Some time has passed since my encounter with Lupin, and my status as "Bourbon," an Organization executive, is now more solidified than ever.
I had expected to face punishment, major or minor, for the mission failure that day. But... the outcome was genuinely shocking.
I had severely underestimated the weight the name "Lupin the Third" carries.
The mere fact that I engaged Ishikawa Goemon in direct combat—and survived—holds incredible currency in the underworld.
I hadn't realized that at all.
When I submitted my report detailing the battle, Rum was completely stunned.
It caused such an uproar that Kir specifically infiltrated the hideout again to retrieve the surveillance footage and verify my claims.
Consequently, the video of that brief skirmish—which could hardly be called a fair fight—was screened before all the executives.
What the hell is this? A public execution?
Even Gin wore a shockingly vicious grin. "Not bad, rabid dog," he said.
Tequila shuddered with exaggerated theatrics. "Good lord, that's terrifying. Truly terrifying. That wasn't a fight between humans."
In stark contrast, Rye stared at the screen in dead silence, which was unnerving in its own right. Please, say something.
In stark contrast, Rye stared at the screen in dead silence—a reaction unnerving in its own right. Please, say something.
Consequently, instead of punishment, I ended up securing the status of the Organization's "hidden trump card."
Assault operations dropped off significantly, replaced by cushy tasks that amounted to nothing more than standing behind Vodka, smiling, while he delivered threats: "You know what happens if you break your promise to us... don't you?"
It seems I have been promoted to something of a "showpiece," or perhaps the Organization's ultimate weapon.
The truth, however, is that I couldn't even put a scratch on Goemon.
It is truly sickening.
Incidentally, when Kazami received the report, he nearly passed out from shock; his eyes practically rolled back in his head.
I apologize for being unable to report on any peaceful missions... and thank you for reaching out to Scotch.
Scotch's attitude has softened somewhat, and he has even started joining me for drinks lately.
The only drawback is that his conversation revolves entirely around Furuya Rei: "Will Zero wake up?", "How is Zero doing?", "What do you think of Zero?"
Still, compared to the time he shoved a gun in my mouth, this is well within the acceptable range. He is actually quite kind.
As for Furuya-san himself...
"Please wake up, Furuya-san!"
"...Aah."
"Open your eyes. Teach me boxing, please!"
".... Mm."
He has started responding to me, just a little.
Though he remains a specter, drifting aimlessly at the bottom of deep water with his eyes wide open.
Through trial and error, I discovered that if I press my forehead against his, I can pick up fragments of his thoughts.
For now, however, all I get are sensations: "sleepy," "tired," "exhausted."
He feels like an overworked salaryman on his day off. Are you alright, Furuya Rei?
"He was truly strong. Ishikawa Goemon was an absolute monster."
"..."
"Also, since I'll have more freedom of movement going forward, the volume of intelligence I pass to Kazami-san is likely to increase. I will need to filter it, but that is a separate issue."
"..."
"One other thing caught my attention: suspicious activity regarding the XXXX Pharmaceutical Company. I plan to investigate further."
I make it a habit to talk to myself every morning in those waters where he drifts.
I do not know if he can hear me, but I decided that filing reports is better than leaving nothing.
This way, Furuya-san can grasp the situation—at least partially—the moment he wakes up.
As an undercover operative who cannot risk writing anything down, this is the best I can do.
"That concludes the current report. I will take my leave."
I bowed respectfully to Furuya Rei, who stared back with empty eyes, and ascended from the depths of consciousness.
I felt a strange vertigo, as if the change in water pressure had thrown off my equilibrium, but it must have been an illusion.
It was a mental image, like breaking the surface of the water for air.
When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by the same messy safe house I had seen before diving into the subconscious.
Piled at my feet were instructional books on boxing.
I spend my downtime reading them and studying the movements, but the results are hardly promising.
Realistically, I should join a gym, but running into one of Furuya Rei's acquaintances would be too dangerous.
Nothing ever goes quite the way I want it to.
Even though Irish occasionally agrees to spar with me, my amateurish, theoretical approach doesn't cut it.
He usually ends up giving me a wry smile. "I get that you want to incorporate martial arts," he told me, "but if it throws off your natural rhythm, it's pointless."
He is absolutely right.
My fighting style relies on feral instinct.
Trying to graft formal martial arts onto that inevitably creates a clash of styles.
I glanced at the iron claws leaning against the wall in the corner and let out a long sigh.
They were the replacements for the set Goemon had sliced through.
The Organization's development team had crafted this masterpiece to be both harder and more resilient, boasting that they were "strong enough to withstand even the Zantetsuken."
That is simply impossible, you people.
I reached out and slowly strapped the bladed claws onto my arms.
They have become terrifyingly familiar—almost a natural extension of my body.
Even though, in the beginning, I wanted to scream: "I'm not a Dragon Quest martial artist! How am I supposed to fight with these things?"
The year has turned, and Scotch's exposure as a NOC is likely drawing very near.
I looked out the window to see snow piling up in silence, transforming the world into a sheet of pure white.
It seems to be a rare heavy snowfall. If I turned on the TV, the news would be dominated by it—endless reports of traffic delays and transport paralysis.
Feeling Furuya Rei slumbering deep within me, I watched the snowflakes dance as they fell, my mind drifting.
What am I supposed to do when that day comes?