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"Welcome. From now on, you're a member of the Organization."
Gin was an old hand. He saw exactly what Steven was doing and grinned as he holstered his gun.
"That's it? Just like that?"
The Black Organization's interview process felt absurdly sloppy. Not professional at all.
Even shady factories asked more questions when hiring. He'd wasted all that time coming up with high-end slogans.
Steven complained silently, completely caught off guard by how easy it was.
"Then what did you expect?"
Gin lit a cigarette and signaled Vodka to pour the drinks.
"..."
Steven had nothing to say. His gaze drifted to Vodka, and a strange thought popped into his head.
Vodka pours the liquor, Vodka drinks the liquor. Interesting.
"Don't get too excited. New recruits start as外围 members. Complete your promotion tasks and you'll become an inner member, with a codename of your own."
"If you want to rise to executive level, seniority alone won't cut it. You'll need to make outstanding contributions to the Organization."
Talented people who stayed calm under pressure were exactly the kind of subordinates Gin desperately needed.
Admiration aside, procedures still had to be followed.
"You were personally selected by me. Complete just one task, and you'll be promoted directly to an elite member, with clearance to enter the Organization's base."
So the Organization ran on a promotion system.
That said, Steven actually thought Gin was pretty decent. He knew when to bend the rules.
But Steven joined for one reason only: money, and someone to take the fall. Promotion meant nothing to him.
"This task will also test your abilities, so the Organization can assign you suitable missions in the future based on your strengths."
"The target for this mission is this guy."
Gin pulled out a photo and placed it in front of Steven.
The photo showed a man with a sharp, weasel-like face. His neck and hands were dripping with jewelry, the textbook look of a newly rich thug. An address was written on the back.
Straight to murder and arson. Typical of the Winery.
"This rat is from the Monkey Kingdom. He used to do business with the organization. Got too greedy, crossed the line, and learned things he shouldn't have."
"Remember, the job isn't done until you personally confirm his death."
Gin flicked away his cigarette butt and lit another one.
Is this guy a walking chimney or what?
Steven smoked too, but nowhere near this level. One cigarette after another. Was he not worried about dropping dead from lung cancer someday?
Looks like those fake liquors really put him under a lot of pressure.
"If there are no other questions, go complete the mission. You have three days. I'll be waiting for good news."
"There are. Of course there are questions."
Not just one. Steven had a whole pile of them.
"Let's hear it."
Gin looked surprised and took a sip of his drink.
In the past, whenever he assigned a mission, no one had ever dared to say they had questions.
"What's the organization's compensation like? Monthly salary? Does it include social insurance and a housing fund? How many hours a day? Weekends off or not? How many vacation days a year, and are they paid? How's overtime calculated? Is there a year-end bonus…?"
Steven rattled off everything every wage slave cared about.
If there was no money to be made, why would he bother joining the Winery?
"???"
Gin and Vodka stared at each other, completely baffled by the sheer number of questions.
"You don't get it? Yeah, I guess that's a bit too advanced for you."
Steven rubbed his forehead, suddenly remembering the time period.
The Detective Conan world had crazy-fast tech development, but the timeline was still the 90s. A lot of these concepts probably hadn't even been invented yet.
"Does the organization provide funding when carrying out missions?"
He rephrased it in a simpler way.
"Yes. Depending on the difficulty, the organization provides corresponding operational funds."
Bang!
Without another word, Steven pulled out a bank card and slapped it on the table.
"Transfer the money. Operational funds."
Only an idiot turns down free money. No matter how much, cash in hand was what mattered.
Before transmigrating, Steven had been a miserable college student. Just chasing after his goddess meant tightening his belt to the extreme. Even after a month of part-time work, he often couldn't afford a proper meal.
If the Winery was willing to provide mission funds, he'd grab a chunk first and worry about the rest later.
"This mission is an ability test. You're not eligible to apply for operational funds."
Gin froze for a moment before speaking slowly.
"What did you say? Then how much is the bonus after completing the mission?"
Steven's eyes turned cold. In his system inventory, the spiked club was already itching for action.
Learning nothing good and instead copying capitalist tricks. Empty promises and fake checks. Were they tired of living?
Before transmigrating, he hadn't officially entered the workforce yet, but he'd been screwed over plenty of times while doing part-time jobs.
Before the job, bosses made all kinds of promises. Bonuses, subsidies, you name it. Talked a big game.
When it came time to pay up, suddenly there were excuses. Or they'd deliberately find fault and dock his wages.
Back then, Steven didn't have the strength to fight back. He could only swallow it and take the loss.
But now things were different. He had a system, buffs and skills stacked on him. What the hell was there to be afraid of?
"None."
The moment Gin finished speaking, every hair on his body stood on end.
An invisible, biting killing intent wrapped around him.
Danger!
Surviving joint manhunts by multiple countries without even exposing much of his identity, Gin relied on an almost supernatural sense for lethal threats.
Right now, he knew exactly where the danger was coming from.
"Organization rules. Test missions and promotion tasks don't come with operational funds or bonuses."
"But normal missions do provide operational funds and generous rewards. Complete ten missions in a year, and the organization gives an extra bonus, at least five million dollars."
"Additionally, elite members receive protection, vehicles for daily travel, and a monthly living allowance of one hundred thousand dollars, all provided by the organization."
Good thing Gin explained quickly. Otherwise, Steven's spiked club would've already smashed his head open.
"Sounds pretty good."
Steven thought to himself.
Just the monthly allowance alone, one hundred thousand dollars, was nearly fifteen million yen.
Sure, the missions were dangerous, but fortune favors the bold.
If you weren't licking blood off a blade, you wouldn't be worth that price anyway.
Come to think of it, Steven had once seen rankings in the Detective Conan fandom. Everyone said Karasuma Renya was rich enough to rival nations, far wealthier than even the Suzuki Group. Looks like it wasn't an exaggeration after all.
No wonder he could build the Twilight Mansion out of gold. Money clearly wasn't an issue.
"Just don't lie to me."
Steven left those words behind, grabbed the target's photo, and stood up to leave.
Boom!
Moments later, another wine bottle on the table exploded, spraying Gin and Vodka with alcohol. A warning shot.
"Interesting."
Gin let out a cold chuckle. He already knew the outcome of this mission.
"Boss, that guy's way too arrogant. Should we…?"
Vodka raised his hand and made a throat-slitting gesture.
"Steven is rare talent. People who love money are pure. Easier to control than people who crave power. What we really need to watch out for are the clever little rats inside the organization."
Gin lifted his glass and drained it in one gulp.
"....."