special'... it's more that you yourself can't hide this 'specialness' at all."
"Is that so?"
Akai Shuichi pulled at the corner of his mouth, letting out a faint, self-deprecating laugh: "Looks like a person's past really gets carved into their bones and can't be washed away."
"So, you specifically stayed behind waiting for me to wake up just to tell me all this?"
The coldness in his tone hadn't faded, yet it carried an unhideable trace of exhaustion: "Those things... I don't want to bring them up anymore. Right now, I just want to change locations and start over as an ordinary person, nothing more."
"Even if things are a bit rough at the moment... it doesn't matter."
Akai Shuichi lowered his eyes, his eyelashes casting shallow shadows over his eyelids, burying the dark emotions swirling beneath.
The image of a tired ex-hitman carrying a dark past, attempting to wash his hands clean while stumbling in the cracks of reality, was played to absolute perfection by him.
"Oh? Spending your days spacing out on the roadside and getting hit by a car into a hospital counts as 'doesn't matter'?"
Gojo Satoru's light phrase instantly froze the air in the room.
"You...!"
Akai Shuichi's breath hitched for a second, veins rising quietly on the back of his hand.
The embarrassment of having his disguise ripped open, the humiliation of exposing his vulnerable side, along with disgust toward his current state, mixed into a sharp pain that made it hard to contain his emotions.
A moment later, he took a deep breath, his gaze toward Gojo Satoru turning even colder and more distant.
"Enough... My business has nothing to do with you. Please leave, Mr. Eshima."
He issued a clear request for the guest to leave, taking a firm stance.
After a few seconds of silence, the white-haired youth shrugged, the faint smile on his face dimming slightly: "Alright, I understand."
"Moroboshi-kun, get some good rest."
With that, he turned around and walked toward the room's exit without a trace of hesitation.
Lying on the bed, Akai Shuichi stared blankly at the ceiling, yet his ears sharply tracked those fading footsteps, trying to guess whether his "retreat to advance" tactic had worked. The mind game was happening right at this moment.
He was gambling—gambling that Caesar held an "interest" in recruiting or using him.
Gambling that Caesar wouldn't leave so easily.
Seeing the man's long fingers already resting on the door handle, looking ready to turn it the next second and vanish into the hallway, Akai Shuichi kept up his cold posture, seemingly uncaring whether the man stayed or went.
Yet his fingertips resting by his side, hidden under the blanket, tightened slightly beyond notice.
Meanwhile, a wicked thought crossed Gojo Satoru's mind.
"If I just leave right now without turning back, Shuichi's facial expression control would probably shatter on the spot, wouldn't it? Thinking about it is pretty hilarious..."
Just imagining Akai Shuichi's dumbfounded face from being too clever for his own good almost made Gojo Satoru burst out laughing.
Still, to keep this "I know that you know that I know" spy drama going smoothly...
He'd better spoil Shuichi a bit~
So, just as Akai Shuichi thought Caesar was truly leaving, with the string in his heart pulling tighter and tighter, the footsteps finally stopped.
Gojo Satoru stood by the door with his back to the bed. Instead of turning around right away, he asked a question in an extremely calm voice—
"Can you really achieve that, Moroboshi-kun?"
Akai Shuichi's mind stirred, yet his face remained unchanged as he asked back: "...Achieve what?"
"Washing your hands clean, of course."
Gojo Satoru slowly turned around, speaking with deep meaning: "Saying goodbye to your past entirely, working a normal job like an ordinary person, getting married, having kids, living a plain and dull life—can you really pull that off?"
"I don't understand what you mean."
Akai Shuichi's voice turned cold.
"No, you know exactly what I'm saying. Having experienced all those dark things, walking on the edge of life and death, accustomed to using force and tricks to solve problems... an ordinary person's life simply doesn't suit you."
Gojo Satoru stepped closer, stopping by the bed. Leaning down slightly, his voice dropped lower, almost magnetic.
"I've seen far too many people like you. Unsettled traits are carved right into your nature... Plainness isn't a destination for you, but a slow poison."
Akai Shuichi fell silent.
This time, his reaction wasn't entirely an act.
Indeed, while his motivation for joining the FBI was driven by searching for his father and fighting crime, it was undeniable that the adrenaline rush from outsmarting strong enemies was also an indispensable part of his soul.
An ordinary life? That was never among his options to begin with.
The thought flashed by so fast it was almost impossible to catch. But he knew Caesar had already seen what he wanted to see.
Akai Shuichi looked at Gojo Satoru, complex emotions churning in the depths of those bottomless green eyes.
"Investigating my identity top to bottom, and now asking questions like this... Mr. Eshima, you aren't doing all this just to haul me to the police station for a reward, are you?"
"So, can I take it to mean..."
"Are you trying to recruit me?"
"Recruit? That word sounds way too transactional." Gojo Satoru smiled once again: "I just feel it's a real shame for you to waste time on those boring temp jobs."
He tilted his head slightly, as if sharing a secret.
"If you want to make money... I could perhaps provide you with a job, you know."
Having said that, he didn't offer any further explanation, simply holding that turned posture, throwing a quick glance at the long-haired man lost in thought.
A few seconds passed, yet no reply came.
The white-haired youth let out a sigh, seemingly running out of patience at last, getting ready to leave.
Just as the door was pulled open a crack, and the hallway light was about to spill inside—
A low voice carrying a touch of hesitation drifted over from the hospital bed.
"...What kind of job are you talking about?"