Tokyo: I'm really not a killer

Although this is a bit suspicious, it's a fool not to make money when there's money to be made. Let's get the 20 million deposit first.

Yuan Zhensheng called back and left a message, indicating that he was willing to take the order.

After hanging up the phone, there was a knock on the cubicle door, and the operator slipped a briefcase through the reception window. The employer had instructed beforehand that this briefcase should be handed over whenever a voicemail was received.

Yuan Zhensheng unzipped the zipper and glanced inside. There were bundles of ten-thousand-yuan bills inside. The employer had directly prepaid a deposit of twenty million yuan.

I haven't encountered such a straightforward client in a long time.

Yuan Zhensheng checked and found no locator, no fluorescent powder, all genuine banknotes, and no hidden marks on the briefcase.

Very clean.

He zipped up his jacket again, left the phone club, and instead of going straight home, went to find temporary accommodation.

When he did his first job, he used the Koban dormitory as a temporary base. That's right, Koban accommodation required rent, which was only slightly lower than the market price, and no thank-you fee was required.

Now that the conditions are right, we must move out of the dormitory and find a temporary base suitable for movement and escape.

As a professional assassin, how can you not have a few safe houses?

1989 marked the peak of Japan's real estate bubble. It was said that all the land in Tokyo could buy the United States. 20 million yen could only buy a small one-bedroom apartment in the suburbs of Tokyo, and wouldn't even cover the down payment for a mainstream apartment in Minato Ward.

Damn financial bubble, the money I earned is worthless, and Yuan Zhensheng has no choice but to rent a place.

Since it's a safe house, real identities cannot be registered.

However, it's true that it's difficult to find rental housing in Japan that doesn't require identification, especially in city centers.

In capitalist society, without a decent job, you don't even qualify to rent a place. You can only eke out a living in places like internet cafes and overpasses, and if you get sick, you'll become homeless.

In his previous life, he had corporate support, so he didn't need to worry about safe houses or passports; in this life, he is free, but he can only rely on himself for everything.

Let's check out the area around Gaolundae first...

Having made up his mind, Yuan Zhensheng boarded the tram with a large bag of cash.

……

Meanwhile, in the Telephone Club, in a private office on the second floor.

Eiji Satake leaned back in his chair, opened voicemail, and a hoarse, indistinct voice came through:

"I accept the commission, but with conditions."

"First, you are not allowed to entrust the work to anyone else during the entrustment period."

"Secondly, I do not kill targets who have never killed anyone before."

"Third, I will decide the specific timeframe."

"It's been a pleasure working with you."

The message ended there, and the phone rang with a "beep," but the voice message was not automatically deleted.

Eiji Satake asked, "What do you think?"

He is the behind-the-scenes owner of the telephone club, has a legitimate communications license, and runs an anonymous phone matching business. He also occasionally acts as an offline dating intermediary and phone matchmaker.

Male customers do not need to register their identity upon entering the store; they can enter directly by paying in cash, remaining completely anonymous, and the price is 5000-8000 yen per hour.

Female customers can make calls for free from home, public phone booths on the street, or stores, and even receive a bonus of about 500 yen for 10 minutes.

There are many such phone clubs in Tokyo, all of which are controlled by yakuza groups. Eiji Satake's "Momo Love Dating Communication Planning Company" is no exception. It is affiliated with the Kokusuikai gang, and he has to pay protection money every month and occasionally help the Kokusuikai launder money.

For this reason, Telephone Club places great emphasis on privacy, with no monitoring lines and voice recordings automatically deleted periodically. As long as you cover your face, no one will know who is speaking on the other end of the line.

A middle-aged man in a dark brown jacket sat across the desk, looking down at a portfolio. There weren't many professional hitmen in the industry, especially in Tokyo, where there were only about forty-six, and a third of them were foreigners.

When asked by Eiji Satake, he replied without looking up, "He's an old hand, but I've never heard of him."

"Oh, do you all know each other in this industry?" Eiji Satake leaned forward, combing his slicked-back hair in front of the mirror on the table.

"I'm not one of them." The man in the jacket took out a profile. "Even without ever meeting them, I can understand their habits. For example, this guy who calls himself 'Night Owl' likes to strike during a full moon and occasionally kills passersby who aren't his targets."

He put down the first document and pulled out another one:

"Take this guy without a code name, for example. He uses chemical poisons to fake his death as an accident or illness. He hasn't taken any jobs in seven or eight years. He's probably retired."

The man in the jacket tossed a stack of documents onto the table.

"In short, there are no hitmen in Tokyo who adhere to the principle of 'not killing targets who have never killed anyone before.' Nobody turns down money, and setting such a threshold makes it difficult to get jobs."

Eiji Satake combed his hair, leaned back, placed his shoe heels on the edge of the table, and said, "Sounds like a newcomer."

"A newbie can't kill two people without attracting the attention of the police," the man in the jacket said.

"Two people? Did he go to another phone club?" Eiji Satake looked up.

He overheard Miki Akiyama's phone conversation, and it didn't mention killing anyone other than her husband.

"That woman died an hour ago. The police haven't set up a special investigation team, so it'll probably be closed as a suicide," the man in the jacket said.

"Your information network is that good?" Satake Eiji exclaimed in surprise.

"After all, we're in the intelligence business." The man in the jacket stretched and raised his hand, saying, "Alright, my work's done. I'll be going now."

"Let's chat a bit longer!" Eiji Satake quickly put his feet down, took out a bottle of whiskey, and poured half a glass for the man in the jacket. "By the way, why choose this guy instead of any other assassin?"

The man in the jacket said, "Chatting with me costs money."

Eiji Satake took out a stack of banknotes and threw them on the table: "Let's start with five million yen."

This deal was made in his shop, and if anything happens later, he might get implicated, so he needs to find out the inside story beforehand, just in case.

The man in the jacket sat down again, picked up his glass, and said, "Have you ever heard of Kenkichi Kuwata?"

"I've heard of it, but I don't know anything about it."

"During the Yamaichi Resistance, he was the commander-in-chief of the Kwantung Front. He personally led many assassination operations against the cadres of the Ichiwa Association. He fought on the front lines for five years and is now a core figure of the militant faction."

The so-called "Yamaichi Conflict" was the bloodiest, largest, and longest-lasting civil war in the history of the Japanese underworld.

Four years ago, the conflict was particularly intense, with both sides engaging in indiscriminate assassinations throughout Japan, resulting in 118 shootings within a year... This is just the official statistic; the number of people who secretly perished in Tokyo Bay is unknown.

The Metropolitan Police Department had to launch a top-down operation to barely contain the fighting.

"Those years were the golden age for professional assassins. They had so many jobs that they couldn't keep up with the demand, and there were new assassination targets every day... At that time, the bounty on Kenkichi Kuwata's head was as high as 15 billion yen."

The man in the jacket took a sip of his drink and said slowly, "But he's still alive. He lived through the golden age of assassination until the end of the Civil War."

Eiji Satake unconsciously rubbed his forehead, swirling his glass with his other hand, and asked, "So, does that mean the guy who took the order is doomed?"

"Who knows?" The man in the jacket shrugged.

"Shouldn't a Telephone Club be involved in an assassination mission of this magnitude?" Eiji Satake was a little flustered.

"For the sake of five million, I'll say one more thing." The man in the jacket downed his whiskey in one gulp. "My employer, who is also your protector, that gentleman has no intention of succeeding in the assassination."

Eiji Satake froze.

He gleaned a great deal of key information from that one sentence.

They commissioned an outsider, unaffiliated with any faction, to assassinate a militant executive of the Yamaguchi-gumi, without even expecting the assassination to succeed...

Could it be...

Is this going to start a second civil war?

Whether successful or not, the assassin who takes the order is doomed.

Eiji Satake felt a bit sorry for that amateur killer. He jumped into the fire without knowing anything, and his professional career ended with his second single. Probably no one in the industry even knew that such a person had ever existed.

Alas, that's just how the world is; nobody's only fit to be cannon fodder.