89: Chapter 89 Gin's Unlucky Life

In the waters off Tokyo Bay, an unnamed island was shrouded in fog so thick it seemed impossible to disperse.

The island was small, barely a few kilometers across. It had no permanent residents, only craggy reefs and dense tropical rainforest. Viewed from the air, it looked like a gray pebble forgotten on blue satin.

No one knew that deep within this seemingly desolate island lay one of the most secret bases of the Black Organization.

Heavy reinforced concrete bunkers were buried deep into the mountain. Surveillance cameras disguised as reefs scanned the sea surface vigilantly, and underwater sonar systems operated 24 hours a day, instantly locking onto any approaching vessels.

Inside the base, however, it was a stark contrast to the desolation outside. The spacious corridors were brightly lit, researchers in white uniforms hurried about, and screens on the walls displayed real-time intelligence from around the globe.

And in an independent building on the very edge of the base, there was a small bar that only core members knew about.

The bar was dimly lit, jazz played lazily, and the air was filled with the mixed scent of whiskey and cigars.

At the bar counter, Gin sat alone, his back cast in a long, lonely shadow under the lights.

He was wrapped in thick bandages extending from his neck down to his wrists—scars left by the Dock Battle: a shoulder grazed by Akai Shuichi's sniper rifle, an arm slashed by explosion debris, and a side hit by a stray bullet while covering their retreat.

"Bang!"

An empty glass was slammed onto the bar counter. Gin snapped his fingers at the bartender, his voice as raspy as sandpaper rubbing together:

"Another one."

The bartender was an expressionless middle-aged man, also an old member of the organization. He skillfully picked up an unopened bottle of "Black Label," filled Gin's glass, pushed it toward him, and said nothing.

In this place, silence was the best rule for survival, especially when facing Gin at this moment.

Anyone could see that this ace killer, who once made all members tremble with fear, was now at an unprecedented low point.

The disastrous defeat at the Dock Battle was like a poisonous thorn stuck in Gin's heart.

To kill Akai Shuichi, he had planned a meticulous operation, but he hadn't expected to not only encounter an ambush by Japanese Public Security but also to alert the Japanese armed forces and the FBI.

In the chaotic battle, the organization lost over a dozen codenamed members and more than fifty elites, not to mention countless peripheral members.

Even Gin himself had almost become a prisoner.

In the end, it was only because The Boss utilized the ultimate trump card—missile launchers hidden on the seabed—that they were able to break through under the cover of intense firepower and escape to this island by submarine.

But the price was heavy.

The Boss's fury was enough to consume Gin.

Although nothing was said explicitly, the series of punishments upon his return said it all:

His authority was reduced, and the strike team he originally commanded directly was reassigned to Vermouth.

Several codenamed members who previously obeyed his every word began to act in defiance, even mocking him in public, saying he was "old and useless."

What he found most unbearable was the confinement order—unless he received permission from The Boss, he couldn't even approach the coastline of this island.

Gin, who once dominated Tokyo and held the power of life and death in his hands, was now like an eagle with broken wings, trapped on this isolated island, where even the freedom to act had become a luxury.

"Big Brother, drink less."

A simple, honest voice sounded from nearby. Vodka stood by the bar, holding a glass of juice, careful not to get too close.

He was one of the few people who remained loyal to Gin.

During the Dock Battle, he had braved a hail of bullets to drag the injured Gin onto the submarine.

After returning to the base, he had repeatedly stood up to defend Gin's dignity in the face of mockery from other members.

Even when Gin scolded and cursed at him out of frustration, he simply endured it silently, and the next day, he would appear by Gin's side on time as always.

Gin didn't look at him, simply picking up his glass and downing the amber liquid in one gulp, his Adam's apple rolling as he made a dull sound.

Vodka looked at his bloodshot eyes, feeling a pang of bitterness in his heart.

He had known Gin for over a dozen years, from the initial lackey who followed behind carrying the suitcase to the capable lieutenant he was today, he had never seen Gin so decadent.

That Gin, who always had cold eyes, meticulous thoughts, and seemed to have everything under control, seemed to have been completely shattered by that crushing defeat.

"Big Brother, look at this."

Vodka hesitated, then took a tablet out of his pocket, opened a video, and handed it to Gin.

"Things over in Tokyo... are getting chaotic."

In the video, US soldiers were suppressing protesting crowds on the streets of Shibuya. Police batons were swinging, crowds were fleeing, and cries and gunfire mixed together; the scene was as chaotic as a doomsday movie.

The news headlines below were shocking—"US Troops Enter Tokyo, Large-Scale Clashes Erupt on Streets," "Cabinet Compromises, Agrees to Pay $1 Billion Security Fee," "Protesters and Police Engage in Fierce Standoff."

Vodka thought Gin would, like before, keenly find an opportunity in this chaos, with a glimmer of calculation flashing in his eyes.

After all, what the organization loved most was chaos; chaos meant opportunity, meaning they could take advantage of the situation.

But Gin only glanced at the screen indifferently, not even furrowing his brow, before reaching out to push the tablet back to Vodka, then snapped his fingers at the bartender again:

"Drink."

Vodka was stunned, the tablet in his hand almost falling to the ground.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, like "We can take advantage of the chaos to retake our territory in Tokyo," or "The US military and the Japanese government are fighting like dogs, it's a great time for us to develop." But looking at Gin's hollow eyes, all his words were stuck in his throat.

He had never seen this side of Gin—numb, indifferent, as if he had lost interest in everything.

In the corner of the bar, several codenamed members were whispering, their gazes occasionally glancing toward the bar counter with undisguised contempt and schadenfreude.

"Look at him, it's pathetic."

It was Chianti's voice. She was toying with an exquisite pistol, her tone sharp. "He used to be so capable, right? Now he's like a stray dog."

"Keep it down."

Korn pulled her, though his eyes also held mockery. "He's still a 'senior' after all; it's not good if he hears you."

Chianti and Korn were newly selected codenamed members of the organization, having inherited the codenames of their predecessors.

"Senior?"

Chianti scoffed. "He messed up the mission and caused the organization to lose so many people; what qualifications does he have to be a senior? I think The Boss should have replaced him long ago."

Their voices weren't loud, but in the quiet bar, it was enough to reach Gin's ears.

Vodka's face turned red with anger, and he stood up abruptly, clenching his fists: "What did you say?!"

Chianti raised her eyebrows, not only unafraid but deliberately raising her voice:

"Did I say something wrong? Vodka, don't waste your time with him anymore. A wise bird chooses its tree to nest in; what future is there in following a loser?"

"You!"

Vodka was trembling with rage and was about to rush over to argue.

"Sit down."

Gin's voice suddenly rang out, cold and low, like ice thrown into boiling oil, instantly freezing the air in the bar.

Vodka froze for a moment, looked at Gin's back, and finally gritted his teeth, sitting back down unwillingly.

Gin slowly turned around, his gaze sweeping over Chianti and Korn in the corner.

His eyes still carried the exhaustion from his injuries, but deep down, they hid a trace of imperceptible coldness, like an undercurrent beneath a winter lake.

"Finished?"

Gin's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an invisible pressure.

Chianti felt a chill down her spine under his gaze and subconsciously shut her mouth.

She wasn't afraid of the down-and-out Gin, but she feared the coldness in his eyes—that was the gaze of someone who had crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, the gaze of someone who had truly killed and seen hell.

Korn lowered his head directly, pretending to drink.

Gin didn't look at them again, turning back to pick up the freshly poured glass and downing it in one gulp.

He didn't care about the mockery of these people.

Having been in the organization for so many years, he had seen more than enough betrayal and kicking a man when he was down. The noise of these clowns was just background noise to pass the time.

What he truly cared about was his own failure.

Every detail of the Dock Battle appeared repeatedly in his mind like a movie playback—

Akai Shuichi's confident smile, Kazami Yuya's meaningful look, and the cold reprimand from The Boss over the communicator...

Every scene was like a knife, repeatedly cutting at his pride.

He hated his own negligence, hated his own underestimation of the enemy, and hated that feeling of powerlessness even more.

Although The Boss hadn't explicitly said he would replace him, recalling all core members, restricting his authority, and issuing a confinement order... these actions were already very clear—he was being marginalized, being "put on ice."

If he didn't have any decent achievements, he feared he would truly be discarded, just as Chianti said, or even become a lab rat in the laboratory.

At the mere thought of The Boss's methods, Gin's body involuntarily tensed.

He had seen those failed experimental subjects, those former companions who eventually turned into monsters without thoughts, waiting to be slaughtered... that was the ending he feared most.

"Big Brother, actually... we still have a chance."

Vodka watched Gin's hand tightly gripping the glass and mustered the courage to say,

"I received news that the Joker caused a huge stir in Tokyo before. The US military and the government are fighting tooth and nail, and even the Zaibatsu have been dragged into it. If we could..."

"Joker?"

Gin finally reacted, his brow furrowing imperceptibly.

He was no stranger to this name.

The organization had investigated this person before, only to find that the group's identities were like a fog, completely untraceable. Combined with their decisive killing and well-trained movements, the organization even unanimously believed that these Jokers were of professional military background.

"What does he want to do?"

Gin asked, his voice still raspy but with a hint of imperceptible sharpness.

"Not clear."

Vodka shook his head. "But it looks like he wants to throw Tokyo into complete chaos."

Gin fell silent.

He picked up his glass but didn't drink, just stared at the liquid, which reflected his blurred and distorted reflection.

Throw Tokyo into chaos? Did this conflict with the organization's interests?

It seemed... it didn't.

In fact, chaos was a good thing for the organization.

If the US military and the Japanese government fought until both were injured, if the Zaibatsu turned against the government because of blackmail, if the public's anger erupted completely...

Then, could the temporarily suppressed Black Organization find a chance to breathe? Could they take advantage of the chaos to reclaim lost territory?

More importantly... if he could achieve a feat in this chaos sufficient to regain The Boss's trust?

A faint glimmer of light seemed to ignite in the depths of Gin's dead eyes.

He put down the glass and stood up. The restriction of the bandages made his movements somewhat stiff, but the pressure that belonged to Gin began to coalesce again, unnoticed.

"Vodka,"

Gin's voice regained some of its former coldness. "Compile all recent intelligence on Tokyo for me. The more detailed, the better."

Vodka was stunned, then a look of wild joy appeared on his face: "Yes! Big Brother! I'll get it done right away!"

He knew that Gin was ready to pull himself together.

Gin didn't look at Chianti and Korn in the corner again and walked straight out of the bar.

His back still bore the scars, but it was much straighter, like a weed that had been broken in the wind and rain but refused to fall.

When he reached the door, he stopped, not turning his head, but said faintly:

"Tell those people who have nothing better to do, instead of wagging their tongues here, they should worry about how to keep their own codenames."

"Be careful, or you'll end up like your predecessors—dead with no corpse left!"

The voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears.

Chianti and Korn's faces turned ugly instantly, but they dared not say another word.

They were just newly promoted codenamed members and couldn't compare to an old veteran like Gin; it was only because Gin had lost power that they dared to mock him a few times.

In the corridor outside the bar, the lights were deathly pale. Gin looked into the deep darkness ahead, a flash of resolve in his eyes.

This isolated island couldn't trap him.

A temporary dormancy was just for a better counterattack.

Tokyo's chaos might be a crisis, but it could also be... his only chance.

He had to seize it.

Even if it meant gambling his last bit of dignity and his life.

On the sea outside the island, the fog was still heavy.

But beneath this thick fog, an undercurrent belonging to Gin had already quietly begun to surge.

And this undercurrent would eventually rise with the storm of Tokyo, creating new, massive waves.