Farming Life Starting in Africa

After hearing the plan, Brian couldn't help but laugh and praise, "Lion, your mind works so fast! You've patched up all the loopholes in no time. I think this plan is feasible!"

The rest of the group unanimously agreed! The plan was approved...

The restaurant at the Continental Hotel in Rio had only a few lights on, giving it an atmosphere of thrift and practicality.

This place isn't usually deserted; it's often filled with well-dressed assassins.

They put down their guns and picked up knives and forks, making the same crunching sound as they ate.

The bartender in the corner can shake three martinis at the same time without even panting.

But tonight is different. Tonight, there is only Teruo Tojo and an Asian chef with a small braid and a white apron in the entire restaurant.

There were also ten men in front of Teruo Tojo, all dressed in black suits, kneeling in a row. From a distance, they looked like a row of black bowling pins waiting to be knocked down.

The crystal chandelier on the ceiling only lit up a corner, the light dim and yellowish, giving the marble floor an old movie feel.

The air conditioner was humming, and the cold air could freeze a person's knees.

The ten men in black suits had been kneeling for a while, and none of them dared to move.

The night in Rio outside the window was still hot, the outline of the Christ the Redeemer statue in the distance was indistinct, and the lights of the favela on the mountainside were dense, like someone had casually scattered a handful of diamonds.

Now, only the hum of the air conditioner has become the hotel's unique white noise.

Teruo Tojo picked up his chopsticks and took a slice of sashimi. The fish slice was evenly thin and translucent, clearly freshly cut by the chef on the ice.

The old man held his chopsticks up to the light and examined them for two seconds, it was unclear whether he was assessing the freshness of the fish or preparing his next lines.

"Who killed my nephew? How did he take my nephew's body away? I'm giving you three days; you must find out."

The bald man kneeling on the far left, with a stern face, answered loudly and forcefully, "Hi!"

The bald head's skull gleamed under the light, as if it had just been coated with wax.

Teruo Tojo put the sashimi into his mouth and chewed it slowly.

The old man had a habit: the more preoccupied he was, the slower he ate. The only sounds in the restaurant were the sounds of his chewing and the occasional tapping of a knife on the cutting board.

After a long pause, he continued, "That blood pact must also be brought back intact."

Teruo Tojo paused, then lowered his voice further: "If you can't do it, then you have no reason to exist."

Teruo Tojo stopped looking at them and focused his gaze back on the cell phone on the table in front of him.

The phone screen was dimly lit; the last video had just finished playing.

The killer's face flashed by; it was a young white man. The photo wasn't very clear, but it was enough to identify who it was.

After Teruo Tojo's men discovered his nephew was missing, the cleaning crew of the Continental Hotel quickly located the crime scene.

After they arrived, they turned the parking lot upside down, but found only some blood and body tissue in the soil. The bodies of the men were nowhere to be found.

There were no signs of a body being dragged on the ground, only some messy footprints and tire tracks left by a car.

Those in this line of work know that killing is easy, but disposing of a body is difficult. The hotel's cleaning crew couldn't figure out how this strange scene was created; the bodies seemed to have vanished into thin air.

The video is preceded by a photo of a matte black sports car parked in this abandoned parking lot.

This car isn't a commercially available model; it must be a custom-made luxury car.

This car must belong to the murderer.

With that in mind, Teruo Tojo pieced together the whole story himself.

My good-for-nothing nephew tried to steal someone's car and got caught red-handed by the owner.

They played a trick on him, and when they were done having fun, they shot and killed them.

"Sigh." Teruo Tojo sighed. His nephew was dead, so be it; he wasn't his own son anyway.

That kid has always been a scoundrel; he was bound to get into trouble sooner or later. I just never expected him to die on his own turf.

But he couldn't lose that blood pact; it was too important to him.

If he encounters danger in the future, or if he gets tired one day and wants to return to Japan to settle down, he only needs to place that blood pact in front of Shimazu Koji, and someone will naturally help him take care of it.

That was his escape route, his insurance, and his backup plan.

"Alright, everyone, get out."

The ten men in suits felt as if they had been granted a pardon. But after kneeling for so long, they could only help each other to their feet and stagger out of the restaurant.

The restaurant returned to silence. Teruo Tojo then comfortably leaned back in his chair and continued to enjoy the freshly sliced ​​sashimi the chef had given him.

The knife clattered on the cutting board, and the fish slices were neatly arranged one by one. The old man ate with great satisfaction.

Suddenly, Teruo Tojo spoke up: "TWO, is your master really not considering opening a Japanese restaurant in Brazil?"

The chef put down his knife, wiped his hands with a cloth, and slowly said, "Mr. Tojo, ZERO said he's doing well in New York and doesn't want to leave for the time being."

"What's so great about New York?" Teruo Tojo persisted. "It's freezing cold in winter and unbearably humid in summer. It can't compare to Rio—there are beautiful women, great beaches, and it's summer all year round."

At this point, Teruo Tojo narrowed his eyes and continued, "If that doesn't work, you can contact your senior brother for me; it'll be the same if he comes."

TWO shook his head: "ONE needs to stay by Master's side; his task is to teach the other junior disciples."

Teruo Tojo picked up a glass of sake and drank it all in one gulp.

Setting down his cup, Teruo Tojo wiped his mouth before sighing and continuing, "Well, as you know, I'm short-handed. When something difficult happens, I don't have anyone capable of helping me. Do any of your junior brothers have any good people who can lend a hand? Remuneration is negotiable."

That's a very polite way of putting it; Teruo Tojo has very few people under his command who can actually get things done.

They had already obtained the video of the murderer who killed their nephew, but they still couldn't find any information about the murderer's identity.

The killer has no record with the Brazilian police, so he's probably not a local. It's even uncertain whether he's still in Rio.

He didn't want to use the hotel's internal resources too much, even though he was the hotel manager; using those external resources would come at a price.

For someone who hasn't even secured his position yet, this is a very bad deal.

He's a frugal old man who knows how to manage his finances, and he wouldn't part with the hotel's assets unless absolutely necessary.

This is also why he wanted to hire a few skilled people from outside to do his side jobs. After all, they're cheap, easy to use, and he wouldn't owe them any favors.