Somewhere in the city's underground lied a basement. The environment was dark, slightly colder than outside and a single light bulb brightening the surroundings.
Shinichi sat tied to a metal chair, arms behind him, rope cutting into his wrists. His head drooped forward, hair sticking to his forehead with dried sweat. A strip of cloth gagged his mouth, but the muffled groans leaking through made it obvious—he was slipping in and out of consciousness.
His eyes were red but it was not because of lack of sleep but poison. The drugs. A group of men were present there besides him, basically circling his chair. It was a criminal gang. A big one with almost 20 or so members present there.
The men around him laughed, the echo bouncing off the walls like broken glass.
"Look at him. Kid's already half-dead."
"Street rats like him always beg when the money runs out."
"Boss said he's done. We hand him over, get our bonus."
The so-called "boss," sitting on a crate in the corner, smoked a cigarette like the scene bored him. Thick scars curled across his forearms, each one a quiet history of violence. He didn't need to speak to have control—everyone in the room felt it.
Shinichi twitched again, as if trying to form words. His gaze darted helplessly toward the door of the large room.
"Dangers don't leave me, do they?" he thought, "First I couldn't stop taking the drugs then I fell in large debt to a street gang. Now it seems like they were working under another large criminal faction from the underworld."
Shinichi turned his head to his left, looking at the group of men. His mind was getting blank little by little.
"Now I understand. It was all their schemes. They released the drugs, made me dependent which forced me to…to take loan and when my payment was done…they couldn't…they couldn't just let me go. Now this faction used the smaller gang to kidnap me and I don't know what they are going to do with me. Prolly gonna ask for money from my family."
And then—
THUD.
The metal door swung open. A young man entered slowly, bending down slightly to avoid being hit with his head against the wall above. He had brushed curly hair and was wearing a slim black t-shirt and jeans. He had red pupil eyes which could be seen from far.
He started moving to the group, taking steady steps. Utaro, after missing for months, suddenly came into contact with the outside.
The men turned.
"…Who the hell are you?"
Utaro didn't answer immediately. He approached only halfway, eyes drifting over Shinichi, over the guns, the room, the men's postures—calculating everything with unsettling stillness.
"My boss gave you money and I'm here to take it back."
Half the room snorted.
"And who are you supposed to be? A tax collector?"
Utaro ignored the joke.
"Check your records and search for the latest transaction with a politician. The expiration date was supposed to be over yesterday."
It took a few times for them to find what he was saying. One of the men went to their boss and whispered to his ears, "He is right. We actually took money from a politician for investment. So, what should we do?"
The boss man waved him to return to his position.
"And what will you do if we refuse to give?" he replied with cold words.
"Don't think we are gonna let you go out alive."
Shinichi was staring at Utaro. Though he was unknown to him but still he was worrying about what would these people do with him.
Utaro understood the entire situation. But the problem was, they were right. He was unarmed and outnumbered. But still his mind came up with something.
He raised his hands slightly to both sides, showing surrender, "Look, I have no gun and I can't fight you guys all, that's for sure. But I can do one thing."
The room got filled by a second of silence as they were waiting to hear Utaro's words.
"Have you guys heard about russian roulette? Yes, that game where the player points a gun at their head with one or two bullets and shoots."
There was again a hesitant silence in the room, allowing Utaro to complete his words.
"I am gonna play with 4 bullets. If I survive," he continued, "you give me back the moneyIf I die… you keep the money. How is it?"
This time a barrage of laughter came out.
"You're insane!"
"Let him! Saves our effort!"
Shinichi couldn't believe he just heard, "He is betting his own life? He is insane!"
One man handed a gun to him. Utaro, after receiving it, stared at it for a second. Then he looked at the people.
"What is this? Are you guys trying to kill me? This gun is filled. All 6 bullets."
A stunned silence.
He added, in the exact same tone, "This is a 6 inch barrel revolver model named Colt Python, manufactured in 1955 by Colt's manufacturing company in Hartford, Connecticut, weights around 1304 grams and 1412 grams when fully loaded."
He waved up and down a little, seeming like he was weighing it.
"I can clearly sense the difference."
The men exchanged confused looks. The boss sat up slightly.
Utaro flicked the cylinder open with his thumb—revealing, of course, all six bullets.
No one spoke. He removed two bullets and let it fall to the floor with a soft clink. Then he pressed the muzzle to his own temple.
Someone whispered, "Is he really gonna…?"
The hammer clicked back.
And then—
In a movement too fast for any eye trained on the gun, Utaro shoved the nearest thug forward and jammed the barrel under his chin instead.
"HEY—!"
Every gun in the room was instantly raised at Utaro.
"Now could you kindly give the money back?" Utaro asked too calmly, at the boss man's face.
The captive thug began shaking violently. "Bo…boss, please save me. I don't wanna die—"
The boss exhaled a thin stream of smoke.
"DO whatever you want with him. I have many men left.," he muttered coldly.
The man frozen in Utaro's grip went pale, knees buckling.
Utaro smiled—not a warm smile, but a tired, pitying one.
"See?" he whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"That's your leader. That's the man you follow."
The room shifted. Something uncomfortable crept across their faces.
"Think for a moment," Utaro continued, voice sharp as a needle, "In a real war, he wouldn't hesitate to send you to die first.
You're disposable. Mere tools to be used and thrown off!"
One man swallowed. Another lowered his gun slightly. The tension spread like gasoline.
"Look at him," Utaro said softly, "Enjoying this show while you die. Do you really want to work under a man like him?"
The things Utaro said were not made up things but reality he figured out from the words of the boss. That one line was enough for Utaro to show everyone in the room the bitter truth. So called igniting a fire among them.
Then—
One man slowly moved his gun… and pointed it at the boss.
The boss stood up, eyes narrowing. "You dare?"
Another man pointed his gun at the first. Another pointed at him.
Chain reaction— Within seconds, the entire room was locked in a ring of trembling arms, guns pointed at each other, breath tight.
Only Utaro, the captive in his grip, the boss, and unconscious Shinichi were outside the circle.
Utaro didn't blink.
"He is a fraud in the name of a leader!," he screamed.
The room held still for a single heartbeat—
Then someone panicked.
BANG.
One shot turned into twenty.
Gunfire thundered. Bullets ricocheted. People screamed. The entire room got filled by smoke and gunpowder smell. Men who were friends and family seconds ago fell like dominoes on a blood-soaked floor.
When the smoke settled, the underground base fell into an eerie silence. Everyone was dead. Except Utaro, the man he held hostage—now sitting on the floor clutching his chest—and the boss. Utaro raised the gun again. One smooth, practiced shot—
*BANG
A single bullet tore through the captive's chest. He collapsed, gasping.
Utaro stepped toward the boss, eyes never leaving him.
"You know," Utaro said, his voice calm, conversational,
"A shot to the head is painless.
The brain doesn't get time to feel anything before it shuts down."
He took another step. The boss's hand twitched toward his gun. Another step. Utaro stopped a meter away, staring straight into him.
"Your men died screaming. They were loyal. And this is how you repay loyalty."
The boss's lips curled—not in anger, but in pride.
A twisted, broken pride. He used to lead a large criminal gang. He couldn't just die in the hands of a nobody. It was his core thought.
He pressed his own gun to his head. His hand trembled for a moment—
Then he pulled the trigger.
*BANG.
He dropped. Utaro didn't flinch. He simply looked around, confirming there were no survivors.
Then he walked toward Shinichi but ignoring him, he grabbed the trunk box behind. He searched for the bag of money and eventually found it.
"Untie yourself will ya?" Utaro said to Shinichi without turning and left the place.
Shinichi remained there, tied up but filled with fear and disbelief.
"I…I survived! I survived that barrage of gunshots! And who was that man? He singlehandedly cleared the entire gang."
NOTE: To the readers who don't read the author's note, I have something important to say. Please make sure to read it.