Shot. Blood splashes on the snow.

Another Mafia target has been killed. Mission successfully completed. Your excellent work will be praised once again.

But it didn't matter anymore. With each kill, you killed a part of yourself, eventually becoming the embodiment of the word hopelessness.

Looking at the bloody streams, you heard the familiar voice of a senior colleague, whom you clearly did not expect to see here— Chuuya Nakahara.

"Hah, what a mess you've made here."

Chuuya spoke, approaching slowly.