RETIRED WAR GOD'S EVERYDAY LIFE

4

[New Mission Detected!] [Mission Title: A Quiet Night in Wicker Park] [Objective: Neutralize Gaston Pierre and his group before they touch the cafe area. Killing or using firearms is strictly prohibited.] [Reward: $50,000 Cash (Legal), Master Street Surveillance Skill, +500 Tranquility Points.] [Failure Penalty: The cafe is destroyed, and your civilian identity is exposed to local media.]

Mason closed his tablet, turned off the cafe's main lights, and locked the front door from the inside.

"Toby," Mason called out to the teenager holding his backpack near the back door.

"Yes, Mr. Mason?"

"Tonight, walk home via the southern route. Don't go through the alley near the subway station. And if tomorrow morning part of the cafe floor smells like excessive floor cleaner... don't ask any questions."

Toby swallowed hard, his eyes blinking in confusion. "M-Mr. Mason, are you sleeping here?"

"Yes," Mason flashed his cold, faint smile. "There are some pests that need to be sprayed tonight."

The clock showed 1:45 AM.

Wicker Park was completely dead. The night wind blowing cold vapor from Lake Michigan carried the smell of wet garbage and cold asphalt. The streetlamp in front of The Quiet Nook cafe flickered unstably, creating long, dancing shadows on the sidewalk.

Mason sat casually on one of the wooden chairs on the second floor of his cafe. He didn't turn on the lights. His sturdy body blended into the darkness of the room. In his hand was not an M4A1 assault rifle or a Fairbairn-Sykes tactical knife, but a spray bottle of glass cleaner and a two-meter-thick nylon rope usually used to tie grocery boxes.

Outside, a faint creaking sound was heard from the direction of the side alley.

Three shadows moved quickly and in a coordinated manner. The man in front—tall, thin, with a long coat and black beanie—held a hunting knife blade that reflected the dim light of the streetlamp. Gaston Pierre. The two henchmen behind him carried heavy iron crowbars.

"Open the back door," Gaston whispered with a thick French accent. "Remember what Don Sal said. Break his legs first, then we tear this place apart."

His henchmen slid the tip of the crowbar into the gap of the back door of Mason's cafe, preparing to force it open.

But before the crowbar could press against the hinge, the wooden door suddenly opened from the inside by itself.

Gaston was stunned. "What-?!"

A muscular hand emerged from the darkness like a monster's claw. Before the first henchman could scream, the hand grabbed his jacket collar, pulling the ninety-kilogram body into the darkness of the cafe with insane speed.

Brak!

The back door closed automatically, locking tightly from the inside.

"Jean?! Jean!" the second henchman screamed in panic, pointing his crowbar at the wooden door. "What's happening inside?!"

Gaston pulled out his hunting knife, his eyes darting wildly to look into the darkness behind the glass window. "Open the door, you idiot! Open—"

Sssshhh!

A thick chemical spray from the glass cleaner was suddenly sprayed right into Gaston's face from the upper ventilation gap.

"ARGH! MY EYES! MY EYES BURY!" Gaston screamed hysterically, dropping his knife while holding his face, which was burning from the acidity of the chemical liquid.

Before Gaston could realize his enemy's position, a nylon rope wrapped around his neck from behind, pulling him up until his feet tiptoed in the air. Mason stood behind him in total darkness, holding Gaston's breath with a modified rear-naked choke technique using a rope—without damaging his vocal cords, but cutting off blood flow to the brain in a matter of seconds.

Five seconds. Seven seconds.

Gaston's body, which had been struggling violently, suddenly went limp like a rag doll whose threads had snapped. Mason released the rope's coil, letting the hitman's body slump to the wooden floor without making any significant noise.

The last remaining henchman outside the alley trembled violently. He saw through the glass window gap: in less than fifteen seconds, two of his colleagues disappeared into the darkness of the cafe without any gunshot sounds or fierce fighting. All that could be heard was the cold whisper of someone who had just blown out a candle.

The henchman dropped his iron crowbar onto the sidewalk. Klang!

He turned around, preparing to run with all his might toward the main street.

But as he turned, Mason was already standing right in front of him in the narrow alley. Shirtless, wearing only black trousers, with a giant scar on his chest that looked terrifying in the moonlight.

The man trembled so hard his pants wet themselves. "D-Don't... please don't kill me..."

Mason stepped closer, staring at the man with his cold, bottomless black eyes. "What's your name?"

"B-Bob... my name is Bob..."

"Bob," Mason said softly, his voice gentle yet capable of stopping the heartbeat of anyone who heard it. "Bring your two friends inside. Put them in the trunk of your car. Then deliver this message to Don Moretti."

Mason leaned forward, whispering right next to trembling Bob's ear:

"If one more of you crosses the street to Wicker Park... I won't just turn off the cafe lights. I'll turn off all the electricity in each of your houses."

6:00 AM.

The sun began to rise on the eastern horizon of Chicago, casting a golden-orange hue through the front glass of The Quiet Nook. The aroma of fresh coffee beans filled the air again, replacing the smell of floor cleaner Mason used to clean up Gaston's tracks last night.

[Mission Completed!] [Reward Received: $50,000 Cash (Transferred to your legal offshore account), Master Street Surveillance Skill Activated.] [Current Tranquility Points: 1,200 Points.]

Mason was standing behind the bar counter, wiping his porcelain cup with the same rhythm as usual.

The door chime rang.

It wasn't Toby who came in. Nor was it Mrs. Beatrice.

A woman in a beige trench coat with dark brown hair tied neatly walked in. Her posture was firm, her hazel eyes scanning every corner of the room with a level of alertness that couldn't be faked. On her right hip, a Glock 19 pistol was tucked into a leather holster, and on her left side hung a silver badge with the Chicago Police Department logo.

Detective Valerie Vance from the CPD Homicide Division.

Valerie walked toward the bar counter, looking at Mason from head to toe with an extremely sharp, evaluating gaze.

"One hot black coffee. No sugar," Valerie said, her voice raspy with exhaustion.

Mason smiled cordially, grabbing the portafilter. "Coming right up early in the morning, Detective? Is there a problem in this district?"

Valerie rested her chin on the bar counter, her eyes staring straight into Mason's eyes. "Very strange. Last night at two in the morning, three gang members were found passed out in a car trunk on the Goose Island highway. One of them was Gaston Pierre, a hitman we've been hunting for three years."

Mason continued to level the coffee grounds with the tamper. "Wow. Sounds like they had some bad luck."

Valerie leaned closer, staring at Mason from a distance of less than thirty centimeters. "What's even stranger... in Gaston's pants pocket, there was a name sticker reading The Quiet Nook."