If Bourbon had been the one to do it, Gin would never have failed to hear even a single scrap of information.
Therefore, the Mastermind is definitely not Bourbon.
If the ambush on Nani and Heine only gave Gin a few suspicions, then after his conversation with Cavendish, he could add several more tags to his list.
Cavendish was on a mission at the time. Based on his status within the Organization, the missions he performed were most likely kept confidential from the outside, at a time like this, there were not many people who could track his movements so clearly..
Similarly, since they could track Cavendish's movements so clearly.. what was the likelihood that they didn't know Cavendish was wearing a bulletproof vest?
To shoot at the chest under these circumstances—was it overconfidence, or simply a mistake?
If it was a mistake caused by the relatively long range—after all, this shot was still six hundred yards away—but among the suitable sniping positions at that time, there were certainly closer ones available, weren't there?
Cavendish knew this as well, so his face was filled with doubt whenever the matter was brought up.
So.. his Target is probably not Cavendish?
Gin strolled through the hospital corridor.
The Shooting incident happened in public with many eyewitnesses, including a Newspaper staff member. Consequently, in just a few short hours, Gin had already seen the related reports—though they were censored.
Perhaps for these reasons, Cavendish did not choose a medical institution within the Organization, but instead came to this one, which seemed to have a good reputation.
When one is at the height of their fame, hiding and skulking only invites more suspicion; it is better to step out openly, as the rumors will eventually die down anyway.
After all, he was the victim.
More importantly, the identity Cavendish used this time would be difficult to find any fault with on the surface, at least for the short term.
As for bulletproof vests? That was much easier to deal with.
The sunlight was warm, the temperature was pleasant.
It was afternoon, there seemed to be many people in the Hospital, but everyone tried their best to maintain a certain level of quiet.
Cavendish was not short of money, in order to recover from his injuries in a relatively "quiet" and "safe" environment, he naturally was not stingy with his spending, staying in a high-end VIP Ward.
While his mind wandered, Gin spared a bit of energy to observe his surroundings, walking through one corridor after another without stopping, until he came to a halt at the elevator doors.
The conversation of two Nurses drifted from behind him.
They seemed very young, or perhaps they just lacked sufficient work experience, as they whispered about another patient's condition not far from Gin.
Although both had intentionally lowered their voices, the sound was loud enough for Gin to hear clearly.
He had no intention of eavesdropping, but then again.. the voices of those two Nurses were not intending to let him off.
The Patient in Room 11 has just died." A slightly hoarse voice narrated the passing of a life: "We spent a long time completing the surgery.. I didn't expect it wouldn't work after all.
“He was also pitiful.” This Voice sounded much crisper by comparison, carrying a youthful vigor—it sounded as if he were a bit younger, though it could also be because the previous person was so exhausted that his voice had become hoarse.
After a pause, the owner of that crisp voice spoke again: "Speaking of which, he was really badly injured when he was sent to the Hospital."
Tell me about it.." A hoarse voice spoke again. "He was slashed seven times, with most of the wounds located around the waist and abdomen—what's worse is, perhaps the Killer was too panicked, because none of the stabs were immediately fatal. Instead, an unconscious strike ended up piercing the stomach..
“Stomach acid corrosion.. what a pain.” The Nurse let out a soft click of his tongue, filled with pity. “By the time he was brought in, his voice was so hoarse he didn't even have the strength to scream. It's a pity it was already too late.”
“His wife was also very tragic.. I heard her face was disfigured by fire,” the latter added. “I wonder what kind of deep hatred she held for the Killer.."
Gin paused, his thoughts drifting for a moment, before he reached out and pressed the button for the Elevator.
These matters had nothing to do with him.
So why bother?
..
The interlude involving the Female nurse passed quickly, since it had nothing to do with him, Gin couldn't be bothered to pay it any attention.
However, the attacks on Heine and Cavendish.. were different.
Compared to Cavendish's luck, although Heine seemed to be doing alright, Gin was certain that his injuries were far more severe than Cavendish's—otherwise, Sheila wouldn't have been so exhausted.
So.. is the Mastermind targeting Heine—no, rather Sheila—more specifically?
Gin let out a soft sigh.
If only it were that simple. In fact, the intuition he had gained from years of living on the edge told him that their target was not just them.
No—
To be more precise, the other party probably.. wanted to frame Bourbon, didn't they?
As for the excuse—was Bourbon's reaction after Scotland's death.. perhaps it was still too abrupt?
But if that's the case, Bourbon is the scapegoat, Cavendish is the smoke screen, Sheila is the person they are truly targeting—is it worth all this trouble?
To be honest, he truly suspected B. W.—and Brandy—but if the two sides were the same person, it would be even more dubious; unfortunately, there was no evidence yet.
There was no evidence—not just regarding the connection between the two sides, but also concerning this case.
Although for people in the Underworld like them, sometimes suspicion alone was enough to drive them to do many things.. they couldn't just rely on blind guesswork!
What if he was wrong? Was Brandy the type of person to suffer in silence?
It was like trying to untangle a yarn ball that had met an impossible knot; all deductions had reached a bottleneck at this stage. Gin closed his eyes, taking one more step forward.
The Hospital's automatic door slowly slid open from both sides, sunlight spilled over him.
Gin opened his eyes.
..
Leaving the Hospital, Gin did not choose to take a car. He sent an SMS to Vodka, telling him to drive the car away, then strolled through the streets of Tokyo alone, his expression cold and his eyes sharp.
Even though it was a weekday, the streets of Tokyo were still very bustling. Many girls who looked like university students walked together in small groups, chatting in pairs about the latest gossip, their new boyfriends, different styles of earrings and necklaces.. as well as all sorts of deadlines and projects.
The latter is probably the most familiar term in university life.
The youth is like this, the elderly do not seem to be idle either. Some have gray hair and carry briefcases; some lead cloth bags to perform their social work—the pressure of social life in Japan is indeed quite significant; of course, besides that, there are also those leisurely walking dogs with ropes.
Gin even saw a group of Foreign youths.
Of course, he knew that in the eyes of the Japanese, he was also a foreigner.
Compared to Akai Shuichi and Amuro Tooru, his mixed heritage seemed a bit more Westernized, with relatively faint Asian traces.
But speaking of which, Sheila looks more like the former—although if you look closely, you can still see traces of Europe, but overall he leans more towards being Asian.
As for Heine, his Father and adoptive mother were both Europeans; he himself was a true mixed-race Japanese and European—though he was more like Gin.
Gin vaguely remembered that Heine seemed to have a bit of a grudge against Rye from the very beginning.
This kind of dislike did not seem to be a personal aversion toward Rye, nor could it even be called hatred; it appeared to be similar to how he felt when he saw food or colors that he did not like.
Specifically, during their first encounter, Heine would occasionally throw a few jabs at Akai—and through a series of coincidences, this even resulted in a meal together.
At the time, Gin thought it was because Heine had intentionally let him pick up the tab for him and Akai as a way of returning the favor—money wasn't the issue, it was about saving face. But thinking about it now.. it didn't seem to be the case?
With a sudden change of thought, the Silver-haired youth abruptly remembered the background of Heine's other adoptive mother, Columba..
He faintly felt that he was touching upon the Truth.
Akai Shuichi.. although he claims to be Moroboshi Dai, he also admitted to being of mixed heritage—and that he has already immigrated to the USA.
—Although Gin had once suspected it was because, for the FBI, modifying records in Japan was not as easy to manipulate as it was in the USA.
Having thought this through—though whether it was true or not, Gin's mood seemed to have improved slightly. She stopped in her tracks, tilting her head to look toward the bustling Crossroads to her left, then looked up at the traffic light.
Gin turned decisively and walked toward the Commercial Street straight ahead.
Not far away was a music-themed record shop. Considering that he had just moved, Gin thought for three seconds before deciding to check out this shop.
Anyway, he had her card with her.
Listening to music.. is sometimes a good choice as well.
—Especially when one is feeling unsettled.
—Of course, that is assuming what you are listening to is actually 'music.'
As soon as the Glass door was pushed open, an exotic melody drifted into her ears. Gin raised an eyebrow slightly, scanning the decor of the shop.
It looks pretty good.
A large number of song records were arranged on the shelves according to different categories, along with various kinds of instrumental music. It seemed that classic music took up the lion's share; while there were some popular albums, they were pitifully few by comparison.
A guitar case hung high on the white wall, which had been splattered with reckless colors, exuding an air of untamed defiance; beside the counter sat a violin case that seemed well-maintained—at least the guitar case was.
Gin cleared his throat, in the next second, a head popped up from behind the counter from the Staff who had been nowhere to be seen just a moment ago.
A head topped with a massive afro.
And it was a bright red lip color.
Gin: …………
It was truly.. a quite eye-catching outfit.
Gin thought silently.
..
This staff member, who had a rather flashy style—Gin strongly suspected he might actually be the shop owner, after all, not every shop owner has the broad mind to accept such a staff member.. To be this unrestrained, unless the shop owner himself was also of an unrestrained style—he looked quite young, one could even call him youthful.
This youth is about twenty-two, with a pair of exceptionally bright black eyes and a face that has not yet lost its childishness, looking somewhat green.
When he blinked, he looked even more childish.
It really doesn't suit that afro..
Gin frowned slightly, feeling a sense of indescribable frustration.
The young Staff clearly didn't know what Gin was thinking. He gave a shy smile—which Gin felt was even more of an eyesore—and then spoke, his Voice slightly immature and boyish: "Hello, Gentleman, what would you like to see?"
I don't want to look at anything right now.
Gin thought expressionlessly.
Fortunately, he usually had such a cold expression, so it didn't seem out of place at this moment. The Silver-haired youth paused for three seconds before slowly speaking, "What song is playing now?"
Heaven knows he was just making small talk, saying whatever came to mind.
The Staff had no idea what he was thinking; instead, hearing that, he became even more delighted, his smile grew more sincere. Gin caught a faint glimpse of a large Mastiff—the kind that wags its tail at you: "This is a Russian folk song!"
Hearing the word 'Russia,' Gin's brow twitched. He paused, for the first time, he began to take a careful look at this Staff.
Aside from his eye-catching afro, this Youth had an unexpectedly handsome face. He possessed a youthful charm that did not diminish his handsomeness, especially his bright, piercing eyes, which gave him a striking appearance.