Onboard a military cargo plane cutting through the skies toward Korea, Goto sat silently, his expression as unreadable as ever. The hum of the engines was the only consistent noise, occasionally broken by chatter among the passengers. Next to him was a middle-aged man, the owner of a defense technology company known for its cutting-edge innovations. The man glanced at Goto, curiosity evident in his eyes.
"So, are you really out of this line of work?" the man asked, his tone light but probing.
Goto turned his head slightly and replied with a terse, "Yes."
Before the conversation could continue, another man seated across from them leaned forward, adjusting his sunglasses. His demeanor was relaxed, almost mocking. "No need to be so cold, Goto," he said with a smirk. "It's not like you've turned into a monk or something."
Goto didn't even acknowledge him, keeping his attention fixed ahead. The man in the sunglasses chuckled to himself, clearly entertained by Goto's indifference.
Breaking the awkward silence, Goto turned to a man seated nearby. This one was markedly different—dressed in a sharp suit, a bulletproof vest peeking out from under his jacket, and a handgun strapped securely at his side. His air of professionalism marked him as someone who knew how to operate in the shadows.
"I need you to find someone," Goto said plainly, his voice low but firm. "Locate him as soon as I land."
The man in the sunglasses let out a laugh. "What did this poor guy do to get on your bad side? Break your favorite toy?"
Ignoring the remark, Goto waited for a nod of confirmation from the man in the suit, who simply replied, "Understood."
Moments later, two fighter jets appeared, flying in close formation alongside the plane. The passengers murmured among themselves, but Goto remained unfazed. The escort continued until the plane began its descent, and soon, the runway came into view.
After the plane touched down, the passengers disembarked one by one. The man in the suit lingered, handing Goto a satellite phone before stepping off the aircraft. "I'll get the information as quickly as possible," he assured him.
Goto nodded but didn't immediately follow. He remained seated until the plane was empty, savoring the moment of solitude. When he finally rose, he pocketed the satellite phone and made his way to the exit ramp.
Outside, the disembarked passengers were greeted by government officials, handshakes and polite formalities exchanged under the watchful eyes of armed personnel. Goto bypassed them entirely, walking straight toward a black car waiting near the edge of the tarmac.
As he approached, the rear door of the vehicle opened. A man sitting inside leaned out slightly, his expression cautious but respectful. "I was sent by James Park," he said, his tone implying that the name should carry weight.
Goto paused for a fraction of a second before climbing into the car without a word. The door shut, and the vehicle pulled away, leaving the airport and heading toward a less populated area.
The route wound through increasingly deserted streets, the cityscape giving way to the outskirts. Goto leaned back in the seat, his face illuminated sporadically by passing streetlights. After a while, he pulled out the satellite phone and dialed the number the man in the suit had given him.
When the line connected, Goto spoke without preamble. "I don't need the information anymore," he said curtly before ending the call.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one, he cracked the window slightly and let the smoke drift out into the cool night air. The rhythmic hum of the tires on the road was the only sound, punctuated by the occasional flick of ash from his cigarette.
As the car approached an abandoned industrial area, Goto exhaled deeply, the smoke curling around him like a shroud. Whatever awaited him in the shadows of Korea, he was prepared. He always was.