The restaurant was situated on the second floor, Table 14 positioned by the window. Through the luminous glass pane, the pedestrians traversing below represented the city's pulse. Only those unacquainted with this city could perceive a distinct sensation. Inoue Jun was currently experiencing it.
Beyond commanding troops, he was also a renowned poet, holding a position within Japanese literary circles. However, today was destined to mark the end of his life.
Standing softly before the table, "Your filet mignon, medium-well," 13 introduced proficiently, placing the iron platter elegantly upon the table.
Perhaps disturbed, Jun lifted his head, observing the slight boy before him.
"Thank you," he replied courteously.
13 remained silent, unfurling the napkin. Inoue accepted it, positioning it before him. 13 removed the cover. Everything transpired naturally, adhering to dining protocols.
"I don't recall seeing you previously," Inoue remarked after a brief pause, lowering his napkin.
"I just arrived today," 13 replied with a smile.
"Is that so?" Inoue paid little heed, retrieving his wallet. He had never been parsimonious with gratuities.
"Unnecessary," 13 intercepted the large denomination bill already extended towards him.
"Why?" Encountering a waiter averse to tips for the first time, Inoue inquired curiously.
"Because the price you must pay exceeds this." Before he could comprehend, 13 deftly grasped the steak knife from the table.
The bodyguards beside him leaped up in alarm. In the instant before their firearms could be drawn, the broadly serrated blade accurately sliced across Inoue's throat. The motion was truly swift; Inoue's eyes held not even a flicker of fear, still retaining a look of perplexity.
Glancing sideways at the nearest individual, whose gun was nearly drawn. Leaning diagonally, he forcefully pressed the handgun back into its holster. Before surprise could register, the elbow used for leaning struck squarely upon the heart. A transient numbness rendered the towering bodyguard incapable of resistance. The bloodied knife plunged into his abdomen, the blade rotating upwards, lifted diagonally past the shoulder, severing a row of ribs entirely. Blood gushed forth.
The firearms of the remaining three were already aimed. Before they could utter "Don't move," 13 had already discarded the knife onto the floor, hands raised above his head.
Smiling silently.
For the three individuals wielding firearms, the initial assessment concluded the assailant had surrendered; they did not immediately execute him. One was dispatched downstairs to notify their comrades. Fundamentally, all actions represented the most prudent choices, yet they confronted 13.
After one departed, he dashed forward towards the nearest individual. The moment the opponent pulled the trigger, he inclined his body diagonally. 13 heard the sound of a glass shattering behind him. Joining the four fingers of his left hand, executing an extreme gyration, his arm traced a graceful arc, simultaneously slicing across the opponent's throat. Perhaps overly horrific, the other patrons stared blankly at the unfolding events, forgetting even the instinct to scream.
"Do you still wish to witness the conclusion?" 13 inquired softly with a smile.
A single sentence reminded everyone.
"Ah!..." The panicked crowd surged towards the sole exit, effectively blockading the soldiers attempting to ascend from the ground floor.
The lone remaining bodyguard trembled, gazing at 13, now entirely drenched in blood, his lowered arm still dripping the blood of his comrades, drop by drop. The hand holding the gun quivered. The last man standing, as if confronting a demon.
"Don't come closer!" The bodyguard shut his eyes, frantically pulling the trigger, emptying the magazine. Upon reopening his eyes, 13 stood beside him. His left hand lightly clasped the bodyguard's neck; his trembling was clearly palpable.
"Why must you kill us?" the bodyguard questioned blankly, his voice loud.
"Shh..." 13 gestured for silence, pointing towards a sign on the wall.
Turning his head to look, it read:
"Please do not disrupt the precious tranquility within the city; allow our hearts to relax in such an environment."
"Not too loudly. You may relax now." 13 tightened his left hand. With merely a soft sound, the bodyguard's entire cervical spine fractured.
While the soldiers were still contending with the diners for the staircase, 13 had already departed effortlessly through the rear exit.
The entire assassination process concluded within two minutes.
Having changed clothes, walking along the crowded street, 13 silently remarked: "First."
July 30, 2013.
"Bang!" A heavy impact sound. Hideaki furiously slammed the report onto the new desk.
"Although I anticipated this, your incompetence is somewhat excessive, wouldn't you agree?!" He gazed helplessly at the rigidly standing subordinates before him. "Merely five days, and this is the twelfth casualty report I've received! All victims were officers ranked colonel or higher? Did you not receive my notification? When Inoue died, I explicitly stated, order all officers to behave themselves, refrain from wandering about! Yet? This fellow is the most ludicrous..." Hideaki held up the report. "He actually died in a prostitute's bed! Whose subordinate is he, damn it?"
An officer, face beaded with cold sweat, stepped forward; the insignia on his shoulder indicated the rank of Major General.
"Are my words difficult to comprehend?" Hideaki inquired quizzically.
"N-no... Your Excellency," the Major General's legs trembled.
"Perhaps you have forgotten my authority," Hideaki reminded calmly. "Prior to deployment, both the Diet and the military granted special approval: anyone defying my orders can be executed, regardless of rank, without recourse to a military tribunal. Do you wish to be the first person upon whom I exercise this authority?"
No one dared speak; the atmosphere grew increasingly heavy.
"Very well. Aside from Miyamoto, I wish to see no more of you imbeciles! Get out, leave me in peace. Lastly, ensure you remember my words clearly!" Hideaki looked sternly at each person. "At the very least, reduce the fatality rate to one person every two days!"
No one understood Hideaki's words.
"Ultimately, it still comes to this," Hideaki sighed.
"Was it 13's doing?" Miyamoto closed the door.
"Have you reviewed the reports?" Leaning back in the plush chair, "Every victim had bodyguards present at the time of death, yet none survived. It has been confirmed the assailant acted alone, without even using firearms. Within Korea currently, aside from him, I can conceive of no other."
"I still advocate imposing martial law upon the city and conducting a thorough search; otherwise..." Miyamoto's expression was grave.
"The concerns you raise, I contemplated long ago. I suspect that, in the short term, 13's plan is precisely this." Hideaki looked directly at Miyamoto. "He intends to completely dismantle our command structure."
"Therefore, I believe..."
"Say no more." Hideaki interrupted Miyamoto. "That course of action is absolutely forbidden; otherwise, news of 13 will inevitably leak. The situation would then become far more troublesome than it currently is."
"But if this continues, our own lives will be endangered," Miyamoto's concern was for Hideaki.
"It matters not. I will devise means to deal with him." Hideaki crossed his arms over his chest. "Before long, he will perish at my hands."
One hour later, at an ordinary intersection on a Seoul street.
13 carried an elongated guitar case, waiting with the common crowd for the red light. His gaze fell upon a child beside him. Dressed in an elementary school uniform, the child shivered intensely, palms slick with perspiration.
Battlefield intuition informed 13 that the situation was not as simple as it appeared. The red light began to flash.
Closing his eyes, listening intently, the familiar ticking sound emanated from the child's schoolbag.
Opening his eyes, the green light illuminated. Yet, no one moved from their spot. Fully armed soldiers blockaded the road. A neat convoy approached, the solar flag fluttering on the lead vehicle signifying the occupants' rank.
The child's gaze shifted back and forth between a cartoon wristwatch and the convoy.
Judging by appearance, the child was no older than twelve. Thick eyeglass lenses suggested diligent studies. Perhaps mere curiosity.
13 sighed, crouching down: "Is the timer set?"
The child turned his head abruptly, startled, looking at the unfamiliar man.
"Remember to identify the target clearly before acting. You won't get a second chance," 13 smiled.
"How did you know?" the child asked, alarmed.
"Look at the sweat on your face, nervous as a little chick," 13 affectionately patted the child's smooth hair.
"Don't touch me, strange old man!" The child angrily slapped 13's arm away.
"'Old man?'" 13 pointed at himself quizzically.
"Always speaking with an air of knowing everything, looking down on children. If not an old man, what are you?" The child articulated his reasoning clearly.
"So that's how it is." 13 awkwardly scratched the back of his head.
"I warn you!" The child seized 13's collar with a juvenile arm. "Since you know my business, I advise you to leave quickly, or perhaps I'll kill you too!"
13 felt an urge to laugh. Although countless individuals had threatened him throughout his life, this was undoubtedly the youngest among them.
The convoy slowly approached. The child's gaze returned to it.