Under the Ferris Wheel — Torabika Amusement Park
Beneath the shadow of the giant Ferris wheel, Ren Shiraishi turned his jacket inside out.In an instant, it became a camouflage combat uniform.
He gripped an FN P90 submachine gun fitted with a suppressor, pulled an Azu mask over his face, and slid into the bushes. Flattening himself to the ground, he crawled forward—slow, deliberate, and silent.
With the silencer attached, the P90's shots would be whisper-quiet—easily drowned out by the distant laughter, the hum of machinery, and the music from the amusement park above. Perfect for a kill in chaos.
Ren crept inch by inch, keeping his breath shallow.After a few meters, he spotted his target—a middle-aged company president—already talking with Vodka.
"Good… I made it in time."He exhaled quietly, tension bleeding from his shoulders. Adjusting his posture slightly, he lined up for a clean angle.All that was left now was to find Gin…
Then he froze."…Huh?"
Out of the corner of his eye, a familiar silhouette appeared.That kid—Shinichi?Why the hell is he here!?
Ren's brow tightened as he watched Shinichi crouching, sneaking around like an amateur spy."That stubborn brat… I told him to stay out of this."
Well, it wasn't like Shinichi ever listened. If he were the obedient type, he would've gone off to high school in Los Angeles with his parents long ago. Instead, he stayed here—too curious for his own good.
Still… maybe this wasn't such bad luck.At the very least, Shinichi's appearance might draw Gin's attention—and make Ren's assassination easier.
He adjusted his aim, the P90's barrel following Shinichi's movement.Using the boy as bait, he waited.
And then Gin appeared.
The man silently picked up an iron rod from the ground and crept behind Shinichi like a ghost. He raised it slowly, deadly calm.
But Shinichi sensed something. His head snapped around in alarm—
THUD!
The rod connected with a brutal crack. Shinichi dropped to the grass, vision spinning, mind blanking out.
In that instant, Ren squeezed the trigger.
The muffled pfft of gunfire cut through the air——but Gin jerked his head aside at the last second.
Swish!
The bullet grazed past his ear, leaving a red line across it.
Gin froze, puzzled—then instantly dove sideways in a roll.
Ren cursed aloud."Seriously!? You dodged that? That's not science— that's Conan logic!"
Swearing under his breath, he unleashed another volley, the P90 roaring in sharp, controlled bursts.
DADADADADADA—
Even Gin's reflexes couldn't beat bullets.Rounds tore into his shoulder, his back, and the back of his thigh.
Click-click-click—Empty.
No time to reload.
Ren tossed the empty P90 aside and, without hesitation, purchased a fresh one from the Outlaw System Mall. The new weapon materialized in his hands; he raised it and fired again.
Gin gritted his teeth, rolling into the underbrush for cover as bullets shredded the grass behind him. Ren kept firing anyway, the muzzle flash blinking through the leaves.
Meanwhile, Vodka finally realized what was happening. He could hear the faint tat-tat-tat of suppressed gunfire—but he couldn't see a thing.
Panicking, he aimed blindly toward the bushes and fired back.
Ren ducked low and shouted, "President! Get down!"
"President?!" Vodka's eyes widened in alarm. He spun toward the bewildered middle-aged man, rage twisting his face."You traitor! I knew you were working with them! Die!"
He raised his gun—
—but before he could pull the trigger, a burst of impact struck his chest.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Vodka staggered backward, collapsing onto the grass.
"Body armor?" Ren muttered, noticing there was no blood despite the hits.He was about to shift position when he heard it—the faint rustle of movement nearby.
Someone was approaching.
Without a second thought, Ren summoned a new weapon from the System:an SPAS-15 multipurpose shotgun.
Close-quarters combat? Shotguns ruled that domain.
Effective range: forty meters.One pull of the trigger and everything in front of him would turn into a beehive.
He aimed toward the sound and fired.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The SPAS-15 roared like a thunderclap.The 12-gauge shells ripped through the brush like invisible scythes, clearing an open line of sight in seconds.
Ren spotted a flash of black moving through the gaps. He swung the shotgun toward it—but the figure darted away, fast and fluid.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
He fired while chasing—but the shadow slipped through like a slick eel, every shot missing by inches.
The figure burst out of the bushes—and Ren stopped dead.
Beyond this point lay Chianti and Korn's sniper zone.Gin was trying to bait him into it.
Ren exhaled slowly. "Smart move, bastard."
But that didn't mean he was out of options.
He quickly bought a few grenades from the System's black-market store and hurled them toward Gin's escape route.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Explosions tore through the night, ripping up earth and brush alike. Dirt rained down in clumps; the once-dense undergrowth was reduced to smoking craters.
When the dust cleared—no sign of Gin.
Ren clicked his tongue. "Damn, that guy's tough. Even a sneak attack didn't work."He sighed, frustration cutting through his adrenaline."Fine. Next time, I'll just shoot him the second I see him."
Holstering his shotgun, Ren turned back toward the rendezvous point.He picked up the money case Vodka had dropped and glanced around.
The middle-aged president was cowering beneath a large tree, trembling, eyes wide.
"President, you all right?" Ren approached cautiously, shotgun in hand.
"I-I'm fine," the man stammered, then snapped back to his senses, glaring. "Wait—who are you?"
"Someone sent to protect you," Ren replied shortly. "This isn't a good place to talk. Let's move to the car first."
"You're right. Let's get out of here."The man nodded quickly, eager to leave.
Ren grabbed his arm before he could bolt toward the main path."Not that way—it's not safe. Go through those bushes instead."
"All right," the man said, trusting him.
He pushed through the thick shrubs, struggling forward——and the moment he stepped out the other side—
SPLAT!
His head exploded like a smashed watermelon.Blood and bone sprayed across the ground.
From far away, a sniper's voice crackled over comms:"Nice! The fat bald guy's down!"Chianti whooped in triumph.
But her celebration was short-lived.A bullet whizzed from the darkness—and her sniper rifle shattered into pieces before her eyes.
She ducked down in terror. "I'm under fire! He spotted me! I almost got my head blown off!"
"Retreat… retreat…" came Gin's weak, ragged voice over the radio.
Chianti didn't hesitate.She grabbed her gear and ran.