Burning Down the Kitchen

Note: QnA! Please put your questions in the comments. I'll respond with a dedicated chapter on August 19th.

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2012

Third Floor of the St. Regis.

Osaka

8:34 PM

'The third floor has been pretty empty so far.' Yoru mused as she cautiously strode toward the La Veduta. 'Which either means that all the yakuza stationed here had fled, or they're all inside the restaurant itself.'

The entire third floor was eerily quiet. The low buzz of fluorescent lights – previously unnoticeable in the first and second floors – now loudly rang in the assassin's ears. Her footsteps – also a former non factor – now rapaciously followed her while she neared the Italian restaurant's entrance.

If there was anything that would unnerve the hitwoman, then this is it. A sudden silence in the midst of fighting never spelled anything good, but panicking would not do anything good. The Wick forced her heart to still.

'Here I am, the final leg of my mission.' Yoru thought to herself, stopping just before the pair of dark oak doors separating her from her remaining targets. 'God, my torso burns. I definitely need to visit Iota after this, he'll probably have something for me.'

The ex high table soldier breathed in a breath and twisted the sills' golden knobs. She pushed the gilded doors open and covered herself with her shield.

But the hailstorm of bullets the teen was expecting never came. Instead, the scene of a serene restaurant greeted her.

The establishment was mostly empty, but the yakuza sitting in the few filled seats didn't react to her entrance. They ate, drank, and leisurely chatted like nothing's wrong.

There were sixteen of them. Four were the remaining lieutenants she needed to eliminate, and the rest were their bodyguards.

The former high-table operative blinked, and her left hand curled around her SCAR PDW's grip. This is way too suspicious. All the clansmen were wearing body armor, and she could see some barrels peek out beside their seats. What in the world are they planning?

Yoru spotted someone suddenly approaching her out of the corner of her eye and instinctively aimed her rifle at the person.

"T-Table for one?" A waitress wearing a black button-up vest nervously asked the violet-eyed girl.

'They're keeping the civilians here?' The assassin narrowed her eyes – the server let out a frightened eep when she noticed the teenager's gun pointed at her– and scanned the dining area. 'Guess they're not afraid to play dirty.'

Fortunately, the stewardess appeared to be the only wait staff present.

"Sure." Yoru softened her eyes and lowered her SBR. "Table for one."

"P-Please follow me." The hostess stammered before turning and walking toward one of the tables. The hitwoman followed the jumpy waitress and before long, the server pulled out a chair from a lone table for two in the middle of the restaurant.

"H-Have a seat, m-ma'am." The hostess stuttered out and the teen nodded. "I'll h-have your e-entrees out in j-just a moment."

"Thank you." Yoru thanked the waitress before the skittish woman quickly scampered off.

The assassin took a look around her and sat down after seeing the gangsters around her remain docile. A short while later, someone took the seat in front of her.

"Good evening, Angel of Death." Shinji Omi, the patriarch of the Omi clan, greeted her before pulling out his chair.

The man sported short graying blue mane and patches of facial hair on his chin and upper lip. His forehead, eyes, and cheeks are assailed with wrinkles, displaying his advanced age. If Yoru were to guess, the yakuza head was probably in his fifties.

Shinji wore a purple silk three-piece suit with blue pants made of the same material. A golden pocket watch peeked out of his jacket pocket, and the hitwoman spied a gilded pistol barely hidden by a crocodile leather holster.

"Good evening to you as well, Mister Omi." The former high-table soldier returned the crime lord's greeting. "May I ask why you've decided to meet me like this?"

"All meetings should take place where both parties are comfortable." The mob boss responded after he sat down. "And I am very comfortable meeting you here."

"Well, can't really say the same for myself." Yoru remarked sardonically. "But, I'll say that this isn't the worst meeting spot I've been in."

"Well, that's a shame." Shinji shrugged, and the teenager raised her eyebrow at him. "Just because a meeting should be in a place that all participants find agreeable, that doesn't mean it has to be."

"Can I ask about the civilians?" The hitwoman inquired, and the Omi patriarch nodded. "Why were they not evacuated? You knew that I was coming."

"Dinner service ends at ten-thirty." Shinji callously responded. "And, it's only eight-thirty-five."

"That's not the real reason, is it?" Yoru doubtfully asked, and the blue-haired man mirthfully smirked.

"If something can be used to my advantage, why shouldn't I use it?" The yakuza head callously answered, and the teen narrowed her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. If you were in my position, you would've done the same."

"No, I really wouldn't." The assassin replied with disdain. "I think it's disgusting to use people who couldn't fight back as meat shields."

"Even when faced with imminent death?" Shinji tilted his head. "There is no honor when it comes to life and death. Either you win and live another day, or you lose and die."

Yoru opened her mouth, but before she could counter him, a flash of movement caught her eye. She turned to see the same waitress from before with a tray.

"H-Here are your a-appetizers." The server nervously stammered out as she shakily set the two plates of bruschetta* in front of the yakuza head and the teenager. "D-Do enjoy your meal."

"Hmm. How much are they paying you?" The crime boss asked the timorous hostess while she placed down two glasses of water.

"T-Two thousand yen an hour, s-sir." The waitress responded, and the Omi patriarch scoffed.

"You're paid two thousand yen an hour, and you can't wait tables properly." Shinji berated the server and the woman froze in fear. "Tell me, what are you doing in an establishment like this?"

"I-I..." The hostess trembled and Yoru decided to step in.

"Leave the poor girl alone." The assassin coldly implored the crime lord. "It's above her pay grade to deal with your nonsense."

"What did you say?" The mob leader whirled around to glare at her.

"I said it's above the poor girl's pay grade to deal with your nonsense." Now that the hitwoman took Shinji's attention off the waitress, she shot the stewardess a look. The skittish woman stiffened before nodding and quickly departing from their table.

"The St. Regis isn't directly involved in the underworld until you've decided to host your clan's last stand here." Yoru elaborated. "None of the staff were trained to deal with people like us. There's a reason why doing something like this is heavily punished."

"The Angel of Death defending a simple waitress." The old man mused while his hand stroked his chin hairs. "Had I not experienced it myself, I would hardly believe this is something you'd stoop to do."

"Being nice and status have nothing to do with one another." The teenager mirthlessly stated. "It's called being a decent person."

"And that is probably your greatest weakness." The yakuza head pointed out before biting into one of the bruschettas. "Just like your father, you care too much, Angel of Death."

The violet-eyed girl stayed silent, and Shinji smirked.

"In my side of the underworld, civilians are either our customers, or obstacles." The crime boss began after taking another bite of the appetizer. "On yours, they're little more than nuisances you have to watch out for."

"Where are you going with this?" Yoru demanded while Shinji took a sip of water.

"What I'm saying is you're too compassionate, and that is a weakness." The Omi patriarch declared. "Case in point, this restaurant right here. I'm using the waitstaff against you because we don't care about what happens to them. On the other hand, you do. That means you have to be careful with your shots and we don't."

"I don't think being a nice person is a weakness." The hitwoman frankly stated as she pushed her chair out. "Sticking to one's moral principles takes guts, and demonstrates a sort of security."

"In a business as treacherous as ours, guarantees are worth more than their weight in platinum." The Wick said as she rose to her full height. "If you don't care about simple civilians, how can you assure your allies that you care about them?"

"Passionate words for a paltry subject." Shinji snidely sneered. "Truly, I envy your spirit. You care this much about rats, but could you say the same for that sister of yours?"

The air around the restaurant's occupants suddenly turned into an icy, weighted blanket.

"Mister Omi, you are not going there tonight." Yoru cautioned the middle-aged man, her voice now sporting a dangerous edge.

"Oh? Touched a nerve, did I?" The mob boss's voice was brimming with deign. "To have a sister who cares more about randoms than her, what an unlucky girl she is."

"I am warning you, Shinji." The teenager stated in a low voice, her eyes narrowed in a viper-like glare. "Do not speak about matters you have no knowledge of."

"I think you're underestimating how much the right people can dig up when given the correct incentive." The assassin's right hand twitched at the crime lord's admission. "Your sister lived quite an interesting life as well. Not quite as grand as yours, of course, but intriguing nonetheless."

"She got thrown into the foster care system after your mother barely dodged death row for filicide and child abuse." Shinji continued, acutely aware of how his words are affecting the hitwoman. "But, you weren't dead. Instead, you're living with the Baba Yaga in America."

Despite her anger, Yoru stayed quiet. The yakuza head is trying to get under her skin, and shooting him now would mean letting him win. So, the purple-haired girl sucked in a deep breath and let him go on.

"And while you're living the high life with your father, she's barely scraping by in orphanages." The mob head censoriously denounced the hitwoman. "In fact, she got so desperate that she ran away to Tokyo when she's twelve. She traveled from Osaka to Tokyo alone. Anything could have happened within those five hundred kilometers, but she took that risk for a shot at a better life."

"And, pray tell, what were you doing at that time?" The former high-table operative gritted her teeth. "Did you even think about your 'dear sister' at all? Or, did you conveniently forget to think about her when you're growing up?"

"...Are you not even going to defend her?" Shinji asked after a couple more seconds of silence. "So much for sticking to principles. If you can't defend your sister, how can your allies trust you can defend them?"

"I don't have to explain anything to you." The assassin coolly stated while undoing her sleeve buttons. "Because either way, you'll be dead at the end of the night."

"Oh? And how are you going to do that?" The Omi patriarch questioned her while she rolled up her sleeves. "You're surrounded by the best men I have. You're not walking out of this hotel alive, Angel of Death."

"I've lost count of how many times someone has said something like that." The hitwoman let her now bare forearms hang by her side as all the clansmen stood up and racked their rifles. "And every single time, the exact opposite happened."

With that, every clan member leveled their guns at her. A chorus of clicks soon followed when they all disengaged their firearms' safeties.

"Are you not going to eat your appetizer, Angel of Death?" Shinji asked while he picked up another bruschetta. "Surely, you don't want to go out on an empty stomach."

"I had a nice beef stroganoff*2 two and a half hours ago." Yoru calmly informed the mob boss while her hand slowly inched toward her PDW. "I'm not quite hungry enough to eat just yet."

*Ratatatatatatatatatata*

With that, the Omi men opened fire. The assassin flung herself to the ground and the whizzing projectiles barely missed her.

*Thump*

After her back hit the floor with a dull thump, she planted her shield behind her and aimed her SCAR PDW at the standing men in front of her.

*Pewewewewewewewewewewewewew*

The hitwoman yanked back the trigger and swung the rifle in an arc. A steady stream of 5.56 flowed out of the short barrel and ripped through the heads and necks of four clansmen.

*Thud* *Thud* *Thud* *Thud*

Not even a second later, Yoru tucked her legs in and twisted her body around. Now facing the two squads of yakuza behind her, the assassin peeked her rifle over her shield and fired in another arc.

*Pewewewewewewewewewewewewew*

This time, the henchmen had faster reactions, and the teenager only managed to kill three before they all ducked underneath the tables.

'My gun's running dry.' Yoru thought to herself as she twisted her body around and aimed her rifle in front of her once more. 'I didn't count, so I don't know how many bullets are left in the mag. I can't reload it with only one arm, so after it's empty, it's useless.'

'I can't stay out here in the open.' The hitwoman continued her train of thought. 'I'm outgunned and not moving would make me a sitting duck. But where would I...'

'Ah!' The girl's eyes widened in realization. 'The tables! They should give me good enough cover.'

Now with a half-decent plan in mind, Yoru jumped to her feet and dashed toward the table closest to her with her escutcheon shielding her back.

Fortunately, the table only had one resident, the third lieutenant. His three bodyguards were killed during the assassin's first sweep.

*Ratatatatatatatatatata*

*Ping* *Ping* Ping* *Ping* Ping*

One of the henchmen opened fire upon the teenager, and she rapidly covered herself with the riot shield. But despite her swiftness, some rounds slipped through before she completely shielded herself.

Most of them impacted her plate carrier – sending ripples of pain throughout Yoru's entire torso – but one barely missed her head, cutting off several strands of her hair instead of tearing through her skull.

However, the hitwoman remained undeterred. She gritted her teeth and when she closed in on the table, she leaned back. The former high-table operative kicked her legs out in front of her and rode her inertia like a pair of skis.

Yoru slid underneath the dining table and – as her heel scraped against the Italian restaurant's carpeted flooring – came to a halt a second before she collided with the dining table's singular leg.

And not wasting another instant, the assassin raised her rifle and fired off a shot into each of the third lieutenant's legs.

*Pew* *Pew*

The 5.56 rounds slammed into the yakuza's kneecaps. Two wet cracks rang out in succession and the mafioso crumpled to the floor like an under-filled sandbag.

*Thud*

*Pew* Pew* *Click*

Two more shots pierced through the downed man's skull, and the SBR announced its dearth of ammunition with a click. Yoru let go of the rifle and reached for the spare magazines on her plate carrier.

The following stampede of footsteps made the teenager reconsider, however.

The hitwoman looked down at her empty PDW and her riot shield. Yoru formed a rough plan of action and scanned the forest of legs that surrounded the table. The assassin slipped her arms out of her escutcheon and gripped it by its side.

"F-" One of the gangsters began to order the remaining yakuza, but the polycarbonate slab crashed into his shins.

The mobster – the teenager recognized him as the fourth lieutenant – promptly collided face-first with the ground. With her now-free right hand, Yoru yanked her pistol from its holster and leveled it at the mafioso's head.

*Bang*

She squeezed off a shot and, at the same time, hurled her empty Belgian rifle behind her.

*Cla-cla-clack*

The suppressed PDW clattered across the carpeted ground and drew the attention of all the surrounding mafiosi for a brief moment. And that brief moment, was all the former high-table operative needed.

"W-" That was all a mobster could get out before Yoru dashed out from under the dining table and pounced on him.

The hitwoman wrapped her limbs around the taller man and like a spider monkey in a tree, swung around his body and latched onto his back.

The teen then leaned to the side, and the yakuza almost drunkenly stumbled in that direction. Before the gangster could go fully off balance, Yoru pushed herself up against his back and started shooting.

*Bang* *Bang*

*Thud* *Thud*

Two bodies crumpled to the floor before any of them could react. The mobsters all turned around and levied their assault rifles at the teenager and her unfortunate mount.

*Ratatatatatatatatata*

Not caring about the fact they're shooting at one of their own, the clansmen opened fire and unleashed a hailstorm of bullets at the two.

The assassin threw herself off of the man and barely dodged the barrage of rifle fire. But the yakuza wasn't so fortunate. As Yoru rolled beneath the table, he collapsed onto the carpet.

*Ratatatatatatatatata*

The four remaining gangsters blindly fire at the table, hoping they'll land at least one lucky shot and kill the Angel of Death. The speeding bullets reduced the wood to splinters and riddled the white cloth with more holes than Swiss cheese. Yoru curled in on herself like an armadillo as the lead projectiles whizzed at her.

*Ping* *Ping*

'Damn, not good.' The hitwoman thought to herself while the hail of bullets hammered against her vest like cannonballs. 'I'll have to hope that non-'

*Squelch* *Squelch*

Her thoughts were cut off when two rounds planted themselves within her left thigh. Yoru quietly hissed in pain as fire flowered from the two bleeding holes. But even while her blood dribbled down her leg, the assassin didn't move an inch.

Fortunately, the four remaining yakuza ran out of ammunition soon after. The moment the sound of automatic fire ceased, the teenager pushed herself off the ground, throwing off the ruined tablecloth and chunks of wood covering her.

The four mafiosi's eyes widened with surprise, and they all reached for their sidearms before the silk covering fluttered to the floor.

Yoru rushed toward the four of them like a lunging crocodile, heedless of her injured leg burning with each step. She raised her pistol and fired off three shots.

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

*Thud* *Thud*

Two of the yakuza, the second lieutenant and his remaining bodyguard, collapsed onto the floor. On the other hand, the first lieutenant managed to duck under the bullet just in the nick of time.

The hitwoman then turned her attention to the gangster she's closing in on.

The mobster had ceased to grab for his pistol when the assassin beelined for him. Instead, his hand wrapped around the knife strapped to his thigh.

When the girl's in striking distance of her first target, the first lieutenant's bodyguard slashed at her face.

Yoru's free hand shot forward and shoved the man's blade hand, redirecting the limb just enough for the knife to harmlessly sail over her head.

The hitwoman then fired off a round into his load-bearing knee and clamped her hand around his forearm.

*Bang*

Yoru pulled the bodyguard toward herself and swung her other hand toward his neck.

He let out a choke as the hitwoman smashed the pistol into his throat. The teenager expeditiously ducked underneath the arm she held onto and – with her right shoulder almost pressing into his chest – Yoru whirled her arm around and threw the yakuza onto the carpet.

*Crack*

The telltale crack of bone breaking rang out, and the gangster let out a pained groan.

The assassin looked up at the first lieutenant, and was met with the barrel of a 1911 derivative pointing right at her.

*Bang*

Yoru pushed herself off of the former soldier's bodyguard and the bullet embedded itself into the restaurant's ivory walls.

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

The violet-eyed girl rolled across the floor as four more shots narrowly whizzed past her.

Once the teen rolled for a couple feet, she firmly planted her right foot and halted her momentum. Before the first lieutenant could adjust his aim, the hitwoman shot out both his kneecaps.

*Bang* *Bang*

After the highest ranking clansmen collapsed onto his knees, Yoru squeezed off another round into his forehead.

*Bang*

*Thud*

The ex-soldier lifelessly crumpled to the floor and, not forgetting about the downed bodyguard, the hitwoman turned and shot the first lieutenant's downed bodyguard in the head.

*Bang*

The assassin warily looked around her, keeping her eyes and ears peeled for any sign of a potential ambush. But when all she can sense are the cooling bodies surrounding her, Yoru slowly stood up and made her way toward Shinji.

The two stared at each other as the teenager sat back down. They faced each other: an arrogant king without a kingdom to rule, and a killer who wants to put away their gun forever.

"So, I was wrong." The Omi patriarch reluctantly acknowledged. "You are going to walk out of this hotel alive, Angel of Death."

"For that level of confidence," Yoru coolly replied. "Sixteen was not enough."

" Ha... Apparently so." The yakuza boss stated after an annoyed sigh.

"To give you some credit, even if there were thirty men in the restaurant, I don't think it would've changed anything." The assassin admitted as she unsheathed her O-Tanto. "Overwhelming numbers haven't gotten me before, and it certainly won't get me now."

"So, what now?" Shinji inquired, noticing the girl's arm movement. "How are you going to kill me?"

"I'll put a bullet into your head." Yoru bluntly answered. "You don't deserve anything more than that."

"Then why haven't you done it yet?" The crime lord aggravatedly demanded. "Are you mocking me?"

*Thunk*

"This tanto, the Twelfth Lieutenant recognized it." The hitwoman unsheathed and placed the gifted blade onto the chestnut table. "Do you know anything about it?"

"I recognize the tsuba." The kingpin said after taking a few moments to inspect the dagger. "This is no doubt the work of Omura Mackenyu. We commissioned him to make us some swords some fifteen years back."

"And what happened to him?" Yoru curiously asked, instantly recognizing Omura as Tamiko's last name.

"He refused our commission, so we killed him." The yakuza head nonchalantly answered. "We boarded up his house at night and burnt it down."

'Ah, no wonder she was so forthcoming with upgrades.' The former high-table operative realized. 'This was personal.'

"I see." The hitwoman intoned. "That'll be all, thank you."

Yoru stood up and leveled her Glock 45 against the mob boss's temple. However, before she could put a round into his forehead, the sound of a footstep caught her attention.

The teenager turned around to see the meek waitress from earlier. The server held a plate covered by a porcelain cloche and with how much she's shivering, it was a miracle she didn't drop it.

The assassin looked at the older woman, then at the obscured dish she's holding. To Shini's surprise, Yoru lowered her gun and sat back down.

"That was a quick change of heart." The Omi patriarch contemptuously remarked. "What made you reconsider?"

"You wouldn't want to go out on an empty stomach, right Mr. Omi?" The violet-haired girl threw his prior words back at him. "Who am I to stop you from eating something you've ordered."

"H-Here's your m-meal sir." The hostess shakily said as she set down the plate. "P-Please enjoy y-yourself."

The waitress lifted the porcelain cover to reveal a filet mignon with roasted asparagus and potatoes.

"Hey." Yoru called out to the server before she began to walk away. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Y-Yes. O-Of course!" The stewardess broke into a nervous sweat.

"Are the potatoes roasted with duck fat?" The hitwoman curiously inquired.

"Y-Yes. T-They are." The skittish woman stuttered out.

'As if they couldn't be any more similar to each other.' The teen mused. 'Even their last meals are made up of the same stuff.'

"What are you waiting for? Eat." Yoru turned her attention toward Shinji, who hadn't touched his food. "It'll get cold soon."

The yakuza boss obliged and picked up his fork. But right before he stabbed the utensil into one of the potatoes, the crime lord suddenly lunged and grabbed the waitress by the collar.

"AHHH!" The server screamed in terror as she was forcefully thrown off balance. The flighty woman's pupils narrowed into pinpricks and as she saw the steel prongs zoom straight toward her eye. The hostess slammed her eyelids shut and waited for her oculus to be gouged out.

Yoru quickly grabbed the tanto with her left hand and launched herself at Shinji. The hitwoman slammed the yakuza boss's forearm into the table with her right hand, causing the table to quiver and shake.

*Slam*

Right after disabling his arm, she launched the knife into the crime lord's forehead.

*Squelch*

A wet squelch gurgled out as the Omura blade effortlessly dug into Shinji's skull. The assassin watched as life drained from the Omi patriarch's eyes and when his eyes fully clouded over, she yanked the dagger out of his head.

*Schlunk*

*Thump*

Yoru lifted her right arm and shoved the Osakan kingpin's body. The teenager dispassionately watched the corpse unceremoniously fall onto its back. For a man of Shinji's status, she planned on giving him the most boring and curt death she could.

'I was fast enough this time.' The violet-eyed girl thought to herself, a feeling of relief bloomed in her chest. 'But aside from that, Well played Mr. Omi, well played. You forced my hand and died on your own terms. Well played.'

*Thud*

"Hahhhh... Hahhh...." The waitress, having lost all strength in her legs, collapsed onto the ground. "Hahh, hahh!"

'Oh, she's having a panic attack.' Yoru realized as the hostess began to hyperventilate.

"Hah, hah-" The server began curling into a small ball and buried her head into her legs. "Hah hah hah hah-"

"Breathe," The hostess jolted when the hitwoman placed her bloodied hands onto her shoulders. "Follow what I'm doing. In, hold. Out, hold. In, hold. Out, hold."

The woman shakily followed the assassin's instructions and, slowly but surely, her heart rate and breaths slowed. Her fear was still there, but it had subsided enough for her to think clearly.

"Here," Yoru handed the waitress a white business card the moment the assassin deemed her to be calm enough. "The number on this card should contact you within the next few days. Follow what they say, and you should be good to go. "

"Mhm..." The stewardess let out an affirmative hum as she looked at the card. "I... Thank you."

"Also, tell your co-workers this. It'll make the transition much smoother, I promise." The bloodied girl continued while the hostess pocketed the white card. "And, by the way, do you know where the first aid kit is?"

"I... It should be in the kitchen." The stewardess replied. "Check in t-the cabinets."

"Thank you." Yoru thanked the hostess and stood up.

"Hey, uhh, Miss Assassin?" The server called out to her.

"Yeah?" The teenager turned around and looked at the woman. "What is it?"

"How... How old are you!" She blurted out, and the hitwoman stilled. "I-I'm sorry if I'm being rude, b-but you look like a t-teenager."

"That..." Yoru trailed off, a wave of revelation suddenly washed over her.

'God, has it only been two and a half years?' The assassin mused in exasperation. 'It felt like it's been a lifetime since I've become an assassin.'

"I'm sixteen and a half." The former high-table operative quickly answered before the waitress could voice her worries. "My birthday passed seven months ago."

"Si... Sixteen?" The server breathed out in disbelief. "H... Wh..."

"Stuff just happens sometimes." Yoru casually answered one of the questions the hostess was struggling to get out. "And, I had pretty good teachers."

Without another word, the hitwoman strolled toward the kitchen to patch herself up. But little did she know, her night is not quite over just yet.

______________________________________________

Two minutes later

Outside of the St. Regis

7:53 PM

*Skrrch*

"我々はここにいる (We're here)." The cab driver gruffly informed Isaak as the taxi came to a halt.

The Russian nodded and handed the cabman the remaining bills in his pocket. The ex-gangster then picked up his cases of gear and exited the vehicle.

"Hey." An unfamiliar voice called out in English as his ride drove off. "Aren't you a long way from home?"

Isaak whirled around to see a scarf-wearing woman leisurely sitting on a bench behind him. Both of her legs were sprawled across the steel seat and she clutched a steaming paper cup in her right hand.

"What's it to you?" The brunette warily demanded, his right arm instinctively reaching for a holstered pistol that's not there.

The bukily-dressed woman took in a breath and breezily blew on her hot drink, indifferent to the former Tarasov member's suspicion.

"Why are you hunting her?" The tracker – Isaak realized after recognizing the jacket and backpack synonymous with members of the guild – asked. "Four billion yen is a lot of money, yeah, but you can't spend it if you're dead."

"It's not about the money" The Russian denied as his grip tightened around his case.

"Hmm, revenge then." The huntswoman guessed almost dejectedly.

The mafioso stayed silent, and the raven-haired woman heaved a sigh. His silence had confirmed her suspicions.

"I'm not going to ask why you want revenge because that's none of my business." The bounty hunter began while retracting her legs. "But, I am going to ask you this. If you do kill her, what are you going to do after?"

"When I kill her," Isaak replied, putting emphasis on the first word as the tracker turned to face him. "I'll go back to New York and apologize to my girlfriend."

"Why not now?" The tracker looked into the younger man's eyes. "Why have you not apologizing to her now, or even sometime before you're committing a glorified suicide."

"Y..." The Russian bit back what he was about to say; provoking someone while he's unarmed isn't the brightest idea.

"Apologizing to her right before I potentially die seems like an asshole move." Isaak decided to go with that instead.

"... An asshole move, huh." The huntswoman growled out, her face twisted in anger after taking a few moments to process what he just said. "You little shithead."

"Какого хр- (What th-)" The brunette shouted, accidentally slipping into his native language.

"うるさい!(Shut the fuck up!)" The scarf wearing woman sprang to her feet and cut him off in her own mother tongue.

The bounty hunter stormed over to the brown-haired gangster and grabbed him by his collar. Isaak could've shook her off – he could've easily used his free arm and pried the tracker off of him – but he didn't.

Something was stopping him, something was telling the Russian that he needed to hear this.

"Do you know what's a more asshole move than saying 'I'm sorry' before you die?" The tracker hissed after pulling him close to her. "Letting her last memory of you alive be you storming out of the fucking door!"

The huntress sucked in a deep breath and her grip on the mafioso's collar loosened.

"Look," Her expression softened, her navy blue eyes now filled with calm sympathy instead of fiery rage. "I get it."

"I know what it's like to be hurt." The older woman empathized, her voice now stained with gray regret. "I know what it's like to want the person who hurt you dead."

"But please, take it from a stupid woman who's done the same exact thing," The tracker almost pleaded with him. "Remember the people you still have."

With that, the bounty hunter released Isaak and took a couple of steps back.

"She won't be down here for at least another five or so minutes." The huntress informed the brunette. "Take that time to tell your girlfriend you're sorry and that you love her."

"Or," The raven-haired woman sardonically shrugged. "You can just not do that and have her forever remember you as 'that one asshole ex who did stupid shit and got himself killed'."

"You're awfully confident that I will die." Isaak accusingly commented. "She's going to be injured and exhausted after fighting through the entire Omi clan. Wick's kind of fighting an uphill battle here."

"You'd be surprised." The huntswoman remarked while looking into the gangster's eyes. "So, what will you do?"

Green met navy blue as the Russian held her gaze, but unfortunately for the younger man, he cracked first.

Isaak broke the staring contest with a contrite expression and his free hand reached for his phone in his back pocket. The tracker was right, he was being an asshole for not apologizing to Orlova beforehand.

He scrolled to her name in his admittedly small list of contacts and called her. The mafioso pressed his device to his ear and waited with a bated breath.

______________________________________________

Five minutes later

St. Regis Elevator

Ground floor

7:57 PM

*Cli-clunk*

The elevator's doors slid open and Yoru slowly stepped out with her pistol drawn. Her eyes warily scanned her surroundings in case of a surprise attack. Even if she's this close to the finish line, things can still go horribly wrong.

The hitwoman kept her ears peeled as she walked through the eerily empty lobby. But even as she came closer and closer to the St. Regis's entrance, she could not hear anything beside her footsteps.

'They probably all went home.' The assassin internally mused. 'After their boss died, the clansmen had no reason to stay. The Omi clan was built upon lots of things, but loyalty isn't one of them.'

'But until I return to Continental grounds,' Yoru's gaze hardened, memories of how her carelessness and naivety had cost lives made her grip her pistol harder. 'I cannot relax.'

After she walked past the seemingly abandoned reception desk, unease rippled throughout her body. Many people might disregard such feelings as simple paranoia but if her experience had taught her anything, it's that such instincts were usually right.

The teenager whirled around and caught sight of a brunette leveling a kalashnikov rifle at her. She threw herself onto the floor just as the man began firing.

*Thud*

*Ratatatatatata*

The girl grimaced in pain as a burst of 5.45 whizzed through the space her body once occupied. The bandages she wrapped around her chest did little to cushion her fall, but she wouldn't be called the Angel of Death if she let something as little as pain stop her.

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

Before her assailant could correct his aim, Yoru fired off three shots. The first went wide and hit the tiled wall half a foot from his left. By the time the second and third bullets barreled toward him, he had already ducked behind cover. The two projectiles harmlessly cracked a glass picture frame behind him.

Yoru shoved herself off the ground and bolted toward the gunman. As she ran, the hitwoman squeezed off several more shots to prevent her opponent from peeking over his cover.

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang* *Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

Six more bullets impacted the glass and more cracks spiderwebbed across the thick pane. But before the assassin could make it halfway to her target, yet another curveball was thrown at her.

*Tak*

The gunman placed his AK 74 flat on the marble countertop, allowing him to fire at her while still behind cover. Yoru's eyes widened and transitioned her momentum into a roll on her next step.

*Ratatatatatatatata*

A stream of 5.45 gushed out of the rifle's barrel and the brunette swiveled his rifle. The chaotic fountain of bullets harmlessly sailed over the suit-wearing girl. Instead, the rounds punched holes into the lobby's glass doors and windows.

The teenager then shifted into a kneeling position to stop her roll, wincing when the added tension on her left thigh made her wounds flare up. She looked up at the counter, and saw a brown mane rising from behind the front desk.

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

Yoru raised her Glock 45 and fired off three more shots, clipping off several strands of hair and forcing the man to retreat behind cover once more.

*Ratatatatatatatata*

He continued to fire wildly, hoping to land at least one lucky shot on the former high-table operative. But unfortunately for him, her small stature allowed her to easily duck under his shots.

*Ratatatatatatata-*

*Click*

Her opponent's rifle clicked empty and, for just a moment, the air within the lobby stilled. And as the final discarded cartridge bounced off the ground, the two exploded into action.

The assassin rushed forward just as the brunette hastily pulled back his rifle. Yoru heard the sound of an empty magazine clattering to the ground as she neared the reception desk.

She gracefully leapt onto the marble tabletop with her pistol drawn. But instead of seeing him frantically trying to rock a fresh magazine into his assault rifle, her vision was quickly obstructed by the empty gun barreling toward her face.

Yoru's left hand shot forward and swatted the airborne AK aside. But as the rifle clanked across the stone floor, the brunette had whipped out his sidearm and pointed it at her forehead.

*Bang* *Bang*

The violet-eyed girl flung herself off the concierge desk to avoid the oncoming bullets and rolled across the stone floor.

*Thump*

The two rounds embedded themselves into the ceiling and a sprinkle of dust drifted from the newly-made holes. The hitwoman stopped herself and fired just above the countertop.

*Bang* *Bang*

'There were several pillars scattered throughout the lobby,' the teen thought to herself as she climbed to her feet. 'If I could get behind one of those, I can force him to come onto me instead of the other way around. Storming defensive positions only really work if I have superior firepower or extensive cover. Right now, I have neither.'

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

The assassin fired off more shots as she backed away. Her preemptive shots were working, her opponent has popped neither his head nor his gun above the desk yet.

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

*Click*

As the last remaining round ejected out of her Austrian handgun, Yoru stepped behind a stone pillar. With her back pressed to the column, she swapped the empty magazine with a fresh one.

Instead of throwing the spent mag away, she kept the polymer container. To pull off what she planned, she'll need a distraction.

The assassin took several deep breaths and kept her ears peeled for the sound of footsteps.

______________________________________________

'Huh, that's weird.' Isaak thought as he kept his Czech handgun trained on the edge of the counter. 'She stopped shooting.'

When the Angel of Death began shooting just above the marble countertop, the gangster knew she was planning something. He half-expected her to spontaneously jump over the table and shoot him, but it looked like that's not the case.

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

Isaak quickly popped his pistol-wielding arm above the lobby desk, fired off three shots, then retracted it. When no shots were fired in response, the Russian began crawling toward the end of the table.

When his head was just about to peek over the end of the front counter, the brunette tucked his legs in and launched himself across the floor with his weapon drawn.

Much to his surprise, the lobby was empty. Or at least, it appeared empty. He knew the Angel of Death is not the type to flee a fight, so she's likely hiding behind one of the pillars.

'If I just rush to one of the pillars, I'm probably playing right into her hand.' Isaak mused as he got up. 'So, I'll have to draw her out. But how?'

"Hey, Wick!" He called out. Of course, no-one answered. The hitwoman wasn't dumb enough to fall for that.

"You know," the mobster continued as he began to walk toward one of the pillars. "I've wanted to kill you and your old man after you two murdered a lot of good Tarasov men a couple years back, but he just had to croak."

Once again, the lobby was silent.

"I've heard how he was talked about in the underworld." The Russian said, half-expecting the violet-haired girl to jump out to attack him right then and there. "The people there revere him as a saint, but honestly, I can't see it. I don't know what they see in him, but to me he was nothing but a selfish monster."

"He crippled the Tarasov and the Camorra, got excommunicated, and died fighting the high table." Isaak heatedly listed off the deceased hitman's actions. "And why did he do all of that? What reason spurred him to go on this shakespearean crusade?"

"A dog, that's what! A fucking dog!" The brunette venomously spat out. "Do you know how that feels? That your family died because of a damn animal?"

He's almost next to the pillar now. If the assassin doesn't make her move now, then she probably fled.

"It really makes me think about this so-called retirement mission of yours." The ex-Tarasov member stopped in his tracks. "How many people are you willing to hurt; how many more fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters are you willing to kill for what you want?"

"There's nothing for you but death and destruction." Isaak declared. "Your father's dead, so I'll make you pay for the blood he's spilled!"

Yet again, the gangster was met with silence.

'Huh, I guess she really isn't here then.' The mafioso thought, feeling quite silly after his monologue. 'Goddamnit, I just wasted a bunch of time.'

Isaak removed his left hand from his CZ Shadow and roughly stuffed it into his back pocket in frustration.

*Cla-cla-clack*

As he fished his cell phone out, something bounced across the floor to his right. The Russian instinctively snapped his pistol toward the source of the noise, only to realize his mistake just seconds later.

In a flash, the Angel appeared in front of him. The brunette attempted to point his gun at her, but the shorter girl quickly seized his wrist and yanked him closer to her.

*Bam*

Using the momentum generated by her pull, the hitwoman slammed her right elbow into Isaak's chin. The impact sent the gangster reeling, giving the assassin the opportunity to reach over and knock the handgun out of his hand.

*Cla-cla-clack*

The Czech pistol bounced on the ground and the Angel of Death quickly kicked it out of reach. Before the ex-Tarasov could regain his bearings, the violet-haired teenager slammed her open hand into his jugular.

She then grabbed Isaak's collar and stepped forward. The assassin corkscrewed her body downward and threw him over her shoulder.

*Thud*

"Ack!" The brunette let out a pained grunt as his hip brutally slammed into the tiled flooring.

The Angel of Death let him go and took a couple of steps back.

'What the hell is her game?' Isaak thought as he climbed to his feet. 'Why didn't she kill me right there?'

His bleeding lip made his mouth taste of copper, and the area the hitwoman's neck chop impacted began to bruise.

"Why didn't you kill me there?" The Russian spat out some blood and glared at her. "You had a gun and a knife on you."

The teenager stayed silent, only icily glowering at him as she slowly unbuttoned her sleeves.

'So, she's playing the silent game.' The gangster internally mused. 'But, if pissing her off this can make her decide against instantly killing me, I wonder what would happen if I push harder.'

"So you're the quiet type, huh." Isaak spat as he climbed to his feet and raised his arms. "You really are his daughter, just another maniac pretending to be something better than they are."

The assassin's eyes widened in rage for a split second before schooling her expression with a blink. The angel didn't rise to any of the Russian's barbs and instead put her bare forearms near her face and adopted a straight narrow stance.

'Square up.' Her body taunted. 'Come on, fight me and back up what you just said.'

The mafioso looked over to his fallen pistol, then back at the hitwoman blocking his path to the firearm.

The brunette recognized his opponent's posture as a martial art stance, but exactly which one it was eluded him. His plan of angering her had brought him precious time; but whether or not he could capitalize on it, can only be seen as the fight went on.

'I have a switchblade in my back pocket,' Isaak thought as he put his arms up to his chest and spread his legs slightly wider than his shoulder. 'If I pull it out now, she'll respond in kind. She's way better at fighting than I am, so I'll have to wait for an opportunity to use it.'

The two stared at each other for a solid few seconds. But when it was clear that the Russian wasn't going to do anything, the assassin took the initiative.

The Angel widened her legs a split second prior to leaping forward with explosive force. She rapidly covered the distance between them with a flying knee and Isaak hopped to the side to avoid her heavy blow.

The hitwoman gracefully landed right beside him. Her arms and legs were spread wide, and the back of her head was facing Isaak.

The gangster threw a haymaker to her seemingly undefended head. But much to his surprise, the teenager quickly spun her upper body and caught his arm in an iron-clad grip.

The Angel swept her left foot in the same direction and turned to face him.

The former tarasov member roughly yanks his arm back. He was hoping to break the suit-wearing girl's grip, but the teenager only squeezed tighter. In a last ditch effort, he jabbed at the hitwoman with his free hand.

Unfortunately for the older man, the assassin caught his other arm as well.

Now with both of his forelimbs under her control, the Angel of death crossed the two limbs together at the elbow and flipped him to the ground.

*THUD*

Isaak's lower torso slammed into the lobby's stone floor once again. Because the violet-eyed girl used both his arms as leverage, her throw had twice as much force behind it.

"Gahhh!" The Russian screamed as he felt his pelvis crack. When the hitwoman released her grip on his arms, he rolled over and nursed the injured area.

The Angel raised her right foot and – upon twisting her hips and left foot at the same time – landed a heavy stomp on his lower ribs.

*Snap*

"Сукин сын! (Son of a bitch!)" Isaak swore as the teenager lifted her boot off his torso.

The mafioso groaned in pain for a couple more seconds. His right side burned in agony. His ribs were likely snapped, and needed immediate medical attention. Despite what other people said about her 'mercy', the Angel of Death apparently has a sadistic streak.

The gangster muttered one more curse under his breath and wobbly rose to his feet. He looked up at his shorter opponent, and the hitwoman just casually cracked her neck. She's not taking him seriously, and that only made Isaak angrier.

The Russian bit the inside of his cheek, and got into his previous stance. The assassin responded in kind, and lowered one of her hands.

'She's taunting me.' The brunette realized as the girl beckoned him to come at her. 'That arrogant bitch!'

Isaak stopped biting the inside of his mouth and clenched his teeth. He lowered his posture and charged at the other fighter.

Even though the mafioso knew that his skills in Sambo couldn't compare to the violet-haired teen, he was banking on his height and weight advantage being enough to overwhelm her.

The Angel didn't seem to react to the older man's charge at first, but the moment he got close enough, she raised her knee and shot her foot forward.

The mafioso swerved to the left, making the teen's push kick smash into his shoulder instead of his face.

Fortunately, his sharp change in direction and the kick didn't hamper his momentum. Isaak was able to wrap his arms around the Angel's left leg and threw the both of them onto the ground.

*Thud*

The Russian quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out his switchblade. He flipped the knife open and stabbed it into her lower abdomen before she could use her free leg to kick herself off of him.

*Schlunk*

The knife plunged into the crack between the Angel's dress pants and ballistic vest, effortlessly piercing through her dress shirt when the brunette buried it hilt-deep.

Before Isaak could push the knife forward and slice apart her stomach, the teenager's left hand clamped around his right. In that instant, the atmosphere of the hotel room shifted.

*Pow*

The hitwoman slammed her fist into the gangster's right eye with the force of a sledgehammer. The mafioso felt his orbital crack, but his grip on his knife refused to slacken.

Instead, Isaak pried his other hand from his opponent's leg and shot his other arm at the blade, looking to use inertia to push the blade across the assassin's stomach.

Unfortunately for him, the Angel rushed her hand forward at the same time. With her palm open and fingers clenched as tightly as a bundle of sticks, her counterattack shoved his off track.

While the Russian's shove missed his knife entirely, the teenager's poke struck true. Her digits stabbed into his left eye, and the ensuing pain was enough for Isaak to let go.

"AAAHHHH!!" The former Tarasov member screamed in agony as both his hands shot toward his injured orb. His eye felt like it was shot out, and no amount of willpower can stop his body from instinctively covering the damaged organ.

*Bam*

The Angel twisted her body to the side. With her left shoulder and right hand pressing on the ground, she raised her hips and kicked the side of the mafioso's face.

The top of the assassin's boot collided with his cheek, sending him sprawling onto the floor. However, the other fighter wasn't content to let him get up so easily.

The Angel of Death is no longer playing with her food.

The girl swung her outstretched leg back and shoved herself off the ground. The momentum allowed her to get into a crouching stance before she pounced on Isaak.

As he was pushing himself off the ground with his right hand – his left is still cupped around his injured eye – the Angel leapt onto his back. She hooked her legs on his torso like the claw from a crane machine and snaked her right arm around his neck like a python.

Her forelimb threaded the space between Isaak's left arm and torso before latching onto her left forearm. The teenager then brought her arms closer together, and squeezed.

"Hack!" The Russian tried to pry the assassin's arms off of his neck, but the other fighter only tightened the chokehold.

'Shit!' The former Tarasov member alarmedly thought as black spots began populating the edge of his vision. 'Fuck! Fuck!'

He fell to his side and attempted to punch the smaller girl in the face. She ducked underneath his wild swing and continued to strangle her older opponent.

'Wait...' Isaak thought as his vision started to completely darken. 'She has a gun on her! It's still holstered!'

The brunette swung his hand back and wildly felt for the gun sleeve. He was mere seconds away from passing out when his digits finally felt hard plastic.

The mafioso quickly slid his hand up the holster and pulled the Angel's pistol out of its holder. He hurriedly pointed the gun to where he thought the teenager's head was.

*Bang* *Clink-clink-clink*

Moments before Isaak pulled the trigger, the assassin released her hold on his throat and batted away the gun, ensuring that the bullet would only harmlessly punch into the ceiling.

Now that his opponent's arm is no longer cutting off his brain's blood flow, a stream of relief soared through the Russian as he gasped. However, that was quickly cut off when he felt the assassin seize his hand.

His eyes – both closed and open – widened as the Angel pulled his hand closer and closer to his face. Now that the brunette's armed, she couldn't choke him out without the threat of the other fighter shooting her.

So, the girl is settling for the next best thing, shooting him with the handgun he stole.

Isaak knew that he couldn't outmuscle his opponent. However, that doesn't mean that he's out of options.

'If I stand up and slam my back onto the ground.' The mafioso quickly thought. 'The combined force of our bodies slamming into the ground should be enough to make her let go.'

The gangster slowly pushed himself off the floor with his left hand and continued fighting against the girl's pull with his right. He then tucked his legs in and got into a squatting position.

But before he could stand up and purposefully crash into the floor, the Angel suddenly detached her legs from his body. She smashed her feet onto the ground and let go of his right wrist.

The assassin then wrapped her arms around his waist and after interlocking her fingers, bent her back and suplexed the older man.

Isaak's head and neck crashed into the floor with explosive force, fracturing the back of his skull and cracking several neck vertebrae. The teenager then threw his body aside before spinning her body around.

While his vision still spun like a swerving car, she dove onto him with outstretched hands. Before he could pivot his gun to shoot her, she seized control of his hand once more.

The Angel wrapped her right hand around his wrist while her left curled around his first digit.

Isaak only had time to widen his eyes before she broke his trigger finger with a sickening crunch.

*Crunch*

"AGHHHHH!!!!" The Russian screamed in pain as his digit bent at an unnatural angle.

The hitwoman wrestled her gun out of his now severely weakened grip. The gangster could only watch as his opponent leveled the weapon between his eyes.

"Any last words?" The assassin spoke for the first time in their entire exchange.

The two fighters locked eyes, defiant green met poised violet. The Angel had been confident in her victory since the very beginning, the calm look in her eye never faltered. Not when he stabbed her, and not when he stole her gun.

The teenager wasn't being arrogant when she played around with him. She never needed to take him seriously in the first place. The others were right, he was in way over his head.

"Иди ты. (Fuck you.)" Isaak venomously spat out, and the girl only sighed at his words.

'Orlova, I'm sorry.' The former Tarasov member thought before the Angel pulled the trigger 'You were right, I was a dumbass.'

______________________________________________

*Bang*

*Thud*

The brunette's head unceremoniously hit the floor after Yoru put a round into his head. A puddle of blood quickly grew from where the Tarasov member's skull met the ground, staining the stone flooring crimson.

The teenager then placed her handgun on the ground and dismounted from the dead gunman's body. When she was choking him out, the assassin felt his phone brush against her leg.

While she did have Abram Tarasov's number, Yoru figured that if she called him using the dead gangster's phone, he would be more prone to slipping up.

The girl pulled out the dead man's device from his pocket and turned it on. The iPhone lights up, displaying a selfie of the dead gangster with an onyx-haired woman.

The assassin grabbed his right hand and pressed his thumb against the home button. The smartphone unlocked and Yoru scrolled through the contacts. But even after reaching the bottom of the list, she couldn't find the Tarasov Patriarch's number anywhere.

'Of course he wouldn't have it in his contacts.' The teenager shook her head, disappointed in herself for thinking it would be this easy.

The hitwoman quickly punched in the mob boss's number and pressed the iPhone to her ear.

"Hello?" Abram drowsily answered after the phone rang twice. "Who's this?"

"Good evening Abram." Yoru replied, and the gang leader sucked in a breath at her voice. "Or, rather, it should be good morning to you. Am I calling at an inconvenient time?"

"Why are you calling me?" The Soviet carefully asked, his voice shifting from groggy to deadly serious in seconds.

The girl could hear the undernotes of caution, but she couldn't detect any fear or panic.

"Did you send one of your men to kill me?" The former high table operative inquired, and Abram scoffed.

"If I wanted to kill you, I would've sent a fire team." The Tarasov patriarch frankly responded. "Isaak wanted to kill you because John killed his older brother. When he told me what he wanted to do, I cast him out of the mob."

"But you didn't stop him." Yoru observed, and the crime lord went quiet. "You knew, and you didn't stop him."

"...What do you want?" Abram inquired after a brief pause, a shard of vulnerability poked out of his tone.

Yoru could literally ask anything of him – she can easily tear down the Tarasov mob with her connections and the Soviet knew that – but she isn't going to go that far for something this minor. No, she had something else in mind.

"My father's car." The assassin replied, much to the mob boss's confusion. "Aurelio still has it in his shop, and I want it delivered to Japan."

"That's it?" Abram incredulously responded.

"Yeah." The formally-dressed girl affirmed with a nod. "That's it. I'll text Aurelio before I go to bed. Just take care of the shipping costs, and we'll be even."

"Will do." The kingpin agreed, relief evident in his voice. "Good day, Wick."

He promptly hung up the call and Yoru removed the phone from her ear. Her thumb reached for the side button, but the hitwoman stopped herself when she remembered the woman present on the lockscreen.

She had to be someone important to the mafioso – Isaak, that's what Abram said his name was – so, apologizing would only be right.

Her thumb moved from the aluminum frame to the touch screen, sifting through his contacts until she saw a female name on the list.

The teenager tapped on that name and once a call contact prompt popped up, she pressed the green call button. The hitwoman doesn't know if who she's calling is the woman on the homescreen, but if her name is in the deceased gangster's list of contacts, then she must be important.

Unlike with Abram, the woman – Orlova – picked up almost instantly.

"I... Isaak?" She said, her voice was shaky, cautiously optimistic as though she saw a light at the end of a dark tunnel.

"He's dead." With those two words, Yoru revealed that that light was, in fact, a speeding train. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Oh..." The hitwoman could hear the Russian's heart shatter like glass.

"I'll arrange for his body to be shipped back to New York." The assassin continued. "I'll pay for the funeral as well."

The older woman stayed silent; but if the shuddering breaths were anything to go by, then she was moments away from crying.

"I know that this doesn't make up for it," Yoru meant every word of it. "And, I'm sorry it had to end this way."

While she doesn't enjoy killing, the former high table soldier defaults to it way more than she should.

She's better now, but before Hikaru barged into her life, the girl wouldn't hesitate to execute even those who surrendered to her. Being the best assassin the Continental has to offer necessitated a level of paranoia normal people would find insane.

The underworld had screwed her up, and she'll need to work extremely hard to kick those habits. But, that's something Yoru has to worry about when she actually gets out. The old adage: "Don't count your chickens before they hatch," couldn't apply more here. Plenty of nasty surprises had popped out of left field when the assassin least expected it.

'But I will do it.' The teenager intently promised herself when a memory of her smiling pregnant twin surfaced. 'For her, I will do it. No matter what.'

The hitwoman heard sobbing coming out of the phone's speakers and promptly cut the call. Be it far from her to intrude on a woman grieving.

'Now that I think about it,' Yoru mused before she placed the dead man's phone onto his chest. 'Maybe calling his girlfriend to tell her he's dead wasn't the best idea.'

'But, I don't regret doing it.' The assassin reached over and closed the deceased gangster's eyes. 'I rarely get the opportunity to do something like this, and as his killer, apologizing is the least I could do.'

The teenager pressed her left hand onto the knife stabbed in her gut and stood up. She winced when the blade embedded her belly slightly jostled. The adrenaline previously keeping the pain at bay had run dry.

Yoru probably have to spend the night in the medical ward. First aid could only do so much. Saying she isn't looking forward to is the understatement of the decade.

The hitwoman hated staying in the infirmary longer than she needed to. The pungent smell of sanitizer and the white-washed walls stirred up memories the assassin would rather not revisit.

The girl turned around and walked out of the lobby. She held the switchblade in place as best she could, but small streams of blood still dripped onto the floor.

Blood stains are among the hardest to remove, and the St Regis has been soaked in enough to fill several industrial water tanks. If it wasn't shut down after tonight, what happened will haunt the hotel for the rest of its existence.

'I don't envy the office people tonight.' Yoru thought as her boots crushed shards of shattered glass, courtesy of the prior firefight.

It really was unfortunate that the St Regis was inaugurated this way, but it's par for the course for civilian-owned establishments. The High Table doesn't approach businesses. No, if they wanted to establish an affiliated business, they would use underhanded tactics to sink that location and buy it when the owners inevitably sell. Or, worse if the owners refuse to go.

It's a lose-lose for both parties whenever civilians get involved. Hence, the Continental and the High Table usually dish out heavy penalties for exposing civilian establishments to the underworld.

'I can only hope that they don't have to do much cleaning.' Yoru thought as the chilly night time air hit her in the face. 'Those workers didn't deserve what happened to them.'

She saw the terrified service people holed up in the kitchens when she grabbed the first aid kit. Their only crime is being at the wrong place at the wrong time. As for the punishment? Unless they cooperate, it's death.

Several footsteps then broke the hitwoman out of her thoughts. She whirled around with her Glock at the ready, only to see a familiar face approaching her.

"You look pretty banged up." Akiko remarked as she looked the assassin up and down. "Had a rough night?"

"Yeah, you can say that." Yoru unamusedly replied to the tracker's comment. "But, I've had worse."

"Need a ride?" The huntswoman held out her phone. "I'll pay for both of us."

"No need." The teenager shook her head. "I have spare change on me."

"You can just pay me back when you're patched up at the Continental." Akiko softly insisted, almost as if she's worried about the younger hitwoman*3. "I would feel like shit if I allowed an injured person to pay their own taxi fare."

*Skrrch*

"I'm not so injured that I couldn't reach into my pocket." Yoru pointed out just as a black taxi came to a stop next to them. "I'll be fine."

The violet-haired girl holstered her pistol. But just before she pulled the taxi door open, Akiko beat her to it.

"A ride for two to the Continental, please." The older woman said when she opened the door. She reached into her pockets and pulled out two gold coins.

The bounty hunter pressed the discs into the driver's awaiting palm and slid inside the vehicle.

"So, are you gonna come inside?" Akiko asked while she took off her backpack. "You shouldn't keep the taximan waiting, ya know?"

Yoru sighed at the ex-soldier's actions before carefully getting into the car. She shut the door and pulled the leather seatbelt over herself.

The car began moving and the two rode in silence for a little while. Streams of light from street lamps and illuminated storefronts filtered through the automobile's tinted windows, illuminating the inside of the otherwise pitch dark cab.

"Hey, want some painkillers?" The tracker was the first to break the silence. "I got some tylenol. It should help with the knife wound."

The assassin looked at the offered blister packs. The card was old and some of the white tablets had already been used, so it's reasonable to assume that this came from Akiko's personal stash.

"No thanks." She ultimately denied it though. The Continental is only a short while away, and she'll get anesthetic anyways when she's getting treated. There was no need for her to impose.

"You're not used to other people's kindness, are you?" The huntress put on an unfamiliar expression before she pocketed the tablets.

"Why'd you say that?" The Wick stared at the older woman in curiosity.

"Is it untrue?" Akiko inquired, meeting the teenager's eyes. "I'm sorry if that's not the case."

"No, no. You're spot on." The assassin tore her gaze away, deciding to focus on the brightly-lit buildings and homes the taxi's cruising by instead. "But why is that important?"

"You shouldn't have to experience how cruel the world could be when you're this young." The tracker replied subduedly. "It's okay to rely on other people, you know?"

"Nobody deserves to experience how cruel the world can be." Yoru said in response. "Just when you think you've seen the worst of it, someone will find a way to be worse."

"...And, it's not like I don't like to rely on people." She continued after a minute pause. "I just don't have anything to rely on anyone else for."

Akiko nodded, and another period of silence befell the two.

"You know," This time, the teen was the first to fan away the dead air. "It's rare for people to see me as a child."

"Isn't that what you are?" The bounty hunter asked, her brows furrowed in confusion. "You're just sixteen."

"Yeah." The girl almost wistfully sighed. "But, I'm also an assassin, a killer for hire. Most people couldn't stomach sending a child to kill someone, so the majority of my clients don't see me as one. Dehumanizing me is their way of making it easier for them to sleep at night."

"That's..." The older woman began, but trailed off. She looked toward the floor as she struggled to find the correct word to describe the other occupant's circumstances.

"Pitiful? Tragic?" Yoru suggested, her head tilting just enough to let her see the ex-soldier's face.

"Not quite the words I would use." Akiko looked up at her and responded. "But, yeah, kinda."

The hitwoman sucked in a deep breath. She doesn't receive chances to talk about her issues, so the former high table enforcer is kind of lost on what to do. For all the services that Continental offers, therapy is not included.

"That's why I don't really have friends involved in the business." Yoru said as she carefully leaned on the taxi's door. "Mostly associates. Too many assassins couldn't see me as something more than the tool of the influential, and too many clients see me as a blunt object they can use to smash away their problems."

The tracker hummed in agreement.

"Maybe you should go back to school after you retire." The huntswoman proposed. The teenager raised her eyebrow at the suggestion, but didn't say anything.

"You don't have to worry about watching your back, or be wary of every person you see." Akiko continued. "Interacting with people your age will be good for you, and you couldn't go wrong in getting a degree."

"Maybe." The assassin considered the bounty hunter's words. "But It's been two years since I've been in a classroom. There's a lot for me to catch up to."

"I believe you can do it." The scarf-wearing woman warmly encouraged her. "I've known plenty of people who managed to live a civilian lifestyle after leaving."

"I'll think about it." Yoru responded just as the cab stopped in front of the Osaka Continental.

"That's all I'm asking." Akiko intoned while the teenager unbuckled her seatbelt and hobbled out of the car.

"Have a good night." The Wick remarked before gently shoving the taxi door closed.

*Tuck*

'School...' The hitwoman thought as she walked toward the hotel's entrance. 'It's been a long time since I've thought of that place.'

Another car door slammed closed behind her and the taxi drove off.

'I've made a lot of memories there,' Yoru continued t0 mull as the tracker caught up, and walked past her. 'But, can I really go back? Can someone like me go back and interact with people who can never understand what happened to me?'

The assassin put her line of thought on hold when she stopped at the front desk.

"Is the doctor in?" The teenager looked up at Asuka, the Osaka Continental's concierge.

"Yes, he is Miss Wick." The woman answered before smiling and tilting her head to the side, letting her light-brown hair droop like icicles. "Always ready to receive and treat."

"Thanks." Yoru slid two gold coins across the countertop. "And I'm sorry about the mess."

"Cleaning is free as always, Miss Wick." The gray-eyed woman assured upon taking the two gold discs. "I'll call the janitors after you leave."

The girl nodded and headed toward the elevator. She called the dumbwaiter and a couple of seconds later, the lift chimed and the steel doors slid open.

The hitwoman stepped into the machine and looked around for other people looking to ride the elevator. When it's clear that no one was coming, she pressed the button for the Continental's medical center.

Now left by her lonesome, Yoru continued to ponder Akiko's suggestion after the steel blocks slid together. But unfortunately, she was not able to get closer to a proper decision.

'I think I need a second opinion.' The hitwoman thought after the elevator stopped. 'Because, I don't think I can make this decision myself. '

'But who do I ask?' The assassin wondered before the dumbwaiter chimed.

The lift's doors opened, and Yoru shelved that line of thought. She'll figure it out after she gets treated. After all, it's generally not advisable to think about things when you go0t a knife stuck in your belly.

______________________________________________

A couple of hours later

Hotel Room

Miyazaki

10:32 PM

*Ring Ring* *Ring Ring*

Ai's phone suddenly rang from its place on her bedside counter. The idol looked at the blaring device in surprise, not expecting anyone to call at this late hour.

'Yoru-chan?' Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw the caller's name. 'Why would she be calling me?'

'Did... Did something happen?' A worrying thought came to the teenager, but she quickly shook her head to dispel it.

Ai picked up the phone with simmering trepidation and pressed the device to her ears.

"Hello? Yoru-chan?" She spoke into the speaker, her cheerful tone juxtaposing her pounding heart.

"Hey Ai." A tidal wave of relief washed over the violet-haired girl when her sister's voice floated from the iPhone. "Were you worried?"

"Not really." The pregnant teen instinctively responded with her go-to denial. "How have you been?"

Ai didn't need to hide her feelings from her older sibling – Yoru-chan can tell when she's putting on an act and when she's being real – but it's practically second nature to her now.

The performer knows that it's a bad habit, but she needed it to thrive in the cut-throat entertainment industry. A single moment of weakness, a single drop of blood, is all it takes for the sharks to gang up on her.

"Could be better." The hitwoman frankly stated. "I'm still kind of zooted on anesthetics, so I'm not a hundred percent there."

"Eh?" Ai blinked at the unfamiliar word. "'Zooted?'"

The older twin paused for a moment before she started chuckling. Her laughter was awkward, very unlike the sweet giggle her younger sibling was known for.

'She sounds like she was unused to doing such a thing.' The idol was saddened at the thought.

"I guess I'm more out of it than I thought if I let that slip..." Yoru humorously remarked before a soft thump emanated from the phone. "Don't worry about it, I'm just a bit tired from some medicine the doctor gave me."

"What happened, Yoru-chan?" Ai curiously asked while slightly tilting her head to the side.

"I went after the first clan on my kill list, the Omi." The older twin answered as shuffling could be heard from the background. "I fought through three floors' worth of people and got ambushed just as I was about to leave."

"You weren't hurt too badly, right Yoru-chan?" The pregnant teenager asked, her concern for her sister skyrocketing when she heard the hitwoman casually describe something that could be the plot of an action movie.

"Just got shot a couple of times and took a knife to the gut." Yoru described her injuries like she's listing off what she had for dinner. "Nothing major, I should be fine tomorrow."

"Y-Yoru-chan... You got shot and stabbed." Her sibling's casual response took the idol by surprise. Had Ai been drinking water, she would've spat her drink all over the floor.

"Yes," The assassin candidly affirmed. "I got shot a couple of times, but getting stabbed was the worst injury I received tonight. Four and a half inches of steel stuck straight into my belly and barely missed my iliac artery. I probably wouldn't have bled to death if it had severed it, but it's good that I didn't have to go into surgery."

"And, you say it's nothing major?" The performer prodded while desperately trying to understand how almost dying is considered 'nothing major' for her twin.

"Yes?" Yoru asserted once again, now confused on where her sibling is going with this. "I'll heal and be good enough in the morning."

"Yoru-chan, I think you should take better care of yourself." The pregnant idol intently told her sister.

"What do-" The assassin began, but the smaller twin promptly shut her down.

"Say yes." Ai cut her sibling off.

"Again, wh-" Yoru tried again, but was interrupted once more.

"Say yes." The entertainer repeated, attempting to make her voice as threatening as possible.

The line was silent for a couple of seconds before the Wick just snorted in response. She was clearly unfazed by her twin's attempt to be intimidating. Ai was a bit – what's the word? – peeved at her sister's response.

'But I suppose I can't compare to some of the people she's surrounded with.' The violet-eyed teen mused. 'To casually shrug off a stab wound like a scraped knee... those who operate in the dark are completely different to civilians like me.'

"Oh yeah. Of course." The assassin amiably agreed. "I'll be more careful in the future, Ai. You don't have to worry about me. I promised you that I would come back, didn't I?"

The idol's expression softened at that. Promises are fickle things; too often they are made just to be broken. But, Ai trusted her older sister. If there was anyone who could deliver on what they promised, it would be her.

"Onee-chan?" A five-year-old Ai called her older twin.

"Hmm?" Yoru looked up from the picture book she was reading. "What is it, Ai-chan?"

"Do you ever think about our papa?" The younger sibling asked.

"No, I don't." The firstborn shook her head. "Why?"

"I sometimes think about him." Ai admitted while turning her body to lay on her back. "Maybe if he had stayed, Okaa-san wouldn't be the way she is now."

"Maybe." Yoru responded, carefully closing her book and putting it aside.

"But I don't think it matters." The older girl crawled to her younger sister. "Because you have me, Ai-chan. I promise that I'll try to be enough for the both of us."

"You promise Onee-chan?" Ai hopefully peered into her twin's eyes.

"I promise." Two resolute orbs of amethyst looked back.

"Hey, Ai?" The hitwoman called out and snapped the pregnant teen out of her flashback. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, what is it, Yoru-chan?" Ai caught herself before she stammered. She was reminiscing for longer than she thought she did.

"I... I kind of want your opinion on something." Yoru started, a note of hesitancy marked her tone.

"Go ahead Yoru-chan. I'm all ears." The idol was curious about what the eldest twin was going to ask her. Her sister was never the type to ask people for anything, so this is highly unusual.

"Do you think I should go to school after I retire?" The assassin inquired upon taking a deep breath.

"School?" The violet-eyed girl blinked in surprise. She had to have heard that wrong, right?

"Yeah, school." Yoru confirmed, likely nodding her head if the soft rustling is anything to go by.

"What brought this on?" Ai curiously inquired. As the Americans say, her twin's question came straight out of left field.

"It came up in a conversation." The hitwoman replied. "The one who suggested it said that going to school would be good for me, but I can't decide whether or not I should. I wanted a second opinion, so I decided to call you."

'School...' The shorter sibling mused as she began reminiscing about the time prior to joining the entertainment industry. 'I don't really have fond memories of that place, but I never made an effort to make anything of my time there.'

"To be honest," The idol began after plopping down on the hotel room's bed. "I don't have any good school memories to speak of. Kids are especially cruel when you're different."

"For me, school is something I had to do." Ai continued. "I didn't put any more effort into it than I needed to. I didn't try to make friends, I didn't study, and I didn't join any clubs."

"But," Even though her sister couldn't see her, the pregnant teen put up a finger. "That's what school was like for me. You aren't me Yoru-chan, school will be different for you. I don't think you'll fit in, but I'm sure you'll thrive in your own way."

"Thanks Ai, I really appreciate it." Yoru gratefully said, and the performer could feel the smile on her twin's face. "And... huahh. "

"I think I'll hang up now, Yoru-chan." The idol said while a small smile split across her face. Super assassin or not, her older sister is still only human.

"I can... still stay up for a bit." The assassin asserted. Ai could hear her stifle another yawn by the pause in her words.

"Yoru-chan, you told me that you'll take better care of yourself, no?" The entertainer sweetly verbalized.

"... Yes." The hitwoman softly intoned. The younger twin imagined that her sister was pouting like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar. She probably wasn't doing that, but it's fun to imagine her older sibling as something other than a stoic brick.

"Then go to bed." The pregnant teenager ordered. "When I said you should take care of yourself, that means getting enough sleep too."

"Alright, I'll tuck in for the night." Yoru conceded, and some rustling can be heard over the phone. "Goodnight Ai, I'll call tomorrow. Love you."

"Goodnight Yoru-chan." Ai reciprocated the farewell, but not the 'I love you'. "Sleep well."

*Beep*

The line went dead, and the idol set her iPhone down. The violet-haired girl carefully laid on her back and stared up at the ceiling.

Going from not hearing a word from her sister in ten years to talking with her almost every day was a huge adjustment. But, her sister was quite insistent on it. She said it was to 'make up for lost time', but Ai thought that the older twin was overcompensating.

'But,' The idol supposed. 'That's not a bad thing, is it?'

'I've heard somewhere that if you love someone, you will go above and beyond for them.' The performer mused as the hotel's warm lighting washed over her body. 'Even though Yoru-chan is already going above and beyond for me, it seems like she still thought that she wasn't doing enough.'

'I'll need to talk to her about it next time.' Ai turned her head to look at the mobile. 'But it's nice to have someone I can confide in again. The president said that I can talk to him whenever since he's my legal guardian, but he's also my boss. I can't spill things to him willy-nilly.'

'It's refreshing to have someone who can easily tell the difference between Ai the idol, and Ai the girl.' The idol smiled at that line of thought. 'Even Takamine-chan and Watanabe-chan had a hard time differentiating between the two nowadays.'

'And...' A wave of sorrow washed over the pregnant teen as she thought of Niino, the last of B-Komachi's founding members. 'Even though Nino-chan and I never got along all too well, it still hurts when she can't tell the difference.'

'Yoru-chan...' The performer shut her eyes as she recalled their farewell, the softness of her sister's warm hands contrasting with the rigid frigidness of her vest. 'I truly am the greediest idol, aren't I?'

Silence was the only answer to her thoughts, and Ai let out a sigh. She opened her eyes and fully climbed into the bed. The quilt was stiff and the mattress cover was looser than she'd liked – built for durability and ease of cleaning over comfort – but it was comfortable enough for her to sleep.

'Yoru-chan did give me the keys to her home in Miyazaki.' The singer flicked the lightswitch beside her bed and the entire room was bathed in darkness. 'Maybe I'll take her up on the offer. It's not far away from the hospital and the president wouldn't have to pay for my stay at the hotel.'

The teenager shifted her posture so she's laying on her back.

'I'll talk to him about it tomorrow.' Ai thought as sleep slowly overcame her. 'I do want to sleep in a more comfortable bed. And... it wouldn't hurt to learn more about her.'

The idol drifted off to sleep with a small smile on her face. A smile that Yoru is fighting tooth and nail to grow and nurture.

* An Italian dish composed of grilled bread topped with a variety of vegetables and sometimes cheese.

*2 A Russian dish of sautéed pieces of beef in a sauce of mustard and smetana. Smetana is a sauce that's made of sour cream, onions and white wine. The dish is commonly served with noodles or rice but some people eat it in a sandwich.

*3 Akiko was worried about Yoru. But Yoru had been so used to not receiving genuine concern from strangers that she couldn't recognize it.