.. Going out? To where? Alone or..
Hiromitsu Morofushi suppressed the doubts in his heart and said with a smile, "Alright, then stay safe."
Yamawashi put down her napkin and looked over. As she stared, Hiromitsu Morofushi's expression gradually stiffened. He quickly scanned the dining table, feeling uncertain. "Is there something wrong with one of the dishes? The flavor or.."
Yamawashi said, "I'm waiting for you to ask."
Hiromitsu Morofushi: "Wait for you to ask?"
Yamawashi looked calm. "Weren't you asking me where I'm going tomorrow?"
Hiromitsu Morofushi's hand trembled, the meat he was holding with his chopsticks fell back onto the plate.
Directly opposite him, the gray-haired killer's body remained motionless, sitting steadily there: "I'm going to see Gin."
Hiromitsu Morofushi pretended nothing was wrong and focused on picking up food, but by some strange coincidence, he couldn't manage to grab a single bite. His eyelid twitched uncontrollably. ".. I wasn't asking about that."
Yamawashi: "Hmm, it's because I want you to know."
.." Hiromitsu Morofushi finally gave up his struggle against that piece of meat and dropped his chopsticks in resignation, "Why did you look for Gin? Is it some kind of special mission?
Yamawashi leaned back against the chair, arms crossed over his chest. "Maybe to talk about the past."
Even though he already knew the answer, Hiromitsu Morofushi asked the question anyway, "Have you known Gin for a long time?"
“Do you want to know about my relationship with Gin?”
.. Chatting with Yamawashi was both effortless and exhausting. Yamawashi could see through everything with an art of language that ignored all linguistic barriers, piercing through to the question he truly wanted to ask, yet he would never answer directly. Instead, he insisted on making him say it out loud in a calm tone before he would be satisfied.
After a moment of silence, he said, "What exactly is your relationship with Gin? I've never been able to tell.. Are you two close?"
Yamawashi neither confirmed nor denied it, speaking at the same pace as before without any detectable emotional fluctuation. "When we were first starting out, Gin and I served the same employer one after another."
One after the other?
“The employer doesn't like Gin's appearance.” Yamawashi's voice grew increasingly calm, sounding almost as if she were telling someone else's story, ".. So he dismissed him in advance and selected me instead."
“Appearance?” Hiromitsu Morofushi hesitated, his gaze brushing against a small shadow in Yamawashi's eye socket under the light, before shifting toward the cabinet behind Yamawashi as if burned, “I see.. I understand.”
He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably and gave a light cough. "When was that? How old were you then?"
According to Gin, he and Yamawashi had already known each other when they were in their teens. Although the exact age was uncertain, these two should be around his age, with a margin of error of no more than five years. Being in one's teens is a fairly broad range; it could be the age of an elementary or middle school student, or even a high school or university student.
Yamawashi pondered for a while; it wasn't a strategic pause, as he looked truly stumped by this simple question.
“.. I don't know.”
“I don't know?”
Yamawashi said in a flat tone, "People like us don't have a specific age from birth. We are whatever age our employer requires us to be.. That employer required me to be sixteen."
", then?" Hiromitsu Morofushi heard himself ask.
Two years later, my new employer also required me to be sixteen.
Chapter 31
The meeting with Gin was still arranged by that person.
Since returning from Mermaid Island, these meetings have become more frequent. Although that person's ideas have always been eccentric, it was simply because he discovered while gathering material that he and Gin had failed to interact as scheduled, so he had to make up for it elsewhere.
If he had said something to Gin back then, he wouldn't have to say so many words now.
“……Oh.”
He didn't quite process what the person opposite him had just said, his response came a beat late. The garden restaurant fell into silence once again, with only the fountain surrounded by flowers still working diligently, making a tinkling sound.
“That person was with you when they went missing on the island, weren't they? What exactly did you do that day? This is already the third time this month, I don't consider this to be my responsibility.”
Aotsuki tilted his head and looked at the floor-to-ceiling window, where two figures were reflected in the hazy night view.
Gin was the same as always today, dressed in his black trench coat, with long silver hair spread across his shoulders. He wasn't sure if his hair would touch the floor when he sat down at that length, because just seeing that outfit was enough to ruin his mood for looking any further.
When he first met Gin, Gin was dressed much the same way. At that time, Gin was not yet called Gin, he was still unaware of the indirect influence this peer named Kurosawa would have on the difficult choices he would face; he was simply brought, in a daze, before a certain important figure to serve as a bodyguard for the candidate of Training Camp No. 57 instead of Kurosawa Jin.
No. 57 liked long trench coats and long hair, but he didn't dress that way himself; he was simply enthusiastic about making the people around him dress like a bunch of mafiosi—though that wasn't an inaccurate description, as they were essentially of the same status.
No. 57's preferences were so clear and distinct, but when he grew his hair to shoulder length as requested, No. 57 encountered someone quite different.
No. 57 is a big shot, he is No. 57's personal bodyguard, but he is not the only one.
The other bodyguard of No. 57 is a man of many words. His strength doesn't seem particularly outstanding, but the perfectionist No. 57 doesn't seem to care. He thought this incompetent new colleague would become just another one of the many toys No. 57 possessed and then discarded, but he never expected the outcome.
That man is an undercover agent; his true identity is a police officer.
No. 57 died in a trap that everyone could see was a setup. He had never met anyone smarter than No. 57 in his life, but even someone as brilliant as No. 57 still chose to step onto that island.
He couldn't tell what No. 57 was thinking at that moment, because he spent most of his time standing behind his employer and would also stand in front of his employer when danger arose, but he would never truly walk side-by-side with his employer, so he didn't know what kind of expression No. 57 wore while standing on the deck gazing out at the sea.
The propeller cut through the deep seawater blocking their path, the mournful cry of some whale drifted from the distance. No. 57 did not turn around, her trench coat fluttering in the wind, when she suddenly said to him, "Yavin, I lost.. I won't let him off the hook."
All he could do was remain silent, because he was merely an ordinary bodyguard, a shadow hidden in the darkness; he had no right to comment on his employer's private affairs, No. 57 was not the type of employer who loved telling stories.
In fact, at that moment, he had already foreseen the answer from that sea. Because even though he clearly could not understand the whales' cries nor the deep meaning in Training Camp No. 57's words, he felt that what came from the distance was a wail of grief.
The compromise made by No. 57 was to allow the other to kill him even as he killed that policeman; that journey toward death was a romance filled with lies and deception. They stood in opposition, their beliefs were irreconcilable, they viewed each other as irrational—like magnetic poles born to repel one another—yet before death, they defied reality and their very nature, longing to embrace.
He peered at his employer's expression out of curiosity for the first time, only to find that both of them were actually smiling.
To this day, he still doesn't understand how that policeman managed to capture No. 57's heart with a fake identity in such a short time. He never wore a trench coat, didn't grow his hair long to suit No. 57's preferences, always stood by his employer in violation of the rules, yet he still became the most special person by No. 57's side.
His memory of that policeman remained frozen on a single conversation during summer, which was the only time they had ever spoken.
“Your name is Yavin, right?”
The new bodyguard of Training Camp No. 57 was actually walking side-by-side with No. 57, when he suddenly turned around and began walking backward with his hands behind his back. No. 57 cast a sideways glance; he thought his employer must also be confused by this formation, because upon reflection, he felt that walking like this meant he would have to protect two people at once, his duties did not include protecting colleagues.
“Why aren't you smiling or saying anything.. I heard your previous one jumped ship because he couldn't stand him, but he had to wait for someone reliable to show up.. Don't you like this topic? Fine then.”
“Yavin, everyone says you're very strong.” The young man with short hair had an indescribable look of scrutiny in his smile, as if he were evaluating something, “Can we have a match?”
I wouldn't recommend doing that. Yavin is the strongest in the training camp, everything he knows is a lethal move. To unearth this gold, I've made special arrangements; keeping just one person this year will be enough.
That summer was exceptionally sweltering. He followed silently behind the two of them, hearing one of them ask curiously, "Only one? What do you mean?"
..
You wouldn't be going to the grave of Training Camp No. 57, would you?
To open that door, Gin would always say things that provoked his emotions, but Aotsuki listened calmly, his mind already back at the Safe House.
.. To make that impostor waver, one cannot always let things go his way. In love, no winner triumphs through mere obedience; giving too much can actually lead to a total loss.
You are quite forgiving toward the dead. You hated me so much back then, yet that guy died because of an order from Training Camp No. 57, you killed him with your own hands.. I'm starting to suspect you deliberately guided No. 57 to that island, only to put on an act of being a loyal subordinate to No. 59.
“When the day comes that I die, who will you blame for that guy's death then?” Gin said with an ambiguous tone, “Yavin.”
Don't call me that.
Gin rose leisurely. "Disgusting, but effective enough."
He smoothed the non-existent wrinkles on his trench coat, walked to the door, gave it a push, but it wouldn't open.
His brow furrowed, a mechanical, emotionless voice sounded from behind him: "That person is respected by No. 57; you shouldn't speak ill of No. 57."
.. I really can't see that.
Aotsuki said no more.
He had been forced to recall too many things today and did not want to say anything else of no consequence.
He had never seen Kurosawa Jin in Training Camp No. 57 with his own eyes, but he had heard rumors about Kurosawa Jin's lack of worthy opponents. Kurosawa Jin's victory was indisputable; he had killed all the other rookies in his cohort and emerged as the sole survivor of Training Camp No. 57.
But he was different from Gin; he once had an opponent in a similar situation whom he could not ignore, so he understood all the more the complex feelings No. 59 had toward No. 57.
Your long-awaited rival didn't die at your hands, but instead met a ridiculous end for the sake of so-called love. You didn't lose, but you didn't win either; it was even harder to accept than a loss.
Aotsuki stared fixedly at the night view outside the window. He no longer wanted to care about that door; as long as the food got cold, Kurumaru Soshi would definitely let him leave.
Actually, he knew.
He had always known.
It wasn't Training Camp No. 57, which had impulsively changed the rules, nor was it Kurosawa Jin, who had killed his fellow trainees to become a capable subordinate for No. 57 only to defect to No. 59; rather, it was the obscure second-place finisher in Training Camp No. 57 who caused that person's death.
It was the sixteen-year-old Yavin, who had never once defeated the first-place winner, yet emerged from Training Camp No. 57 as the victor, carrying the very weapon the first-place winner had once used.
..
“The door is open,” Gin said. “Why is Scotland outside? This doesn't follow the rules, Yamawashi.”
Aotsuki rose mechanically, brushing past Gin, who stood at the door reprimanding him. Outside the door, a person who looked exactly like Scotland was looking at him with a gentle expression, his eyes filled with unfamiliar emotions. With a jacket draped over his arm, the man immediately stepped forward to meet him as soon as he saw him come out.
He saw the person's mouth move as if saying something, but he could not hear any sound.
He stared blankly at that face, the chaotic sixteen years rushing toward him once again like a howling gale from afar.
..
Sixteen—let's call those years sixteen for now—for him at that time, it wasn't difficult to look like a sixteen-year-old high school student.
No. 57 once remarked of him, "The moment he puts on a school uniform, he looks exactly like a student."
Two years later, No. 57 died, but he narrowly survived, his new employer evaluated him like this: "Even when wearing a school uniform, he doesn't look like a student at all."
His reaction to these contradictory evaluations was the same. As a bodyguard whose responsibilities had nothing to do with studying, attending school was merely a way to fulfill his employer's plan. All he had to do was stand aside and say nothing, but this new employer was not having it.
No. 59 unreasonably demanded that he look like a sixteen-year-old high school student who had never attended high school before; he had already played the part seriously, but No. 59 was still unsatisfied.
Finally, No. 59 made a final decision: "Then let's pretend you're eighteen. Anyway.."
The new employer adjusted his brooch in front of the mirror. Sunlight streamed in through the window, making his already light-colored hair appear almost translucent in the light, making him look like a returning phantom. He stood quietly nearby, his pupils contracting; he thought it was an illusion, for he actually saw that flaxen-haired young man, who had been dead for over a month, smiling at him with that familiar smile.
“Exactly the same, right?”
Number 59 turned sideways and raised his hands to show his full body, at this moment, the difference between the two people was suddenly revealed: "How did that guy think of that, hiding in a high school? This disguise is truly foolish. How old is he, that he's actually pretending to be a high school student.. No wonder I haven't been able to find him all this time."
The struggles between the leader candidates are mostly a fight to the death, half to eliminate rivals and half to plunder resources. The whole world could be their enemy, aside from mutual slaughter, there are occasional cases like No. 57, who fell prematurely because of the police.
Once the dust had settled, he began to review everything in his mind much more slowly. He could not imagine how Number 59 had managed to arrive at the scene so quickly, outperforming all the other predatory candidates, even had the leisure to personally come and retrieve him from the pitch-black punishment room.
At that time, his consciousness was already extremely blurred. More than the wounds on his body and the severe blood loss, his condition stemmed more from the pitch-black environment. The rusted iron door let out a teeth-grating sound. He barely managed to lift his head, the iron chains on his body clanking loudly. The footsteps stopped, the face of the person in front of him was indistinct in the backlight, yet the flippant voice reached his eardrums clearly.
“He named you 'Aotsuki'.. Then you belong to me."