Beika Aquarium stood apart from the residential sprawl.
The area was zoned commercial, its shops thriving on the aquarium's foot traffic. But with the aquarium shuttered for the night, the surrounding stores had closed as well.
Midnight—
The deserted streets were silent, save for the hum of vending machines' refrigeration. Near eleven, not a car stirred, only the stark glow of streetlights casting cold light across the asphalt.
"The rat's here," Vodka remarked with a mocking grin, peering down from a nearby rooftop.
In his line of sight, a man in a blue jacket, cigarette dangling from his lips, strolled toward the second alley beside the aquarium and paused at its mouth.
Hirotake Kishio—the Organization's designated vermin.
"Where's our other star? What's the time?" Gin asked.
"Five minutes to eleven, bro," Vodka replied.
"Hmph."
Hands in his pockets, Gin's icy gaze fixed on the distant figure.
But another player in this operation was growing restless, her impatience buzzing through Gin's phone.
"Is it done yet? Just let me blow the rat's head off and call it a night!"
"Wait for my signal to shoot," Gin snapped.
"What?"
The woman on the line bristled, but Gin had no patience for her tantrum. He hung up before she could argue further.
"Compared to Chianti, Cohen's way more reliable," Vodka muttered.
Gin didn't respond.
He hadn't fully briefed Chianti on the plan, only ordering her to stand by as backup. Kishio was small-time, but likely sharper than your average civilian. Chianti was there to ensure the rat didn't slip away if Hayato Masaki fumbled.
"Bro, it's almost eleven," Vodka said.
"Keep waiting."
Gin's face was unreadable.
Vodka nodded, silent, his camera poised to capture the moment.
All they needed was Hayato to act, and the lens would seal his guilt, tethering the polished mystery novelist to the Organization's leash.
But as the clock ticked to 11:04, Hayato was nowhere to be seen. Below, Kishio, oblivious to his looming fate, kept checking his phone.
A spark of murderous intent flared in Gin's eyes.
"Didn't think anyone would be dumb enough to defy orders," he growled, reaching for his phone.
When Hayato had left Okuro Building the previous night, Gin had assigned a low-ranking member to tail him, anticipating any foolish notions of betrayal.
Gin never shared much with underlings. His orders were simple: watch Hayato and report if he tried to flee Beika City.
Now, his killing intent surged.
He signaled Vodka to text the watcher for Hayato's movements while dialing Hayato's number himself.
To his surprise, the call connected instantly.
"Hello?"
"You're bolder than I gave you credit for, novelist," Gin said, his voice dripping with lethal frost.
"Good evening, Gin-san."
The reply carried that same uncanny calm.
Gin caught a faint chuckle.
"Killing at exactly eleven would've been too conspicuous. Mind waiting just a bit longer?"
"Let's see… 11:05:21 now…"
"Almost time."
"37, 36, 35, 34…"
A clear voice began counting down.
Gin's eyes narrowed.
He turned to Vodka, who looked puzzled, and scanned their surroundings for anything amiss while covering the phone's mouthpiece. "Ask Chianti if she's noticed anything off."
"Right!" Vodka complied.
The precise countdown continued.
Chianti soon reported nothing unusual, brushing off her repeated demands to shoot. Then she mentioned a dump truck approaching fast from three o'clock.
Gin's head snapped toward it.
"20, 19, 18, 17, 16… 10, 9, 8, 7…"
Under the gentle cadence, the truck's headlights blazed, turning the street as bright as day.
Kishio, loitering under a streetlight at the alley's mouth, glanced up at the noise. The truck, cruising normally, suddenly swerved as its front tire blew out, the chassis lurching toward him, its beams pinning him in place.
Kishio shouted, scrambling aside. The drowsy driver, startled, yanked the wheel, barely missing him. The truck slammed into a streetlight instead.
A miss?
Gin, watching it all unfold, felt a flicker of boredom—until he realized the countdown hadn't stopped.
"…4…3…2…1…"
Kishio, sprawled on the ground, exhaled in relief, unaware of the toppled streetlight above. Its collapse severed the alley's power lines and the frame holding the aquarium's neon sign. The sign, sparking wildly, teetered, dragged by the tangled wires.
"Zero."
The voice fell silent.
The sign plummeted, wires crackling, and with a crash, it crushed Kishio before he could rise.
Silence gripped the rooftop.
The phone went quiet. Gin stared at the buried Kishio, speechless.
Then—
"Gin-san."
"Hello?"
The voice returned, serene as ever.
Gin's pulse hadn't settled. He replayed the bizarre accident that had unfolded under his nose.
If it was calculated, he could accept that—but to this degree of precision, down to the second?
His lips twitched into a grin.
Excitement gleamed in his emerald eyes. "Didn't see that coming."
"Bro, we got a reply," Vodka said, shaken from witnessing it all. A new text snapped him alert, and he handed the phone to Gin.
Reading it, Gin's pupils shrank.
"Gin-sama, the target hasn't left his apartment since seven this evening."
He hadn't left…
How?
Realizing this talent far exceeded his expectations, Gin's grip tightened on the phone.
Fascinating.
"Mind if I ask—when the target was crushed, he landed chest-down, right?"
Below, the commotion roused locals, some peeking from windows or doors. On the windswept rooftop, Hayato's voice cut through clearly to Gin and Vodka.
"No, he was on his back," Vodka answered instinctively. Kishio hadn't stood before the impact—he'd seen it clearly.
At that, the phone's calm tone shifted to irritation. "Tch!"
***
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