Adam did not leave the area carelessly.
The moment he stepped out of the coffee shop, he kept the same old-man pace for half a block, neither too fast nor too slow. Then he turned once, crossed the street.
'If Bruno is more frightened than he looked, he might send someone after me just to feel safer.' Adam thought.
So he kept moving.
He cut through a crowded lane, entered a small pharmacy, left from the other side, slowed near a fruit cart, and changed direction again. Once, he stopped beside a bus shelter and pretended to rest on his cane while scanning faces in silence.
Only then did Adam let a little tension leave his shoulders.
He had escaped cleanly.
For now, that worked.
At least today.
After that, his thoughts went somewhere else entirely.
Kenji.
The name alone changed his expression.
In the worst years of his previous life, when survival had felt closer to punishment than living, very few things had kept him moving. One of them had been Kenji.
Not because Kenji had known him.
Not because Kenji had saved him.
But because Kenji had endured.
Adam had read everything he could find from him. The autobiography. The journals. Newspaper articles. Old interviews. He knew how long Kenji had struggled, how many temporary jobs he had worked, and how late his rise had truly begun.
Then, when his chance finally came, Kenji had become one of the biggest business managers in the country before building his own company.
Adam had read those pages again and again.
When there had been no hope, Kenji's words had still forced him to keep working.
That mattered.
Now, with a second life in his hands, Adam intended to turn that knowledge into something real.
He sat in a corner of the same cafe Kenji was supposed to visit and waited.
At first, Adam had considered meeting him in his real face. He had dismissed that idea almost immediately.
'If I go as myself, why would he trust me? A college student offering him something is just noise.' Adam thought.
Even if Adam went as a rich man and offered work, Kenji might accept the work.
That was not enough.
Adam did not need obedience.
He needed loyalty.
And loyalty could not be bought that simply, especially not with John's network somewhere in the future waiting to poison every weak link.
Adam checked the time again.
Two thirty had already passed.
That was the time written in Kenji's autobiography. After his shift, he would come to this cafe, sit for around half an hour, read business books, clear his mind, and slowly build contacts that would help him years later.
Five more minutes passed.
Adam was just about to stand when the doubt vanished on its own.
Kenji walked in.
Young.
Early twenties, a little older than Adam himself, but still young enough.
Kenji sat at a table with quiet familiarity. A waiter brought over his usual order without asking.
That alone made Adam smile.
So the book had been right.
Kenji opened a book and started reading at once.
'You really were like that from the beginning.' Adam thought.
For a brief moment, he considered walking over.
Then he let the idea die.
Too early.
Adam knew enough about Kenji's mind to understand this much: a direct offer might buy cooperation, but it would not buy trust. And trust was the only thing worth chasing.
So Adam stood up, smiled once more, and left.
The next day, he repeated the disguise.
This time it was easier.
He already had the white hair, the beard pieces, the clothes, the lenses, the cane, and the small details that turned the look from costume into identity.
After leaving the apartment, Adam found a telephone booth.
He took out the card Bruno had given him and called the number written on it.
The line connected.
Adam did not let him speak.
"Today," he said, voice cold and controlled, "one thirty. Same cafe. Be there."
Then he hung up.
No greeting.
No explanation.
No room for questions.
Exactly as intended.
By the time Adam reached the cafe and took his seat, he had already expected trouble.
Still, when he noticed certain faces looking at him too often, his expression sharpened under the disguise.
Not open staring.
Not obvious enough for amateurs.
But enough.
'John's men?' Adam thought.
He dismissed that possibility a second later.
'No. Impossible. John doesn't know who this face belongs to.' Adam thought.
A second possibility rose at once.
Bruno.
Or Bruno's network.
Adam's eyes cooled.
'So you want to trace me back. Fine. Then you need a lesson.' Adam thought.
A few minutes later, Bruno arrived.
He looked much more cheerful than he had the day before.
That alone told Adam enough.
The bag he carried confirmed the rest.
Bruno sat down and placed it on the table with visible satisfaction, as if he were already expecting praise.
Adam did not touch the bag.
He simply raised one finger and crooked it once, telling Bruno to lean closer.
Bruno obeyed, still wearing that hopeful look.
The moment he came within reach, Adam's hand moved.
The slap landed hard enough to cut through the noise of the cafe.
Bruno jerked sideways in his seat, stunned.
Every trace of that happy expression vanished.
Adam leaned forward, his voice low and deadly serious.
"All the money is in cash inside the bag?"
Bruno swallowed, nodded quickly, and jerked his head up and down in terrified agreement.
Adam looked at him for one long second.
Then he said, "Yes. Very good."