Isn't it very scientific to use the Death Note to kill people?

Amuro Tooru first served coffee to the busy Koshimizu Nanatsuki, then walked over to Hayashi Yoshiki, sat down, and said, "By the way, boss, I just wanted to let you know that I might need to take a few days off for some... personal matters."

His tone sounded natural, but Lin Jiashu could catch the meaning behind the subtle pauses.

Lin Jiashu knew perfectly well what was going on, but simply nodded and said in a normal tone, "No problem. Work is important, but personal matters also need to be taken care of. If you need any help, just let me know."

"Thank you, boss."

Knowing that he meant it when he said "help," Amuro Tooru smiled, picked up his coat from the back of the sofa, and said, "I'll be going now. Koshimizu, I'll leave this place to you."

"Don't worry, Mr. Amuro."

Nanatsuki Koshimizu nodded in response.

After Amuro Tooru left the office, the office returned to silence.

—Recently, Rum assigned him another task… It seems to be a task that Vermouth was following up on, but that woman has been acting mysteriously lately and has even abandoned the task, so it can only be handed over to Bourbon.

It's true, you can't escape exploitative bosses no matter where you go.

Lin Jiashu picked up his coffee and took a sip.

-

earlier

The morning sunlight streamed through the blinds of the luxury apartment, cutting out streaks of light and shadow on the polished floor.

The sound of flushing water came from the bathroom.

Vermouth sat on the cold toilet seat.

Her head was lowered, her dazzling blonde hair cascading down lazily, partially obscuring her face, but unable to conceal the turbulent emotions in her eyes.

Her raised right hand held a small, yet now incredibly heavy, pregnancy test.

There are two clear red lines above.

It was like a silent verdict, or the cruelest joke.

All wishful thinking, all self-comforting thoughts like "it might be because I'm too tired lately" or "it might be a physiological disorder caused by stress," were shattered at this moment by the naked evidence.

The persistent low-grade fever, inexplicable fatigue, and nausea that surged in the mornings... all these fragmented symptoms finally connected, pointing to a possibility she had never thought of and never wanted to face.

Pregnant--

The word, which was almost impossible for her to have in her life, exploded in her mind, and Vermouth's mind went blank for a moment.

Then, through gritted teeth, she uttered a sound from her bloodless lips:

"Cointreau..."

That bastard!

She recalled the last time she was with him.

A chilling anger mixed with the shame of being fooled surged within her; she had actually believed that man's lies!

—Even now, she is still wondering whether that guy lied to her or whether he didn't expect this outcome either.

What Vermouth felt disgusted with herself was that she had so easily believed his words... No, perhaps it wasn't believing, but rather subconsciously feeling that it was absolutely impossible for her, so she relaxed her vigilance.

Now, the consequences are coming.

She subconsciously raised her other hand and gently placed it on her still flat stomach.

Inside, an unwelcome life, flowing with the blood of both her and that dangerous man, is quietly being conceived.

What should I do?

This child is a huge problem.

This is not just about becoming her weakness, nor is it simply about linking her to that dangerous guy, Cointreau... but rather a different kind of danger that may come from deeper within the organization.

A cold glint appeared in Vermouth's eyes.

From a rational perspective, erasing the mistake directly is the most straightforward and beneficial option, just like how she usually erases mission objectives cleanly and efficiently.

However... when her fingertips felt the slight warmth of her abdomen through her thin nightgown, an extremely subtle throbbing, unfamiliar even to herself, inexplicably restrained that cold killing intent.

"Ah……"

She let out a very soft, ambiguous sneer.

It seemed to be mocking its own hesitation, and also mocking this absurd fate.

She remained seated on the toilet for a long time, unable to get up.

The sunlight moved slowly across the floor.

Finally, she slowly raised her head and looked at the woman in the mirror who was still stunningly beautiful, but whose eyes were complex and unreadable.

She tossed the pregnancy test into the trash can as if throwing away an insignificant piece of garbage, then stood up and straightened her slightly wrinkled bathrobe, her movements regaining their usual elegance and composure.

Let's find some time to meet.

With an indifferent expression, she picked up her phone, found Lin Jiashu's number, and sent him a text message.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Even though it's not evening yet, I'd like to wish you a Happy Mid-Autumn Festival!

Chapter 73: Rum Gets Beaten Up

As evening fell, the curtain of the Iroha Sushi restaurant was lifted, and Kenjiro Wakita's slightly muscular figure walked in.

The head chef, who was busy behind the counter, was somewhat surprised to see him: "Wakita? Wasn't today your day off? Why are you here again?"

Kenjiro Wakita gave a somewhat naive smile, scratched his head, and said, "Ah, yeah, I was supposed to be resting, but I was just sitting at home doing nothing, and I felt a bit uneasy. I figured I'd feel more at ease helping out at the shop."

The head chef, unsuspecting, nodded approvingly: "You're just too diligent! Well, we have quite a few reservations tonight and are short-staffed. Go change your clothes!"

"Okay, coming right away!"

Kenjiro Wakita responded and skillfully walked to the staff area, changed into the white work uniform, and put on a hat.

While the chefs in the restaurant were preparing the ingredients, he was responsible for preparing the bowls, hot towels, and drinks.

Time passed quietly, and the sky outside the window gradually darkened. Just after six o'clock in the evening, the door of the sushi restaurant was opened again and again.

Around 6:15, a commotion was heard outside the door.

Several young men, dressed in flashy clothes and with exaggerated hairstyles, exuding an air of social fringe, walked in noisily.

They casually occupied the seats in the center of the store, talking loudly, creating a cacophony that clashed with the store's tranquil atmosphere.

"Hey! Boss, order!" One of the blond-haired guys banged on the table.

The head chef, busy behind the counter, frowned. Before he could speak, Wakita Kanenori, with an honest-looking face, quickly stepped forward, his face beaming with a warm smile.

"Here you are, good evening, guests. What would you like to eat? Our tuna belly is especially fresh today! And our freshly arrived sea urchin is also quite good." He bowed slightly and handed over the menu.

"Stop babbling! Bring the drinks first!" Another thug with a lip piercing waved his hand impatiently, his eyes sweeping over the store with a critical look. "What a lousy place, not even a decent girl."

Kenjiro Wakita's smile remained unchanged as he nodded repeatedly, "Okay, okay, coming right away. What would you like to drink?" He noted down the cheap beers and sake the other party had ordered and quickly went to fetch the drinks.

However, the group's noise did not stop. They talked and laughed loudly, oblivious to others, using vulgar language, and even began banging their chopsticks on their bowls and plates, making a jarring noise. Other tables of customers cast disapproving and annoyed glances their way, and some even hastily paid their bills and left.

The chef's expression grew increasingly grim, but he seemed unwilling to cause trouble and simply focused on preparing the ingredients.

Wakita Kanenori returned with the drinks, carefully pouring them for them, his smile unchanged: "Gentlemen, your drinks are here, please enjoy. Um... could you please keep your voices down a little? It might be disturbing the other guests..."

"what?!"

The blond-haired man slammed his hand on the table, stood up, and spat almost onto Wakita Kanenori's face. "I paid to come here, I can do whatever I want! What business is it of yours, you stinking laborer?!"

"Exactly! Look at your one-eyed face, it's unlucky to look at!" the man with the lip piercing chimed in.

"...I just have a bump on one eye, so I'm wearing an eye patch for now."

Kenjiro Wakita didn't seem nervous at all, and his expression was quite natural. "In short, please be quiet."

As the second-in-command of the Black Organization, Rum had no reason to get angry over the offensive words of these few marginalized figures.

Perhaps the thugs felt it was pointless to argue with a laborer, or maybe they still had some sense left, because they finally toned it down a bit, sitting back down and muttering curses, their voices a little lower.

The store has temporarily regained some order, and the furrowed brows of the other customers have relaxed slightly.

The head chef secretly breathed a sigh of relief and continued with his work.

Kenjiro Wakita acted as if nothing had happened, silently wiping the counter and replenishing the tableware.

However, the people at the sushi restaurant relaxed too soon. After a few drinks, the alcohol began to erode the reason of those thugs.

The brief silence was quickly broken.

They started playing rock-paper-scissors loudly again, pushing and shoving each other, their behavior becoming increasingly conspicuous.

The chef's face darkened again. He put down his knife, gave Wakita Kanenori a wink, and whispered, "Wakita, this won't do. It will affect other customers and damage the restaurant's reputation. Go tell them that this meal is on me and ask them to leave."

The worst thing for a business owner is encountering such unreasonable customers, leaving the chef with no choice but to pay up to avoid further trouble.

"Okay, leave it to me."

Kenjiro Wakita nodded, a smile returning to his face as he walked toward the table of thugs.

"I'm so sorry, gentlemen."

He bowed slightly and tried to be as tactful as possible, "You all seem to have finished eating. Our restaurant is about to enter its dinner peak season, and seating will be limited... How about we waive your bill for today? It's just a small token of our appreciation. We welcome you to visit us again next time?"

He thought he had been polite enough, but to the thugs who were already drunk and looking for trouble, his words were interpreted as a blatant expulsion and insult!

"Damn it!" The blond-haired man jumped up, the chair legs scraping against the floor with a screeching sound. "What do you mean? Are you kicking us out? You think I can't afford to pay?!"

"Who do you think you are, you blind bastard!" The man with the lip piercing slammed his hand on the table and stood up, his face full of hostility.

"That's not what I meant, you've misunderstood..."

Kenjiro Wakita tried to explain, his smile still on his face, but a hint of impatience and coldness was building up inside him.

As the second-in-command of the organization, when has he ever been subjected to such repeated insults from street scum?

"You've misunderstood your mother!"

The blond-haired man ignored him completely, and his pent-up anger exploded instantly. Without warning, he threw a punch at Wakita Kanenori's face!

This was completely unexpected by Wakita Kanenori.

He wasn't lacking in fighting ability; on the contrary, as a high-ranking member of the organization, his skills were at least much better than the average person's... He just never expected that the other party would act so directly and recklessly!

boom!

A solid punch landed on his cheekbone, with considerable force.

Kenjiro Wakita was knocked so hard that he stumbled backward two steps and bumped into an empty chair.

A burning pain shot through his cheek beneath the single eye, and the edge of the eye patch seemed to loosen.

He was stunned.

For a moment, Rum was genuinely stunned—a feeling of utter absurdity and furious anger at being offended!

Rum actually got beaten up by a low-level thug in a tiny sushi restaurant in Tokyo?!

This brief moment of hesitation was seen by the thugs as a sign of weakness and vulnerability.

"You dare glare at me?!"

Seeing that he did not immediately retaliate, the blond-haired man became even more arrogant and tried to pounce on him again.

This time, Kenshinori Wakita's body reacted instinctively faster than he could think!

Just as the blond-haired man threw his second punch, Kenjiro Wakita seemingly made a hasty step, slightly turned his body, and at the same time blocked the punch at an extremely concealed and clever angle, and then pulled it away!

"Ouch!"

Huang Mao felt a sudden, unexpected force, which made him lose his balance. He cried out in surprise and was thrown forward, falling to the ground in a sorry state.

Big brother!

"Damn it! You dare to fight back?!"

Seeing this, the other thugs immediately rushed forward, cursing and shouting. They didn't care about any sense of honor in a one-on-one fight and directly ganged up on the second-in-command of the black-clad organization.

Although Rum had some skill, it was far from outstanding... at least at this moment, under the siege, he could only dodge and parry in a cramped space.