Thinking of this, a faint smile tugged at the corner of Kaji Ryōji's lips.
"Talk. Exactly what did Kirov tell you? Spit it all out—otherwise, you'd better start worrying about your lives."
Kaji pulled the bolt on his weapon, then gave a few hard taps with the muzzle against one man's head, his tone cold and sharp.
"I don't know—I don't know anything. Our boss sent us. When Kirov came to see him, I just happened to be there. That's the only reason our boss ordered us to kill you." The man's voice trembled, clearly lacking the bravado of the leader from before.
"Boss? Who's your boss?" Kitazawa Ryōta frowned. So these people weren't even Kirov's men—then why had they come to kill him?
"Our boss… is Miloshevic."
"What? Miloshevic?" At that, Yamamoto Takehito, who had been standing to the side, widened his eyes. His voice carried both fear and rage, all tangled together. "You're with the Solntsevskaya Bratva!"
"Hahahaha, that's right, you yellow-skinned dog. Looks like you recognize the mark of the Solntsevskaya." The Russian enforcer laughed loudly. "Be smart and let us go, or no matter where you run—not even to the ends of the earth—our people will make sure you die without a grave to be buried in."
"The Solntsevskaya?" This time, it was Kitazawa and Kaji's turn to glance at Yamamoto, wearing puzzled expressions.
"The Solntsevskaya Bratva is the largest mafia organization in Russia, and one of the most notorious in all of Europe," Yamamoto explained, steadying himself. "They're powerful enough to rival the Italian Mafia. In fact, their influence is so deep they can sway the Russian political arena itself. To call them the shadow hand behind Russia would not be an exaggeration."
"But why would the Solntsevskaya come after us?" Kaji frowned and shook his head.
At that, all eyes turned back to the man who had just confessed. The gang member stammered, "I don't know. I really don't. All I know is, after Kirov met with our boss, our boss ordered us to kill you. That's it. I don't know anything else."
"You believe I won't blow your brains out?"
Yamamoto's voice was seething with fury—it was clear he truly wanted to put a bullet in the man's skull.
"Forget it. He really doesn't know," Kitazawa said, stopping Yamamoto's interrogation. "This is going nowhere. I think he's already told us everything he knows. Even if you killed him, you wouldn't get anything new."
"Then what now?" Yamamoto asked, still bristling with anger. "The Black Dragon Gang may not control Japanese politics, but in our world we're one of the top organizations. I've crossed paths with Miloshevic before, and this bastard dares try to kill me? Is he not afraid of starting a war between the Black Dragon and the Solntsevskaya?"
It was obvious Yamamoto wasn't going to just swallow this insult. As a seasoned underworld boss, backing down without payback was simply impossible.
Kitazawa and Kaji exchanged a look. If they wanted to get to the bottom of this, they'd have to go to Kirov.
After all, Kirov was a drug trafficker—much easier to approach than Miloshevic himself.
Maybe, just maybe, the key to the whole mystery was in Kirov's hands.
The three of them worked together to bind the Solntsevskaya thugs hand and foot, then dumped them in an abandoned construction site. Even if they screamed themselves hoarse, they wouldn't be getting out.
They weren't killers—especially Kitazawa, who only took lives when they truly deserved it. These men had merely followed orders. If he could spare them, he would.
After that, the trio immediately drove back toward Tverskaya Street.
When they returned, the street was as quiet as ever. This was Moscow's worst crime zone, where gang wars broke out often. Even in broad daylight, few dared to show their faces—let alone at night, when the place became a criminal's paradise.
Their car tore down Tverskaya Street like the wind and stopped in front of the same inconspicuous café as before. The three men got out.
Yamamoto stormed inside, rage radiating off him, his gun already drawn.
"Kirov, you dog-bastard! I'm gonna blow your head off!"
The sudden outburst stunned the café's staff—and also startled Kirov, who was sitting quietly in a corner.
"You… it's you?!"
Kirov's eyes went wide in disbelief. He couldn't seem to comprehend how Yamamoto could still be alive. When he caught sight of Kitazawa and Kaji behind him, the blood drained from his face.
He stumbled back, voice trembling. "What… how are you still alive? Why aren't you dead?"
"Heh. What's the matter, Mr. Kirov? Were you that eager for us to die?" Kitazawa smiled faintly—an innocent-looking smile that only made Kirov's heart pound faster.
"No… impossible. If the Solntsevskaya wants someone dead, they don't fail," Kirov muttered.
"So it really was you," Kaji said, nodding slowly. "You sent the Solntsevskaya after us. Unfortunately, we're not dead. So tell us—why did you want to kill us?"
"Hmph. So the Solntsevskaya couldn't get you—lucky you. But I'm not so easy to deal with either! If you think you can just make me talk, you've got a long way to go!"
Kirov's face darkened in a flash. In one motion, he yanked a gun from his waistband and fired at the three of them.
As a major drug lord, he was used to people coming for his head—so he always carried a gun, just in case.
Sure enough, the instant he pulled the trigger, he moved like a man who'd rehearsed it a hundred times—vaulting over the bar counter and making a dash for the back door.
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