02:00 AM
Ren's Office (The War Room)
Rion couldn't sleep. The itching of the healing stitches in his abdomen was far more distracting than the pain itself. He stood before the large glass table, which still projected the digital blueprints of the Chinatown district—Seifong's territory.
In the corner of the room, Shawn sat on the floor, sharpening his dagger with a whetstone. The monotonous shink... shink... sound filled the void of the room. Meanwhile, Gin sat upright in front of the monitors, his fingers dancing slowly across the keyboard as he monitored encrypted radio frequencies.
"You're too tense," Rion said, breaking the silence.
Shawn stopped sharpening. He looked at Rion with sharp eyes that never seemed to know sleep. "In this city, the relaxed ones end up in a cement barrel at the bottom of the docks."
Rion walked closer, his movements still slightly stiff. He picked up a black pawn from a wooden chess set on Ren's desk and placed it in the center of the digital map.
"You have the speed, you have the technology," Rion said, looking at Gin and Shawn in turn. "But you lack one thing: The Art of Disappearing."
Gin turned from his monitor, intrigued. "Mami always taught us to strike before they even have a chance to see us."
"That's good for killing," Rion countered coldly. "But to tear down an organization like Seifong, killing isn't enough. You have to make them kill each other. You have to be the ghost whispering lies into their ears."
Rion began to explain his tactical theories—not about how to shoot, but how to read logistical movements. He pointed out how Seifong's trucks always passed at the same hour, and how a slight 'disruption' in that schedule could plant seeds of suspicion among their high-ranking members.
Ren emerged from the shadows of the hallway, wearing her silk robe and carrying a bottle of mineral water. She stood leaning against the doorframe, watching as Rion began to "mold" her two proteges.
"You're starting to sound like a teacher, Rion," Ren said with a thin, teasing undertone.
"I'm just ensuring your investments don't die a foolish death due to overconfidence," Rion replied without looking back.
Ren walked over, standing by Rion's side. "Those Osaka Yakuza... they won't wait much longer. Their pings are getting closer to this sector. They know you're somewhere around here."
Rion stared at the blinking red dot on the monitor. "Let them search. The longer they hunt a ghost, the more frustrated they become. And frustrated people make mistakes."
The night continued with slow, deep discussion. No bullets were fired, no blood was spilled. There were only three men and one woman in a high-rise room, designing the downfall of a city atop a digital table.
Rion realized he was beginning to enjoy this role. He was no longer just the muscle; he was the brain assembling a time bomb. And in Ironport, the deadliest bombs are the ones that are never heard while being planted.