It was very quiet, or rather, too quiet.
It was so quiet that she couldn't tell if the surroundings were naturally this silent, or if there was something wrong with her ears that prevented her from hearing any sound.
The female doctor's expression of pity from when she examined her earlier surfaced in her mind once more; her mouth moved up and down, Nana felt somewhat dazed, listening to her words in a near-trance-like state.
What exactly he said, Nana could no longer remember clearly at this moment—she didn't intend to dwell on it anyway, as it certainly wasn't good news—the most vivid impression she had was instead the broad, warm embrace of the youth behind her.
Even though she was trembling slightly, she remained steadfast.
This made her feel conflicted once again when she saw the arrangement in Zhenjun's SMS—she wanted to protect her, yet she was unwilling to keep things from her.
But she had no choice.
So she had no choice but to speak, her heart filled with trepidation as she listened to her own slightly trembling voice:
“Yaji.. can you disguise another person to look like me?”
..
As a high-level member of the Black Organization and the heir to the Italian Mafia, Heine has always been a clear-headed and rational man.
He appeared unrestrained and amorous; yet beneath that affectionate, gentle light lay a bone-chilling detachment, as unyielding as ice and snow.
Compared to Cavendish, who was ruthless and lethal in his strikes, he was even more indifferent—a man who was truly warm on the outside but cold to the core.
But everyone has weaknesses, Heine is no exception.
Perhaps because he is essentially a cold fellow, Heine places extraordinary importance on those he is able to let into his heart.
For example, Sheila.
Even though many years had passed without seeing each other, even though they had never been in contact, the other's voice, face, smile remained unforgotten in the depths of his memory.
The little bundle that used to babble to him when he was a child, as exquisite and delicate as the meatball dumplings wrapped by Columba during the New Year; the little girl who stumbled toward him to be held when she was four or five years old, her soft arms making him almost afraid to use any strength; and the girl who smiled at him at eleven or twelve years old, her backpack on her shoulders under the afterglow of the setting sun, her smile more magnificent than the sinking sun itself.
He once carried the drowsy little girl on his back, walking step by step along the path home, as sunlight filtered through the leaves on both sides, casting layers of light and shadow; he once watched his sister's appearance become increasingly beautiful, feeling both proud and vexed, ruthlessly drove away the thugs who chased after her; he once helped the girl who had played so wildly during the holidays that she was in tears before school started by doing her homework, even going to the trouble of disguising his handwriting to match hers—
And then, during that summer when Columba passed away, he watched as a sudden, strange man took his Sister by the hand and led her away.
The moment he saw Sheila, he maintained a cynical smile on his face, but his heart was already churning with violent waves.
But making the decision to "protect her" didn't even take a single second.
—This is probably why Heine's perception of Sheila is so heavily filtered.
Gin thought, speechless.
As Heine left reluctantly, the sound of the door closing felt like a button had been pressed, the atmosphere in the Safe House instantly became tense and hostile.
The ICPO elite restrained her previous, slightly casual smile; she pursed her lips slightly, her eyes calm and silent.
"After going through the trouble of sending Heine away, what do you intend to say to me?" Gin went straight to the point, having no intention of wasting time.
“Doesn't That gentleman also want to send Brother away?” Sheila spoke without emotion, his voice clear and cool. “If Brother were here, he would definitely protect me, making it inconvenient for you to do whatever it is you want to do, wouldn't it?”
Gin crushed her cigarette butt onto the table with one hand, the tip struggling to flicker with a faint light before finally going out—much like the atmosphere that had lost all warmth at this moment. "It seems you know I want to kill you."
When he said those words, he was as calm as if he were merely offering a casual greeting.
However, Sheila knew that he wasn't joking at all.
"I know." Sheila's answer held no hint of a joke.
In the next second, Gin raised the handgun in his hand.
His movements were truly too fast; even Sheila could not see clearly when he had drawn his handgun.
Staring at the pitch-black muzzle that had already been aimed at his head while she spoke, Sheila's deep blue eyes finally rippled with a hint of panic; however, that panic soon turned back into calmness.
How interesting," Gin said nonchalantly. "Your reaction is much better than those useless trash.
Please don't say that," Sheila retorted with a smile. She understood exactly who Gin meant by 'trash,' and the determination in her voice was exceptionally obvious: "Everyone fears death. No matter how an undercover reacts when facing death, it is understandable.
Oh?
Actually, I'm very afraid too." The black-haired ICPO felt no shame at all; his arms hung naturally at his sides, his gaze was calm, the blue in his eyes grew even more brilliant: "But that doesn't change anything.
Is that so?
Gin's emotionless voice echoed through the silent Safe House, his gaze falling upon his own hands—on his knuckles, there were indelible calluses.
Just like those memories that cannot be erased.
He tilted his head slightly, then pulled the trigger.
..
Bang—
With a gunshot, a hole emitting the scent of gunpowder appeared on the snow-white wall.
Sheila's beautiful features were not mangled, but his eyes were tightly closed, his eyelashes trembling slightly. A bloody streak appeared on his fair, flawless face, as droplets of blood seeped from the wound, sliding down his cheek like red plums falling into the snow.
Having hovered on the brink of life and death, Sheila opened his eyes blankly, his autumn-water eyes still somewhat dazed. He lowered his head in a trance, his pale lips trembling slightly, much like his clenched right hand which was also trembling faintly.
"You still think it won't affect anything?" Gin looked at his panic mockingly, questioning his from a position of superiority.
To be fair, he truly admired Sheila—compared to the idiots in the Black Organization, he had more appreciation for capable individuals—but this "admiration" might not be a good thing for Sheila and the others.
Whether it be Sheila.. or Scotland.. or even those people in the future.. they are all no different.
Gin thought coldly; without him even realizing it, the hand holding the firearm gradually tightened.
His knuckles turned white.
It doesn't matter." Sheila suddenly looked up, his clear blue eyes freezing like a cold autumn moon. "Because my life or death is not important.
Gin put down his handgun.
His hands were still steady, however, he still put down the handgun.
It felt as if something were burning in his chest.
He could have asked a few questions out of interest, or perhaps watched the beauty's dying moments with a hint of malice, or he could have felt a sense of melancholy and regret in his heart—after killing her.
However, a strange, burning, intense emotion surged through his chest and boiled in his blood, his Green eyes seemed to ignite with a flame, dark and eerie.
Why?
This question was being asked of Sheila, yet it was not just being asked of Sheila.
..
He joined the Black Organization when he was very young.
Kurosawa Zhen grew up in the Black Organization, lived in the Black Organization, achieved self-actualization within the Black Organization—and thus, Gin was born.
As the Black Organization's top Assassin, as a loyal elite member, as a core high-level member who serves as a pillar of the organization, as a notorious assassin.
Years have passed, 'Gin' has long since become an inseparable part of his life, just like the Black Organization.
That was why, the moment he learned of the System's so-called mission, he could only sneer at it.
If it weren't for Shiratori Midori, he would have only looked down on the System's so-called missions—he could find over a dozen ways to skirt around those so-called missions.
Even if he was reluctantly willing to complete the mission for the sake of the Green-eyed girl's resurrection, he had never truly taken the mission to heart until now.
Nor had he ever truly separated himself from the Black Organization.
Even if he was no longer as loyal to the Black Organization, even if he allowed a group of moles to cause trouble within the Black Organization, even if he himself harbored the idea of taking advantage of the situation to break away from the Black Organization to revive Shiratori Midori—
—But he had never truly changed his stance, he still viewed himself as a member of the Black Organization.
The influence of the Black Organization is far too deep, especially for people like them who joined when they were young.
It's not that once you leave the Black Organization, you are no longer part of it—that was Sherry's reality many years later. Even though she had begun his new life, she still lived under the shadow of the Black Organization, living in constant fear at the slightest sign of trouble.
For Gin, everything regarding the Black Organization was as natural as breathing, he had never truly considered changing his stance.
And he had never once considered what the existence of the Black Organization truly meant to others.
In this instant, too many people and too many things surfaced before his eyes.
Many years ago, when Tennessee spoke to him about his wife and child in the Bar with a tender expression, the Silver-haired youth gave him a casual, indifferent glance and continued drinking by himself.
Years ago, Shiratori Midori looked at the person he had killed, revealing a sense of pity and terror, his lonely figure that lingered thereafter.
Years ago, Nana stood before Shiratori Midori's Grave in a wretched state, her green eyes, so similar to her Sister's, swirling with tears and hatred.
It was not too long ago, during a Black Organization gathering, Vermouth gave a flirtatious smile, his demeanor hinting at a subtle sense of boredom amidst the clinking of glasses and festive atmosphere.
Months ago, Akai Shuichi gazed at his face without a trace of emotion, bright flames hidden within his eyes.
A few weeks ago, Scotland's calm attitude and resolute expression when he made the appointment with him—after Gin provided the intelligence, in order to protect the safety of his Companion, he didn't even notify a single colleague until he was exposed.
Yesterday, Scotland went to his death.
Light and shadow interlaced, those scenes of Target's past flashed before his eyes; some he had already forgotten, while others he remembered but had never cared about.
In this moment, they all rotated through Gin's brain, overlapping and returning, forming a series of grotesque ukiyo-e paintings that finally solidified into Sheila's determined expression.
Gin closed his eyes deeply.
..
“I don't quite understand what you want to do.” After a heart-pounding silence, Sheila finally spoke, his deep blue eyes showing a hint of confusion in the light, their color lightening slightly for a brief moment.
She spoke slowly, emphasizing every word; the wound on her cheek was not deep, the blood had already begun to coagulate, its vivid color standing out starkly against her fair face.
Sheila did not reach out to wipe it, so the blood remained, making his look somewhat disheveled.
“At first, I thought you would kill me—because you already know my identity.” Sheila fell silent for a moment, analyzing as rationally as possible, “And it is obvious that you have no intention of betraying the Black Organization—at least not for now.”
"Oh?" Gin let out an ambiguous syllable.
Even if you arranged.. a somewhat baffling mission, it makes you seem a bit suspicious." The Black-haired girl lowered her eyes slightly, looking at the boots at her feet. "But you haven't left any evidence from beginning to end, you haven't had any contact with the people involved in last night's incident from beginning to end.
Pausing, Sheila slowly took a step forward—his movements were slow, partly because she did not want to cause any unnecessary misunderstandings, partly because—
—His legs went numb QAQ
“Whether it was a sudden whim or a deliberate attempt to lure me out, I cannot judge accurately.” Sheila stopped walking and suddenly smiled. He looked up at the silver-haired youth before him, as the sunlight spilled over his hair, creating shimmering halos: “So, I don't intend to judge anymore.”
I only need to know that, in either case, you are capable of killing me.
If it were to lure the snake out of its hole, there was nothing more to be said; if it were a mere whim, as long as Gin had no intention of betraying the Black Organization, he would not leave behind too many flaws—or rather, too many people who knew the truth.
Sheila was merely a Cadre who had received his codename not long ago; even though she was exceptionally capable and had Heine protecting him, his foundation was, after all, not very deep.