Tokyo: I'm really not a killer

Early the next morning, Tokyo Private Hospital.

Yuta Sugiyama lay on the hospital bed, his abdomen wrapped in bandages, his face pale.

The door was gently pushed open, and Hideaki Shiraishi walked in, his body hunched over, his face bruised and his wrists bearing marks from ligatures. He knelt beside the hospital bed, bowed his head, and whispered:

"Brother... I've come to see you."

Hideaki Shiraishi's nominal boss is Eisuke Sugiyama, and Yuta Sugiyama is his boss's older brother. However, the violent gangs have a quasi-father-son relationship. For example, in the Yamaguchi-gumi, the leader is both the boss of the members and their "godfather".

The same applies to the relationship between peripheral members and formal members.

Even though Sugiyama Yuta had only met Shiraishi Hideaki a few times and had never really interfered in the private affairs of the peripheral members, the latter still had to respectfully call him "Big Brother," even if it was just an act, he had to pretend to be genuinely fond of him.

Sugiyama Yuta was seriously injured and hospitalized. Many people came to visit him, but Shiraishi Hideaki was the last to arrive... He had unavoidable reasons for not being able to visit his older brother immediately.

Yuta Sugiyama glanced at him, his tone indifferent: "I heard you were taken in for interrogation by the team?"

Hideaki Shiraishi shuddered: "Yes... they thought I was with the assassins and locked me in the basement... but I really don't know anything."

He is lying.

Two days ago, when he was drowning in the toilet, he vaguely saw that person's face.

He didn't tell anyone about this, and even when he was severely tortured, he didn't utter a single word, always pretending to know nothing.

Yuta Sugiyama paused for a moment, then asked, "Where were you at that time?"

Hideaki Shiraishi's voice trembled: "I passed out in the bathroom, and when I woke up I was in the hospital... Brother, I really didn't lie to you..."

Yuta Sugiyama recalled Hideaki Shiraishi's leap into the car window and looked at the trembling coward in front of him, feeling a surge of annoyance.

He turned his head and looked out the window: "Alright, go back now. Take good care of your injury and don't get involved in the group's affairs anymore."

Hideaki Shiraishi did not get up immediately. He knelt on the cold floor, his hands clasped nervously, and hesitated several times as if he wanted to say something but then stopped.

"What's wrong? Is there anything else?" Sugiyama Yuta asked.

Hideaki Shiraishi swallowed hard, leaning forward as if afraid of being overheard by the person outside the door: "The person who attacked you... I mean, the assassin, they all say he's not human at all, that he can transform into other people... Is that true?"

He remembered the face in the toilet stall that looked exactly like his own, and the cold, inhuman gaze gave him nightmares for two consecutive nights.

"It's true, he looks exactly like you." Sugiyama Yuta paused, then said impatiently, "But he's not some swamp man, he's a living person, I can tell."

"R-really?"

"His voice is different from yours, and he's taller than you. If he were a swamp man, he could probably imitate him even better, right? He's just a killer who's good at disguising himself."

"Then... how did he do it?" Hideaki Shiraishi wanted to ask him how he took down Yuta Sugiyama, but he felt that it would be too painful to ask directly.

Yuta Sugiyama knew what his younger brother wanted to ask, and he didn't mind. To be honest, he didn't think losing to that guy was shameful.

"It only took a moment."

"He threw a coin onto the tatami mat. The team leader and I glanced at it, and before we could react, he was dead, and I was also knocked to the ground by the butt of a rifle."

"The whole process probably took less than two seconds. I couldn't even scream, let alone draw my knife or gun."

After saying that, Sugiyama Yuta looked Shiraishi Hideaki up and down: "Why are you asking this?"

"N-nothing..." Hideaki Shiraishi shrank back.

Deep down, he harbored a certain yearning to become that kind of man, who came and went like the wind, disregarding all rules and constraints, and striking fear into the hearts of all his enemies.

It was precisely because of this longing that he kept the fact that he had seen the assassin's true face a secret.

"You little brat, you want to be an assassin?"

Yuta Sugiyama sat up straight, his face stern: "I'm warning you, you'd better give up on this wicked idea as soon as possible!"

"I...I didn't..." Hideaki Shiraishi said guiltily.

"Listen carefully, assassins are different from us. We're in the underworld, and even the fiercest of us have a limit, with an organization to back us up; but assassins are lone wolves, treating their own lives and the lives of others as disposable tools."

"Yes, I understand..." Hideaki Shiraishi placed his hands neatly on his thighs, bowing his head and nodding obsequiously.

Seeing this, Yuta Sugiyama said those words again: "You're not suited for this line of work. Stop being a gangster and find a proper job."

This time, Hideaki Shiraishi did not refute; he merely stammered that he had reasons for having to join the yakuza. Yuta Sugiyama, not wanting to ask further, waved his hand, indicating that he could get lost.

Hideaki Shiraishi took his leave and limped back to his dilapidated apartment on the outskirts of Senju-cho.

As soon as I reached the entrance of the building, I heard the landlord's scolding from upstairs, as well as my mother's humble pleas.

His heart tightened, and he quickened his pace and rushed forward.

"Where's this month's money? How long have you been dragging your feet! If you don't have the money, move out now!" The obese landlord blocked the doorway, spitting everywhere.

The mother, Yuko Goto, wore a faded apron, her hair disheveled and hanging down her face. Her head was bowed, her shoulders hunched, and her voice was filled with exhaustion and pleading.

"Just a few more days, just a few more days... I'll get paid soon..."

"Grace period? How many times have I given you grace periods?" The landlord leaned closer, extending a restless hand. "Yuko, you know what I mean. It's not easy for a woman to raise a child alone. I can help you..."

As they were talking, he heard footsteps behind him and realized it was Hideaki Shiraishi returning. He quickly withdrew his hand and said, "Oh, it's Hideaki... You're back? Your mother and I were just talking about the rent..."

Hideaki Shiraishi gave a muffled "hmm" and said, "I just went to the hospital to visit the head of the group; he was injured in a gunfight."

The landlord knew he had connections with gangsters, so he didn't dare say anything more. He exchanged a few polite words and left in a hurry.

Yuko Goto looked at the injury on her son's face with concern and advised him not to associate with those shady people anymore; Hideaki Shiraishi, as usual, said "Mind your own business" and went straight into the house and back to his room.

He was timid and afraid to confront others, as was his mother, who always yielded in the face of trouble. The only way to avoid being bullied in society was to join a criminal organization and intimidate the wicked.

Even if you join the underworld, you will still be bullied.

Hideaki Shiraishi was good at enduring hardship; he didn't care how others bullied him. But that day, Eisuke Sugiyama said, "The boss is recruiting delivery girls. Introduce your mother, who works at the convenience store, to us..."

At that moment, he suddenly realized that he could not protect his loved ones by simply being tolerant and backing down.

Only with sufficiently powerful violence can one inspire awe and fear, deterring people from harboring any improper thoughts towards him and his family.

Therefore, he wanted to become an assassin.

Hideaki Shiraishi closed the door, drew the curtains, flipped through the Yellow Pages, and dialed numbers one by one from the landline.

He wanted to find that man and become his disciple.

He must possess that power—the power that can decide life and death in an instant, a power that no one dares to underestimate.