Chapter 40 Mafia What kind of terrorist organization is this? ...
Nighttime, warehouse in Tokyo's Old Minato Ward.
People dressed in dark blue work clothes stood guard at the door, walking around in groups, seemingly doing nothing.
If you look closely, you'll notice that these people's backs are bent too deliberately, and their hands are not the rough ones that dockworkers usually use to unload cargo; instead, they are covered with calluses from using knives, guns, and clubs.
Something outlined the clothing around the waist, creating a strange curve.
The warehouse was located in a remote area and was inconspicuous compared to the large, centrally managed warehouses in the distance. It contained only a few containers less than two meters long, making it seem rather empty.
A pane of glass on either side was broken, and a wooden frame outlined two large windows, through which the lights of the dock and the moonlight squeezed in.
As the moon rose high in the sky, the warehouse door was pushed open by two "workers," who held their breath.
The sound of a woman's high heels clicking on the ground drifted into the warehouse, then echoed back.
"Lord Vermouth," the two said, bowing their heads.
The woman kept walking without shifting her gaze even an inch.
Her black, form-fitting motorcycle outfit accentuated her beautiful figure, and her long, wavy golden hair cascaded down naturally. The woman had a face that could be described as kissed by the gods, but no one present dared to look at her for long.
The organization's Thousand-Faced Witch—Vermouth.
The person who is said to be closest to the BOSS.
Against the light from outside the door, Vermouth stopped and glanced at the man in the warehouse.
"Why are you the only one here? Where are Bourbon and Scotland?"
Ray was still wearing his black knit hat, his leather jacket pulled up to his neck, leaning against the container smoking.
Upon seeing a woman enter, he casually stubbed out his cigarette on the container.
"They're checking the situation at the docks," Ray replied.
"Has the buyer confirmed when they will arrive?" he asked again.
Vermouth chuckled, her gaze shifting to the warehouse door, and she parted her lips slightly: "Soon."
The sound of car engines grew louder as they approached, as if in response to her words, and several headlights illuminated the doorway piled high with cargo boxes.
Three black cars slowly came to a stop outside the door.
The organization members who were guarding the surrounding area immediately gathered together, surrounded the unfamiliar vehicle, and cautiously drew their pistols.
The atmosphere froze instantly, and the surroundings fell silent.
Like a weight falling into the sea, it keeps sinking to the bottom.
After a brief silence, the doors of both cars suddenly opened.
Except for the driver, everyone in the car filed out, all wearing black suits and sunglasses.
They surrounded the car in the middle, all carrying medium-sized guns and pointing them at the gunmen, instantly turning the tide of the battle.
Without a doubt, they would not hesitate to open fire if attacked or given an order.
The car headlights were too bright to make out the person's face... but that's definitely not the FBI's style.
Was it another buyer? Did the FBI's operation go awry?
Shuichi Akai's eyes seemed frozen by the winter night in Tokyo, his expression unchanged, as he asked Vermouth in bewilderment, "Such a big fuss?"
He had been involved in transactions between the organization and other gangs, and those people were all trembling with fear, not even daring to look the organization members in the face.
This is the first time someone has shown no fear whatsoever under the organization's intimidation.
The visitors were surrounded in the middle, at least ten people, who remained calm and unmoved even when faced with the threat of guns, their hands holding the guns not moving an inch.
Once you see what they're holding, you'll know where their confidence comes from.
“...It’s Thompson.” Shuichi Akai let out a deep breath, trying his best to control his facial expression.
Thompson, also known as the "Chicago Typewriter," is a famous American submachine gun capable of firing up to 800 rounds per minute. Its firepower and lethality far surpass those of the Beretta rifles used by the organization's members.
Pointing directly at them with the dark barrel of a gun, some members of the organization couldn't help but take a step back, their eyes filled with horror.
What kind of terrorist organization is this?!
Vermouth watched this scene as if she had witnessed something unheard of, and a hint of interest gradually crept onto her originally bored face.
"interesting……"
The standoff between the two sides didn't last long. A man in a black suit, seemingly receiving an order, raised his hand, pressed the miniature earpiece, put down his gun, and turned to open the door of the dark-colored sedan.
It was just a simple action, yet it attracted the attention of everyone present.
The carriage was dimly lit, and a pair of legs, neatly wrapped in suit trousers, stretched out and touched the ground.
The suit trousers, made of an unknown fabric, shimmered subtly with the wearer's movements.
Before they could even see her face, everyone heard an overly young voice.
The Japanese, however, sounded a bit strange because each syllable was too clear and standard: "It's been so long since I've been back to China. When did the greetings back home become so elaborate?"
That sound...
Despite being in the shadows, Shuichi Akai's pupils suddenly contracted to slits.
It wasn't until the young man's entire body was outside the car that people could see what he looked like.
He was completely at ease... The young man stood amidst the hail of bullets, still maintaining a composed smile.
He was as composed as a young white-collar worker visiting his neighbor with a gift.
His black trench coat made him blend into the crowd of guards in front of him, the car beside him, and the endless night behind him, while his wrists were covered by black leather gloves.
The white Gothic scarf on his chest, which didn't match his trench coat but was eye-catching enough, became the only bright spot in the young man's entire outfit.
The cold wind billowed the wings of the other person's trench coat, revealing half of the tight waistline outlined by the vest, which then cinched upwards and disappeared back into the coat, refusing all probing gazes.
She was graceful and charming.
Even Vermouth, who has seen countless beauties in organizations and the entertainment industry, had to admit it.
The youth, steeped in darkness, exuded a dangerous, toxic allure that was enough to draw most men and women in the underworld to him.
Sensing the scrutinizing gazes, the young man's eyes pierced through the crowd of onlookers, straight through the half-open warehouse door, and met Vermouth's gaze precisely.
After a long while, a smile that was almost genuinely gentle appeared in the other person's eyes.
If that smile weren't tempered with a layer of ice, it would be no different from the gentlemen Vermouth had seen at those banquets.
Kitagawa Ryusei.
Even though it was hard to believe, Shuichi Akai immediately recognized the person who had come, and his breathing became almost imperceptibly heavy.
The FBI's mission proceeded smoothly, and they even reached a cooperation agreement with the Japanese police without his knowledge.
But...bourbon and Scotland both knew Kitagawa Ryusei's true identity.
Is the plan going to fail?
His gaze fell on the highly intimidating weapons in the hands of the police officers and investigators disguised as Mafia members.
Bourbon and the others will be back in less than half an hour, Shuichi Akai thought silently.
—Since we're destined to be exposed, should we take this opportunity to eliminate the three codenamed members?
Just as he was struggling with this decision, Vermouth suddenly picked up her phone and said regretfully, "Bourbon and the others can't come."
"What?" Shuichi Akai didn't react for a moment.
Vermouth's interest was clearly piqued by the prospective buyer, explaining simply: "There was a murder at the dock, and they were left at the scene."
The breath he had been holding in suddenly eased, and at that moment, Shuichi Akai was incredibly grateful for the frequency of the Tokyo incidents.
It's good that they won't be coming back for the time being.
He refocused his attention on the current standoff.
Ignoring the stares around him, Kitagawa Ryusei got out of the car and stood still, surveying the dark surroundings of the warehouse as if he were admiring the view.
After doing all this, he stepped aside slightly, turned around, knocked on the car door, and said to the passenger compartment, "Aren't you getting off?"
Everyone's attention shifted with his movements.
As the young man finished speaking, another young man got off the car—his face was obscured by sunglasses, but his presence was not diminished by his companion.
His face was ashen, as if he were about to grab a weapon and start a fight at any moment; anyone could tell that he was in a very bad mood.
The contrast between the two instantly made Kitagawa Ryusei appear incredibly friendly and approachable.
—Jinpei Matsuda was spotted by the National Police Agency because his appearance was too similar to that of a Mafia member, and was recruited to work as a laborer.
At this moment, facing several guns pointed at him, his face darkened even further.
After the two of them got out of the car and stood side by side, Kitagawa Ryusei turned his head and once again focused his gaze precisely on the two people whose figures were not clearly visible in the warehouse.
He feigned bewilderment: "What, is this how your organization treats its guests?" If one listened carefully, it was not hard to detect the chill beneath his nonchalant tone.
“Ara,” Vermouth pushed open the door and walked out, a smile playing on her lips, her eyes filled with unbridled scrutiny, “Of course not.”
While observing others, she was also being observed. The Thousand-Faced Witch remained unmoved by the probing and evaluative gaze that swept over her and Laiyi by the young man.
Her gaze swept meaningfully over the weapon in the black-suited man's hand: "Isn't your way of being a guest quite unique?"
Upon hearing this, Kitagawa Ryusei chuckled and raised his hand upwards.
The men in black suits who had been confronting the organization members did not hesitate at all; they immediately put away their guns and stood by.
“These Thompsons are of high quality and truly beautiful; they’re perfect for greeting people,” the young man said politely, as if describing a high-class red carpet and steps. “I apologize if I have offended the lady.”
He immediately recognized Vermouth's dominance in the deal and then paid no more attention to Lay beside her.
Even if you examined the young man's expression with a magnifying glass, you couldn't find any evidence that they had interacted before.
This was unlike any previous organized transaction, and Vermouth once again clearly felt the difference.
I've grown accustomed to seeing allies either hurrying past each other with their collars up or nervously exchanging money and goods in dimly lit corners, only talking when they dispute prices.
This scene before us is the true face of the Otherworld.
The Thousand-Faced Witch revealed a satisfied expression, her long, elegant eyebrows raised high: "You're not just here to inspect the goods, are you?"
Before the young man could speak this time, the young man in sunglasses next to him seemed to have finally lost his temper: "Have you finished talking nonsense? If you can't reach an agreement, then hurry up and complete the deal and leave."
With his curly hair, he looked like a firecracker ready to explode at any moment. His blue eyes peeked out from behind his sunglasses, his gaze sharp, and he looked at the organization members around him with disdain.
Kitagawa Ryusei did not interrupt him immediately, but only showed a somewhat formulaic expression of disapproval after the other party finished speaking.
"Excuse me," the young man said with a hint of apology.
He glanced around at his surroundings but didn't answer her question: "...It's getting late, how about we inspect the goods first?"
Anyone with eyes could see that the young man swallowed the words he was about to say.
They've been looked down upon... the crows.
Vermouth narrowed her eyes, offering a half-smile as she offered a way out: "Now that we've confirmed the goods and money are in order, we have plenty of time to discuss things in detail elsewhere. I don't think anyone would refuse such a polite and gentlemanly invitation."
Kitagawa Ryusei met her gaze, readily extended his hand in a standard gentlemanly gesture, and leaned forward, placing his right hand lightly on his left shoulder: "If I could have the honor of inviting you, madam, to share a drink, that would be wonderful."
"I haven't had a chance to introduce you yet. This is my partner Oliver, and my name is Ives."
After he finished speaking, he raised his head.
The two exchanged a knowing smile, which made Matsuda Jinpei and Rai, who were standing nearby, twitch their brows.
...Isn't this Japanese policeman acting a bit strange?
Ray subconsciously looked at the group of men in black suits, and only felt completely relieved when he spotted a few familiar faces.
Matsuda Jinpei, still emanating black energy, walked past the long-haired man into the warehouse without turning his head, saying, "What are you still dawdling about?"
"Let's finish quickly and get back to the hotel."
—Jinpei-kun just needs to play himself and treat everyone as zero.
These were the words Kitagawa Ryusei said to him as she skillfully tied her own scarf with nimble fingers before setting off.
Officer Matsuda, determined to see things through to the end, now looks at everyone with a urge to punch them.
Kitagawa Ryusei offered a slight apology, but remained silent about his partner's somewhat impolite remarks.
His gaze swept over the men in black suits: "You stay outside."
After saying that, he gestured to Vermouth, indicating that she should go first.
Vermouth chuckled twice at the youth's politeness, but her gaze suddenly turned cold as she looked at the organization members: "Put down your guns and continue patrolling."
The organization members hesitated, lowered their guns, and holstered them, their eyes still wary of the group of Mafia members who were said to have come from overseas.
As she turned around, Vermouth noticed the young man subtly furrow his brow, but quickly relaxed it.
Loose gangs.
Kitagawa Ryusei said it again in his heart.
Shuichi Akai and Jinpei Matsuda, who were walking ahead, remained silent, their auras as incompatible as oil and water, clearly defined.
When the "Mafia" pulled out their weapons, Ray took out his gun and was holding it in his arms. He then ordered his organization members to come forward and open the warehouse containers.
Two wooden crates, each one meter high and half a meter wide, were carried out from inside.
Ray stepped forward and opened it himself.
A whole box full of colorful gems was casually packed in a wooden crate, and then revealed to everyone when the lid was opened.
It radiated an undeniable brilliance in the dimly lit warehouse.
This is only a portion of the goods.
Even Shuichi Akai, who already knew the organization's strength, couldn't help but think to himself, "Wow!"
I went up and checked the weight of the box.
At this point, the smile on Kitagawa Ryusei's face finally became a little more genuine.
He bent down, picked up the two topmost gems, and held them up in the light from the window to examine them.
The slender fingers encased in black gloves became the perfect setting for the gemstones, with two translucent crystals, one red and one purple, gleaming in the young man's hands.
Especially that red one, which is even more vibrant and captivating than a ruby.
"Mahenge spinel, Hot Pink, nice color."
It's not just good; the gems in front of us are top-tier.
Its color is identical to that of flames, and upon closer inspection, it has a velvety texture similar to rubies and sapphires, adding an even more hazy feel under the moonlight.
The young man chuckled lightly: "If you do the math, one carat can sell for at least 700,000 yen..."
Matsuda Jinpei, who had been standing silently to the side, trying to project a grumpy persona, raised an eyebrow at this moment, his expression barely concealed by his sunglasses.
Vermouth noticed the change and asked, elbows crossed, "Oh, is there a problem with this gentleman?"
Kitagawa Ryusei withdrew her gaze from the gemstone, followed her gaze, and said with a smile, "My dear Oliver, just say what you want to say."
“It’s nothing,” Matsuda Jinpei turned his head away, using a nonchalant tone to mask his earlier surprise: “I was just curious how you remembered these broken stones.”
“You should learn more about these things too, after all, guns can’t solve everything,” Kitagawa Ryusei said with a helpless tone, looking at Vermouth, “Don’t you think so?”
“Absolutely right,” Vermouth couldn’t have agreed more, her smile deepening as she expressed her long-standing dissatisfaction with the organizational action group.
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing meaningfully at the gem in the young man's hand: "It seems Mr. Elvis is quite satisfied with our goods?"
These words drew Kitagawa Ryusei's attention back to his hands.
He didn't answer, but simply tossed the valuable red spinel back into the wooden box, once again mixing it with the rest of the box of gems.
Another grayish-purple gemstone, slightly less valuable but no less beautiful, seemed to attract the young man's attention more.
Spinel's rigidity gives the gemstone a metallic luster, and its mysterious and sophisticated grayish-purple hue is even more fitting for the Tokyo harbor on a winter night.
It also suits the young man in front of you better.
Vermouth gazed with great interest at the moonlit gem and the beautiful woman.
The gem was carefully placed back into the cargo box. Kitagawa Ryusei glanced at several other cargo boxes that had also been opened before turning around, taking off his black gloves, and extending his hand to their allies: "Very satisfied. I think if you are willing, we can talk about the next step of cooperation."
Faced with an unexpected situation, Vermouth deftly removed the gloves she wore for riding the motorcycle and smiled charmingly, "Of course."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
