At night, the sky rarely falls into true darkness. Washington, alive with lights that reach every corner, leaves little space for shadows—yet shadows always find their place. Even in a city that never sleeps, darkness waits patiently.
Several figures crouched within that darkness. Their clothing was specialized, their faces solemn, their weapons cutting-edge firearms. Each man's gaze was fixed on the grand villa ahead, tension heavy in the air as they prepared to move.
"In this mission, we're likely walking into death."
The silence broke with those words. Grim but honest, the warning reminded them of the near-impossible task ahead.
After all, their target was no ordinary man.
"The one we're hunting isn't simple. Living in a place like this without visible guards… the true defenses are inside, not out. Getting in won't be the hard part. Surviving once we're in? That's another story."
Several nodded grimly. They knew the truth in those words.
One man, older than the rest, exhaled heavily. "After tonight, I'm done. I've saved enough to retire. I don't want this life anymore."
"Then you shouldn't have taken this job," another snapped quietly. "This mission is suicide."
"But the reward is too great to ignore," the older man countered. "More than a million dollars each if we succeed. No job worth that kind of pay is ever easy. Every contract we've taken dances with death. This one is no different."
The rebuttal silenced them all. For mercenaries and killers, the line between life and death was thin, blurred, and familiar.
"Then remember this," came another voice, low but commanding. "No one holds back. We act with precision and strike only once."
All eyes turned to the man who spoke. Their leader, chosen not just for this job but recognized everywhere in their world. The third-ranked assassin in the world—a killer whose reputation carried both fear and respect.
Under his command, they moved. Their bodies pressed low, silent as shadows, they advanced toward the villa.
Within minutes, they reached the outer wall. Without hesitation, they hooked barbed lines against its surface and scaled with practiced efficiency. Within seconds, the infiltrators had breached the perimeter and slipped into the villa's grounds.
Everything went smoothly. Too smoothly.
Inside the villa, a man's eyes opened.
"Someone's coming."
Arakawa Zenkichi lay awake, his gaze calm as still water. Not a flicker of panic crossed his face, not even irritation. His presence alone exuded quiet dominance, a man so far beyond the intruders that their efforts amused more than alarmed him.
To Zenkichi, their approach was no different than ants crawling across the floor. And who, truly, would be troubled by ants?