What did it mean to be cautious and careful?
It meant avoiding field operations whenever possible; when fieldwork was unavoidable, always wearing a bulletproof vest; and never, ever wandering off alone.
Even so, Asou Akiya had someone standing guard outside the restroom—and yet the moment he pushed the door open, a dagger was already pressed against his neck.
His entire body stiffened, every hair standing on end.
"Ciao~."
The newcomer was the kind of person who appeared like a dragon glimpsed only by its head, never its tail—vanishing and reappearing at will. He materialized soundlessly behind Akiya and greeted him in casual Italian, the kind of offhand cheer that could easily scare someone into a heart attack.
The blade was sharp enough to slice through his throat without effort.
For someone truly skilled, severing his neck would be nothing more than a trivial task.
"I'm just a small-time assassin passing through a little Far Eastern country, earning travel money along the way," the assassin said. Judging by the voice, he didn't sound very old at all, and when he switched to Japanese, there was no sense of awkwardness whatsoever. Asou Akiya let his gaze flick toward the dagger, judging the angle of the blade and the pressure against his neck. Based on that, he estimated the other man's height to be slightly shorter than his own—probably over 170 centimeters—and his age somewhere between sixteen and twenty-five.
The dagger was pressed right against his carotid artery. Akiya's throat trembled slightly; he didn't dare swallow.
The fact that the man hadn't killed him immediately meant there was still hope.
Thinking of the foreign assassins rumored to be roaming Yokohama, Asou Akiya tried to close the distance verbally, though when he spoke, his Japanese came out hoarse, betraying the terror pounding in his chest. "Are you Italian? I heard you say 'hello.'"
The assassin chuckled. "So you recognized my nationality. Doesn't that mean you're as good as dead?"
"I know an assassin whose catchphrase is 'Ciao su,'" Asou Akiya replied. "His name is Reborn—it means rebirth."
Hearing the man's flippant tone, the tension in Akiya's chest eased just a little. Good—so he wasn't one of those high-level domestic assassins who followed rigid rules. The higher the rank among local killers, the less they wasted words; they simply struck. Foreigners, on the other hand, liked to play around.
The Italian assassin seemed intrigued to hear of a peer mentioned by a Japanese man. "Is he any good?"
Asou Akiya calmly spun a tale about someone who didn't exist at all. "Very good. He was originally an elegant assassin who loved drinking coffee, preferred using guns, and rarely took action outside of work. He also had deep connections with the Mafia."
"Used to be?" the assassin echoed.
So he actually enjoyed listening to stories. What an unreliable assassin. Asou Akiya cursed inwardly, but felt a surge of relief that he was still being allowed to speak instead of being killed with a single slash. "He was hit by a curse called 'Arcobaleno,' which turned him from an adult man into a fragile child. I heard he changed careers and became a private tutor for an heir in the underworld."
"From assassin to private tutor?" The assassin's hand remained steady, his breathing unchanged as he spoke. "I might look into that someday. Now then—if I don't kill you, how much money can you offer in exchange for your life?"
There it was—the real objective.
In this world, the reason assassins broke contracts could be summed up with a single example: Illumi Zoldyck from the Hunter world.
If the price wasn't negotiated properly, everything else was meaningless.
Asou Akiya desperately rummaged through his memory, calculating his disposable funds, when he heard the assassin add, "Don't lie."
The assassin's tone sharpened dangerously. "I can sense lies."
Asou Akiya fell silent.
Then why didn't you say you sensed a lie when I was bullshitting you about a Reborn who doesn't even exist in this world?
Do Italian assassins all enjoy scamming people with fake mind-reading skills?
Resigned to his fate, Asou Akiya admitted, "I don't have much liquid cash. It probably won't be enough."
"Then you're dead," the assassin replied flatly.
"I don't know what the person behind this promised you, but I assume it didn't satisfy you," Asou Akiya said, staring straight ahead. The moment his hands made the slightest movement, a thin line of blood appeared on his neck, stopping him cold.
"That's right," the assassin said mockingly. "That guy posted a bounty to kill a non-ability user with no backing in the underworld. But after I accepted the job, I found out the target is absurdly good at making money—far beyond what the bounty is worth."
Then, in a teasing tone, he added, "If you're really interested in your belt, I don't mind helping you undo it so you can take a leak."
Asou Akiya immediately folded. "No need."
That brief interruption eased the tension in his nerves, and he seized the chance to lay out his advantages. "Mr. Assassin, I haven't yet become a probationary executive of the Port Mafia. On the black market, my life isn't worth a particularly high price. But anyone with eyes and ears knows about my ability to make money. My value lies in the future. Killing me for such a small payout would be a catastrophic loss."
"But you can't afford the price," the assassin replied.
Asou Akiya's mind flashed with his ten-billion plan, and he spoke with certainty. "I can't afford it right now."
Behind him, the assassin—his face hidden—hesitated, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes. "But assassins don't look to the future. What we possess is the present."
Swallowing his anger, Asou Akiya said, "You're an assassin with a strong personality, someone who values freedom and money above all else. Otherwise, you wouldn't have come looking for me. So I'd like to make you a proposal."
"Let's hear it," the assassin said.
Asou Akiya dug his fingernails into his palm. "When you kill me, use a gun. Don't make it instantly fatal. Leave me one breath."
The assassin was intrigued. "Why? Do you think I'd spare your life?"
Asou Akiya straightened, reclaiming the momentum he had lost. "No. I'm proving something to you. I only need a single breath to turn the tables. If I survive, I will inevitably become a sub-executive, and I will pay you enough to compensate for this incident. I am short on manpower. If there is a high-level assassin who loves money, I would be more than willing to hire you at a high price in the future. After all, I assume you dislike deceiving your clients."
"I've heard that some assassins, when dissatisfied with their employers, like to kill the target first and then kill the employer," Asou Akiya continued, cold sweat sliding down from his temples as the corners of his mouth lifted. "You don't need to worry about whether I'll hate you. A person who desperately wants to live, and is rational enough, will never offend a highly skilled assassin."
He praised the assassin's abilities again and again, clearly flattering him into a comfortable mood.
"And if you die?" the assassin asked.
"Then I die," Asou Akiya answered calmly. "You can still collect your payment from your employer, respected freelance assassin." He was so composed that he wagered his very life as capital, raising the stakes to their limit.
The assassin, imagining the possibility of profiting from both sides, felt as though a new door had opened in his career. To be honest, he admired the kind of assassin Asou had described—someone who killed the target and then the employer. That was practically his ideal. His interest stirred. "An interesting decision. If you're killed by someone else, don't blame me."
Before leaving the restroom and slipping out through the window, the assassin deliberately cast one last look at him.
Asou Akiya did not turn around, faithfully honoring his promise not to offend another.
He did not pry.
Apart from knowing that the other party was a young Italian assassin, he knew nothing else—and had no desire to know more.
Ten minutes later, a bodyguard knocked on the restroom door. "Mr. Asou?"
Asou Akiya's shoulders finally slackened. After finishing his business, he stepped out and stood before the mirror to wash his hands. That was when he noticed the thin cut at his neck. His gaze darkened by several degrees. A bulletproof vest could not protect the neck or the head.
Worried that the assassin might have planted a listening device on him, Asou Akiya deliberately refrained from checking himself, acting as though nothing at all had happened.
"It's nothing. Just a bit of diarrhea."
After this incident, Asou Akiya's vigilance was pushed to its absolute peak. He became jumpy at the slightest disturbance, like a startled bird. A sixth sense—half tangible, half illusory—whispered to him: the assassin would come again, and at the most appropriate moment, he would fire a single shot.
The knife wound on Asou Akiya's neck soon stopped bleeding. He buttoned his shirt all the way up, using the collar to conceal the mark. Sitting inside the car heading back to the Port Mafia headquarters, he felt a deep resentment toward the assignment that had sent him out to sign contracts in the first place. "My car has already been replaced with a bulletproof one. If someone wants to kill me, there are only two best opportunities…"
Getting into the car.
And getting out of it.
The former was within the Port Mafia's territory. The latter was within… the bounds of his home.
"Does it really have to be like this?"
It really was time… to make a change.
Asou Akiya understood all too well how weak he was in terms of combat ability. His reluctance to let Randou step into the Mafia world too early came from his instinctive desire to protect his lover. He wanted that peaceful, happy life to last just a little longer.
Suddenly, Asou Akiya placed his hand on the cuff pin of his shirt.
It was an ornament Randou had given him.
[I want to know more, so much more… the Akiya I have never seen before…]
How could Asou Akiya possibly forget the words Randou had spoken to him?
—Do you want to see me?
[Oui. (Yes.)]
—Do you want to see my despicable, cunning self, the version of me that gambles with his own life?
[Oui. (Yes.)]
—I will look terrible. I will try very hard not to cry.
[Je t'aime. (I love you.)]
Asou Akiya seemed to hear the Frenchman's gentle reply, a voice soft and flowing, spoken in what he believed to be the most beautiful language in the world.
He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the silver-white cuff pin, its surface cool and metallic.
"As you wish."
...
At six thirty in the evening, the driver, Tanaka, was responsible for taking Asou Akiya home. He deliberately chose a longer route, and it was obvious that he, too, was aware of the recent assassination attempts on Mr. Asou. He spoke cautiously, with measured concern. "Mr. Asou, perhaps it would be better for you to stay at headquarters. People outside wouldn't dare attempt anything there. Once you're promoted to sub-executive, you can have ability users assigned to protect you at all times."
Asou Akiya replied calmly, "Tanaka, hiding is not something one can do for a lifetime."
Tanaka hesitated and glanced at him through the rearview mirror. Believing that Asou would not hold it against him, he spoke anyway. "Your life is what matters most."
There was an unspoken rule in the underworld's conflicts: ordinary relatives and friends were not to be harmed.
"Tanaka," Asou Akiya said suddenly, "if I fail, remember to change positions as soon as possible. Even if you have to go do menial work at the bottom, or collect bodies for Port Mafia members, do it. Forget everything about me—that is the only way you will be safe."
He smiled as he looked toward the front seat.
Tanaka did not notice it. Within that familiar smile was a faint indifference, a calm detachment born of having already looked danger in the face.
They were close to home now—
His lover's face rose vividly in his mind.
Randou's poetry was as beautiful as Randou's soul. Was he thinking of him at this moment? Surely he was. Every time Asou managed to return home on time, he was always greeted by one of Randou's gentle smiles.
How he wished such a smile would never be stained with blood, how he wished that smile would bloom only for him, untouched by violence…
"Mr. Asou, we're here," Tanaka said, braking the car. Instinctively, he added, "Please be careful—"
Bang—!
The instant Asou Akiya stepped out of the car.
A sharp, ear-piercing crack of a sniper rifle tore through the quiet residential neighborhood.
The bullet pierced straight through Asou Akiya's bulletproof vest!
It was completely useless—utterly incapable of stopping a sniper round designed specifically to kill.
"..."
Asou Akiya's pupils dilated as the overwhelming force slammed into him, sending him crashing to the ground.
Blood spilled from his mouth.
Inside the house, Randou had already heard the sound of brakes outside and knew that Akiya had returned; he turned his gaze toward the window.
He saw the black-haired young man stumble forward the moment he got out of the car, clutching his abdomen as his body pitched ahead, his knees buckling until he dropped to them, the expression of someone about to go home frozen into a look of blank confusion.
It was a shot so brutal that the pain did not even have time to reach the nerves.
"Akiya—!!!"