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The nameless little town in Alaska certainly had no million-dollar inheritance waiting for anyone.
Henry had simply asked Old Tom—the middleman and local consultant in the nearby port town where Henry used to board crab-fishing boats for king crab expeditions—to keep an eye on Old John's condition. If anything difficult arose, Tom was to notify him immediately.
In exchange, Henry regularly purchased miscellaneous supplies that Tom needed, packed them up, and shipped them to Alaska.
In an era before online shopping—and where even telephone-order services didn't reach remote regions—Henry's arrangement was surprisingly useful.
Then, on Thanksgiving, Henry received a call from Old Tom.
The old man who had run the bar alone hadn't opened for business.
The town sheriff broke down the door and found that Old John had passed away.
He was lying in bed.
There were no suspicious signs.
No robbery.
No conflict with any of the other elderly residents who could barely move around.
Old John had simply passed away in his sleep, without any signs of pain or struggle.
Since he had received the news, Henry naturally had to make the trip.
Nine years later, he was returning to Alaska.
Traveling by boat was too slow, and during winter the sea partially froze, limiting where ships could go.
Flights to Alaska weren't available every day, and commercial airliners only served the major airports.
To reach the tiny town where he had once lived, Henry remembered all too well how difficult the journey had been when he left.
He had absolutely no desire to repeat that long drive.
Not unless he planned on carrying a car while flying the entire way again...
And since this was a public trip, secretly flying there under his own power would be practically the same as exposing his abilities outright.
So Henry chose the simplest solution.
Money.
He chartered a private flight to Alaska.
As the country with the world's most developed aviation industry, arranging a private charter on short notice wasn't difficult.
Besides, Henry wanted to bring Katie along rather than leave her behind in Los Angeles.
Alaska's pristine wilderness remained worth visiting even in the middle of winter.
A man and a tiger walking through the snow together.
Occasionally distancing oneself from civilization wasn't such a bad thing.
Back when he had lived in Alaska, Henry had wandered through life in a daze, unsure of what he wanted.
Lost.
Directionless.
Everything felt dull and meaningless.
But after experiencing the trials and tribulations of the world, his state of mind was no longer the same.
This trip wasn't just about seeing the old man who had once cared for him one last time.
Henry also wanted to reconnect with nature and calm the growing violence and irritability that had accumulated within him recently.
Although every time he acted, every time he witnessed the consequences of his actions, his emotions barely fluctuated.
He felt neither disgust nor satisfaction.
Yet somewhere beneath the surface, he could sense that something inside him had changed.
Even with only one item remaining on his to-do list, he felt no urgency to act.
It wasn't merely because the target was surrounded by traps and surveillance.
Henry feared that once he finally moved, he might lose control and turn the situation into a meaningless massacre.
For that reason, the trip to Alaska had become necessary in every sense.
Of course, no airline could fly directly to the tiny town itself.
There wasn't even an airport nearby.
Only the neighboring port town—the one where the crab boats departed—had a small private airstrip capable of handling propeller aircraft.
So the route required several stages.
First, a chartered light jet from Los Angeles to Fairbanks, Alaska.
Then a transfer to a propeller plane bound for the port town.
And finally, a drive from there to the nameless settlement.
Fortunately, Henry was lucky.
Although Alaska was covered in snow and temperatures remained below freezing, the weather was clear enough for flying.
Katie the tiger wasn't much of a problem either.
With enough money, special circumstances could receive special treatment.
Thus, Henry arrived in the port town that very day.
Compared to nine years ago, Old Tom hadn't changed much.
His face had already been ugly enough back then.
Nine years later, it was still just as ugly.
The only notable difference was that after tricking Henry into taking over that old Cadillac years ago, Tom had bought himself a Ford F-150 pickup.
Both man and truck were parked beside the airstrip as they watched the propeller plane land.
"Henry! Our big shot has finally come back!"
Old Tom stepped forward with his arms spread wide for a hug.
"Old Tom."
Henry didn't dodge and moved to return the embrace.
Instead, the old man suddenly sprang backward like a startled rabbit.
"What the hell is that?"
Katie had climbed out of the plane on her own.
Very obediently, she let out a—
"Meow."
...which immediately turned into—
"ROAR."
Translation: Cold!
Henry smiled.
"This is my pet, Katie the tabby cat. Don't worry. She doesn't bite people—as long as you don't put your hand inside her mouth.
"So if you see her bringing her mouth toward you, remember to run."
The pilot, who had spent the entire flight tense and silent, sat in the cockpit vigorously nodding.
Whether he agreed with Henry's explanation or simply wanted that oversized ancestor gone as quickly as possible was unclear.
The charter fee had technically covered two passengers.
Still, it was hard to say whether he'd ever be brave enough to accept a similar job again.
Henry slapped the rear cargo bed of Tom's pickup and called out:
"Hop in the back. You're too big to squeeze into the cab with us."
Even without lowering the tailgate, Katie easily leapt into the truck bed.
Not a scratch appeared on the paintwork.
Old Tom desperately wanted to refuse transportation for this "cat."
But he didn't dare say it aloud.
Seeing the old man's troubled expression, Henry patted him on the shoulder.
"Come on, old man. Give me a hand. There's still cargo to unload from the plane.
"Some of it's yours."
The mention of gifts noticeably improved Tom's mood.
There were three large boxes and two smaller crates inside the aircraft.
Pointing at the larger ones, Henry said:
"These are all yours.
"Don't let the size fool you—they're relatively light.
"The smaller boxes are heavier. I'll carry those myself."
Looking at the familiar shipping boxes, Tom nodded.
"So you brought all the supplies I wanted this month."
But his eyes were actually fixed on the two smaller crates.
Unlike the plain shipping cartons, those bore the labels of a whiskey distillery.
And not cheap whiskey, either.
Henry picked up one of the crates.
"Old John is about to be buried. Doesn't matter what I bring back—he won't be using any of it.
"So I figured I'd bring something the living can appreciate.
"Funerals are a good occasion for drinking, right?
"Unless funerals around here don't allow alcohol."
He set the crate into the truck bed.
When he turned around, Old Tom had already opened the second crate and slipped a bottle into his jacket pocket.
Caught red-handed, the old man offered an embarrassed grin.
"Just helping lighten the load."
"Do whatever you want. Just don't drink and drive."
The pilot, who had clearly been eyeing the crates for quite some time, now confirmed that they really were filled with liquor.
His gaze immediately locked onto them.
As Henry prepared to move the second box, he pulled out a bottle and handed it over.
"Your flying was solid.
"I haven't decided on my schedule yet, but I'll need your help for the return trip too.
"That won't be a problem, right?"
The pilot accepted it happily.
"Of course not.
"You've got my number.
"When you're ready, give me a call. As long as the weather allows it, your flight goes to the front of the queue."
With whiskey like this, even transporting a tiger became negotiable.
After all, he'd already made the exception once.
"Thanks."
Henry laughed.
But before leaving, he couldn't resist adding:
"Drink all you want—but do it at home.
"Don't drink while flying."
The pilot laughed.
"Relax. Bears and moose don't suddenly run out into the sky."
That wasn't the point at all...
Henry could only smile helplessly.
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