Time ticked away, second by second. Soon, the Mission Hall was packed with assassins.
Though the room was filled with low murmurs and the clinking of glasses, every eye in the building was fixated on Shiranui Hayate's table. Sensing the audience had reached its peak, Hayate stood up.
As he moved toward the massive electronic bounty screen, the crowd's gaze followed him in a synchronized wave. He stepped up to the dais, pointing a kunai directly at the ten-million-dollar contract posted by Sloan.
"The Continental... home to eighty percent of New York's elite hitmen," Hayate's voice boomed, cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "I see many of you are here for this."
He paused, scanning the room. "I, Shiranui Hayate, am here to tell you—and every shooter in this city—that this bounty is a provocation I will not tolerate. As of last night, the Brotherhood of Assassins has been completely wiped out by my hand!"
As his gaze swept the hall, several veteran hitmen immediately lowered their heads or placed their right hands over their hearts—a traditional sign of respect for a Legendary Assassin.
But there were others. Those with shifting eyes and hidden smirks. Amateurs who knew nothing of the Brotherhood's history and only saw a payday. They thought they could step over the corpses of the Shiranui Agency to claim a throne.
"The existence of this bounty is an insult," Hayate continued. "I respect the rules of the Continental, so I will not ask for it to be removed. Instead, I will offer you a choice."
"In exactly one hour, I will leave this hotel. I will be waiting at the three-way intersection just outside. Any man who wants this bounty can come and try to take it. I will show no mercy. If you raise a weapon against me, you will die."
"But this is your only window. You have until 6:00 PM tonight. During these six hours, I will only target those who attack. But after the sun sets, if anyone—anyone at all—attempts to strike me or my employees, I will not stop at you."
"I will destroy your gangs. I will destroy your families. I will leave nothing but ash."
As he spoke the final words, Hayate unleashed his killing intent. A wave of pure, concentrated malice flooded the hall. Hardened killers, men who lived on the edge of death, felt a primal chill climb their spines.
Hotaru watched him from the table, her eyes wide with unmasked admiration. God, this man is powerful. He's magnificent.
Hayate stepped down and returned to his seat, leaving the hall in a stunned silence that quickly erupted into a frantic buzzing of phones. Messages were being sent, calls were being made, and the news of the Brotherhood's fall was spreading like a virus through the underworld.
Back at the table, Hayate looked at his team. "Iruka, Sasuke, Lee—I'm not worried about you three. But Hotaru..."
He looked at his secretary. "Make sure your vest is tight and your ammo is full. I don't want any mistakes."
Hotaru patted her sleek leather jacket. "Custom ordered from the Continental's best. It's the latest ballistic model."
Hayate considered for a moment. "Iruka, you three will form a Manji formation around Hotaru. Protect her at all costs."
In Hayate's mind, this wasn't just a fight; it was a demonstration. He needed a perfect victory. No casualties. No failures. He needed to show the world that the Shiranui Agency was untouchable.
The three ninjas nodded in unison. "Understood, Master Hayate."
Hayate then pulled out his phone and dialed Winston.
"Winston, I need a service. Block off a 500-meter radius around the three-way intersection outside the hotel for six hours. No civilians. Only 'business' permitted."
On the top floor, Winston fell silent for a moment. "Six hours, Hayate... from noon to 6:00 PM. The Continental can provide that level of isolation. But it will cost you ten gold coins."
"Deal," Hayate said, hanging up.
Just as he tucked his phone away, a shadow fell over the table. It was John Wick.
"Hayate," John said, his voice low. "Are you sure you don't need my help? Six hours is a long time. It's enough time for shooters from outside the state to catch a flight in."
John was clearly eager to clear his debt and protect the man who had saved him.
"John, trust me," Hayate replied, his tone firm. "I can handle this myself."
This wasn't just about the bounty; it was about "showing muscle." If Hayate wanted a seat at the High Table in the future, he needed this solo victory to act as his resume.
John didn't push further, but he didn't leave the hotel either. He took a seat in the corner, prepared to jump in the moment things went south.
One hour passed.
Hayate stood up, leading his team toward the heavy revolving doors of the Continental. Every assassin in the building watched them go, a silent funeral procession for the fools outside.
As Hayate stepped onto the street and saw the "civilians" lingering about—scouts and lookouts in disguise—he muttered under his breath, "So many people eager to die."
He reached the center of the intersection and looked at his watch. One minute left.
"Prepare for battle!"
As the clock struck 12:00 PM, Hayate's eyes snapped open, bleeding into a spinning crimson.
"Sharingan!"