“Emily:
Through a few simple personal channels, I’ve learned you’ll be coming to Fanzui City sometime next month.
I’m about to carry out something big, and I’m not sure I’ll still be alive once it’s done—but that child will certainly survive.
Oh, right—I’ve never told you about the child.
She’s a child the organization I belong to entrusted to my care.
A deeply pitiful child.
If I can see you again, I’ll tell you about her in person, with my own mouth.
Perhaps you won’t want to hear it.
When that time comes, would you be willing to shelter us in your capacity as a Night Hawk officer?
For the sake of the fact that we were each other’s first love.
Yes, I’m bowing my head to you.
I admit that back then I was the one in the wrong.
If I don’t make it to you myself, she’ll come to you alone, after 12 a.m.
on the night of March 28, carrying her own personal information.
I know there’s a whiff of moral blackmail in this, but could you finish reading her information before deciding whether to shelter her?
Of all the people I know, only you have that power.
If even you refuse, then ‘Easter’ will absolutely never let her go.
If you agree, use the little run-down house we rented back when we were madly in love as your base.
When I passed by there last time, I found it already abandoned.
I hope the honorable officer won’t mind.”
“Fucking idiot.”
Expressionless, the blue-haired man deleted this email from the month before.
The rain was coming down hard tonight.
On a rainy night, being able to stay home, strip off your clothes, and burrow into a warm bed for a lovely sleep—surely that’s the happiest thing in the whole world.
And yet in this world there are still those pitiable souls who, for the sake of living, have to work outdoors on a rainy night—take, for instance, the old man up ahead.
The blue-haired man sat in the driver’s seat, quietly lighting a ten-Mila-a-pack cigarette, and pressed the steering wheel bearing the Precious Donkey emblem, sounding the horn in warning.
Through the car window, wiped again and again by the wipers, one could see an old man in a raincoat clutching his left leg and lying on his side under the car’s high beams.
Out on a downpour of a night to run the scam and hit his quota—truly a pitiful sight.
Plenty of people who don’t follow cars might not recognize a Rolls-Royce or a Ferrari, but they’ll certainly be able to name a Precious Donkey or a Lamborcheeny at a glance.
This scamming old man, though, might not necessarily be able to name it.
Because he’d picked such a remote stretch of road, he basically bumped any car that came—high or low, cheap or dear.
This act of his might shatter the last psychological defense of a man run ragged scraping together a down payment for a house, or snatch away the life-saving money of family members racing to the hospital—but what did any of that have to do with him?
People like him could never care what that money was originally meant for.
“Old man!
Old man, what happened to you, old man?”
Another young man in a raincoat had, very “coincidentally,” witnessed the whole thing.
On such a remote stretch of road, having a witness at all was really no small feat.
“Aiyo…
look how he ran into my leg.”
The man in the car knit his brows slightly and tried to reverse—only for the old man’s legs and feet to prove nimble indeed as he rushed the front of the car and gave the hood two “bang, bang” head-butts.
“What’s going on?” the man in the car asked—clearly not addressing the two in front of the car, given the window wasn’t down.
“Those ‘Carry Out Heaven’s Justice’ punks have been deliberately wrecking Fanzui City’s cameras lately.
The authorities can’t repair them as fast as they break them, and the police still haven’t caught anyone.
Now, on remote roads like this, you often see people running scams—it’s practically become an official industry in Fanzui City.” The purple-haired woman playing on her phone in the back seat answered his question in a soft voice.
“Running a scam in a downpour?”
“Maybe it’s end-of-month quota-hitting.” The purple-haired woman brushed the hair by her ear back and gave him a faint smile.
“Heh.”
The man rolled down the window, and the rain instantly soaked the side of a face that looked as though it hadn’t even come of age.
“Move.”
“Kid, tonight you’re not going anywhere without coughing up a good hundred grand.
And don’t bother with the cameras—the ones over there are broken.”
“…”
“Bang!”
In the middle of a dispute, that sound turning up was definitely not a good sign.
To put it plainly, it was American-style iaijutsu.
The shot punched a clean hole through the old man’s thigh, and then the car swung around the two of them and, ignoring the terror and wailing of the pair behind, sped swiftly off.
“No cameras and you still fucking dare come out and shake people down?” The driver stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray.
“You shot the wrong leg.
The one he was clutching was the other one,” the purple-haired woman pointed out.
“Tch, what a pain.” Impatiently, the man reversed the car, rolled the window down again, put a shot into his other leg as well, and then made off with the same flourish as before.
“Whoa.
They didn’t see me, did they?” The purple-haired woman belatedly pulled a mask over her face.
“No.
They only saw me.”
“Oh, then it’s no problem.
What about the car?
They might remember the plate number.”
“Find a river and sink it—it’s stolen anyway.
You memorize the city’s layout?”
“Just take me around more from now on.
A map’s enough for me to work with.” The purple-haired woman opened her phone and went back to playing.
Fanzui City could hardly be called a particularly bustling place—you could tell from the old houses everywhere.
That didn’t mean the city had no high-rises; it was just that the city’s polarization ran a little severe.
The southern part where Mi Xiaoliu lived looked rather rundown, but in the north you could see the prosperity a city ought to have.
However prosperous, though, in a few inconspicuous corners you could still see old houses—a feature every city has, especially in this era where population and housing space aren’t so strained.
Wall plaster curling outward like fish scales, cobwebs everywhere, woodwork already gnawed hollow by insects, an absurd difference in floor level between inside and out.
Nothing like a place a person could live—but as a hidden base, it couldn’t have been more fitting, except that cleaning it up was no one- or two-day job.
Just replacing the furniture enough to make it barely livable was no small undertaking.
The only saving grace was that nobody had turned it into a garbage heap.
In the little house, the blue-haired man lit a cigarette and quietly watched the grey-and-white screen on his computer and the chat box steadily filling with characters.
Chat box:
Blitzcrank: jungler u got a brain?
no drake control, no scuttle control either?
Kha’Zix: im allergic to seafood
Blitzcrank: hardstuck trash, u even deserve to play this game?
Yasuo: eeeeeqqwweeeee
Yuumi has slain Yasuo
“…”
Only with the explosion of the Nexus did the blue-haired youth turn his head to look at the other two in this trashy little house.
“Is this meant to give me a taste of who’s boss right from the start?” The black-haired youth draped in a raincoat at the doorway looked at the two who’d left him standing there for nearly half an hour, a smile that wasn’t quite a smile on his face.
One of them was a purple-haired woman in an apron and a mask, cleaning the room—she looked to be around twenty-five to thirty, and, counting the heels, stood about 1.7 meters (roughly 5’7″).
A beige coat, black short skirt paired with black cotton tights; her figure was well above ordinary, and even the upper half of her face alone looked quite refined.
A pity the mask kept her from being seen in full—though her figure alone still made the youth take a couple of extra glances despite himself.
By comparison, the one who’d just finished his game and turned around looked far less striking.
Blue, choppy hair, standing perhaps a bit over 1.7 meters (roughly 5’7″), looking maybe even younger than himself.
“How old are you?
What’s your name?” the blue-haired youth frowned.
“Just turned eighteen not long ago.” The black-haired youth at the doorway grinned, an unpleasant smile.
“Name’s Ishine Hayato.
Current status: wanted criminal.”
A new recruit transferred here by the organization’s talent department.
“Eighteen.” The blue-haired youth’s brows knit deeper as he looked at the purple-haired woman.
“What’s wrong with the talent department?”
“Just think of it as cultivating an intern.
Raising-sim games are pretty fun too,” the purple-haired woman replied.
“Aren’t you even younger than me?” Ishine Hayato laughed out loud—not, of course, a laugh anyone would like.
“He’s a lot older than you’d think,” the purple-haired woman put in with a smile, waving her phone at Ishine Hayato.
On the screen was Ishine Hayato’s personal information, down to the house number.
Ishine Hayato’s smile didn’t change.
“They told me that as long as I stick with you people, my safety’s guaranteed, and there’s money to be made.
So—who do you want me to cut down?”
“We’re waiting on someone.” With that, the blue-haired youth turned his head and started another game.
Time and again the Nexus exploded, and with it red text appeared.
At who-knows-which loss, the person arrived—but only one person, and not the woman who’d left the email.
That outcome came as no surprise.
The blue-haired youth crushed out his cigarette and looked at the girl who’d waited so long by the door, yet had never said a single word.
Twin ponytails of unmatched length, a strange girl in a black trench coat.