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Morin didn't stay behind to train with the group.
He went off to handle other matters.
For him, the most powerful and practical aspects of an Assassin Master-long-range sniping, curved shooting, and cell regeneration fluid-he already possessed two of them.
As for long-range sniping, that was Carlos's specialty.
Before Wesley successfully mastered curved shooting, Morin doubted Carlos would be in the mood to teach that skill to anyone else.
And curved shooting itself...
Having it was almost the same as not having it.
Whether it could be used depended entirely on sensing that so-called "instinct."
Morin tried several times along the way.
The conclusion was clear.
That "instinct" cheat simply wasn't compatible with him and couldn't be loaded.
"It seems I really am a decent, scientific man."
Morin sighed.
Then he activated his stealth.
His figure blurred, turning into a shadow. Moving at extreme speed, like a ghost, he silently infiltrated the heavily guarded villa ahead under the cover of night.
Inside the villa's study.
The Governor of New York, Anderson Cole, was reading a document.
A cold gun barrel suddenly pressed against the back of his head.
"Don't make a sound, Mr. Anderson," Morin whispered by his ear.
"Go close the study door. Tell the bodyguards outside not to disturb you."
"Also, close the windows and draw the curtains."
"After that, we'll talk about something. How does that sound?"
Anderson stood up calmly and followed every instruction.
He made no unnecessary movements.
He was a smart man.
Since this person could break into his villa and his study so easily, without triggering anything-and hadn't killed him immediately-it meant the other party wanted something else.
In this situation, resistance was meaningless.
Preserving his life came first.
As long as he was alive, anything was still possible.
If he died, everything would truly be over.
"Very good," Morin said with satisfaction.
"It seems the first step of our friendly communication is going smoothly."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Governor Anderson."
"Do I need to introduce myself?"
When Anderson turned around, his heart sank.
Morin wasn't wearing a mask.
He wasn't hiding his face at all.
At least, that was what Anderson believed.
What he didn't know was that Morin was wearing a hyper-realistic mask, the kind Ethan Hunt would approve of.
Disguises shouldn't affect your looks.
"What do you want?" Anderson asked in a low voice.
"Money? Or something else?"
"No, no," Morin shook his head.
"If I wanted money, I'd be robbing a bank. I wouldn't come to see you."
"So you want to kill me?" Anderson asked.
"Are you a killer?"
"It seems you're aware of killers," Morin said calmly.
"That makes sense. The Continental Hotel operates openly in New York City. It would be strange if you didn't know."
"I am indeed a killer."
"A killer from the Continental Hotel."
"Is the High Table insane?" Anderson said in disbelief.
"They dare to break the rules?"
"Oh?"
Morin's eyes narrowed slightly.
"So there is some kind of deal between you and the High Table?"
"You don't know anything," Anderson snapped.
"Are you just some ignorant hired gun?"
"You're here because you took a bounty on me, right?"
"Do you know why the High Table is allowed to operate the Continental Hotel in New York at all?"
"A long time ago, they sent a large number of killers to threaten the U.S. government!"
"Yes, killers are everywhere," Anderson continued coldly.
"But we're not helpless."
"If war broke out, our high-level personnel would suffer losses-but the High Table would be wiped out by joint international efforts. At any cost."
"However, that cost would be enormous. No country could accept it easily."
"So a balance was established."
"We allow them to operate twelve Continental Hotels worldwide and tolerate their affiliated organizations."
"In return, they are forbidden from touching key national figures and must pay regular tribute."
"And now," Anderson said sharply,
"you accepted a bounty and came here to kill me?"
"Do you understand what that means?"
"I can't predict exactly what will happen between the U.S. and the High Table if I die."
"But I can say this for certain."
"Once you take that commission, your days are numbered."
"The U.S. will hunt you."
"The High Table will hunt you."
"Your life will no longer belong to you."
"At that point, whether you live or die won't be up to you anymore."
"So now, young man-haven't you realized you're just a pawn?"
"Stand down. Leave immediately."
"I can pretend this never happened."
"I will not target you."
"I promise."
"All retaliation will be directed at the Continental Hotel."
It was a flawless political speech.
Clear logic. Strong emotion. Perfect persuasion.
Better than Anderson's usual performances.
But Morin simply looked at him.
Unmoved.
Anderson grew anxious.
"Why don't you understand?"
"What part don't you understand?"
"Or do you not believe me? Say it, and I'll explain!"
"No," Morin said calmly, shaking his head.
"I'm not doubting you, Mr. Anderson."
"I believe everything you just said is true."
"Well... except the part about not retaliating against me later."
"But that doesn't really matter."
"...So you're determined to kill me?" Anderson asked.
"Mr. Anderson," Morin said lightly,
"perhaps you still don't understand what I mean."
"Or maybe I wasn't clear enough from the start."
He sat down casually on the sofa, setting his handgun aside.
"Any real killer who accepted a bounty on you would abandon the mission after hearing that speech."
"But when did I ever say I came here to kill you?"
Morin looked genuinely innocent.
"Didn't I say from the beginning that I came to talk about something?"
Anderson: "..."
"Huh?" Anderson froze.
"Yes," Morin nodded earnestly.
"You're not a killer?"
"I am."
"You're a killer, but you didn't come here to kill me?"
"Correct."
"...Is that even understandable?"
"Isn't it?"
"It's not just hard to understand," Anderson said, nearly losing his composure.
"It's impossible to understand!"
So you're a killer.
You break into my house.
Point a gun at my head.
And you're not here to kill me?
Then what exactly are you here for?