Fire and Ashes
April 2010
Bathroom
New York
7:18 AM
'Last night really did a number on me, huh.' Yoru reflected once she finally got a good look at herself in the bathroom mirror. 'I look like a panda.'
Dark circles enveloped the base of the assassin-in-training's eyes. She could bust out her makeup kit and try to make her eye bags disappear, but dolling herself up takes too much time for something she could easily make a multitude of excuses for.
The teenager sighed and continued on with her morning routine, there's nothing she could do about her appearance at this point.
Yoru quickly finished up and walked downstairs. When she walked into the kitchen, she saw John munching on a store-bought sandwich in formal wear.
"Dad, are you going somewhere?" The violet-eyed girl asked before grabbing a glass from the cupboards.
"... Yeah." Her father replied as she opened the fridge and took out a carton of milk.
"The Continental?" The teenager sat down at the kitchen table and flicked open the cardboard container's cap.
"... Yeah." John affirmed and slid over an unopened BLT sandwich.
"Can I come?" Yoru asked after pouring out a glass of milk. For the first time in their conversation, the Soviet stopped eating.
"... No." The ex-marine shook his head and denied after only a few seconds.
"Oh." The hitwoman-in-training verbalized, dejected at her father's rejection but understanding why at the same time. "How long are you going to be gone?"
"... Two days, but it could be more." John replied, and Yoru nodded, making a mental note that she needs to research bus routes tonight. She has her school-issued bus pass tucked away in her pencil case, so she doesn't need to worry about getting one.
"Good luck dad." The teenager wished her father well before they dug into their respective meals, both Wicks preparing for what's about to come next.
______________________________________________
40 minutes later
New York Continental
*Skrrch*
John parked his gifted car just outside of the New York Continental. He felt a pang of nostalgia when he laid his eyes upon the building's exterior. The hotel exudes an aura of majesty and sophistication befitting of an establishment of its status.
Despite the fact he's not stepped foot here in nearly half a decade, the outside of the hotel looked the same as the day he and Charon came here almost ten years ago. The Soviet shook his head and stepped outside of the Chevelle, now's not the time to reminisce and get lost in memories.
John quickly scanned the bustling street corner, quietly checking for any familiar faces nearby. Once he saw none in his general vicinity, the Soviet walked to the back of the sports car and opened its trunk.
The retired hitman briskly gathered his luggage before closing the storage compartment and handing the keys to a nearby valet.
After giving a thankful nod to the employee, he ascended the steps to the Continental and stepped into the hotel for the first time in half a decade.
The first thing John noticed upon pushing the doors open was how much the lobby had changed. The old tiled flooring was swapped out for smooth marble, and all the original Me decade furniture was replaced with more modern duo-colored ones.
Smooth jazz flowed through the air as the former assassin walked up to the counter behind one other person.
Upon hearing his footsteps, the woman curiously turned around and looked him up and down, half in surprise and half in appraisement.
It was Perkins, an assassin the ex-marine was very familiar with. John only quietly stared back, not even giving her a brief hello.
The two had a history together, way back when the retired hitman worked under Maria in El Paso. She was a newbie, and he was called to be her teacher much in the same way Marcus was to him. John tried his best, but their values ended up clashing so much the apprenticeship had to be called off. Needless to say, the whole experience left a sour taste in their mouths, and they haven't gotten along since.
Perkins was callous, ruthless, arrogant, and had no regard for the rules of the underworld. So long as what she's doing will net her some cash, there is no line she wouldn't cross. Her attitude and lack of morals reminded the Soviet too much of Calamity for John to regard her with anything more than cold professionalism.
"Room 980." Charon stated as he slid the hitwoman's room across the gray marble countertop. "Do enjoy your stay."
"Thanks." Perkins politely thanked the concierge and turned toward the retired assassin. "Good seeing you again, John."
"Perkins." The Soviet stoically replied to his former protégé before making his way to the front desk. Seeing as she wasn't going to get anything more out of him, the American left for her room.
"I have you for two nights?" The Nigerian asked the Wick for confirmation.
"... Depending on business, it may be more." John frankly replied and, to that, Charon smiled.
"Of course sir." The concierge said with an understanding nod.
"... So when did the old place get a face lift?" The veteran made small talk and curiously questioned his longtime friend.
"Around four years ago." The continental curator answered as he imputed the Soviet's name into an old computer. "But I assure you, she really hasn't changed much."
"... Same owner?" John inquired, wanting to confirm if Winston is still in charge.
"Same owner." Charon confirmed with a knowing smile.
The retired hitman reached into his pocket and slid a gold coin across the countertop.
"Room 818." The concierge informed the ex-assassin after accepting the payment and handing him a room key.
John took the room key and turned toward the Continental's elevators.
"And as always," The Nigerian called out to the ex-marine before he could walk to the lift. "It is a pleasure having you with us again, Mr. Wick."
The Soviet paused in his steps and looked back at Charon before heading off without a response. He would only be here for a couple of days, and it's best to not get his old friend's hopes up.
______________________________________________
A few hours later
Yoru's high school's lunchroom
11:32 AM
"Hey, uhh... Yoru." A brown-haired boy asked Yoru as she set her backpack beside her seat at the lunch table. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine Jason." The teenager answered when she sat down on the plastic bench. "How's studying going for you?"
Jason pursed his lips as his friend smoothly deflected his question and changed the subject. He knew the Japanese girl wasn't fine, but she wasn't willing to talk. As her friend, that worried him.
Yoru's mother died just five days ago, and she experienced two violent burglaries within the last couple of days. She didn't experience any injuries in the second one, but her bruises and broken nose from the first aren't completely healed.
'I've heard a lot of things going around the school lately.' The brunette thought to himself as Yoru reached into her bag and pulled out a chipotle burrito. 'And I really hope she isn't taking it too badly.'
"It's going alright." Jason replied, deciding to not push her any further. "I think I've got everything down for global and algebra, dunno about earth science though."
"I could lend you some of my flashcards." The teen offered while she reached down for her thermos. "I think I've studied them well enough for the test tomorrow. You sound like you need them more."
"... Yeah, you're right." The American conceded, remembering his less than stellar grade in the class. "Thanks, I appreciate it."
"No problem." The violet-haired high schooler asserted as she poured out a cup of soda. "And by the way, where's the rest of the gang?"
"Oh, they're at the library studying." Jason responded as she unraveled her wrap. "Sierra and Ryan are studying for Mr. Stone's test later today, and Michael is cramming everything he could for Ms. Evans's exam."
"And what about you?" Yoru inquired before biting into her roll. "Don't you have a test next period?"
"Mrs. Sabbatini is out today." The brown-eyed teenager answered, and the Japanese girl hummed in understanding. "The test is pushed to tomorrow."
Afterwards, the pair fell into a silence and the din of the cafeteria quickly took over. Jason linked his hands together and just stared at the gray table, still uncertain of how he would broach the rumors with the violet-eyed teen. He had a whole plan too, but the conversation was steered in such a way bringing them up is unnatural.
"Yoru..." The brunette began, choosing to bite the bullet and tackle the issue directly. "About the-"
"Rumors?" Yoru interrupted her friend. "Yeah, I've heard. People saying that my dad's gotten abusive after my mom died and that the burglary was a lie to cover up what he did."
The Japanese teenager angrily sighed in frustration and shook her head.
"Hahh... Jason, I'm not trying to dispel them because doing that would only make them worse." The high-schooler continued, answering the other teenager's unasked question. "If I continue to come in without anything new, the grapevine will move on to something else and everyone will forget."
"Do you think we can do anything to help?" Jason worriedly asked her. "Like, do you need any of us to talk to the counselors or the VPs? You're like a sister to us, and the last thing we would want is for the rumors to worsen if you're ever called to them."
"... No, but thank you, Jason." Yoru gratefully said, and her lips formed into a smile. "You didn't have to worry about me, I can take care of myself."
"Don't mention it," The brown-eyed teen kindly responded. "You're my friend, Yoru. Of course, I would worry."
______________________________________________
A few hours later
New York Continental Basement
7:54 PM
*Kachink!*
John slid a gold coin into the coin slot of a black steel door. The blinds of the steel door then opened to reveal Dexter, the bouncer of the Continental's basement club.
After taking a few seconds to verify the ex-hitman's identity, the metal blinds slammed shut and the sill opened with a creak.
The Soviet nodded at the elderly guard and walked into the nightclub. When he stepped through the doors, the atmosphere mixed with a faint tobacco smell stirred yet another wave of nostalgia.
Back before he adopted Yoru and met Helen, he would spend his evenings unwinding at the club bar. John didn't really socialize and make many friends much back then, but he was familiar with the bartender.
'I wonder if Addy still works here.' The former assassin pondered as he made his way toward his destination.
Despite the club being invite-only – save for a couple of veteran assassins and staff – and the night being a Monday evening, the club was almost filled to the brim with people young and old alike.
The people sitting at the tables looked at the veteran as he walked by, some raising their drinks and others giving him small nods of greeting. He nodded back, but never actually voiced a hello. John was only here for one thing and one thing only, the location of Iosef Tarasov.
"... Hello Winston." The Soviet greeted the Continental manager when he reached the quiet corner the aged American chose to sit.
The old tinted light bulb hanging above bathed the area in a warm yellow tone. Vintage red cushions surrounded a small circular table, and several pristine 70s era posters hung from the orange walls.
Though John had never asked, it's very likely the cranny has not changed since the former businessman took over the hotel. After all, he did have a fondness for good traditions.
"Jonathan." Winston's brown orbs lit up, and his lips immediately broke out into a smile upon seeing the ex-marine.
"How have you and little Yoru been?" The hotel owner continued, taking off his glasses as John took a seat.
"... We're managing." The retired hitman answered after a brief moment. To that, the former businessman nodded.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Winston inquired, getting right down to business now that the pleasantries have been said. He knew that the ex-assassin didn't care much for them, so he kept them short.
"... Iosef Tarasov." John revealed the name of his target, and the older man's demeanor faintly shifted.
"What about him?" The American questioned while slightly tilting his head to the side.
"I'd like to talk with him." The Soviet used one of the Continental's many euphemisms.
"A talk, you say." The hotel manager raised his eyebrows and brought his martini to his lips. He knew what the ex-marine wanted.
"I'm familiar with the parlance, Jonathan." Winston said after taking a sip, his voice deadly serious as he leaned closer to John. "I want to ask you this, have you returned to the fold?"
"... Just visiting." He replied, the thought of returning gave him some unease.
"Have you thought this through?" The former businessman questioned the younger man. "I mean, chewed down to the bone? You dip so much as a pinky back into this pond, you may well find something reaches out and drags you back into its depths. If that happens, your daughter will be pulled in trying to get you out.
"... I won't let her." The veteran declared, his fists tightened at the manager's words.
"Are you certain that you will be able to do that?" Winston shook his head. "She'll be roped in one way or another if you pursue this. Like you, Yoru would plunge into hell itself to be with the people she loves. I was once a father as well, Jonathan. If this all blows up, you won't be the only victim."
John cast his eyes down for a couple of seconds before looking up at the American again.
"... They hurt her." The retired assassin said in a low voice. "It's personal now."
"I see." Seeing as the former marine was not going to budge, the hotel owner only nodded in acceptance. "You know the rules. No business can be conducted on these premises lest incurring heavy penalties."
"Have a drink," Winston suggested as he took another sip of his martini. "And relax... for now."
John nodded and got up from his seat as the older man donned his reading glasses. Following his longtime friend's advice, the ex-hitman turned to the club's bar and strode to an empty seat.
"Holy shit, Jonathan!" A familiar voice exclaimed in surprise.
"... Hey, Addy." The Soviet looked up, and politely greeted the familiar bartender.
"My god!" The tattooed mixologist kissed John on the cheek. "How long has it been? Four years?"
"... Five and change." The veteran replied, unbothered by the bartender's amorous greeting. There wasn't any deeper meaning to the gesture, it's just how she greets people she's close to.
"So tell me," Addy smiled and leaned on the bar table. "How is life on the other side?"
The wonder in the American's words wasn't lost on John. From the various conversations they had over the years, it was clear the barkeep had never known anything but the underworld.
Since Addy was born to a pair of Continental employees, her path in life was determined from birth. Her parents couldn't hide their affiliation to the world of assassins, so they did the next best thing. They molded her into the best Continental employee she could be. They still allowed her to go to school, but by the time she finished secondary education, it's already too late.
"It was good Addy." The ex-hitman answered melancholically, memories of happy times with his family surfaced. "Far better than I deserved."
"Hey," The mixologist called out to the Soviet when she noticed the slight change in his demeanor. "I'm sorry to hear about your-"
"Thanks." John quickly cut her off. He doesn't need her condolences, he's already received too many of them over the past few days.
"How's Yoru?" The American asked, taking the hint and expeditiously changing subjects to the violet-haired girl in his care. "How is she holding up?"
"... She's managing." The former assassin replied, his eyebrows slightly furrowing.
Before the ex-marine met Helen, he would leave his daughter with the barkeep whenever a contract would go into overtime. As a result, the two grew quite close.
Addy looked into her friend's eyes after nodding at John's words. He's always been the quiet, serious type – never the one to start dialogue and always keeping any conversation brief. But the bartender had met and befriended many more just like him and, over the years, learned their tells.
"... I've never seen you like this." The American commented, and the retired hitman perked up in surprise.
"... Like what?" John asked the mixologist to elaborate on what she meant.
"Vulnerable." Addy answered, and the retired assassin slightly pursed his lips.
In the underworld's line of work, vulnerability was something to be taken advantage of, to be exploited. That's why most veteran hitmen refused to show any of it even to their closest friends and confidants. When the only thing people fight for is cold cash, taking advantage of any weakness one could find is only natural.
"... I'm retired." The former marine looked away from the bartender and evaded that line of discussion.
"Not if you're drinking here, you're not." The barkeep candidly informed John and smiled, knowing she's beaten him on that front.
"The usual?" Addy inquired as she turned and pointed toward the row of glass bottles behind her.
"... Please." The Soviet affirmed, internally grateful toward the American for moving on.
While the mixologist turned around and walked toward the row of drinks, John looked behind him and scanned the club's clientele. As the jazz band on stage prepared for the end of their song, the retired hitman spied Perkins receiving something on her phone.
"Complements of the house." Addy announced, breaking the ex-assassin away from his spying.
"... Thanks." The Soviet expressed gratitude for his free drink and looked over to where Winston was sitting.
The Continental manager raised eyebrows and his martini in a toast, silently asking if John would take his advice.
The ex-marine looked at what the mixologist gave him, a shot of bourbon in a whiskey glass next to a lipstick-stained napkin with the words 'Red Circle' inscribed in flowing cursive handwriting.
The former assassin looked over to the hotel owner again, and when he spied the older man sipping his drink, John made his choice and brought the glass of whiskey to his lips. He'll do as Winston advised and relax at the bar, for a few hours at least.
______________________________________________
A few hours later
Red Circle
11:07 PM
*Tap* *Tap* *Tap*
John's black dress shoes clicked against the concrete street as he came to a stop one block away from the Red Circle. Despite the late hour, the line of people awaiting entry into the nightclub spanned for almost the entire length of the street.
The niterie is owned by Viggo Tarasov and is known for its luxury and exclusivity. The Red circle is split into three different floors: the basement held a private pool and bathhouse; the ground floor held its dance floor and VIP bathroom; and finally, the second floor is where patrons can lounge about and enjoy drinks.
The former hitman scanned the crowd of people and the moment he spotted his target, the Soviet quickly made his way across the road. When he got close to the club, John quickly stepped into the shadows to prevent anyone from noticing his presence.
Once Victor was ushered into the VIP entrance by a big-bodied bodyguard, the retired assassin quietly waited for an opportunity for him to strike. And soon enough, the opportunity came.
After ushering in Iosef's friend, the bouncer stepped away from the entrance and lit a cigarette. While he brought the tobacco stick to his lips and took a long drag, John silently slipped behind the doorman and held his P30L to his cranium.
"Hello Francis." Francis slightly jolted at the former hitman's greeting, partly in surprise at the ex-marine's voice, partly at the fact that someone had snuck up on him.
"Mr. Wick." The Russian greeted back after turning his head just enough to confirm that the person behind him was indeed his old acquaintance.
"Да ты похудел. (You've lost weight.)" John commented, noticing the bouncer had slimmed down quite a bit in the five years since their last meeting.
"Двадцать килограмм. (Twenty kilograms [60 pounds])" Francis elaborated on the Soviet's observation.
"Да? Впечатляет. (Yeah? That's impressive.)" The retired assassin complimented his old friend, genuinely happy for his weight loss.
"Are you here on business, sir?" The Russian inquired and switched to English instead of continuing on in Russian.
"Afraid so, Francis." John replied with false dejection, while his grip on his German handgun tightened in preparation for his request. "Why don't you take the night off?"
The bouncer raised his hand to his earpiece, and the ex-hitman's pointer finger became more tense, only relaxing once Francis removed his radio. The former marine lowered his gun as the doorman turned around.
"Thank you, sir." The Russian thanked John, grateful toward the Soviet for sparing him and giving him a chance to walk away.
After Francis departed from the Red Circle's VIP entrance, the retired assassin pulled the doors open and entered the nightclub. Tonight is going to be a bloodbath and if he's lucky, Iosef Tarasov will die alongside all the men tasked to protect him.
______________________________________________
Few Days later
Entrance to Yoru's High School
3:05 PM
"Bye Yoru!" Sierra – the pianist of Yoru's band – waved goodbye as she stepped into her mother's red Toyoda.
"Bye Sierra!" The assassin-in-training smiled and waved back as the Hispanic girl pulled the car door shut.
A few moments after that, her friend's mom drove off and the high-schooler let her raised hand drop to her side. Just as she was about to walk to the bus station, a white Porsche 911 rolled up to the previously occupied spot.
The Japanese girl's eyes glanced at the vehicle for a brief moment, only for her to do a double take and turn her head once she saw who's behind the wheel.
"... What are you doing here, Marcus?" Yoru's violet orbs narrowed in suspicion as the veteran assassin when he rolled down the window.
"Your father is in danger." Marcus candidly answered, and the high-schooler's eyes widened in alarm. "I'm going to help him, and I need to know whether or not you want to come along."
"What?" The teenager swallowed dryly and breathed out in shock.
"Is that a no?" The sniper inquired, and Yoru immediately reacted.
"No!" She yelled out, and upon realizing how her outburst had attracted some unwanted attention, the hitwoman-in-training quickly reeled herself back in with a few breaths. "No, no. I... I'll come."
The Japanese girl briskly walked over to the car and pulled the passenger side door of the 60s era vehicle open. She climbed inside and stuffed her backpack into the footwell. After making sure her feet had enough room to be comfortable when she's seated, Yoru pulled the door shut and pulled the seatbelt over her body.
"You're not letting your guard down," Marcus commented as the teen secured the strap with a snappy click. "That's good, Akilina has taught you well."
"... You knew the Director?" The violet-eyed schoolgirl asked in surprise after realizing he was referring to the Director.
"Yeah, I did." The assassin confirmed, and pressed his foot on the gas pedal without saying anything else. The Porsche began accelerating and before long, they've driven away from the school and were heading toward the highway.
After a few more seconds of silence, Yoru realized that her father's friend wasn't going to elaborate any further and started to inspect the moving automobile. Apart from an air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, the front of the sports car is utterly devoid of any personalization.
With the anterior of the vehicle offering nothing, the assassin-in-training took a peek at the trunk of the automobile. The back held a one liter water bottle and a pack of Halls cough drops.
Laying next to the consumables is a gun case. The Japanese girl suddenly had a bad feeling about what Marcus wanted her to do.
"You said my dad was in trouble," She began, and the old hitman briefly glanced at her. "What do you need me for? You're a veteran assassin, and I'm not even a part of the Continental yet."
"Tell me," The ginger said as he pulled into an exit. "Have you killed?"
"... No, I haven't." Yoru softly shook her head and replied after a couple of seconds. "I've seen my dad kill, but I've never done it myself."
"You will today." Marcus told her with as much casualness as someone describing the weather.
"And if I don't?" The purple-haired teen challenged the hitman's belief that she would take a life.
"Then your father will die." The sniper nonchalantly declared, and a dull sense of dread pooled in her stomach.
Afterwards, neither talked and the sound of the car running served as white noise. The schoolgirl pulled her gaze away from the hitman and decided to stare at her uniform pants instead.
"Why?" Yoru broke the silence after a couple of minutes, she had way too many questions, and hadn't gotten enough answers from her father's mentor.
"Why what? You have to be more specific." Marcus responded, much to the Japanese girl's annoyance.
But that feeling of annoyance quickly subsided. What did she really mean by 'why'? Did the hitwoman-in-training have a question in mind, or did she ask and hope the ginger had an answer for her?
"... My first question." The Japanese teenager elaborated after a couple of moments of contemplation. "You never answered it."
"Why did I want you in particular?" The hitman asked for confirmation.
Yoru nodded in affirmation and he hummed.
"Your father doesn't understand the ramifications of going after the Tarasov heir." Marcus answered when the car stopped at a red light. "I've known him for almost three decades now, and his impulsiveness hasn't changed one bit."
"Are you angry with him?" The schoolgirl queried and to that, the ginger shook his head.
"At him? No." The sniper replied as the traffic light turned green. "At the fact I had to do this? Yes."
The car started moving again and before long, they stopped at a tall apartment building.
"I was content to leave you be till you came of age," Marcus stated after squeezing his car into an empty spot. "But John's decisions pushed things up a couple of years."
"Your father's being held in the warehouse to the west of the building." The American informed the Wick as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "We'll go up the fire escape and set up at the top."
Yoru nodded and followed suit, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the car door.
She slid outside of the car and just before she could close the doors, the assassin called out to her.
"Grab your backpack as well. Having something to lean your rifle upon will help with stability." Marcus said as he stuffed the water bottle and cough drops into the gun case's extra pockets.
The violet-haired girl nodded and pulled her bag out of the footwell before slamming the white door closed.
*Schmuck*
______________________________________________
A couple of minutes later
At the top of the building
"How's the view?" Marcus asked when Yoru peered through the scope of his rifle. "Can you see him?"
The two were perched at the top of the building. The Japanese teen had taken his advice and used her backpack to stabilize the older hitman's Ruger M77.
"The window is a little bit cloudy, but yeah, I could see them." The assassin-in-training replied, steadily adjusting the long gun. "My dad is bound in a chair facing another man, and there are two people behind them."
"What are they doing?" The ginger inquired, squinting his eyes to get a better look at John's situation.
A cool gust of wind blew across the roof, softly tousling Yoru's hair as she observed the scene. Though she couldn't hear any of the exchanged words, the schoolgirl could feel the tension and anger bubbling from her father and the person he's talking to.
"They're talking." The teenager reported moments before her grip suddenly tightened around the long gun's foreshock.
"Did something happen?" Marcus inquired when he noticed the Japanese girl's sudden change in demeanor.
"The guy just punched my dad in the face." Yoru stated, and the sniper nodded.
"What does he look like?" The American inquired as he stepped closer to the hitwoman-in-training.
"He has slicked back gray hair and a beard." The Wick divulged, her open eye slightly narrowing while tracking the man. "He's wearing a black suit and a red coat."
"Keep track of him." Marcus ordered. "The moment he leaves, that's your time to strike."
Yoru nodded and continued to monitor her father's predicament. And before long, something happened that made her heart freeze.
"They're putting a bag over my dad's head." The schoolgirl sucked in a lungful of air and her eyes widened at the sight of her father's ongoing execution.
"Calm down. Breathe. Do you have a clear shot?" The hitman calmly instructed. The teen tried to follow his advice and took in some deep breaths in an attempt to relax. It did little to soothe her hammering heart.
"Y-yeah." She stuttered out. Her face trembled with fear over her father's life, yet her hands and body remained as still as a statue.
"Take it." Marcus commanded as he turned to look at her. "You have at least one and a half minutes before your father passes out, and four before he goes brain-dead."
Yoru nodded and held her breath. Her eyes focused through the duplex crosshair and onto the man whose head she's aiming for. The girl's pointer finger softly pressed against the bolt action rifle's trigger.
Whether it's because of her hesitation to kill or something buried deep pleading with her to keep her innocence, the high schooler didn't shoot right away. Instead, she took in every detail of the man she was about to kill.
His expensive suit, likely to be one of the Continental's catalog.
One second has passed.
His short haircut, practical and presentable as a mob boss's henchman.
Two seconds have passed.
His tense face despite having another man help hold her dad down.
Three seconds have passed.
His eyes, squinting in response to the afternoon sun shining into them.
Four seconds have passed.
His strangely crooked nose, a telltale sign of getting into many fistfights.
Five seconds have passed.
His slightly yellowed teeth, never needing whitening because he wasn't paid to smile.
Six seconds have passed.
When the assassin-in-training ran out of things to notice, her mind began to wonder about the man.
Why is he working for Viggo? Maybe it's because he was down, out of luck and desperately needed the money.
Eight seconds have passed.
If he didn't need the money? Why didn't he get out when he could?
Nine seconds have passed.
Does he have a wife waiting for him at home? Does he have any kids? Maybe he-
*Pew*
Moments before she was even aware of it, her finger had put too much force on the trigger and fully disengaged the sear. The gun's firing pin sprang forward and struck the primer of the chambered round. Gunpowder ignited, and the expanding gasses pushed the hundred-fifty grain bullet through the rifled barrel and exploded out the other end.
*Crack*
The 30-06 bullet effortlessly pierced right through the cheap warehouse windows and punched through the other end of the man's skull, showering the clear plastic bag over John's with a spray of cruor.
The long gun recoiled, the kick wasn't anything she hadn't handled before, but the gravity of what she had committed made it feel all the more intense.
Yoru just stood there, unmoving. Her muscle memory stalled for a few more moments before finally kicking in when the other henchman flung himself off John and pointed his pistol straight at her. The novice hitwoman's right hand hooked around the bolt and racked it. The expended cartridge jumped out and the bolt pushed another round into the chamber.
But by then, it was already too late. John had shoved the mobster onto the ground, and their ensuing fight prohibited the girl from getting a clear shot.
"... They're fighting now." The violet-eyed high schooler lowered the rifle and blew out several breaths as her heart slowly settled. "I can't get a clear shot."
"How are you feeling?" The ginger asked her, and the sight of the bullet ripping through the man's head replayed in her mind.
"I..." Yoru's stomach churned like a washing machine before a tidal wave of nausea hit her.
"Hurrggh-" Her stomach lurched, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
"Hurrgh-" It suddenly tottered once more, but this time the Japanese girl couldn't control it. "Blarrghhh!!!"
Yoru hunched over and a semi-translucent stream of vomit spewed from her mouth. Marcus watched on as the chunky liquid splattered all over the floor, neither responding to the putrid smell nor the nasty display Yoru was putting on. In fact, his eyes seemed to be filled with more sympathy than disgust.
"Blarrghhh!!! Blarrghhh!!!" After barfing out a couple more mouthfuls of puke, the teen retched one final time when she completely emptied her stomach. "Hurrgghh..."
"Hahhh... Hahhh..." The junior hitwoman panted shortly before delving into a coughing fit because of the vomit burning her throat. "Cough cough cough..."
"Here, rinse your mouth." The American said as he crouched down and offered the water bottle to Yoru.
"Cough... Thanks..." The violet-haired high schooler softly muttered while snatching the plastic bottle from the hitman's hand.
"After you're done, put these in your mouth and crush them up." Marcus instructed, opening the pack of cough drops as the teenager gargled on the water.
*Ptooo*
Yoru spat out a mouthful of dirty water and extended her hand for the candies. The sniper shook a couple of lozenges into her open palm, and the novice assassin popped them into her mouth.
*Crack Crack Crunch Crunch crunch*
"Better?" Marcus asked and the schoolgirl nodded.
"My mouth doesn't taste like vomit anymore." Yoru replied, her eyes not meeting the ginger's face.
"Mhm." The veteran hitman hummed and recognized that she was still in shock after what happened.
The two sat in silence for a little while, and the purple-haired high schooler looked back to the M77 she was still clutching.
"Heh heh heh... You're a fucking asshole, you know that?" Yoru humorlessly laughed and hurled an insult at Marcus.
"I know." The sniper simply responded, having been called worse by the various students he's taken over his career.
"I... damn." The amateur assassin wanted to say something, but quickly stopped herself. "I can't even be pissed at you. I know this day will come sooner or later, and it's not fair for me to be mad at you. Apart from forcing me to kill, it's not like you did anything wrong."
"I am as much an assassin as I'm a teacher." The hitman asserted as the schoolgirl looked up at him. "I've taken many students under my wing and did my best to prepare them."
"In some ways, Akilina and John have been too soft on you." Marcus continued while he rose to his full height. "They've taught you many things, but neither have prepared you for the final step of being an assassin, hoping you would give up before you turned eighteen."
Yoru stayed silent, knowing the American was almost spot on with his assessment. Earlier on, the Director definitely trained her like she'll become a hitwoman. But even though the sessions increased in difficulty as the years went on, they slowly stopped feeling like they're purely for preparation.
"Your father dipped his pinky back into the pond he left, and something noticed." The ginger assuredly declared. "He will get dragged back in. I'm just teaching you how to swim once you're dragged in with him."
"..." The Japanese teenager opened her mouth, only to shut it again, choosing to not question Marcus's words.
"Can we just meet with dad?" Yoru softly requested and to that, the elderly assassin nodded.
______________________________________________
Forty minutes later
*Skreech*
John stopped his car two streets away from where Iosef's safe house supposedly was and looked over to his ward. The high schooler slowly turned to face him when she realized the car had stopped.
"Are you okay?" The retired hitman asked, and Yoru averted her eyes at the question.
"I... I don't know." She hesitantly replied, her violet orbs meeting her father's brown ones. "How am I supposed to feel after killing someone?"
"...What happened?" John asked his former teacher after Yoru enveloped him in a hug.
"Her first kill." Marcus bluntly replied, and the Soviet's breath hitched. "She handled it well, all things considered."
"...When?" The retired hitman demanded as he stroked the high schooler's head. His daughter just buried her head deeper into his torso.
"Just minutes ago." The sniper answered, and John's mind raced to discover when that could be.
"...That shot... it was her?" The ex-marine questioned, referring to the bullet that saved his life.
"....Why?" The Soviet asked after the American nodded in confirmation.
"I won't always be there to save your ass." Marcus candidly responded, his voice took on an aged weariness.
"...I'm retired." John frankly told his old mentor. After he deals with Iosef, he'll never return to the Continental.
"Do you really believe that?" The veteran assassin incredulously inquired, and the Soviet had no answer for him.
John nodded and unbuckled his seatbelt. The button clicked, and the leather strap quickly retracted to its original place.
"Wait." The Japanese girl averred and caused the former assassin to stop reaching for the car latch and look at her again. "I'm coming as well."
The veteran nodded and opened the car door while the schoolgirl unlocked her seatbelt. He got out of the car and walked over to the back.
"Bombs?" Yoru quizzically remarked once her father opened the trunk.
"Yeah." The Soviet affirmed and began grabbing the IEDs out of the trunk.
"What are they for?" The Japanese girl curiously asked as the hitman closed the trunk.
"The cars." John replied, and the high schooler nodded.
"I can go set them up while you deal with the guards." Yoru proposed, and her father mulled over her suggestion.
"Don't worry, I can take care of myself." The novice hitwoman insisted once she saw the veteran's hesitation. "The Director has gone over stealth already."
"A classroom is different from the field." The retired assassin stated, but the amateur hitwoman shook her head.
"I can do this, dad." Yoru pushed, resolute in helping him. This time – seeing as she would not budge – John caved.
"The cars are in the warehouse." The veteran said before handing the improvised explosives to his daughter. "Be careful, Yoru."
"Yeah, I will." The schoolgirl asserted and disappeared into the alleyway.
The ex-marine heaved a sigh and walked in the opposite direction before disappearing into an alleyway.
______________________________________________
A couple of minutes later
Inside the garage of Iosef's safe house
*BOOOOOMMMM*
Yoru covered her ears and watched from a safe distance as the first bombs detonated in a fiery explosion. Car doors were blown off their hinges, while molten plastic and slag spewed all over the floor.
*BOOOOOMMMM* *BOOOOOMMMM*
The high schooler removed her hands after the second and third batch of IEDs exploded. All the henchmen that were guarding them were savagely thrown onto the concrete ground. Fires erupted from the vehicles as their gas tanks sprayed gasoline all over the warehouse floor.
The novice hitwoman got up and wordlessly looked over to the staircase that Iosef and his bodyguard were hurriedly descending. Yoru started walking toward the pair with her hands in her pockets.
The Tarasov heir's guard noticed her first and raised his pistol at her. But before he could get a shot in, John landed a headshot and the beanie-wearing gangster crumpled to the floor, dead.
*Bang*
"Хуй!! (FUCK!!!)" Iosef yelped as he jumped away from his bodyguard's corpse.
The Russian frantically looked around him and when he spotted Yoru and her father closing in on him, he desperately bolted in the opposite direction.
*Bang*
John calmly raised his pistol and squeezed off a bullet into the fleeing mobster's knee.
"Urrgh!!!" Iosef grunted out in pain before tripping and face planting into the ground.
The Tarasov heir groaned as he tried to crawl away from the two Wicks, but as they steadily closed in on him, he realized he wouldn't be able to.
"こんにちは, уважаемый наследник группы Тарасова. (Hello, esteemed heir of the Tarasov group.)" Yoru snarkily greeted as she knelt down, her salutation dripping with scorn. "Как прошел день? (How was your day?)"
"ИДИ НА ХУ-У-УЙ! (FUCK YOU!)" The Russian angrily swore at her. "YOU KNOW WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN TO BOTH OF YOU!"
The violet-haired school girl remained silent at Iosef's threat, and her father cut in.
"Viggo pulled the contract." John calmly informed the injured mobster. "He gave you up."
"BULLSHIT!" The gangster shouted in disbelief. "YOU'RE LYING!"
"How did you think we found your safe house?" Yoru interjected whilst rising to her full height. "Why do you think this place is not swarming with assassins trying to kill us?"
"NO!!" Iosef cried out, still in denial of his circumstances. "Папа не стал бы- (Dad wouldn't-)"
*Thwack*
The novice hitwoman cut him off with a swift kick to the face.
"Tackkk-" The mobster spat out in pain, his nose bleeding like a fountain after being crushed by the Japanese girl's boot.
"That was for my nose," Yoru started while walking around the downed Tarasov heir. "Whether you believe it or not, all that matters is that no-one will save you."
"Ack!" Iosef coughed as some blood trickled into the wrong hole. "You-"
*Thwack*
A second kick, this time to the side of the mafioso's skull. Crimson blood sprayed all over the floor as his head harshly jerked to the right.
"ARRRGGGHHHH!" The Russian screamed in agony as he clutched his cranium.
"That was for my concussion." The novice hitwoman pulled her leg back and stepped over Iosef.
*Thwack*
Her boot met the Russian's stomach, and he curled in on himself, coughing. Now no longer having the strength to fight, he started sobbing. A pathetic sight for the heir of the once most influential gang in the Big Apple.
Yoru looked down on Iosef and pursed her lips. The teen was no sadist, and beating down on the gangster didn't bring her the cathartic relief she thought it would. He had killed her dog, but seeing the mobster in this state only made her feel terrible inside.
'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,' The rookie assassin thought to herself as she just stood over Iosef, not doing anything for now. 'The singular unspoken rule of the underworld. But... is that really what I want for myself?'
*Step* *Step* *Step*
Yoru looked to her father after he walked to her side. John turned toward her and silently held out his pistol.
The Japanese girl glanced at the polymer handgun and then stared into the Soviet's eyes. After a silent conversation of subtle glances and movements, the teenager grabbed the gun and aimed it at Iosef.
"No-" That's all he managed to get out before a shot echoed throughout the warehouse.
*Bang* *cling cling cling*
The ejected brass casing bounced along the concrete floor seconds before an agonizing scream ripped through the building.
"AAAARRRGGHHH!!!!" The Russian screamed, clutching his newly bleeding knee. "ЧЕРТ ВОЗЬМИ!!! (DAMN IT!!!)"
To the surprise of both John and the gangster, Yoru had chosen to spare his life, aiming for Iosef's other knee instead of his head.
"Come on, dad, we're done here." The schoolgirl announced while she turned around to leave. "He's finished."
The ex-hitman looked back at the groaning Russian for a couple more seconds before following his daughter. The moment he gave her his P30L, the life of his son's boss is now no longer in his hands. Yoru has decided to spare him, and John would respect that decision.
______________________________________________
4 hours later
7:33 PM
"You seem like you have something you want to ask me." Yoru remarked, seemingly out of nowhere.
John hummed, and the purple-haired teen took that as a signal to continue.
"I had a feeling ever since we left the warehouse." The newbie hitwoman elaborated. "And you didn't deny it, either."
"Why did you spare him?" The ex-marine questioned his ward and she nodded.
"Yeah, I had a feeling that's what you wanted to ask." Yoru admitted before taking a deep breath.
"I wanted to kill him." The Japanese girl confessed, and John hummed at her answer. "I wanted to pay him back for everything he's done to us both. Our broken noses, broken bones, concussions and... Daisy."
"But as I kept on beating him, I realized I wasn't enjoying it as much as I thought I would." The younger Wick continued. "By the time he started crying, I realized I would be the same as him if I kept going. I didn't want that for myself."
"... He was done. Beaten. Helpless." Yoru declared after drawing another deep breath. "You burned everything his father worked for to the ground, and making him live through the aftermath is punishment enough."
"So you decided to shatter his other kneecap instead." John pointed out, causing the high schooler to frown slightly.
"He killed Daisy." The teenager solemnly stated, her violet eyes darkening as she remembered what happened less than a week ago. "I chose to leave him alive, but that doesn't mean he won't walk away without any consequences."
"... Bad choice of words," Yoru admitted after letting what she said sink in. "He can't do that anymore."
The Soviet bemusedly snorted, and the two drove on in silence for a couple of minutes before John's phone rang.
*Brrrrriiiinnnnggggg*
"...This is John." The ex-marine spoke into the device after accepting the call.
"Tell your daughter I appreciate her not killing my son." Viggo's voice came through the mobile's speakers and the veteran frowned.
"I know it wasn't you, sparing people isn't your way of doing things." The mob boss continued when John didn't answer. "Fast and efficient, that's you, John. But what happened to Iosef is neither of those."
"Yoru is certainly more merciful than you are," The kingpin declared, while the girl in question looked over to her father. "Just as angry, but more lenient."
"...Why are you calling me?" the retired assassin demanded, and to that, his former boss hummed.
"Marcus betrayed me." Viggo answered, and the veteran's grip on his phone tightened. "And in so doing, he broke the cardinal rule."
"So, John, I had no choice." The Tarasov leader continued. "You may have burnt every shred of influence I held over the city, but the Tarasov mob still has a reputation to uphold."
With that, the crime lord hung up. John quickly shoved his phone in his pocket in cold anger and rapidly made a sharp U turn.
"Dad? What happened?" Yoru worriedly asked her father as their car rapidly accelerated.
"...Marcus." With only one word, the violet-haired teen's eyes immediately widened in realization.
"Oh no." Yoru breathed out, and the Soviet sped down the brightly lit streets of Manhattan, the Charge Dodger roaring while its engines worked overtime.
______________________________________________
Five minutes later
Outside of Marcus's home
*SKKKKRRRRTTTT*
John slammed on the brakes as soon as he was outside of Marcus's house. After the car came to a complete stop, he rapidly shifted the automobile into parking and hurriedly undid his seatbelt.
Likewise, Yoru did the same, and the two Wicks simultaneously stepped outside the vehicle.
The retired hitman briskly walked to the entrance of his former mentor's house and, with a cautious hand over his pistol, walked inside. Though unlikely, Viggo may have ordered some men to hang back at the sniper's house for an ambush. It never hurts to be too cautious.
The metallic smell of blood instantly hit the veteran, and upon reaching the second floor, he saw the American's body.
Sprawled over a bloody mess on the floor of his home, Viggo did not give Marcus a graceful death. With blood stains and ripped fabrics all over the ginger's body, the mob boss must have tortured him before finally finishing the job.
Knowing that Marcus had done everything he could to protect him, John sat down next to his teacher's body, and memories of their first meeting rushed back at him.
______________________________________________
Twenty years ago
1990
El Paso Continental
Texas
"There is someone I'd like you to meet, John." Maria – the assassin's current employer – informed him while she pulled out a seat opposite to him.
"And where is he?" The Soviet inquired in puzzlement, seeing as she neither came in with anyone nor was there a person of note near the table.
"Right behind you." The Latina replied with a cocksure smile.
John narrowed his eyes and turned around. The moment he did so, he spotted a red-haired man standing in a spot that was empty a couple seconds ago.
"This is Marcus." The crime lady introduced the ginger as he politely waved. "He'll be your new instructor from now on."
"Maria, do you find my skills inadequate?" The veteran asked when he turned around again, suspicious of his boss's intentions.
"Oh, no, not at all." Maria shook her head in repudiation. "Your skill as a cleaner is exemplary. Nevertheless, I have received numerous noise complaints regarding your housekeeping. As you know, people in our line of business are meant to be quiet when fulfilling our contracts."
"Marcus here is a loan from our sister location in New York." The mob boss continued while the man in question pulled out a seat in between her and John. "His record is outstanding, and there is no one better for you to learn from."
"Marcus Colombo." Marcus spoke for the first time as he held out his hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"John Wick." John returned the offered pleasantries and shook the Ginger's hand.
"Alright, I'll leave you two boys to it." Maria announced after her phone beeped with an oncoming notification. "I have something I need to run to."
The Latina stood from her seat and left the bustling Continental restaurant, leaving the former marine alone with his new instructor.
"Were you a freelancer?" The New Yorker was the first to break the silence.
The Soviet looked at the older hitman and nodded.
"I see." Marcus remarked in realization. "And you just transferred out of the private sector, right?"
Another question, another nod.
"I believe I know what to do with you now." The American stated. "You need to break the habits you picked up as a freelancer. You already know how to be quiet, now you need to learn how to be unassuming."
"And you're here to teach me how to do that?" John asked, and the ginger smiled.
"Of course." Marcus replied with all the confidence of an old man in a profession where men die young.
______________________________________________
2010
Inside of Marcus's home
7:46 PM
*Brrrriiinnnnggg*
The shrill ringtone of John's phone snapped him out of his flashback. The former hitman took his device out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID.
Seeing that Winston was calling him, the veteran picked up the call and pressed the mobile to his ear.
"I know what you're thinking, Jonathan." The manager's voice came through the iPhone, the anger within his words barely hidden by his polite tone. "We live by a code."
"Which is why I'm not the one telling you that a certain helicopter at a certain helipad is being fueled by a certain someone." John's eyes slightly widened at the ex-businessman's breach of Continental's principles. However, his expression quickly steeled after he hung up the call.
There is only one helipad Viggo controlled and fortuitously, the retired hitman knew exactly where that is.
The Soviet took a final mournful look at Marcus's body and stood up.
"Dad?" Yoru called out and John glanced down at her. "We're leaving?"
The ex-assassin was so lost in his memories, he didn't realize she had come upstairs and plopped down next to him.
"I am." The veteran asserted, and his daughter blinked in confusion. "You're not."
The novice hitwoman opened her mouth to say something, to demand why he wanted her to stay here, but she quickly closed it. Her dad had to have a reason why he didn't want her there.
"It's personal?" Yoru asked after a couple of moments, and John nodded.
"I see." The Japanese teen remarked in resignation; if something was personal to her father, there is no stopping him. "Be careful, alright?"
"I will." John asserted and descended the stairs.
*Vrrrrooonnnn*
From the second floor, Yoru observed the retired assassin speed off in his gifted sports car. The high schooler heaved a deep breath and looked back at Marcus's corpse.
"Marcus, thank you." Even though the sniper couldn't hear her, the purple-haired girl thanked her father's mentor. "For watching out for dad and I."
"You were right when you said you won't be there for him forever." Yoru crouched next to the body. "You just didn't know how quickly you would be proven right."
"You were a remorseless killer, but you weren't a bad person." The teenager reflected while she tightened her right hand into a fist. "You could've easily killed him. Just a simple trigger pull and you'd be two million dollars richer."
"But you didn't." The schoolgirl said as she placed her fist over her heart. "And for that, I hope you can find peace wherever you end up."
"In morte, pares sumus. In morte, renascimur. Mors in vita, vita in morte. Ad superna Omnipotentis vigilantia, oro, ut animae hujus navigationem securam cures. (In death, we are equal. In death, we are reborn. Death in life, life in death. I pray to the heavenly watchfulness of the Almighty to ensure the safe passage of this soul.)" Yoru recited a Latin invocation – something the Director had taught her in case someone close to her had passed – for her father's teacher. "来世での幸せを祈ります.(I wish you happiness in the next life.)"
Once the rookie assassin finished wishing the deceased hitman well, she stood up and began searching his home for his car keys. She respected her father's wishes to handle Viggo and his remaining alone, but that doesn't mean she would just go home.
With her mother and his teacher dead, the novice hitwoman is one of the few people her dad can rely on remaining. Yoru would be damned if he were to die on her watch.
______________________________________________
Ten minutes later
*Skrrrtch*
Yoru stepped on the brakes and her 'borrowed' Porsche 911 slowly decelerated. After the vehicle fully stopped, she killed the engine. The teen then unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out of the car.
*Thunk*
The rookie assassin softly slammed the door shut and briskly walked toward where her father was seated. Her sneaker crushed the loose bits of wet concrete, making every step she took let out a quiet crunch.
The fight John had with Viggo and his remaining men was brutal, and Yoru watched all of it through a sniper scope. The Porsche wasn't the only thing she had 'acquired' from Marcus, the teenager also rummaged through his gun safe and took out one of his other rifles.
But since it's extremely disrespectful to take from the dead, the novice hitwoman swore to return what she took right after this whole debacle had concluded.
Yoru stopped walking and stood over her father's seated form.
"Dad." She called out, causing the Soviet to look up at her. "Let's go home."
The assassin nodded, and the violet-eyed girl crouched down to help her guardian up. John hooked his arm around the high schooler's neck, and she effortlessly hoisted him up.
"I think I saw an animal shelter somewhere near here." Yoru stated, motioning toward his bleeding wound as the two hobbled toward the white vehicle. "I can't find a first-aid kit in Marcus's car, so we can get some medical supplies there."
"I can-" The veteran started, but the teenager quickly cut him off.
"No, we are taking care of this right now." The fledgling hitwoman stopped and firmly told him off.
Seeing as nothing he could say would make his daughter budge, John just nodded and let Yoru lead him toward his mentor's automobile.
______________________________________________
A couple of minutes later
*Smash*
Yoru's fist effortlessly shattered the glass window of the animal shelter's entrance and sent glass shards clattering to the concrete floor. Her hand then reached down and twisted the thumbturn.
*Click*
The lock's deadbolt disengaged with a soft click, and the old steel sill creaked as it opened. Upon opening the shelter's lights, the two Wicks were greeted with a cacophony of barks. The combination of breaking glass and harsh fluorescent lights had awoken every pooch in the establishment.
Ignoring all the howling dogs, Yoru guided her father to an empty seat and ransacked the medicine cabinet.
After pulling out tissue paper, peroxide, and a staple gun, she set them all on a table and doused some sheets of tissue paper with disinfectant. Once the napkins had soaked up everything she poured on it, she picked them up and began cleaning John's knife wound.
The Soviet grunted as the hydrogen peroxide burned the gaping hole Viggo's knife left behind. Fortunately, Yoru was quick, and the pain didn't last long.
The Japanese girl threw the dirtied tissues into a nearby trash can and grabbed the unopened staple gun. She tore the plastic packaging open and hovered the stapler over the stab wound.
"Hold it shut for me, please." The high schooler requested, and the veteran complied, pinching his injury closed before Yoru quickly pressed the stapler onto the cut.
*Clack* *Clack* *Clack* *Clack*
John groaned as the metal staples pierced his skin and held his injury shut. But as his daughter put aside the staple gun and reached for the remaining napkins, the sound of a whimper in a chorus of barks caught his attention.
"All done." Yoru announced after wiping off all the remaining blood on the assassin's stomach. It was patchwork, but it's good enough.
The Soviet nodded and pushed himself off the chair. Shortly after his feet touched the ground, he made his way toward the source of the whimpers and knelt before the dog's cage. Yoru curiously followed her father and peeked over his shoulder.
"Poor thing is going to be euthanized." The teenager sympathetically remarked upon reading the note posted on the bars.
John grabbed one of the nearby leashes and unlocked the corral. The pit bull raised his head, and the ex-marine gently hooked the cord on the pooch's collar.
"It's okay." John whispered to the canine before turning to his ward. "Let's go home."
"Yeah." The teenager nodded in agreement. "Let's go home, dad."
With that, the two Wicks and their newly adopted dog left the animal shelter. They hopped into the borrowed car and with the glittering lights of the big apple serving as their backdrop, they drove towards home.
End of Arc 2: Congregation
______________________________________________
QnA:
Q: Is Yoru a good actor as well like ai is? Or is she more specked towards combat? It will really change how the story go's later.
A: Yoru is not a good actor because she doesn't need it. Remember, Ai only became good at lying and acting after she went to Lala Lai, so I don't think it's something the Hoshinos are naturally good at. Yoru is good at telling if someone is lying or not, but she can't lie that well herself. Other assassins needed to be good actors because they started from the bottom, while Yoru started at the top.
Yoru is an assassin nepo baby.
Q: I have a feeling that Ai's fate will be the same as the original.
A: I am neither confirming, nor am I denying that.
Q: Can I ask if there will be a consistent schedule for new chapters please?
A: I'm sorry, but the answer is no. I try to have a target of one chapter every two months, but since I'm going to college soon, chapters will come out more slowly. (I am majoring in math, so my workload will probably be insane.)
Q: Not really sure what significance the Russian brought to the story since he was just a grunt and why would Yoru even take a second glance at him but not the other grunts she killed?
A: So, my plan for Isaak was to use him to A) Introduce how some people belonging to the crime families John wrecked still hold grudges and B) Tie up the loose end of the Tarasov mob.
Lots of things were left unresolved in John Wick, and I'm hoping to resolve them in Shadow of an Idol.
As for why Yoru took a second glance at him? Well, it's because she is 100% responsible for his death. Unlike the members of the Omi clan where they're A) Forced to be there and B) It's just a job, Isaak trying to kill her is completely personal.
She is the reason he came to Japan, she is the reason why he cut off everyone he knew, and she is the reason why he's dead. And, even though Yoru grew numb to a lot of things, seeing a picture of a man you just killed being happy with his girlfriend isn't something you just shake off.
Q: I think i like it if Yoru end up babysitting the twins only to be mistaken as Ai. She'll see that knife from a mile away.
A: Yes, she will if she was babysitting the kids at the time. She would quite literally no-diff Ryosuke.