The air in New York was a mixture of exhaust fumes, hot dogs, and the scent of countless people's desires.
Slade Wilson did not like this city.
It was too noisy, too garish, like a heavily made-up, hysterical woman.
He wore an inconspicuous gray hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low, blending into the crowded streets of Manhattan like a drop of water.
He wasn't here for tourism; he was here to hunt.
Kingpin's agent had given him a starting point—the "Black Swan" bar in Hells Kitchen.
Slade spent less than five minutes there, piecing together enough information from the bartender's fearful gaze and the faint scent of perfume lingering in the air.
He didn't waste any time; like a patient hunter, he began to cast his net and search throughout this concrete jungle.
A day later, he found them.
Not at some crime scene, nor in some dark den, but on a relatively busy commercial street.
Slade leaned against a wall across the street, pretending to read a newspaper.
His gaze drifted over the top of the newspaper, locking onto the three targets that were exactly as described in the files.
A gothic lolita with long pink hair was impatiently poking the ground with the tip of her small parasol.
A black-haired boy in a sports jacket was holding a small notebook and a calculator, his brows furrowed tightly.
A man with natural silver curls was yawning, his eyes drifting toward the window of a dessert shop not far away.
They were talking to a real estate agent in a suit, seemingly haggling over a vacant storefront.
Slade folded the newspaper, stuffed it into his pocket, and began to follow them at a leisurely pace.
He maintained a perfect distance, using the crowds and street-side buildings as cover, his breathing steady and his heartbeat slow and calm, like a shadow merging into the city.
He needed to get closer, close enough to hear their conversation and assess their daily state.
He followed them as they turned into a street with fewer people, the distance closing.
Seven hundred meters, six hundred meters...
The moment he crossed some invisible boundary, three clear markers popped up above the heads of the three targets in his vision without warning.
A red skull burning with flames hovered above the gothic lolita's head.
A green shield emitting a soft light appeared above the money-grubbing boy's head.
A simple, ancient white scale floated quietly above the man with natural silver curls.
[Raid Faction]
[Guardian Faction]
[Neutral Faction]
Slade's footsteps didn't falter, and his expression didn't change in the slightest, but his battle-hardened heart skipped a beat.
Players.
Like him, they were "specials" from another World.
This discovery instantly overturned all his preconceived plans.
This was no longer a simple hunt; it was a game between players.
Could they see his marker? Did they know they were being watched?
Almost instinctively, he stopped, turned, and walked into a nearby coffee shop, all while keeping his eyes on Gintoki and the others.
No reaction.
The boy named Kazuma was arguing with the agent over the rent until his face was red.
"Five thousand dollars a month? Do you think we run a bank? This dump doesn't even have windows that don't leak air! Two thousand five hundred, at most, not a penny more!"
The girl named Perona looked at the shop with an expression of disdain:
"Horo horo horo... this interior design is a disaster, the wallpaper color makes this princess want to puke. If we're going to work here, everything has to be torn down and redone, and the cost has to be deducted from the rent!"
The man named Gintoki was completely detached from the situation, pointing to the street corner opposite the shop and saying:
"I'm telling you, that spot is great. If we get tired of working, we can just turn right out the door and buy a sundae, how convenient. Let's settle on that one."
"Convenient my foot! That's a public restroom!" Kazuma roared, losing his mind.
Slade sat by the coffee shop window and ordered the cheapest black coffee.
He didn't get any closer, just quietly watching the three clowns argue endlessly over a storefront until they finally drove the poor agent away in anger.
They hadn't noticed him.
Slade's single eye narrowed slightly.
Was it that they were too careless, or was there something different about his player marker? Or perhaps... they hadn't noticed him at all?
He abandoned the idea of close-range tracking.
When dealing with players who also possessed a "System," any careless probing could expose him.
He needed a different approach.
Over the next few days, Slade became a ghost.
He rented a room in an apartment building opposite the storefront the trio had taken a fancy to.
The room was empty, containing only a folding chair and a high-powered military telescope set up by the window.
Through the lens, the trio's daily life was laid bare.
On the first day, they found a new agent, and for the sake of a fifty-dollar price difference, the boy named Kazuma haggled with the other party for an entire afternoon.
From market economics to community safety, from property depreciation rates to the crime rates in the next neighborhood, he talked the blonde, blue-eyed agent into doubting his life choices, eventually signing a contract that was fifty dollars cheaper.
Slade watched, expressionless, as Kazuma wore that smug look of having gotten the deal of a lifetime on screen.
He silently raised the threat level of this boy by one grade in his mind.
It wasn't because of his "stealing" ability, but because of this persistence in using any means necessary to achieve his goals and his calculating mind.
A [Guardian Faction] player, yet he acted like a petty, calculating profiteer.
On the second day, they started cleaning the shop.
Gintoki only worked for less than ten minutes before slipping out under the excuse of "looking for opening inspiration." Half an hour later, Slade's lens captured him sitting on a park bench, picking his nose while happily eating a chocolate parfait.
Meanwhile, the girl named Perona directed a few translucent ghosts to sweep the dust and trash to Kazuma's feet, while she sat leisurely on a chair, sipping black tea.
In the end, only Kazuma was left, grumbling like a nagging mother as he finished all the work.
Watching this scene, a flicker of confusion crossed Slade's enhanced single eye.
Was this the "coordinated and complementary" team Kingpin had described?
This was clearly a disorganized mess, a family comedy where one was willing to beat and the other willing to suffer.
On the third day, they hung up their sign—"Yorozuya Pe-Gin-Zuma".
Kazuma stood on a ladder, trying to hang the sign straight.
Perona pointed fingers from below: "A little to the left! Idiot, your left! A bit higher! Horo horo, you're so useless!"
Gintoki lay on the sofa inside the shop, flipping through a comic book from this World, and lazily shouted: "That's good enough. If it's too straight, it'll look too deliberate. A non-serious, crooked vibe fits the temperament of our Yorozuya better."
"Both of you shut up!" Kazuma roared from the ladder.
Slade Wilson watched all of this quietly.
A money-grubbing Guardian Faction player, a spoiled Raid Faction princess, and a lazy Neutral Faction slacker.
They gathered together, not to overthrow the World, nor to save the common people, but just to open an office that looked unreliable, to eat desserts every day, and to save fifty dollars in rent.
Absurd.
However, from this absurdity, Slade caught a scent more dangerous than any carefully planned conspiracy.
Unpredictable.
He put down the telescope, walked to the table, and picked up the report on recent abnormal events in New York.
The "players" in this city seemed to be even more numerous than he had anticipated.
Slade picked up the communicator and dialed the line for Kingpin's agent, Wesley.
"It's me." His voice was hoarse, like rusted metal grinding.
"Mr. Deathstroke!" Wesley's voice immediately became extremely respectful.
"How can I help you? Have you found the targets?"
"Found them," Slade said. "The nature of the mission has changed. The payment needs to be renegotiated."
"You... what do you mean by that?"
"My meaning is,"
Slade walked to the window and raised the telescope again. In the lens, Kazuma was wrestling with Gintoki because the sign was hung crookedly, while Perona was clapping and cheering, loving the chaos.
"After my observations over the past few days, the targets are quite special. I need more money!!!"