Tokyo: I'm really not a killer

The roar of the aircraft engines gradually subsided, replaced by soft boarding music in the cabin.

Miura Tomo leaned back in the spacious first-class seat, gazing at the receding Japanese coastline outside the porthole, and slowly exhaled a breath of stale air.

After a flight of more than ten hours, a humid and warm breeze greeted me at Honolulu International Airport in Hawaii.

Miura Tomo changed into a printed shirt and shorts, wore sunglasses on his nose, and carried only a light travel bag in his hand.

The important things had already been arranged through other channels, and at this moment, he looked like an ordinary middle-aged man on vacation.

He checked into an ocean-view suite at a high-rise hotel next to Waikiki Beach. The balcony faced the azure Pacific Ocean, with white waves repeatedly washing over the golden sand and coconut palms swaying in the breeze.

In the distance, Diamond Head gleamed in the sunlight.

"Ah! This is life!"

Miura Tomo slept soundly for a whole day, adjusting to the time difference.

After waking up, he sat on a deck chair on the balcony, opened a bottle of chilled Kona beer, and quietly watched the sunset paint the sky and sea in a brilliant orange-red hue.

In the evening, he visited a local seafood restaurant, enjoying fresh poke and grilled fish, and also tried a traditional Hawaiian roasted pork feast.

Miura Tomo took a sip of his cold beer and looked northwest, towards where Japan was.

Just then, the satellite phone on the small round table next to me rang, its ringing sound somewhat abrupt on the quiet balcony.

Miura Tomo put down his beer bottle, picked up the satellite phone, and saw that the number on the screen was from Japan—a trusted informant.

"Moshi Moshi?" He answered the phone, his voice still carrying a hint of vacation laziness.

The informant's urgent voice came from the other end of the phone: "Miura-san, it's me. Something's happened in Tokyo."

"Oh?" Miura Tomo raised an eyebrow, leaned back in his recliner, and said calmly, "Tell me slowly."

"The intelligence you sold earlier was about the warehouse at the Sumiyoshi apartment building in Adachi Ward..." The informant paused, seemingly considering his words, "...that buyer, the one codenamed 'Yaksha'...is dead."

Miura Tomo's fingers tightened slightly around the phone, but his expression remained unchanged.

"Dead? How did he die? Is the information accurate?"

"The source is very reliable; it's a police report," the informant said quickly. "The location was that convenience store in Adachi Ward. The scene was horrific, like a fierce fight. Yasha... Aiba Koji, his head was smashed open, and he also had stab wounds to his heart and neck. A convenience store clerk named Kameda Tomohiro died with him. The scene was staged to look like a robbery, murder, and arson, but people in the industry are saying it was Numa Otoko who did it."

Miura Tomo remained silent for a few seconds.

Is it true or not?

Koji Aiba was no ordinary nobody he could just pick off on the street. How could such an experienced, ruthless, and top-ranked assassin, ranked fourth on the leaderboard, die in a convenience store?

And the manner of his death was so gruesome...

hiss.

Is 250 million a bit too little...?

Miura Tomoyuki harbored a sliver of hope; what if it wasn't Numa Otoko? He pressed further, "Was anything unusual left at the scene?"

"Something unusual?" The informant paused for a moment. "Oh, right! The Achilles tendon in the Yaksha's corpse's ankle is missing, and the cut is very clean, as if it was removed using professional methods. Also, something's off about the shop assistant's knuckles, but I can't quite put my finger on it... This is a bit eerie, so it's spread very quickly."

Miura responded with a sound of agreement, thinking to himself, "Damn it, it's that guy."

This guy is really weird; he likes to collect body parts...

"Any other news?" he asked.

"That's all for now. Things are getting even more lively in the industry now. Many people are reconsidering their decisions," the informant said. "Mr. Miura, you... it would be best if you didn't go back to Japan anytime soon."

Nonsense, you don't need to say it.

"Understood," Miura Tomo replied casually. "Thank you for your hard work. As usual, I'll transfer the money to your US account."

He hung up the phone and casually tossed the satellite phone back onto the small round table with a soft click.

The distant waves continued to pound the beach tirelessly, and the afterglow of the setting sun dyed the sky a golden red.

Miura Tomo picked up the bottle of Kona beer again, the icy touch spreading through his palm.

"A billion yen worth of heads..." he muttered to himself, his gaze once again fixed on the unseen land to the northwest. "What exactly are you?"

They're definitely not my former partners.

Miura Tomo shook his head, shaking off these chaotic thoughts.

Regardless of who the Swamp Man is, and regardless of how chaotic Tokyo's underworld has become because of that billion-yen bounty, it's temporarily irrelevant to him.

He provided the intelligence, made the money he was entitled to, and also gave a final warning.

The rest are the things that those who remain in the eye of the storm need to worry about.

……

Deep within a traditional Japanese mansion in Minato Ward, Tokyo.

In the teahouse late at night, only a dim paper lamp was lit.

A man around fifty years old was kneeling on the tatami mat, with a set meal in front of him.

The man was dressed in dark Wu clothing, with a lean face, slightly high cheekbones, and sharp eyes like a hawk. Even when relaxed, his back was habitually ramrod straight.

He is the junior assistant of the Kokusuikai, named Ijuin Shingen, and is mainly responsible for some special affairs within the organization, including contact with certain professionals in the underworld.

But this is only one side of Ijuin Shingen.

On the surface, he graduated from the Faculty of Law at the University of Tokyo, previously worked at the Ministry of International Trade and Industry, and is a senior member of the Liberal Democratic Party of Japan, a special advisor to the Cabinet, and a nominal director of several large construction companies and high-end restaurant chains.

Just then, as he picked up the miso soup and brought it to his lips, the door to the tea room was gently opened.

A solemn-faced young man knelt silently outside the door, his forehead resting on the tatami mat.

"Lord Ijuin," the man's voice was deep, "there is new information."

Ijuin Shingen didn't look up, but continued to sip his miso soup slowly and deliberately.

"explain."

"Yes." The man remained prone. "Just confirmed, the Swamp Man has struck again."

Ijuin Shingen put down his soup bowl with a soft thud.

"The location was a convenience store in Adachi Ward. There were signs of a struggle at the scene, which was staged as a robbery, murder, and arson. However, according to information from the Metropolitan Police Department, the victim's Achilles tendon was removed using a professional method... This method is similar to several previous cases suspected to have been committed by the 'Numa-otoko' (a Japanese slang term for a male scumbag)."

"The deceased was an ordinary convenience store clerk, and the fourth-ranked assassin, Yasha. A billion-dollar bounty, instead of bringing down Swamp Man, has resulted in the loss of another top assassin; many are already backing down."

Ijuin Shingen picked up his chopsticks, took a small piece of grilled fish, put it in his mouth, and chewed it slowly.

His eating posture was extremely proper, as if he were performing some kind of ritual.

"Is there anything else?" he asked.

"For now... there is no definite information about the whereabouts of the Swamp Man. The Special Investigation Team's main focus remains on the Shinomiya Masakazu sniping case and the city-wide manhunt."

"Understood." Ijuin Shingen picked up a napkin and gently wiped his mouth. "Continue to monitor the situation. Also, tell everyone below to behave themselves and not to make any inappropriate moves during this time."

"Yes!" The man bowed deeply again, then quietly withdrew and closed the door of the tea room.

The tea room fell silent again, with only the dim yellow glow of the paper lamp remaining.

Ijuin Shingen looked at the exquisite set meal in front of him, but he had no appetite.

A billion-dollar bounty doesn't seem to be enough.

He slowly stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the bamboo shadows swaying in the night in the courtyard.

That problem must be dealt with as soon as possible.

……

The following day, the National Essence Association raised the bounty on the swamp man to 1.5 billion yen, but no one was willing to take the job.

We're all in the same industry; there's no need to risk our lives.