"No, you're not worthless. Absolutely not. No matter how times change, a good soldier is always a good soldier." John Yang patted Charlie's shoulder to comfort him, but through his drunken haze, John Yang's own tone was deep and his expression melancholic.
Life used to be hard, but he felt like there was something to strive for, something to push him forward. Back then, he was the pillar of his family, the wall that shielded them from the wind. He held up the sky for his household, an indispensable part of it. But now? He felt like one of those cliché characters from tacky soap operas—his role called "husband" or "father," but all he did was toss out a few irrelevant lines to remind people he existed, and otherwise just made things worse.
He wasn't needed, and he didn't have much value.
His wife and daughter were out fighting on the front lines. And him?
And me?
The bar was noisy, but John Yang only felt utterly alone.
………………
Day seven.
Bang—a big case of Maotai was dropped in front of Charlie by John Yang. "Today, we drink this."
Charlie picked up a bottle, checked the volume and proof, and his mouth twitched. Then he looked at John Yang's gentle, scholarly appearance, glanced at his own iron-hard muscles, and figured there was no way a tough guy like himself could lose to a schoolteacher. Oh, Mr. Yang, those last two rounds I let you win on purpose. Today, you'll learn how real soldiers drink—and maybe you'll spill some secrets after a few rounds!
"We're drinking this!"
...Four bottles down...
"I'm not a real man! I failed her! I couldn't take care of her kid!" The old man with white hair wailed, tearing at his chest, bawling and shouting at the top of his lungs. His usual ironclad, stoic image was completely shattered. "She entrusted her child to me before she died. I swore on my heart I'd look after him, but now—now he's in danger, and I can't do a damn thing! I've let her down!"
Gulp, gulp, gulp—three more swigs. Charlie raised the bottle high as if to smash it, eyes bloodshot, shouting, "What kind of martial arts did I learn? What kind of soldier am I? Jonathan's in this mess and all I can do is stand by and watch. I—I—!"
"That's not true." Smack—a hand reached out and firmly grabbed the bottle Charlie was about to smash. It was John Yang. He was drunk, really drunk, but somehow more clear-headed than ever. "We're not just going to stand by and watch."
No more wallowing, no more self-pity. John Yang's eyes blazed with a fierce light. It was just like back when he faced off against monsters to protect his wife and daughter, an ordinary man going up against the unknown. That moment, sketching out plans at lightning speed, his gaze had been this sharp, this focused. But now, beyond sharpness and focus, there was something even stronger—more determined, more intense, more reckless.
Under that fierce gaze, even the dizzy, drunken Charlie froze, dumbfounded. "Bro, what... what are you saying?"
"I'm saying we're not just going to stand by and watch. We shouldn't just stand by and watch!" John Yang snatched up another bottle, staggering on his feet, eyes blazing. "Charlie, we're done with the 'drowning our sorrows' booze! Once we finish this, it's time to get to work!"
Charlie, head spinning, couldn't quite keep up: "Get to... to what?"
"To what dads and uncles are supposed to do, damn it!" The always-gentle John Yang was suddenly fired up. "Letting our wives and kids charge through gunfire while we stroll around in the back, eating, drinking, and goofing off—since when is that what men are supposed to do? Drink up, this is our send-off shot, and then we're going to do what needs to be done! I'm heading out after this—are you in or not?"
Charlie nodded blankly. "I'm in."
John Yang grabbed Charlie by the collar. "Louder! Are you in or not?"
Charlie got mad. "I'm in!"
John Yang, face flushed, roared, "Even louder! Soldiers, are you in or not? Are you real men or not? In or out!"
"In, in, in! Hell yeah, I'm in!" Charlie's veins bulged, his dark face puffed up like an eggplant, and he yelled at the top of his lungs: "It's just a life, isn't it? Men charge forward till the end—attack, attack!"
"Well said! After this shot, no more booze. If we drink again, it's for victory! Bottoms up!"
Clang! Two bottles of Maotai collided with force. The two old guys tilted their heads back and downed the Maotai, just like when they were young and full of spirit.
With the send-off shot done, the warriors set out!
And then—
Bang, smack—one after another, the two of them toppled to the ground, out cold...
Three days later, again.
"Oof..." John Yang shrank into his chair, shivering, an ice pack on his head and dark circles under his eyes. Fired up as he was, age was still age—even young folks would be out for three days after chugging Maotai like that. The fact that John Yang managed to haul himself onto a plane on time was a testament to his willpower.
"Bro, you gotta work on your drinking... urgh!" Charlie sat next to John Yang, wearing the face of a booze god, but before he could finish, he jumped up clutching his mouth and staggered off to the bathroom—clearly in worse shape than John Yang.
"Whew..." Exhaling, massaging his temples, John Yang closed his eyes, squeezing in a few precious minutes to recover.
Let loose a bit too much, huh. Turns out you can never slack off on self-discipline—after a few rounds of heavy drinking, even my brain's running slow. Lesson learned.
The plane soared through the clouds, heading northeast from Hong Kong. Amid the roar of the engines, John Yang pulled out a pen and paper, thinking slowly but steadily.
[This time, it's just me and Charlie, two old guys stepping up. We can't be a burden—we've got to share the pressure on my daughter and her crew, and do what we can. As for combat, as much as it pains me, Charlie and I aren't much help. My daughter's got plenty of talented folks around her—if she really needed backup, it wouldn't be us.]
[But this time, brute force isn't everything.]
[Compared to my daughter, our biggest advantage is that we're small targets. While that crazy girl is smashing her way through everything, nobody's looking at two ordinary old guys. With the enemy watching Jill and her crew like hawks, we're the ones who can slip through the cracks. Plus, even Jill has no clue what we're up to—so the enemy definitely won't see us coming.]
[We're gonna be the wild card!]
"So basically, we're just going on vacation this time."
We just have to find the next target before anyone else does. No need for anything fancy—just slap a tracker on the guy as soon as we make contact, and boom, job done. As long as we know where the target is, Jill Young can swoop in from above and snatch him up, and that's that.
"So, our target is—" John Yang opened the envelope and glanced inside. "Tokyo, Japan. Stephen Evenson. Stephen Evenson? Why does that name sound so familiar...?"