BLACK LAGOON: Rock's Choice - The Spider's Web of Roanapur
Okajima Rokurou had a future. A salaryman's future—steady, predictable, safe. Then Asahi Heavy Industries handed him a classified disk and a one-way ticket to Southeast Asia, and his superiors made one thing perfectly clear: *"You never existed. Not from the start."*
Erased. No passport. No family registry. No name.
He wakes in a warehouse in Roanapur—a sun-scorched city of cutthroats and contraband that appears on no map, where the only law is the balance of power between Hotel Moscow, the Tr
BLACK LAGOON: Rock's Choice - The Spider's Web of Roanapur - The Pier's Trap — The Smiling Boss and the Emperor with the Cold Gaze
The smell of rusted iron mingled with the morning air.
Rock folded the thin blanket on the second floor of the Lagoon Company warehouse and looked out the window. The cobblestone alleys of the old town were already bustling. Smoke rose from food stalls, carrying the smell of something frying in oil all the way up here. In the distance, a low thud resonated in his gut. A gunshot. He realized he'd stopped being startled by them.
(It's only been a few days since I came to this city, and already...)
Rock rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and retightened his black necktie. He ran his hand through his neatly parted black hair. His fingertips brushed the small old scar above his left eyebrow. Just a nick from the corner of a document back in his Asahi Heavy Industries days—nothing worth mentioning. But he'd never let it fade.
When he came downstairs, Dutch was at the office desk with a map spread out. A bald, muscular man wearing goggle-style sunglasses. The boss of Lagoon Company. He held an oil-stained pencil, and several hand-drawn floor plans were lined up on the desk.
"Good morning, Dutch."
"Yeah. Come over here. Time to go over the operation."
Rock stood beside Dutch. The papers on the desk showed rough sketches of buildings—rows of rectangular warehouses with narrow paths running between them. Here and there were "X" marks and numbered notes.
"This is the layout of Pier Three. Zhang's turf—about eight hundred containers stacked there. Seven warehouses. Thirty guards at all times. Drops to fifteen at night."
Dutch tapped the edge of the sketch with his pencil.
"This is where you're infiltrating. The eastern warehouse block. Matches the intel Garcia coughed up about where Zhang's new deal is going down. Officially it's a storage facility for used machinery, but really it's a staging ground for smuggled goods."
"What about the guards?"
"Two at the warehouse entrance. One at the back. Patrol pairs every two hours. One watchtower at the southwest corner. At night, the tower man takes turns napping. That's your window."
Rock studied the sketch intently. He assembled the route in his head. Enter through the front, which path to take, where to search for intel. And if he got caught—how to escape.
(In short: I infiltrate alone and steal the details of the deal. That's the first phase of Balalaika's request.)
Dutch looked at Rock's face. His expression behind the goggle sunglasses was unreadable.
"Any questions?"
Rock hesitated for a moment.
(There are things I want to ask. But should I say them out loud?)
"...Dutch, let me confirm one thing."
"Go ahead."
"This infiltration—aren't I the decoy?"
Rock's voice was quieter than he'd expected.
The office fell silent. From the maintenance bay, the only sound was the metallic clink, clink of Benny tinkering with something.
Dutch set down his pencil. Then he slowly turned toward Rock.
"Why do you think that?"
"It's Balalaika's request. Someone like her wouldn't suddenly entrust a critical infiltration to an amateur like me. Besides, if she wanted intel on Zhang's deal, there are more reliable methods. Like having Levy beat it out of someone."
"Keep going."
"If I infiltrate and fail, it becomes Lagoon Company's responsibility. But I'm not an official member yet. I'm easy to cut loose. In other words, I might be being used as a disposable pawn with no safety net. That's what I think."
Rock said it all in one breath.
Dutch was silent for a while.
The metallic sounds from the maintenance bay stopped. Benny was listening too.
"You're right."
Dutch spoke in a low voice.
"It's highly likely Balalaika is using you as a decoy. Drawing Zhang's attention to you while she advances her real objective. That's the kind of woman she is. But, Rock—"
Dutch clenched the hand resting on the sketch.
"Even if you're a decoy, a job's a job. My role is to raise the odds you come back alive. The floor plans, the guard intel—I prepared all of it for that. You'll carry a radio too. Anything happens, call in. Levy'll come flying."
"...Understood."
Rock couldn't say anything more.
Dutch's words weren't a lie. But they weren't the whole truth either.
(In this city, everyone uses someone. I'm one of them now.)
Rock murmured it in his heart.
Benny walked over to Rock. A slim frame in oil-stained work clothes. Behind his glasses, his eyes looked at Rock with a hint of worry.
"Rock, here. This is for you."
Benny handed Rock a dark navy jumpsuit. The cuffs were frayed, stained with oil.
"Worker's uniform. I made a few modifications—added a hidden pocket inside. Stash the radio in there. And here's a fake ID. It's under the name of one of Zhang's subcontractors."
"Thanks, Benny. I appreciate it."
"Don't forget the stun gun either. For self-defense."
Rock took the small stun gun from Benny. A black rod that fit in the palm of his hand. When he flipped the switch, blue-white sparks crackled.
"...Can this actually take someone down?"
"Hit 'em in the neck and they'll be out of commission for a few seconds. It won't kill anyone. Fits you, right?"
"It does."
Rock slipped the stun gun into his inner pocket.
Levy came down from the second floor. Black tank top, short hot pants. Her black hair pulled back in a ponytail, her sharp amber eyes glaring at Rock. The tribal tattoo running from her neck to her right elbow stood out vividly in the morning light.
"Today's the big day for you, right?"
"Yes. I'm heading to Pier Three now."
"Huh. With that face, you're gonna pretend to be a worker? Hilarious. You look like a new hire showing up for an interview."
"...Does it really look that way?"
"It does. Well—just try not to die."
Levy said it and gave Rock a light jab in the chest.
"You'll be standing by on the radio too, right?"
"Obviously. You call, I fly. I'll save you before I even finish reloading."
"That's reassuring."
Rock smiled.
Levy stared at his smile for a moment, then clicked her tongue quietly.
"Seriously, where does that composure come from?"
"It's not composure. It might be closer to resignation."
"...Idiot."
That was all Levy said before walking off toward the maintenance bay.
Rock changed into the worker's jumpsuit. He stripped off the white shirt and tie and pulled on the dark navy suit. He looked in the mirror. What stared back was a worn-out worker—nothing like the man he'd been yesterday.
(This is who I am today.)
Rock hung the fake ID around his neck and slipped the compact radio into his pocket. The stun gun went into the hidden inner pocket.
When he came downstairs, Dutch was waiting.
"Get going. Anything happens, push the radio. That's all."
"Yes. I'm off."
Rock opened the warehouse door.
Morning light flooded his eyes.
The cobblestone alleys of the old town were already full of life. Stall smoke, voices, car horns. Another gunshot rang out in the distance.
Rock took a deep breath.
(Let's go.)
He took a step forward.
At that moment, in a black van parked in the shadows of an alley near the Lagoon Company warehouse, a man lowered his binoculars.
He flipped the switch on his radio.
"This is Purifier Three. Target is on the move. Worker's uniform, alone, heading toward Pier Three."
A voice crackled back through static.
"Copy. Follow him. I'll inform Mr. Omori."
"Copy."
The black van pulled out slowly.
It followed Rock's back, keeping a steady distance.
Rock still didn't know.
That every step he took had been watched from the very beginning.
That his infiltration was a road leading straight into the heart of a massive trap.
Pier Three was twenty minutes by car from the old town. A maze of containers spread across the mouth of the Kharon River.
Faded containers were stacked toward the sky along the wharf. Iron boxes piled in chaos, forming narrow passages. The sea breeze carried the smell of rusted metal and salt.
At the pier entrance, Rock showed his fake ID to one of Zhang's private soldiers.
"...A subcontractor for Wei Xin Trading. What do you want?"
"Inventory check for Warehouse Seven. My boss told me to count the stock by end of day."
Rock answered in the most natural worker's tone he could manage.
The soldier looked back and forth between Rock's face and the ID. Then he confirmed something over his radio.
"...Go ahead. But don't leave the warehouse area. Patrols are circulating."
"Understood."
Rock stepped inside the pier.
Walls of containers closed in from both sides. He couldn't see the sky. Only thin slivers of light leaked through the gaps between the iron boxes.
(Warehouse Seven is the farthest one on the east side. According to the map, straight from here, then left at the third corner.)
Rock pushed the radio earpiece into his ear and started walking.
His footsteps echoed off the iron walls.
Clank, clank.
Only his own footsteps, sounding unnaturally loud.
Warehouse Seven was a size smaller than the others, its old iron door shut tight.
Rock circled around to the back entrance.
He undid the padlock with the duplicate key Benny had prepared. A small click.
(No one should be here... hopefully.)
Rock slowly pushed open the back door.
The hinges creaked.
Inside was dim.
Wooden crates and machine parts were piled haphazardly in the high-ceilinged warehouse. The back was swallowed in darkness—he couldn't tell what was there.
Rock killed his footsteps and moved deeper inside.
That was when it happened.
A voice came from the back of the warehouse.
"...So, can you make the delivery deadline?"
Rock froze in place.
(Someone's here.)
Rock hid in the shadow of stacked crates and held his breath.
The speaker seemed to be in the back, in what looked like a dim office space.
"Yes, of course, Mr. Zhang. With our company's technical capabilities, setting up mass production is child's play."
Another voice.
The moment Rock heard it, he felt the blood freeze in his veins.
(That voice...)
Rock peered cautiously through a gap in the crates.
Deep in the dim warehouse.
Two men faced each other across an old desk.
One was a man with short-cropped black hair mixed with gray, wearing sunglasses. An old scar on the back of his right hand. He sat deep in his chair with a relaxed, easygoing air.
(Zhang Wei Xin... head of the Zhang faction of the Triad.)
The other was a man in a suit, smiling.
His hair was slicked back, and he wore silver-rimmed glasses. At first glance, he looked like any ordinary, good-natured middle-aged salaryman.
But behind that smile, Rock sensed an indescribable coldness.
(Omori... Genzou.)
Rock killed his breathing.
His heart pounded painfully.
(Why is Department Chief Omori here?)
Omori Genzou.
When Rock had worked at Asahi Heavy Industries, this man had been the section chief of the Materials Department's Southeast Asia Division. Rock's direct superior—always smiling, but behind that smile, a man who would discard his subordinates without a second thought.
"Mr. Zhang, regarding the merchandise—we can deliver the first lot by the next full moon. The purity is incomparable to anything before."
Omori spread documents across the desk.
"Oh? I look forward to it."
Zhang studied the documents through his sunglasses.
"However, Mr. Omori. Your company's methods are always too hasty. I can't have you doing anything that disrupts the balance of this city."
"No need for concern. We wish to coexist with you, Mr. Zhang. This is strictly business. A win-win relationship, wouldn't you say?"
Omori's smile never wavered.
Rock listened to their conversation, holding his breath.
(Scarlet Mist... the new drug deal. This is the intel Balalaika was after.)
Rock reached for the radio's record button.
That was when it happened.
"Who's there?"
Omori's voice rang through the warehouse.
Rock froze.
(Did he spot me?)
No—that wasn't it.
Omori was looking directly at the direction where Rock was hiding.
Still smiling.
"Stop hiding and come out. Isn't that right, Okaj
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