Without a doubt, he felt gratitude toward Yamawashi, not because of that unperceived emotion, but because of the slim chance of success Yamawashi provided for his undercover mission at the final moment, with a resolve like a moth to a flame. Looking back three years, when certain things had not yet begun and others had not yet ended, he had looked at the big picture with his memories of the future, believing himself capable of treating every upcoming event and every person involved with objectivity and fairness.
It was only with Yamawashi that he felt a sense of guilt.
Hiromitsu Morofushi stood up and said, "It's about time. Let's head down and regroup with them."
Akai Shuichi looked at Scotland's expression, picked up his sniper rifle, took the opportunity Scotland had provided: "You're right. If those two end up fighting, the casualty rate for this mission won't be zero."
But can those two really talk?
"It's better not to say," Hiromitsu Morofushi said. He still remembered how, after returning from a mission with Gin, Yamawashi had broken up with him that very night.
Hiromitsu Morofushi couldn't help but quicken his pace. "You count the people, I'll go find them."
..
Stop spinning, use this.
Gin tossed the emergency bandages from his pocket, receiving a flat "thanks" in return; that was likely the deepest expression of gratitude Yamawashi could offer.
He looked at the fellow who had been flailing around like a headless fly, trying to find a clean cloth in this space, sneered, "No matter how much you wipe, you won't get that blood off. Or are you trying to use that to wash away your guilt?"
The person wiping the dagger with a bandage suddenly froze.
A low voice, thick with pure malice, sighed to itself, "That guy must have really wanted to live back then, right? It's a pity you didn't know how to make people die less painfully at that time. All the killing techniques you learned later ended up benefiting someone else, though those mercenaries in France did enjoy—"
Gin met a pair of gray eyes brewing a storm, a sign of an impending tempest he knew all too well, said nonchalantly, "What, haven't had enough?"
Yamawashi's wrist twisted with restraint, a precursor to an attack. Gin immediately took a defensive stance as a sudden burst of footsteps approached rapidly. Instinctive alertness caused the two killers on a mission to subconsciously look toward the sound; it was Scotland.
By the time Gin turned his attention back to Yamawashi, the expression on that face, which had been so grim it looked like it could drip water, had completely vanished, returning once again to that of a silent, unresponsive blockhead.
Gin let out a "tsk." Scotland first glanced at Yamawashi, then, with an understanding expression, took something from his pocket and casually handed it over.
"Rye has gone to confirm the headcount," Scotland said, turning his head.
Rye's voice rang out from outside: "No problem, let's retreat. I don't want to play an extra inning against the police."
The next second, the sound of police sirens pierced the sky.
“..”
“..”
“..”
The gazes of every living person present converged on a single point. Rye said with an expressionless face, "I wouldn't call it being a jinx; I was simply making the most accurate assessment based on experience."
Gin's frozen gaze swept heavily across the faces of the three mission partners, who all remained calm, as if trying to discern something from them. Finally, amidst the approaching clamor, he said coldly, "Withdraw!"
Author's Note:
----------------------
Chapter 8
Time was tight, leaving no room for discussion. Rye took on the role of driver, quickly ducking into the driver's seat and starting the engine, hitting the gas before the passenger door was even closed.
The wheels screeched against the asphalt in a beautiful drift and turn. After driving seven kilometers and finally shaking off the last trailing tail, he finally had the leisure to discuss the unexpected third party.
How did the police arrive so quickly? It's not like their usual standard," Rye said casually. "Did some kindhearted passerby call it in? Even if they did, they shouldn't have arrived this fast.
Gin ignored Rye, his sharp gaze locking onto the two in the back through the rearview mirror's reflection, said with a half-smile, "What do you think, Yamawashi?"
The sudden call-out caused a momentary silence within the car.
It was indeed his fault for starting it, but Gin's aim was on Yamawashi rather than him. Facing this interesting situation, Rye decisively chose to watch the show, secretly slowing down the car.
Sitting in the back seat, Yamawashi acted as if he hadn't heard Gin's suggestive words, showing no reaction at all.
Unexpectedly, the one who picked up on Gin's implication was Scotland.
The police in Tokyo don't get to take time off every day.
Scotland, who was always one to play it safe, actually took the initiative, making Rye feel that today's mission was truly spectacular; he had gotten to watch quite a lot of free entertainment.
He observed the last silent mission partner through the rearview mirror. Yamawashi ignored Gin and Scotland, looking up to say indifferently, "Pull over."
Adhering to the principle of not offending anyone, Rye readily agreed. The black car, which had been requisitioned for temporary use, pulled over to the side of the road. Yamawashi ignored everyone and got out of the car alone, not saying a single extra word throughout the process. As Yamawashi's lover, Scotland naturally followed him out as well.
This car couldn't be kept, but there was still plenty of time before the police arrived. Rye leaned lazily against the car door and lit a cigarette, watching the two departing figures ahead and behind him, remarked with feigned emotion, "The two of them have quite a relationship."
The last person to get out of the car let out a mocking laugh, the scope of his ridicule being too broad to tell if he was targeting the relationship between Yamawashi and Scotland or simply targeting Yamawashi himself.
Rye didn't dwell on it and casually handed over a cigarette, nonchalantly bringing up the interrupted topic: "Do you really suspect Yamawashi? Scotland was watching him through the scope the whole time. The only time Yamawashi lost focus was when he was wiping his dagger; it's impossible that he lured the police here, as it wouldn't benefit him."
To think that one must follow Gin's logic and suspect Yamawashi—he could only think it was because the fight between Yamawashi and Gin hadn't been settled yet, that Yamawashi had specifically called the police to arrest Gin.. The mental image was so ridiculous that Rye couldn't help but laugh out loud.
How could that be? Relying on the police to catch Gin would be less practical than taking the opportunity to stab him during the chaos of a mission.
With the groundwork sufficiently laid, Rye glanced at Gin and nonchalantly tossed out the topic he actually wanted to ask about: "That dagger of Gin's is truly a treasure; he never lets it out of his hands, does it?"
Gin, who was checking his magazine, sneered, "Treasure? I think it's just that you have a guilty conscience."
**
Hiromitsu Morofushi caught up to Yamawashi, they walked side by side.
This wasn't the way back to the safe house. He asked tentatively, "Are you going back to the safe house tonight?"
Yamawashi did not even glance at him, giving him not a single look, as expected, did not answer.
Habit is a terrifying thing; Hiromitsu Morofushi found that he had already grown accustomed to Yamawashi's silence, even being able to discern Yamawashi's emotional changes from that silence. Perhaps it would be more accurate to call it having regained this habit.
Their silence had always been mutual—neither disturbing nor interfering with the other, having nothing to say to one another. When the two were in a room together, it was even quieter than when they were alone, to the point that many years later, when Hiromitsu Morofushi was wiping the dagger left behind by Aotsuki late at night, he would more than once experience a momentary trance, thinking Aotsuki was standing behind him watching him just as in the past, only without making a sound.
The traffic light at the intersection ahead turned red, causing pedestrians to stop in their tracks, Yamawashi was no exception. This was a good opportunity for conversation; Hiromitsu Morofushi acted quickly to grab Yamawashi's arm, attempting to use the mission that had just ended to open a topic: "Was there anything special about today's mission?"
Yamawashi stared at his hand, his eyes deep and unreadable, making it impossible to know what he was thinking. Hiromitsu Morofushi felt somewhat uneasy; most of the physical contact between them was restrained, for Yamawashi, this might already be a serious transgression of boundaries.
He knew Aotsuki's level of concealment well; once he let go, Aotsuki would vanish into the crowd in the blink of an eye, making it difficult to see him again. After less than a second of deliberation, Hiromitsu Morofushi made a concession, lowering his voice to apologize and withdrawing his hand, but Aotsuki suddenly reached out and grabbed his wrist.
The green light temporarily held command over the traffic at this intersection, the flow of pedestrians began to surge. Passersby cast strange looks at them; Hiromitsu Morofushi did not urge him on, but simply watched Yamawashi's movements quietly.
Aotsuki carefully observed the hand held in his palm—the skin, the bones, the veins, the calluses.. even the sensation when their fingers were interlaced was exactly the same.
He looked up at the person who was submissively cooperating with his inspection. When that familiar face came into view, he instinctively froze for a moment; he shook his head slightly to regain his composure, his brow furrowed even deeper as a result.
He had inspected him carefully; there were no traces of disguise on this impostor's face, nor any signs of plastic surgery. Even the details of his hands were perfectly replicated, leaving no flaws whatsoever.
.. How on earth did he do it?
What he truly cared about was whether this would have an impact on the real Scotland.
“You can confirm it however you like, I'm willing to cooperate, as long as you can believe me.” The person in front of him was clearly speaking boastfully, yet maintained a sincere expression, "I really am Scotland myself."
Aotsuki expressionlessly shook off that hand, striding across the zebra crossing in the final second before the traffic light turned red.
The guy beside him pursued him relentlessly, but finally, he stopped in his tracks and said coldly, "What you're doing now is not something Scotland would do."
"We haven't had much communication, so misunderstandings are inevitable. Actually.." Hiromitsu Morofushi tried to explain, but the man treating him with such coldness abruptly turned his head, his sharp gaze cutting through the air like a unsheathed dagger, aimed straight at the center of his brow.
He realized instantly that he had said the wrong thing, but it was too late to shut up now.
The killer codenamed Yamawashi said, one word at a time, "It is not your place to judge the matter between him and me."
“Wait.. Yamawashi, that's not what I meant!”
Hiromitsu Morofushi watched that retreating figure stride away, in the end, he did not chase after him again.
His temples throbbed, his headache began again. Since his rebirth, everything had been proceeding exactly as expected—the undercover work, the traitors, the missions, the investigations.. only the matters concerning Yamawashi remained mysterious and as unclear as they were before his rebirth, acting as a variable beyond his control.
This couldn't be a problem caused by Yamawashi, who had done nothing at all.
After standing there for a while, Hiromitsu Morofushi stared at the pebbles at his feet and suddenly murmured to himself, "So he actually cares about this.."
He had spoken wrongly, but the truth was that he and Yamawashi rarely communicated and barely knew each other; everything was a false premise.
That night, Yamawashi did not return to the safe house, the text messages he sent went unanswered as usual.
Hiromitsu Morofushi ate a cold instant bento while scrolling through the messages sent by his contacts.
It's been confirmed. Investigation Division 4 did indeed dispatch officers on a whim after receiving an anonymous tip from that telephone booth.
It was consistent with his suspicion, but why would Yamawashi call the police?
Ultimately, a codename surfaced in his mind: Gin.
It was only because he saw Yamawashi enter a telephone booth on his way to the mission site that he was able to connect the two events when the police suddenly arrived. Even so, it was only after verification that he dared to conclude it—on what basis had Gin accurately pointed his sights at Yamawashi?
Hiromitsu Morofushi tapped his fingertips on the dining table.
I need to find a way to figure out the connection between Gin and Yamawashi; any intelligence regarding Yamawashi, no matter how small, is better than nothing.
There was no news regarding Yamawashi for several days following that, there were no further developments regarding the mission involving the Black Organization; it truly seemed to have been nothing more than an ordinary mission.
Gin was a recognized workaholic. Half a month later, even without any specific arrangements, Hiromitsu Morofushi successfully encountered Gin during a certain mission.
After the mission ended, he deliberately slowed down his tidying, but just as he subtly brought up the topic, the silver-haired killer, who was currently disassembling a sniper rifle, looked up and frowned. "Didn't you have an affair?"
Hiromitsu Morofushi almost failed to react in time: ".. Me?"
Gin seemed to be in a good mood: "You want to kill Yamawashi and then.."
Hiromitsu Morofushi raised his hand to interrupt, "Wait."
No wonder Yamawashi suddenly brought up breaking up with him after returning from a mission with Gin that day; the problem really did lie with Gin.
**
Aotsuki pushed open the door and, as expected, saw Gin with an unkind expression on his face, though this time there was a hint of strangeness in his expression that wasn't there before; he didn't know what had happened before his arrival.
He turned around decisively, but the person outside the door was faster than him.
With a loud thud, Aotsuki stared blankly at the tightly sealed door, as a waiter's voice drifted from behind it: "Lord Yamawashi, the gentleman says you must finish your dinner before you can leave."
Aotsuki ignored him, walked quickly to the window, gave it a forceful tug. As expected, it was also sealed shut, but compared to that elaborately crafted door, a single window was no obstacle at all.
Aotsuki casually rolled up his cuffs a couple of times, found his footing, raised his hand, while Gin's indifferent voice rang out from behind him: "I wouldn't recommend you do that."
Aotsuki automatically blocked out the noise and slammed it down heavily.
I saw Scotland yesterday.
As if a pause button had been pressed, the fist that was about to strike the glass froze mid-air. The latecomer turned and took a seat, beginning to eat without saying a word.