Only two people knew about the bomb in the car, Vodka and Gin.
There should have been a bomb installer among those who knew, but the mission was so important that Gin silenced them.
The rest of the personnel only know the two pieces of information: the car and the bomb, such as the citizens who lost the vehicle, the police personnel who received the alarm notification, and the organizational logistics personnel who took out the quantitative bombs from the warehouse.
They only know the information individually, and it doesn't add up to 'there's a bomb in the car'.
So the question is, how did the new guy know?
Under Gin's cold gaze, the newcomer was still studying the cell phone as if he didn't notice the cold line of sight, or if he was just used to it and ignored it.
"This cell phone is special, can't you send messages to other people?" He made a discovery. "Can you only send messages to the numbers in your address book? It's you, isn't it? Why don't you put your name on it?"
"I'll try. Ah, it's working."
Gin's cell phone vibrated.
He took out his cell phone and saw a cold white screen with black letters: [Good morning.]
"I'm sure it's you, I put a note for you," The newcomer didn't even look up, pressing the buttons one by one, "It's early in the morning, 'good morning' is a bit strange, let me think about the words used in neon greetings."
Gin's cell phone vibrated again, and a very solemn and formal message appeared: [
Not a phrase that could be used in a casual everyday context, but a very formal 'nice to meet you' when facing an important boss.
That's very respectful.
However, the respect of this message contrasted with the careless attitude of the newcomer, and it seemed like it was a conspiracy.
Gin stared at the cold light of his cell phone screen and slowly raised his eyes.
The newcomer smiled at him in a good mood, as if he had solved some problem, "You don't like to smile by nature."
It was just a bit of a deliberate attempt to shirk the blame, "It's not my fault that you don't smile, it's your fault. You don't like to smile by nature."
After making up his mind, he was in a better mood and reluctantly answered the question Gin dared to ask, "'Why do you know there is a bomb in the car?' Isn't it something you can tell at a glance?"
'Condescending' and 'daring' are Gin's senses.
Gin: "..."
"Why are you getting more angry? I didn't intend to set off the bomb," the newcomer looks at him a few more times, thinks, and then kindly reminds, "You'd better set off the bomb farther away, five meters from the car."
Very kind indeed, "That way, when the car explodes, you can take the ambulance to the hospital."
After saying that, the newcomer paused, stared at Gin for a moment, and changed his tone: "I'm just being nice and reminding you that the bomb in the car is a little shoddy and unstable, and it's going to take you by surprise. If you don't want to go to the hospital, you can stand at the end of the alley and detonate the bomb."
"Of course, that's going to require some good marksmanship."
Gin said coldly, "I have a remote control."
You don't need to be close enough to detonate, and you don't need to be blown up.
...And for some reason, Gin really didn't want to get too close to the car, and planned to detonate the bomb far away from it.
He stepped quickly out of the alley, swept back, and said, "Follow me."
The newcomer followed.
The nearby alleys and streets extend in all directions. It is early in the morning, and even the street lights are dim. As long as you pay attention to avoiding the noisy police officers, you can listen to your own footsteps and take a relaxing walk in the middle of the night.
"You are in a state of excitement," Gin listened to the footsteps and heard that the newcomer had deliberately hidden his footsteps and overlapped with his, turning the movement of two people into the movement of one person. He did not look back and spoke in a calm tone. "Is it because of killing?"
The newcomer's not in the right state.
Tonight, Gin met the newcomer for the first time, but he met him twice, one time to issue a mission and the other time to settle a mission.
The newcomer had barely said a word from start to finish when he issued the mission, only silently surveying Gin, and even more silently when he received the mission, simply following the trail and leaving.
But now.
The newcomer's every word was like a taunting provocation, one after another, firmly pulling Gin's hate value.
It's a bit of a death wish.
Gin was provoked.
This is not the same as his initial state, and the newcomer is clearly in a special state.
"Is it because of killing?" the newcomer repeated. He did not answer immediately, but looked at Gin steadily. Seeing that Gin was aware of the sight behind him without turning around, he smiled and said, "Yes."
He took three steps in front of Gin, scrutinized him for a few seconds, and stopped for a split second.
In the next second, he laughed again, "So you meant to kill Yamano Tarō, I almost misunderstood."
The newcomer is really polite. For example, now, he politely asked: "Can you make it more clear next time?"
"It's really troublesome to interrogate you."
Gin: "..."
Just staring at each other, and that's 'interrogation'?
This guy, he's really...
It seemed that he finally noticed his unhappiness. As if he had just remembered it, the newcomer stiffly explained the point that he was quite concerned about, "By the way, I know that there is a bomb in the car because I have been in the car and the car has been modified. It left traces, and those bombs are so inferior that there is a smell in the air."
A good explanation, but not as good as no explanation at all.
Isn't this a good time to explain that you knew Gin was suspicious all along, but just pretended not to know?
"The 'excited state' you mentioned is not quite right," the newcomer added, "I just feel a little more relaxed, and, yes..."
Players always treat NPCs that they have carelessly killed without doing anything wrong, just like when playing a game, when their cat comes over and rubs its belly, and caresses its fur gently.
Ichijō Mirai didn't say anything.
He had a feeling that if he did, Gin, who wasn't a big smiler by nature, would feel slighted, and would become even less of a smiler by nature.
Forget it.
"You can think whatever you want," Ichijō Mirai gave up explaining and was particularly tolerant of novice instructors with health bars, "Is there a mission?"
Gin stopped.
He pulled up to his car on the side of the road and unlocked the door with the key, "Not at the moment."
"Someone from the organization will contact you in the next couple of days for a medical checkup, which will include a psychological test, and I'll schedule you for a mission when the results come back."
The car looked much better than the one in the alley, but it was still clumsy, like a black bear.
"I've answered you, and you still haven't answered me," Ichijō Mirai raised his hand and leaned against the window, "What year is it?"
Inside the window, Gin gave a cold glance, "1984."
"Find yourself a place to stay for the next two days, anywhere, and I'll know where you are when I need to find you."
"If you're smart," he stepped on the gas, "you'll know not to try to contact the police."
The car took off.
Ichijō Mirai pulled back in time to stand up straight, frowning as he waved the car's exhaust, "There's no need to restore reality at this point, is there?"
"It's a bit hard to do that with a temporary residence..."
He looked up and surveyed his surroundings.
The intersection was silent in the early hours of the morning, the skyscrapers were still lit up, but the neighborhood was almost all drab, even the streetlights were dull.
Only a few homes were lit.
"It's a game with a lot of freedom," Ichijō Mirai repeats thoughtfully as he stares at the nearest lighted house, "you can shoot, you can kill, even car exhaust is there."
Repeating it over and over again, his eyes slowly lit up and he smiled: "The problem of temporary residence is actually easy to solve."