Chapter 40: Weakness

Pedestrians on the street let out shrill screams, fleeing in a panic.

A multi-vehicle pileup on the main road spread to several nearby blocks, paralyzing traffic and preventing fire trucks from entering the area.

Wakaba stood several streets away, looking up at the raging inferno of the Dingshang Hotel. She nodded with satisfaction. "As expected of an assassin organization, they certainly have good supplies. A fire of this scale is more than enough to reduce the bodies of Rie Hanada and the others to ashes..."

"Time to grab a late-night snack. I won't be taking any more contracts tonight; I’m giving myself the day off!" Wearing a baseball cap and carrying a casual backpack, she walked along the quiet, peaceful night sidewalk.

Inside her bag were unused bombs, high-intensity solid fuel, and other supplies.

After walking for some time, she was far from the Dingshang Hotel area, and the chaotic sounds had faded away. Ahead on the road, a group of bikers snatched a handbag from a beautiful woman. In an alley to her front-left, there seemed to be the sound of someone screaming. Everything was so harmonious.

It had been a long time since Wakaba had experienced such a tranquil night.

"...Damn it, you dared to run last time. Did you really think that just because you ran, I wouldn't be able to find you?" a thug growled from within the alley.

Passersby who heard this quickly moved away, taking detours.

Wakaba heard the voice, too. She stopped abruptly, every hair on her body standing on end. "How could I have forgotten such an important thing!"

She slapped her forehead hard, muttering in a voice only she could hear, her expression grave: "Even though I killed Kenji Yanagimura and all ten of his bodyguards, and even destroyed the evidence without leaving a single survivor, he was the young master of a major corporation. Wouldn't his family investigate after his death?"

"A mere local magistrate was able to dig up all my public information before. Those big shots will certainly be able to trace the grudge between their son and me..."

"Even if I acted secretly, in the eyes of those powerful figures, wouldn't it be a case of 'regardless of whether you are the killer, you will be buried with my son,' or perhaps, 'kill all suspects—better to kill a thousand innocents than let one guilty person escape'..."

"Those powerful figures won't think their own son was in the wrong and let the matter rest."

"No, they won't think their son did anything wrong at all; they will only wonder why a lowly ant like me didn't just go along with him..."

The more she thought about it, the more Wakaba felt a chill crawl up her spine.

Had she really just been naive enough to think it was over? That she could go off and enjoy a midnight snack in peace? How arrogant that was!

"Thank goodness, thank goodness I realized it in time!" Wakaba exhaled deeply, feeling as if she had just escaped death.

Just then, the thugs walked out of the alley and headed off to the side, never once glancing at Wakaba. Dressed like a poor student and appearing lost in thought, she wasn't worth their attention.

Once they were gone, Wakaba looked into the depths of the alley. Trash was scattered about, sewage flowed, mice squeaked, and the air reeked of rot and blood.

Wakaba saw the miserable figure leaning against a pile of garbage.

He was covered in blood, his face a mangled mess. His eyes, in particular, looked as if they had been gouged out by some sharp instrument, leaving two weeping, blood-filled hollows. Both ears had been severed, his nose was smashed and bleeding, and his hands, hanging limply at his sides, had been cut off at the palms.

Based on the memories of her clone, Wakaba knew that such injuries were not considered severe in this era. They could be healed, but it would cost a fortune. The thugs were well-versed in the *Fuguo Penal Code*, keeping the injuries just at the limit of "minor assault," which fell under the category of civil disputes.

Generally, no magistrate would bother investigating such a case. After all, even if they caught the culprits, there was no merit to be gained—only time and effort wasted. Instead, pretending not to see anything allowed them to collect their salary, enjoy their ease, and head home early to be with their families.

Wakaba pulled her gaze away and continued walking along the quiet sidewalk.

"The reason that man ended up like that is because he made the same mistake I almost did."

"He thought that by running, he was safe, without ever considering the possibility of being hunted down later..."

"I cannot be like him. Therefore..."

At this thought, Wakaba raised her head, her eyes ice-cold. "I must strike first! I will go directly and wipe out the entire Yanagimura family!"

In that instant, Wakaba felt as if she had discovered the truth of the universe, the essence of destiny. She looked up at the deep, vast galaxy and smiled. "So that's how it is. A good person like me never had a way out from the start!"

She was not a noble with immense power like those of the Wamyo Temple, nor did she have any backers. She was just a weak, little girl—powerless, honest, kind, harmless, and an excellent student. Yet the world was so cruel that a grain of sand slipping through the fingers of a powerful person was a towering mountain if it landed on her.

She took off her backpack and checked it; the bombs, high-intensity solid fuel, and signal jammers were all there.

"I remember Rie Hanada saying before she died that Kenji Yanagimura was the young master of Ansen Pharmaceuticals... Ansen Pharmaceuticals, the map shows it's in Sanchome, East Road, a ninety-minute drive... If that's the case, I'll act tonight, before they can react."

"However, they are a large company, and these few bombs won't be enough."

Thinking this, Wakaba took out her phone to order "takeout."

This was, of course, no ordinary delivery; it was a coded message to the organization. In the delivery notes, she used code words like "vegetables" and "fruit" to specify the supplies she needed.

She then went to wait under a secluded overpass. At this hour, there was no one there, save for a few homeless people huddled together in the dark beneath the bridge pillars.

About an hour later, a plain black sedan slowly drove up and stopped in front of Wakaba. The rear door opened automatically, and she slipped inside.

She looked at the man in the driver's seat; it was the man in the trench coat who had assigned her the mission.

"Where is the luxury 3A-grade ultimate firepower combat set I ordered?" Wakaba asked straight to the point.

"In the trunk," the trench-coated man said. "The luxury 3A-grade ultimate firepower combat set costs 330,000. You have 200,000 in your organization account. Do you want to pay the remaining 130,000 in cash or on credit?"

"Credit," Wakaba said.

"Fine. As a veteran of the organization, I'll give you a discount: six percent monthly interest," said the man.

"Thank you." Wakaba nodded, then patted her chest, promising, "Don't worry, I will work hard to take on more contracts in the future, and the debt will be paid off soon."

With that, she prepared to get out of the car to retrieve the super-luxury 3A-grade ultimate firepower combat set.

"Wait, why did you buy this package?" Seeing her about to leave, the man in the trench coat finally couldn't help but ask.

"Huh? Isn't this what you've always been recommending to me?" Wakaba said, looking speechless.

"Er..." The man felt a bit embarrassed. It was indeed he who had recommended it to her. However, the reason he recommended it was that it was a piece of individual demolition equipment that never sold and had been gathering dust in the warehouse.

To clear his inventory, he had tried every trick to recommend it to the assassins under him. He had even concocted various sales pitches, such as "a weapon is an assassin's second life," "a weapon is your most loyal companion—you can always trust it," and "don't wait until you're dead to regret not buying a few more bombs"...

"I wanted to hear a buyer's opinion so I could make improvements to the product..." The man looked at Wakaba, his voice devoid of emotion.

"I see!" Wakaba nodded, deeply convinced.

Then, she let out a heavy sigh and said with a sorrowful expression, "Sigh... I feel like someone is trying to harm me. That person is very powerful—no, it might not be just one person, but a whole group of them... I am too weak; I am no match for them at all. Only powerful weapons give me a sense of security..."

"So that's how it is."

The man in the trench coat looked at Wakaba with pity. 'Has this one reached her limit, too?'

He felt that because Wakaba lived the life of an assassin, licking blood from the edge of a blade, her mind had finally begun to succumb to paranoia under long-term tension and high pressure. He had seen this scene too many times; every assassin he had known had, to some degree, mental issues.

This was also the reason he could push those unsold weapons and ammunition onto them. These assassins were young to begin with, and having to endure such high pressure every day meant that even if they didn't have mental issues, they were, at the very least, anxious. And at such times, what could alleviate their anxiety better than weapons?

Even so, the super-luxury 3A-grade ultimate firepower combat set had never been sold—until now.