Chapter 65: Calm Seas Never Make Skilful Sailors

Gin and Vodka brought Tequila to the organization's hospital.

"What happened?"

After undergoing surgery, Tequila's life was no longer in danger. As soon as he regained consciousness, Gin rushed over.

"There was a bomb inside the case," Tequila said.

A ferocious expression contorted his face. Being outwitted by a minor employee of a gaming company was far too humiliating for an organization assassin.

Seeming to recall something just then, his expression shifted rapidly.

He said to Gin, "On the outside of the case, I saw a note that read 'There is a bomb inside.' It was only after seeing that note that I threw the case away and managed to save my own skin."

If not for that note, he likely would have perished.

"A note warning you?" Gin raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed," Tequila replied. "That note was wedged right into the keyhole."

Tequila was utterly baffled by the origin of the note. He had no way of guessing who might have placed it there.

Surely, it couldn't have been that gaming company employee who, after planting a bomb in the case, suddenly experienced a momentary pang of conscience and left a warning note. That would be utterly sickening.

"Boss, Cointreau is here," Vodka whispered as he entered.

"Cointreau?"

"I heard Tequila was hospitalized, so I specifically came to check on him."

Masakazu handed a basket of flowers to Curacao standing beside him. Curacao placed it on the table by Tequila's hospital bed, then stepped back and watched the group with an indifferent gaze.

"What are you here for?" Gin asked.

"To visit a patient," Masakazu said.

Tequila looked at Masakazu in confusion. Cointreau? He had only ever heard this member's codename within the organization and knew nothing about Cointreau personally. However, rumor had it that his status within the organization was quite unusual.

He had no interactions with Cointreau; why would Cointreau come to visit him?

Gin looked coldly at Masakazu and asked, "Did you plant the bomb?"

Tequila's pupils constricted.

"How could that be? I've never even killed a chicken," Masakazu replied, sticking to his usual excuse.

He even handed Gin a copy of a newspaper. It reported the full story of the gaming company incident, noting that the culprit had stepped forward following Kogoro Mouri's deductions.

Masakazu handed Gin a magneto-optical disc.

"This is the list of software designers you wanted."

Gin accepted the disc, growing even more certain that Masakazu had been the one to swap the bomb and the disc.

Tequila's gaze darkened.

"Why is it that whenever I do something for the organization, none of you look very happy?" Masakazu asked with a puzzled expression.

"Besides, if I hadn't had Curacao leave that note in the box to warn him, Tequila would have been turned into Tequila paste right now."

Masakazu was deeply dissatisfied with these ungrateful people.

Gin stared coldly at Masakazu and demanded, "What are you trying to do?"

Masakazu pulled up a chair and sat down. Crossing his legs, he said leisurely, "Send a few of those software designers you hired over to my place as well."

Hiring them with money would be far too expensive; it was much more cost-effective to have the organization bring them over at gunpoint. Besides, since the organization had already used the stick, he could sweeten the deal by offering them a high salary, which would surely make those software designers deeply grateful. If any of them remained dissatisfied, he could simply have them swap places with the designers working for the organization. That way, they would truly understand Masakazu's benevolence.

"Is that all?" Gin asked.

"Of course, I just want to find some people to make video games," Masakazu said.

He was, after all, an upstanding and law-abiding citizen. Unlike the organization, which produced criminal software, he only wanted to develop games to enrich the leisure lives of the Japanese populace.

Looking at Tequila, Masakazu turned to Gin and said, "Tequila is injured to this extent and won't be able to work for the organization for a while. Why don't you hand him over to me?"

"Hand him over to you?" Gin let out a scoff.

"You really are relentless. I didn't agree to let Tequila work for you, and you went ahead and blew him up into this state. Yet, you still don't seem to have given up on him. In his current condition, Tequila can hardly do anything for you."

"No, no, no, Tequila is exceptionally useful right now," Masakazu shook his head.

Looking at Tequila's miserable state, Masakazu was thoroughly satisfied. An intact Tequila was merely an ordinary organization assassin to him, but a Tequila blown completely unrecognizable by a bomb was far more useful.

Under Masakazu's urging, Tequila was astonished to accept the reality that Gin had agreed to lend him out to Cointreau. And through this, Tequila finally learned Cointreau's real name.

A young entrepreneur who had recently been making a name for himself in Tokyo's business circles.

Before he could even properly walk on his own, Tequila was ordered by Masakazu to check out of the hospital.

Masakazu and Gin seemed to share the exact same philosophy: the organization (or corporation) does not feed useless people.

Leaning on a crutch, Tequila limped his way into a newspaper office. Just listening from the outside, he could tell this wasn't an ordinary publication; it felt almost like a pyramid scheme, with the editor-in-chief pumping up his employees with motivational speeches.

"Driven by our efforts! Masakazu has faced sanctions and can no longer do as he pleases like before. This is a great victory!" the editor-in-chief shouted passionately.

Masakazu had indeed been severely scolded by his uncle, which practically counted as a sanction.

The members of the newspaper office were all ecstatic. After all, it was their persistent exposure and orchestrated protests that had forced Masakazu to face consequences. They were acting as champions of the common people.

"Editor-in-chief, why aren't you resting in the hospital?"

As soon as Tequila walked in, the editor-in-chief rushed forward to support him. For the employees of the newspaper, this was their first time laying eyes on their elusive boss. However, the boss's appearance filled them with a sense of dread. His left leg was in a cast, bandages wrapped around his chest and half his face, yet despite being in such a miserable state, he refused to use a wheelchair, relying solely on a single crutch.

"Boss, how could you..." Koike walked over and asked.

"It's nothing," Tequila rasped in a hoarse voice.

A misstep nearly caused him to fall as he walked, sending a shudder of anxiety through Koike.

Tequila shot a glare at the editor-in-chief. This bastard had deliberately jerked him forward just then to make him lose his balance.

With a look of righteous grief and indignation, the editor-in-chief said, "Boss, was this retaliation from Masakazu?!"

"No," Tequila replied.

It wasn't retaliation. It was outright persecution by Masakazu.

"Cough, cough." Tequila cleared his throat and addressed the crowd. "You have all done well enough. This was merely someone's final, spiteful parting blow. In the future, he will no longer be able to run amok."

A calm sea cannot forge skilled sailors. A comfortable environment cannot inspire writers to produce passionate prose. To ensure these reporters' writing possessed even greater bite, Tequila had sacrificed far too much.