News came in: Scotch was suspected of being a NOC—a non-official cover agent.
I was the first to hear of it, receiving a direct call from Rum himself.
It seems they have started treating me entirely as an executioner.
Meanwhile, Rye, who happened to be near the scene, had apparently already begun the pursuit. Gin, who was reviewing plans with me at the safe house, shot me a malicious grin the moment he heard the news.
"If Rye fails, you finish the job, Bourbon."
"Understood... but setting the dirty work aside, didn't we agree that tracking and pursuit aren't my strong suits?"
"Never mind that. Just wait until Rye corners him."
Locating a mole who has gone to ground requires counter-intelligence skills I simply do not possess. It was impossible for me.
True, I can erase my presence like a predator, which makes me excellent at eavesdropping. However, when it comes to digital forensics or complex social maneuvering, I am hopeless.
Perhaps that is why I abandoned the role of the "Great Detective" prescribed by the original storyline. The real Furuya Rei is truly formidable.
Just then, my phone rang. Unknown number.
Everyone here calls from withheld numbers; is it some sort of trend within the Organization? Well, given that it is a criminal syndicate, anonymity is standard practice. I suppose I can't complain.
"Bourbon speaking," I answered. It was Rye, the man currently hunting Scotch.
Simultaneously, GPS coordinates were transmitted to my device.
Rye skipped the pleasantries and got straight to the point.
"Based on his current trajectory, the target is heading south along the main road. Are you receiving the data?"
"Thanks, Rye. I'm heading to the location now."
"I'm sending the data because those are my orders... but let me tell you this now: there is no place for you here, puppy."
Rye spat the words out in a low voice that dripped with ice.
He had been treating me harshly of late.
I understood his caution; as a fellow potential mole, he was wary of me playing the "executioner." However, I felt that displaying such open hostility was counterproductive.
Or had I unwittingly done something to offend him?
In any case, Gin was watching me. Though my response would seem curt, I had to match his tone.
"That isn't for you to decide. Your results will speak for themselves."
"...Tch."
I had anticipated that Scotch's cover might be blown, so I began preparing for this moment with meticulous care several days ago.
Rye is destined to eventually leave the Organization as an FBI agent.
That meant if Rye eliminated Scotch himself, it could later cast suspicion that he had merely faked the traitor's death to aid his escape.
Preventing Rye's cover from being blown was an option, but not one I particularly favored.
I wanted to avoid reducing the number of allies available to Conan—the hero of this world—as much as possible.
That left me with only one choice.
I would stop Rye from letting Scotch escape and pretend to execute him myself. In reality, I would place him under the protection of Public Security.
Gin, listening in on the call, snorted derisively; Rye's arrogance had clearly rubbed him the wrong way.
"I take back what I said. Go rub his nose in the dirt, you Wolf Dog."
"Understood."
Gin's orders gave me the freedom to move, which was convenient, but there was a problem: my objective and Gin's were diametrically opposed.
Sorry, Gin. I'm a NOC, too.
I sped out of the safe house, intercepting the target's predicted escape route.
I drove the RX-7 with caution—fast enough to be effective, but careful enough to avoid a crash.
Frankly, I have no talent for precision skills like driving or handling firearms.
Brute force suits me best. Still, I'm at that awkward age where I yearn to learn proper martial arts, too.
I parked in the first lot I found—1,000 yen per hour.
I walked until I was close to my destination. From an alley devoid of pedestrians, I used my claws to scale the building wall, making my way to the roof.
This trick ensured I avoided appearing on any surveillance cameras.
After that, all that remained was leaping from one building to the next.
A short distance away, the silhouettes of two figures appeared on the roof of a desolate, abandoned building on the horizon.
Oh, it was the exact scene from the original story—the moment Rye, or Akai Shuichi, reveals his identity as an FBI agent.
I had to hurry, or it would be too late.
I sprinted up the side of a towering hotel adjacent to the target building, positioning myself like a hawk diving upon its prey.
A massive, soundless leap, followed by a rapid descent.
The image of the two men rushed closer at breakneck speed.
Here and now.
"Scot—"
Rye tried to say something, but I ignored him.
The instant my feet touched the ground, I tore into Scotch's torso with my claws in a swift, violent motion.
The sound of flesh tearing. The pungent scent of blood.
Fake gore from the special blood pack scattered and clung to my claws.
I had already arranged for Scotch to wear a special blood pack fabricated by Public Security, so this was all nothing more than a visual trick.
Blood sprayed profusely, staining Rye's face red.
"..., ——!"
A terrible, suffocating silence descended upon the scene.
I flicked my claws in a single motion, and the fake blood flew off, leaving them perfectly clean.
(That needs improvement; real blood doesn't come off that easily.)
Scotch, who had looked panicked for a split second, now played dead with utter perfection.
I considered what my first words to the silent Rye should be, but I had to say something.
"..."
"Betrayal is met with punishment... isn't that right?"
(It almost went the other way around...)
This was no time for inside jokes. It seemed I had provoked him too far.
I felt a terrifying killing intent radiating from Rye, hitting me like a tidal wave—the gaze of a raptor locking onto its prey.
He must have been furious, believing Scotch had been killed. But directing killing intent at me in a situation like this was incredibly reckless of you, Akai Shuichi!
If you are pretending to be an Organization executive, then play the part properly!
"...Stealing another man's prey shows excessively poor manners. Just what I'd expect from a dog."
"First come, first served. Please, don't hold a grudge."
The excuse for the kill rolled off my tongue smoothly; smart people truly are quick-witted.
If my opponent here were Gin, he probably would have killed me before I uttered a single syllable of justification, but there's a time and place for everything.
It is rare to find someone who treats gunfire as casually as he does; he sends incompetent subordinates to hell without a second thought.
You really need to conserve human resources more, Gin.
I carelessly hoisted Scotch's fake corpse onto my shoulder and lifted him up.
For this body, the weight of a grown man was a negligible burden.
In fact, these claws alone weighed ten kilograms, and this body possessed the muscle to swing them without losing balance.
Rye's gaze was sharper than a razor blade.
Forgive me, but I also have my reasons for not revealing my identity as a Public Security officer.
...And the moment I stood up, a violent, sudden dizziness washed over me.
Was something stirring deep within this body's subconscious? Had something happened to Furuya?
Rye noticed my suspicious pause and looked skeptical, so I slowly adjusted Scotch's position on my shoulder to avoid appearing unnatural.
The dizziness was intense.
It felt as though someone was screaming and thrashing inside my heart.
"Well then, I will take my leave now. I have to report to Gin."
"...Ah."
With the level of trust I currently enjoy, I could deceive even Gin with a simple "I disposed of the body my way!" It would be easy.
Cleaning up the bloodstains and faking the corpse would be a bit of a hassle, but I had paid specialized collaborators in cash to handle it.
I had also contacted the Public Security team by phone from the car.
All that remained was to hand over Scotch at the rendezvous point—a simple task.
I left the scene, leaping between buildings using the grappling hook just as I had come, and Rye's figure began to fade into the distance.
Slung over my shoulder, Scotch murmured in a hesitant, disjointed voice:
"Bourbon. You probably didn't know, so I can't blame you, but it seems that man was an FBI NOC."
"...Is that so?"
"Shouldn't we tell him the truth?"
"No. I have orders from above to conceal my affiliation as much as possible."
In reality, these were strict orders I had recently received from Public Security: "Maintain absolute secrecy."
The real reason seemed all too clear; they feared the scandal and bad reputation if it became known that the infamous "Wolf Dog" belonged to Public Security!
This was no time for sarcasm.
In the worst-case scenario, Public Security might disavow me.
Though I wasn't too worried—most would prefer to keep me under their control and put a "collar" around my neck rather than unleash a force like me into the underworld...
Still, caution was necessary.
"...I'm sorry. This all happened because of my weakness."
"It's not your fault, Hiromitsu. I'll update you on the original persona's condition after we complete faking your death, so just rest for now."
"Thank you. Zero must have survived thanks to you, too."
"I hope... that is true."
Morofushi Hiromitsu smiled gently, despite the blood dripping from his midsection.
It was good that I managed to save him. Furuya should feel reassured by this.
And given the disturbance I felt at the bottom of my subconscious, he must have finally awakened.
I would check on his condition later.