[The Girls' School Teacher] (Episode 3, Chapter 4)

Chapter Four: The Wanted Robber

March 26th, a Monday, I arrived early at a nearby exchange. Having changed my appearance

, I opened a new account under a false name. Back home, I leveraged all 5.2 billion yen with a 30x

leverage, temporarily borrowing 156 billion yen, and bought into the

Nikkei index, which was expected to plummet within ten trading days starting the next day. This short-selling force,

while noticeable given the daily trading volume of trillions of yen in the Japanese stock market, was insignificant.

Using 30x leverage to short the market within ten trading days required immense courage.

While 30x leverage offered huge opportunities, it also carried immense risks.

If the price didn't reach my expectations within ten trading days, or if the drop wasn't significant enough,

even a 2% loss would trigger immediate liquidation by the bank, leaving nothing but 5.2 billion yen.

My certainty stemmed entirely from the rules of the assassin world. From the moment they contact the first assassin,

if the first assassin disagrees or is unwilling to take the job, they usually find others, but without exception, they all

complete the task within ten days. This is because the longer the time frame, the easier it is for information to leak. No one can

guarantee that every assassin they find will keep it secret.

Ten trading days plus two holidays, twelve days in total, is more than enough time. The next step is to see when

they strike.

Yesterday, in an email from William, I received the data for the third target.

Basic information: Saijo Takamori, Nara native, male, 55 years old, Oji Paper's Tokyo headquarters administrative

department.

Personality and hobbies: Meticulous and ruthless, never easily trusting others. In his 35-year career,

he has framed five people for promotion, causing their families to be destroyed, with one family member committing suicide by poisoning.

Family situation: Wife and son, mistress unknown.

Activities: Strictly adheres to the line between company and family, working overtime at the company until 9 PM after work and then

going home. Besides playing golf on holidays, he has no other hobbies.

The employer's requirements: die suddenly in the headquarters office that night.

One of the rules my father set for me was that an assassin cannot be completely ruthless; the person they kill must

have committed a heinous act deserving of death, otherwise, they are absolutely forbidden from taking action. On this point, no one dares to lie to North America's number one assassin.

Therefore, from the first day I entered the assassin's profession, I required employers to write down the evil deeds of the person they were to kill.

Hence, whether in North America or Japan, I have never killed a single honest and kind person. Oji Paper is Japan's

largest paper company and a key member of the Mitsui Group.

Offering ten million US dollars for just one of their administrative division heads seems like a waste to me; it would be more reasonable if it were their president.

I stayed home meditating until six in the evening before going out. For some reason, Lily hasn't

cooked for me these past few days, and the lights in her house haven't been on. She must be out of town.

The headquarters of Oji Paper Manufacturing Co., Ltd. is located in

Ginza The "Oji Paper Manufacturing" lettering on the building is visible from afar, its glowing surface making it easily identifiable.

Although it was already dark, the surrounding streets and buildings were vibrant, neon lights illuminating every corner of

the building exterior. Performing Spider-Man here would be highly inappropriate. Having altered my appearance, I had no choice but

to enter the building, glance at the plaque next to the entrance, and take the elevator to the 38th floor, where the administrative department was located.

The Japanese have a habit of working overtime, and even at 6 PM, there were many people coming and going, but it wasn't too much of a nuisance.

In any modern building, ventilation openings are essential on every floor, and they do indeed connect to

every room. However, while there are many scenes in movies where someone rushes out of a ventilation opening to commit murder, I can

say with certainty that this is practically impossible in reality. Because a ventilation opening is simply a partition between the floor and the ceiling,

made of ordinary sheet steel, capable of supporting a maximum weight of 30 kilograms. An ordinary person rushing into a ventilation opening

would immediately fall down without even needing to climb, and might even end up with a swollen face. However, the ventilation shafts weren't

inaccessible . For example, after gathering my inner energy and pressing myself tightly against the stone slab above, I could crawl smoothly

without touching the thin iron plate below.

Even so, it required an enormous amount of inner energy. After searching through more than twenty offices of

varying sizes , I had almost exhausted half of my inner energy before finally finding a spacious office. Inside sat

a middle-aged man with a somber expression, engrossed in writing something. After a long while, he finally raised

his head, his face dark. I sized him up; this was none other than Saijo Takamori, the man I was looking for.

I had no intention of understanding the task at hand. Through the gap in the louvers of the ventilation shaft, I

flicked a finger, accurately striking his "Kishe acupoint."

With that flick, the equivalent of fifty kilograms of force struck his "Kishe acupoint." Saijo Takamori

suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest. He had just touched his chest when, due to ischemia, he couldn't catch his breath and collapsed onto the table in

agony .

I never doubted my skills. Seeing this, I quickened my pace,

returning to the small bathroom room where I had entered through the ventilation shaft before anyone outside noticed. After restoring everything, I calmly

walked towards the elevator.

Stepping out of the building, I suddenly heard the sharp wailing of sirens. Dozens of police cars and

motorcycles sped past in the darkness, heading towards the distance. I smiled slightly. Being an assassin has its

troubles ; for a moment, I thought they were coming to arrest me!

The streets and alleys of Ginza were teeming with people. There were many entertainment options at night, but most of the crowds were

foreign tourists.

I didn't hail a taxi here but walked towards a less crowded area. Soon, I passed through several

narrow streets, and the road ahead grew increasingly dark.

"Oh!"

A soft groan reached my ears. My hand instinctively tightened, and I looked towards

the source .

It was in an alley behind a large building, surrounded by piles of garbage. Behind the garbage piles

sat a young man in his twenties. The groaning sound just now came from this person, after seeing...

My brow furrowed at first glance at him, because of his pale face and the pool of blood on his chest.

Besides that , there was a large bag beside him, the contents of which shimmered with a golden or bright white

light under the moonlight. The young man saw me then. He seemed to want to raise his hand, but didn't. He gave a bitter

laugh: "Please...please come here...I beg you!"

Remembering the line of police cars that had just passed by, I smiled and said, "You robbed a jewelry store?"

"Yes...yes."

The man was already very weak. He forced himself to speak: "I...I beg you to help me, to do

me a favor...please!"

"Tell me what it is?"

"I...Toshima Ward, Nishi-Sugamo...5-301, 18th Street...my wife...Yamashita Keiko

...these things...for her..."

"Why?"

I looked at him calmly: "Robbing a jewelry store is a crime, and you want me to deliver the stolen goods for you?"

"No...no...her...her eyes...can't see...this money...for her...to...renew...

her eyes ...to see...the morning sun..."

I had already decided to turn and leave, but after the young man said these words, I stopped.

When I wanted to ask him more questions, the man had already fainted.

After a moment's thought, I touched the young man's body a few times, temporarily sealing the blood vessels

around . Then I turned and left, finding a small parking lot. A few moments later, a

van pulled out and parked on the side of the road. I carried the young man and his large bag, stuffed them into the van,

and sped away .

Three blocks away from Suzuki's private clinic, I abandoned the van, carrying him and the

bag myself, and darted through the streets, quickly entering the clinic's second floor through a window.

It was 7:30 PM. Suzuki Kyoka's office was brightly lit, and she was busy when she suddenly heard

the door open. Startled, she looked up, her face immediately turning to surprise and delight.

"Sir, what brings you here?"

The beautiful doctor stood up with delight.

"Get ready quickly, we're about to start surgery,"

I ordered in a deep voice.

"Surgery?"

Kyoka was taken aback. "Isn't it Saturday? Today is Monday, and the patient hasn't arrived yet."

"It's not that person."

I shook my head. "Don't disturb anyone else. I'll perform the surgery alone. You can assist me."

Kyoka opened her mouth, as if to say something, but instead gave a "yes" and quickly disinfected and changed

into her surgical gown with me. When she entered the operating room a step behind me and saw the man in his twenties lying on the operating table,

and the small bullet hole in his chest, she couldn't help but gasp. "Don't be nervous. Quickly come over and help connect

the cardiac assist device. Prepare 300,000 units of cardiac stimulant and 5,000 units of Docalomel antiseptic injection. Be

quick."

I coldly ordered. At that moment, I had transformed into the number one

surgeon .

"Yes!"

Perhaps suppressed by my imposing presence, Kyoka quickly regained her composure and began preparing the supplies.

"He was shot by a shotgun commonly used by security guards at banks and jewelry stores; it's very powerful. After the bullet left the barrel,

it dispersed into dozens of pellets that hit his chest and abdomen. We need to remove the pellets as quickly as possible, then

scrape away the rotten flesh at the gunshot wounds. If he shows signs of weakness, administer a cardiac stimulant."

As soon as I finished speaking, I picked up a scalpel and began operating rapidly on the young man's body.

Every now and then a crisp sound echoed on the metal tray—the sound of pellets being removed and injected.

I've performed dozens of such surgeries, but previously they were all on robust robbers brought in by the police. This

young man was far too weak; before I could even remove all the pellets, he was already

breathing heavily and extremely pale.

"A 100,000-volt cardiac stimulant, intramuscular injection," I ordered coldly, frowning. I was

already enough, but he still couldn't hold on. How could someone with such a weak body be a professional robber?

Kyoka was already dazzled by the flashing blades before her eyes. She had seen me use a knife before, and while I was fast

, she had never imagined someone could perform surgery so quickly. Nodding in agreement, she

injected into the young man. A thought crossed Kyoka's mind: "Sir, your knife skills are probably

comparable to the legendary number one swordsman in North America, aren't they?"

With the help of the stimulant, the young man quickly regained some strength, and his breathing became much calmer. I

had also removed most of the iron filings, finally helping him through the most difficult hurdle.

I continued working without slowing down, explaining to Kyoka the force and

angle , what constituted rotten flesh that needed to be removed, and when to use sterilizing agents… By the time I finished the surgery and

explained, an hour had passed.

After Kyoka bandaged his wound, the young man fell into a deep sleep. Although his body was extremely

weak, his life was no longer in danger.

"Kyoka, continue the IV drip. Fifty milliliters of Robis II antibiotics, mixed with three thousand milliliters

of saline solution , at a rate of twenty drops per minute."

After leaving the operating room and removing my surgical gown, while washing myself, I thought for a moment and said, "Also… do you have

a secluded place here?"

Kyoka looked at me and said softly, "There's a storage room built downstairs, but it's never been

used ."

"Does anyone else know about it?"

"No, only my father and I knew. Now my father has passed away…"

Seeing Kyoka's delicate face darken, I gently patted her back: "Don't be sad. The old man's favorite thing

was for you to be happy."

Hearing my comfort, Kyoka wasn't moved; instead, her expression was strange: "Sir… I never thought you

could be so gentle…"

My face flushed slightly, and I coughed lightly: "Alright, let's not talk about that. Let's move him to the secluded room first. Don't forget

to keep an eye on the oxygen supply."

"Okay."

Kyoka went out, and I followed behind her. After a long while, I finally settled the young man in.

"You'll take care of him from now on. Don't trouble anyone else,"

I said casually, sitting in Kyoka's office and sipping the tea she had brewed.

"Yes, Kyoka knows,"

Kyoka replied softly. She stood beside me without sitting down. I turned to look at her and noticed her

eyes were fixed on a large bag under the table. The glittering gold, silver, and diamonds were almost blinding under the light.

"What, you want these things?"

"Ah, no, I don't want them."

Kyoka was startled and shook her head repeatedly, but couldn't help asking the question that had been on her mind: "

Sir , who...who is he? Is he a robber who robbed a jewelry store?"

Although Kyoka was stubborn and kind, she was also a smart girl. From the gunshot wound on the young man

, and my explanation that shotguns were common in bank and jewelry store robberies, plus seeing

the large bag full of gold, silver jewelry, and diamond rings, she could easily figure out what was going on.

"Yes."

"Sir!"

Kyoka's pretty, spirited face instantly filled with anger: "You! How can you

speak so calmly? He's a robber! He could very well have hurt someone! Why should we save him instead of

handing him over to the police?"

"He didn't hurt anyone."

I looked coldly at Kyoka, took a gun from my bag, and snapped it in two. From

the crisp sound and the hollow interior, Kyoka keenly realized it was a replica gun; although it looked very

similar , it was ultimately fake.

"He... he's so bold! He actually dared to rob someone with a fake gun!"

Kyoka said in a trembling voice, "But sir, that's still not a reason for us to save him!"

"You nagging woman!"

I glared at her, but Kyoka looked back at me without fear.

I stood up and walked a few steps to the door, noticing two pairs of eyes following me closely behind. It seemed Kyoka

still hadn't given up on finding out the truth.

"He said he robbed me to pay for his wife's blindness treatment."

I paused, and as I walked out of the room, my cold words reached Kyoka's ears. By the time she looked up at me with teary

eyes and wanted to ask me more questions, I had already disappeared.

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