CHAPTER 23: PROFESSIONALS
On the seventh floor of the abandoned building, hidden in the deep shadows of a corner, the four men took a moment to regroup.
Ren Shiroki kept his line open with Fusui Kure.
{ Those four mercenaries popped smoke and retreated from the roof to the eighth floor. I've lost visual on them for now. }
{ Anyway, Ren-chin—or should I call you "Boss" now? I'll let you know if I see movement. Watch your back! }
Ren tapped his earpiece twice, acknowledging the update.
Even with Fusui's long-range support, the board was far from clear. The building was a minefield of piano wire and caltrops. The only relatively "safe" zone was the stairwell between the eighth and fifth floors.
If they tried to make a break for it and sprinted downstairs, they would inevitably be slowed down by the traps between the fifth and first floors. In that scenario, four professional mercenaries with submachine guns would catch up, rain fire down from above, and turn them into Swiss cheese.
It was a death trap—and everyone in the group, even Kaji, knew it.
"Escape" wasn't an option. They had to "Win."
After a quick mental calculation, the group moved from the seventh floor to the sixth, carefully clearing wire traps as they went.
Baku looked at Ren, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "My, my. You've got some impressive friends, Ren-chin!"
Kaji looked confused. "Baku-san, why are you bringing that up now?"
"Think about it," Baku explained. "On our way here, Ren-chin was on the phone, talking about giving a 'job referral' to a relative of his sister's classmate, right?"
"I just didn't expect that 'relative' to be a member of the Kure Clan. That's some god-tier networking right there! Hahaha!"
Through their brief exchanges, Baku had realized that Ren's "backup" was an elite from the world-famous Kure family. The Kure Clan was a household name in the global underworld—a clan of biological weapons who specialized in the art of the kill.
Baku had once considered trying to "acquire" Kure muscle for his own schemes, but he had wisely abandoned the idea. The Kure Clan was a monolithic entity; they accepted contracts, but they could never be "owned" by an individual. Attempting to manipulate the family would only result in a swift and violent purge.
"Having a Kure on our side is definitely a relief," Baku said, his tone shifting. "But... only to a point."
This gamble was adjudicated by Kakerou. The fact that Yagyo allowed "external support" was already a massive concession, likely because Q-Taro had cheated by bringing extra mercenaries.
But no matter how generous the Referee was, Fusui Kure couldn't enter the building. She was restricted to providing cover from the outside. The threat inside remained—specifically those four mercs and the "Masked Demon" sitting next to Q-Taro.
"What do we do now...?" Kaji whispered. "Should we just keep heading down?"
In a crisis, normal people cling to the most obvious exit, even when logic tells them it's a trap. Kaji was no exception.
"We have sniper cover now," Kaji reasoned, his voice trembling. "Can't we just carefully make our way to the street? There are only five of them... six, if you count Q-Taro. If we run, we can make it, right?"
He was spiraling, the fear clouding his judgment. "We can win... right? We're going to be okay?"
"..."
"Heh. Of course. We'll leave this place without a scratch."
It was the Man of the Divine Realm, Akagi, who answered. He wasn't smoking now—he didn't want the cherry of his cigarette to give away their position—but his expression was as cold and detached as a winter morning.
"A gamble only exists to be won. We have the advantage—not just because of what we have, but because of what the 'Opponent' lacks."
"Q-Taro is a 'Happy Killer.' That's our opening," Akagi said tonelessly.
"From what we've seen, Q-Taro doesn't want a quick kill. He wants to drag out the suffering. He wants to hear the screams. He savors the process."
"Most killers start off efficient. One shot, one kill. But over time, as they satisfy their urges, they become bolder, more theatrical... more 'planned.'"
"Q-Taro has reached the point where he prioritizes his own twisted pleasure over the win-state. That makes him predictable."
Baku nodded, picking up where Akagi left off. "The game was supposed to start one minute after we left the room. But Q-Taro didn't send his men after us until much later. He wanted to give us a head start so the 'hunt' would last longer. It's his fetish."
"Looking at his style, I'd bet ten to twenty people have died in this building. He's the worst kind of amateur degenerate."
"But because he's that kind of man, he's delicious prey," Baku said, licking his lips. "Q-Taro isn't trying to win the gamble right now; he's trying to have a good time. That means he's going to leave a lot of openings."
"To me, that old man is just... bait."
Baku paused, then turned his gaze to Akagi with a curious look.
"By the way... Kaji-kun is with me. Ren-chin is on a corporate mission. But what about you, Akagi-san? Why are you playing this game with your life on the line?"
"..."
Akagi thought about it for a moment. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it."
Baku: "..."
Baku: "Hah?"
"Is it that strange?" Akagi gave a weary shrug. "In a gamble, people die for no reason. As long as the win/loss is pure, the rest doesn't matter."
"Haha, I see." Baku gave a dry laugh. He wasn't sure if he liked that answer or was terrified by it.
Ren whispered to Kaji, "They're both gamblers, but they're different breeds."
Baku suddenly leaned into Ren's space, grinning. "Is that so? Well, I think I'm the more handsome breed. Besides, I've got some very handsome plans for our next move!"
Ren sighed. Baku was acting like he was jealous of the attention Akagi was getting. Before he could ask about the "plan," his earpiece crackled.
{ Ren-chin, we've got movement. The four mercs have reached the seventh floor. They're heading for the sixth. They're coming for you. }
The Rooftop of a Nearby Building.
Fusui Kure was lying prone on a concrete ledge, her sniper rifle stabilized on a bipod. She was staring through the high-powered optic, watching the Kujo Building.
"Yeah... they've moved from eight to seven. They're pushing for the sixth floor now."
"Watch out, Ren-chin. These guys are acting like they know exactly where you are. They probably have trackers or hidden cameras in the halls..."
Fusui spoke casually, reaching into a plastic bag next to her to grab a soda. She took a sip through a straw without taking her eye off the scope.
"These mercs are pros. They're sticking to the blind spots I established earlier."
"Aside from knives, pistols, and SMGs, they've got night-vision goggles and smoke grenades. They're geared up. Probably have gas masks, too."
"The guy you hit is bandaged up. He looks pissed. He's only got one good hand, but he's carrying a grudge the size of a mountain..."
As Fusui provided the intel, she sensed movement behind her. Two men in black suits were standing on the rooftop.
"Ah. You Kakerou guys must be tired after climbing all those stairs. There's extra soda in the bag, help yourself."
The two men were Kakerou scouts. Their job was to maintain the perimeter, but they were in a bind. This girl—a Kure assassin—had been contracted by a participant. Was she an "Outsider" or an extension of the "Player"?
Helpless, they patched a call through to their superior inside the building: Yagyo Hikoichi.
"Good evening," Yagyo said over the comms, his voice as polite as ever. "Our member, Master Kujo, is requesting that the Kure Clan cease its interference. Would that be possible?"
"No can do," Fusui replied with a grin.
"A contract is a contract. A professional doesn't walk away from a job just because things get complicated."
{ ...DAMN YOU! } Q-Taro's voice roared in the background. Yagyo must have had the call on speaker.
Fusui didn't flinch. "Look, it's simple. Just treat me like a natural disaster. Professional gamblers don't stop the game just because of an earthquake or a flood, right?"
"Unless..." Fusui licked her lips, her voice turning mocking as she addressed Q-Taro directly. "Unless you aren't actually a professional, old-timer. Are you?"