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"Here's the dessert, sir."
After a moment, Charlie's burly men placed the valuables taken from the bearded man and the female assassin onto a tray and brought it to Wick.
"It's his," Wick said, gesturing toward Morin.
"...My apologies." Charlie bowed to both Morin and Wick, then motioned for his men to bring the tray over.
"This gentleman looks a bit unfamiliar," Charlie said as he handed Morin a business card. "If you ever need anything, you can call and order dinner. We'll arrive on time, no matter when or where."
"Thanks," Morin said, nodding. He picked up nine of the ten gold coins from the tray. "Your service is excellent."
"Er..." Charlie said apologetically. "My apologies, sir. I may not have explained earlier. One dinner, one person, one gold coin."
"That's right," Morin said, pointing to the remaining coin on the tray.
"There's one here."
Then he pointed at the female assassin who had already been "packaged" by Charlie's men.
"And there's one there."
"Again, my apologies," Charlie said, shaking his head. "I trust my men completely. There are absolutely no valuables left on that woman."
"Ha," Morin chuckled. "Then you missed a spot."
"...Oh?" Charlie paused and looked at his men.
"I mean the one in her head," Morin continued calmly. "The one I punched in."
"..."
The men froze for two seconds, then rushed back to double-check.
Charlie quickly left with them, making sure to remember Morin's name.
Anyone who could make Wick personally call for a body disposal service-official assassin or not-was someone whose future didn't require much imagination.
Lions didn't share a language with jackals.
And they didn't become friends.
Reality wasn't a fairy tale.
Especially after Charlie's men reported back with another detail:
"The fatal injury was a severe blow to the head. Based on the marks, it was caused by a fist. Most likely a single punch."
They were professionals. Their judgment carried weight.
"One punch to kill someone..." Charlie muttered. "Another monster on the rise?"
He shook his head.
"Why am I even thinking about this... I'm just a vulture. Vultures only clean up the dead."
...
"Want a drink?" Morin asked, casually tossing the nine gold coins in his hand.
"No," Wick replied. "I have things to do."
"You tried to talk me out of it because you want to leave this world," Morin said evenly. "And you found it almost impossible. Then you saw me-a newcomer-about to step in. That's why you reacted the way you did."
Wick kept walking.
Morin stopped playing around.
Regardless of everything else, Wick was strong. And his reputation was solid.
If Morin could bring him into the Templars, it would be invaluable.
That alone made this worth a bit of time.
But not more than necessary.
"So," Morin said, "let's skip the warm-up."
Wick stopped. He turned and frowned.
"Have you been investigating me?"
"No," Morin replied calmly. "Before today, I only knew your reputation. And a few stories."
He paused.
"Everything else is basic behavioral psychology and deduction."
Lying convincingly while sounding professional was something Morin had mastered long ago.
"You're trying to recruit me," Wick said. He connected it instantly to Morin's earlier remark about joining the Continental just to dismantle it.
"It seems you've figured it out," Morin said, putting the coins away.
"So before you go looking for answers that'll only make you feel more hopeless-how about a drink?"
"...And a conversation."
...
In the end, Wick went to a bar with Morin.
The Continental wasn't a place for that kind of discussion.
As Morin had predicted, even Wick felt a sense of powerlessness toward what lay ahead.
After Morin revealed his real goal, Wick was willing to listen.
In his view, Morin's ambition was far more unrealistic than his own.
Wick wasn't reckless. He had once paid an information broker for records of assassins who had successfully retired from the Continental.
The conclusion could be summed up in one sentence:
"No one enters this world and leaves alive."
After Wick said this, Morin clinked his glass against his.
"History exists to be broken," Morin said. "You want to quit. I want to overturn the table."
"Why?" Wick asked.
Now that he was here, he stopped holding back.
His words were still concise.
"Because my mission," Morin replied, "the mission of the Templars, is to protect order."
"And this world is almost out of it."
"Order?"
"The police know assassins exist," Morin said. "They still don't arrest them."
"They watch murders happen in the street. Then they see a certain car, and they turn around and leave."
"The world's order is already cracking."
"What do you plan to do?" Wick asked.
"It's simple," Morin said with a quiet laugh.
"Turn what everyone thinks is normal into something unacceptable."
"All it takes is a short amount of time. And a few people."
"You're insane," Wick said after a moment.
Morin laughed.
"That's only because there's never been a real leader."
He glanced around the bar.
"Wick. Look around. Everyone here-how many are assassins?"
"None," Wick answered immediately.
"Exactly," Morin said.
"The world is like this. Ordinary people are the majority. Assassins are so few that calling them a drop in the ocean is generous."
"And yet," he continued, "those grains of sand think they can tower over the sea."
"Do you think that's normal?"
"People are just holding everything in," Morin said. "Waiting for someone to guide them."
"One assassin-how many people can he kill? Tens? Maybe more?"
"The Continental has ties to the government. We both know that."
"But inside that government, there are plenty who hate this situation. They're afraid. Afraid for their lives."
"They're waiting for someone to move first."
"Do I need to kill every assassin in the Continental?"
"No."
"I just need to light a fire."
"Establish a leader who can't be assassinated."
"And give people courage."
"Courage creates a tide. Hatred pushes it forward."
"And once the ocean moves," Morin said calmly,
"those specks of sand will be swallowed."
"Drowned."
"And sent back to where they belong."
"The corners of the sewer."