Daisuke Jigen's Melancholy Bet: Seven Days Chasing Fujiko Mine - The girl pulls the trigger.

The scent of the tide drifted in, mingling with the night wind. About three kilometers from the coast of Carione stood an abandoned villa — Casa Bianca. The two-story old mansion, its walls riddled with cracks, looked like nothing more than an uninhabited ruin from the outside. But step inside, and the air was different. The bare minimum of furniture had been brought in, and the place was thoroughly cleaned. On the living room table lay a detailed map and several photographs. And by the window, the silhouette of a woman. Mine Fujiko. Moonlight streaming through the window traced the edges of her black hair with silver. Her glossy, waist-length hair was slightly damp and wavy. She must have just stepped out of the shower. Draped in nothing but a white bathrobe, she looked defenseless — her usual calculating smile nowhere to be seen. I, Daisuke Jigen, sank deep into the sofa and lit a cigarette. A thin wisp of purple smoke rose. " No additional intel?" Fujiko turned around slowly. Her large brown eyes fixed on my face. For just a moment, there was a pause, as if she were weighing something. But then her lips curved into a gentle arc. " Oh my, what more could you possibly need?" A sweet voice. The kind that whispers in your ear, the kind that beguiles. She stepped away from the window and passed right beside me on the sofa. The scent of shampoo wafted softly. " About the support. Thought you were doing this solo." Fujiko traced a finger over the map on the table and let out a small laugh. " Her name's Riri. She's useful." That was all. She didn't seem inclined to share her age, her background, or where she'd found her. I tapped the ash from my cigarette into the ashtray. " That it?" " Try trusting me for once." As she said it, Fujiko suddenly slipped her hand into my chest pocket. Her slender fingertips brushed against the cigarette pack. With a delicate touch, she pulled one out and placed it between her own lips. My heart gave a single, heavy thump. The sensation of her fingers touching my chest lingered vividly, even through the fabric of my clothes. I unconsciously held my breath. Fujiko looked up at me, the cigarette still in her mouth. Her eyes, catching the moonlight, seemed earnest — and somehow lonely. (This woman, always like this.) Calculated? Or genuine? I couldn't tell anymore. " ...Do what you want." I averted my face and rose from the sofa. I pulled my Borsalino hat down low and turned my back to her. " The Dockale at the wharf. Behind Warehouse D-21. She'll be waiting around midnight." Fujiko's voice pierced my back. Without looking back, I opened the front door. " Yeah, got it." In the moment I closed the door, I caught a glimpse of Fujiko opening her mouth as if to say something. But in the end, no words came. Outside, the sea wind hit me hard. The smell of the ocean, and somewhere in it, the scent of rusted iron. I pulled out a cigarette and put it in my mouth. The area around my chest still throbbed with warmth. The feel of Fujiko's fingers touching me wouldn't fade. (Do whatever the hell you want.) I clicked my tongue quietly and walked off into the darkness of the night. --- Carione's port warehouse district — known locally as the Dockale. This area, lined with over thirty massive warehouses, was utterly deserted at night. The only sounds were the foghorns of ships arriving at the harbor and the waves crashing against the seawall. Countless shipping containers were stacked overhead, creating a labyrinth of shadows. Warehouse D-21. I arrived at the designated spot just before midnight. In the darkness, with only the moonlight to rely on, I waited, puffing on my cigarette. About five minutes passed. From the shadow of the warehouse, I heard faint footsteps. I dropped my cigarette to the ground and crushed it under my leather shoe, turning my gaze toward the sound. What appeared was a girl. She looked about fifteen or sixteen. Dull blonde hair, cut carelessly around her neck. Through the messy strands, a pair of large blue eyes stared straight at me. A faint burn scar ran from her left temple down to her cheek. She wore a black hoodie and jeans. And on her back, a massive rifle case nearly half her size. " ...Daisuke Jigen, right?" Her voice was small, almost devoid of emotion. It went past unfriendly — it was simply flat. " Yeah, that's me. You're Riri?" " Yes. I'm your support." I looked down at her, exhaling cigarette smoke. Thin shoulders. A small frame. Only the oversized rifle case was jarringly out of place. Honestly, all I felt was doubt — what could a kid like this possibly do? " You've gotta be kidding me. We're using a brat like this?" Riri didn't flinch in the slightest. She just stared back into my eyes. " It's faster to show you than to talk." She lowered the rifle case from her back to the ground and unfastened the clasps. With practiced efficiency, she pulled out the gun parts — bolt, barrel, scope. Her movements were without hesitation, without waste. In less than thirty seconds, a sniper rifle was fully assembled. And then, without warning, she aimed it at a warehouse wall two hundred meters away. The brim of my Borsalino hat swayed slightly in the night wind. I didn't even have time to breathe. — Pashun. The suppressed gunshot was dry, and astonishingly quiet. The bullet grazed the brim of my hat, and my Borsalino went spinning through the air. The hat hit the ground. My heart slammed against my ribs. A cold sensation crawled from the back of my neck down to my waist. For a moment, I was speechless. Riri, expressionless, removed her eye from the rifle scope and said: " I was just demonstrating my ability." Something inside me snapped. " You little...!!" I clenched my fist and took a step forward. Rage boiled and churned deep in my chest. My hat. My precious Borsalino. She'd shot a hole through it. But in the next instant, Riri's gaze suddenly shifted sideways. " ...They're coming." Her voice was as flat as before. But her blue eyes had changed — they were the eyes of a sniper who'd found her prey. Cold, and razor-sharp. " What's —" From the shadows of the warehouse, four men emerged. All of them wore black coats. Submachine guns in their hands. The murderous glint in their eyes, their movements without hesitation — these weren't ordinary thugs. A Leavenzaan reconnaissance unit. " Daisuke Jigen, huh." The man at the front said it curtly. My right hand moved to my holster on instinct. " I've got no name to give you bastards." — In that instant. Gunfire roared. My S&W Model 19 spat fire. A 0.3-second quick draw. The lead man's submachine gun was shot out of his hands and clattered to the ground. He screamed, clutching his hand. " Not done yet!" Second shot. I shot through the shoulder of the second man closing in from the left. Blood sprayed, and he slammed into the wall. But there were four enemies. The remaining two spread out left and right, raising their guns. A pincer attack. (Shit —) I was standing in a spot with almost no cover. Where could I hide? At that moment. From behind me, two gunshots rang out in quick succession. Dry sounds. A sniper rifle. Before I knew it, the enemies on both sides had fallen, one after the other. One was shot through the knee, the other through the hand gripping his pistol. Precise, merciless shooting. I turned to see Riri, prone on the ground, aiming her rifle. Her eyes through the scope were sharp beyond her years. " One more." She murmured it, then stood up to reposition. In that instant. — A gunshot, like the guttural snarl of a beast, rang out from diagonally behind us. One of the men who should have been down was still moving. He'd fired a concealed compact handgun at Riri. "—!!" Riri gasped sharply. My body moved on reflex. Before I could think, I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward me. I stepped forward, shielding her with my own body. A warm sensation spread gradually from my left arm. Riri's body stiffened for a moment. She seemed unable to process what had just happened in front of her. " Don't move." I pushed her behind me and aimed my revolver at the last man. I pulled the trigger. Third shot. The man's handgun shattered, and he collapsed with a scream. The fight was over. Only the sound of the harbor waves seemed unnaturally loud. All four enemies lay sprawled on the ground. Their injuries weren't fatal, but they wouldn't be moving for a while. " ...You hurt?" I glanced at my own left arm. The sleeve was torn, blood seeping through. A stray bullet had just grazed me. Nothing serious. Riri stared at my arm, her breath catching for a moment. " ...You protected me." Her voice trembled just a little more than before. " Obviously. You're my partner." After saying it, I surprised myself a little. Partner. The word had come out naturally. Riri was silent for a while. She looked at the spent shell casings on the ground, the fallen men, and my face, in turn. Because Fujiko-san told me to protect someone important to her. Riri said that. "Fujiko did?" "Yes. Because you're the person she chose." She said it with her gaze still averted. I felt a sharp, burning sensation deep in my chest. Fujiko chose me. Maybe she hadn't meant it that way. But somewhere in my head, her words echoed. "...Is that so." I picked up my Borsalino hat from the ground. I brushed the sand off with my hand and pulled it down firmly on my head. The brim of the hat still bore the mark where Riri's bullet had grazed it. Deep in my chest, I felt that I had changed, just a little. "Riri." I put a cigarette in my mouth and lit it. "From tomorrow, we move at my pace. Got it?" Riri's eyes widened for a moment. But then, the corners of her mouth relaxed ever so slightly. "...Understood." She answered as she packed her rifle back into its case. I found myself walking over to one of the fallen scouts. I searched through his pockets. I was just hoping for some kind of information. What my fingers found was a small matchbox. Pagina Persa — Italian for "The Lost Page." An antiquarian bookshop in Carione's old town. Pietro Cavaliere's shop. A custom-made item, not sold commercially, given only to his clients. My fingertips twitched. Slowly, I slipped the matchbox into the inside pocket of my jacket. "What did you find?" "...Nah, it's nothing." I took a drag of my cigarette and exhaled the smoke into the night wind. Unconsciously, I clenched the ring finger of my left hand. The scar throbbed, as if aching. The informant Pietro was leaking our movements to Leavenzaan. I didn't have proof yet. But this scar was warning me — don't trust that man. (Anyone you trust will inevitably betray you.) The sea wind blew through, cold. A ship's horn sounded in the distance.

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Episode 3

Name: Daisuke Jigen's Melancholy Bet: Seven Days Chasing Fujiko Mine
Author: Novelia

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