The crisp metallic snap of a lighter echoed sharply through the silent night.
A tiny flame sparked to life.
Its orange-red glow licked the cigarette between Gin's lips, briefly illuminating his cold, cruel features and casting a swaying silhouette on the ground. The light danced in his dark green eyes, revealing the ferocity lurking within.
"Cointreau, this is for you."
Hayashi Yoshiki accepted the Beretta M92F pistol from Vodka with complete calm.
Vodka hesitated, seeming like he wanted to say something… but didn't.
"I'm already in position."
A brief scratch of static flickered in his earpiece, followed by Chianti's unhinged voice.
"I've got you in my scope—you're looking extra hot today!"
Even when she admitted to having a sniper rifle aimed right at him, Hayashi Yoshiki's expression didn't flinch.
"Aiming at your own teammate—are you insane?! Want to die?!" Tequila roared into his headset.
"Don't be so uptight. I haven't even reloaded yet."
"It's mission time. Be serious, Chianti," Cohen said calmly from another location.
Though she didn't usually listen to anyone, Chianti respected her longtime partner. So she stopped teasing, took one last glance at Hayashi Yoshiki through her scope, and got to work—reloading, adjusting, locking in.
Today's Cointreau looked different from usual.
Hayashi held a pistol in one hand, a small black notebook in the other.
He wore a typical black suit, but his hair was slicked all the way back—just this minor change altered his entire aura.
His usually soft and intellectual appearance had been replaced by a cold and sharp presence. His plain black eyes had become a still, dark pond—deep and unfathomable. Even Gin, who rarely gave second glances, had paused when he first saw him tonight.
Does Cointreau have… schizophrenia? Gin mused to himself.
"All units, ready. Move in and kill them," Gin ordered coldly, phone already in hand.
With a massive detonation, the traditional Japanese-style building ahead was blown open.
Tequila's Hummer roared as it crashed through the courtyard gate. Sitting in the driver's seat, he manned a mounted light machine gun, unloading a brutal hail of bullets into the dazed guards.
The initial volley cut down several enemies in seconds.
"That guy's always reckless… Cointreau, keep your head down," Vodka warned.
"Of course. I value my life," Hayashi replied, slipping his book away and following Gin and Vodka into the courtyard.
The Target: A Hostile Organization's Base
Their mission tonight: eliminate a rival organization's stronghold.
Though Hayashi wasn't on the main strike team, Gin had brought him along—to expose him to combat, to bullets, to blood.
Just as they advanced, more enemies emerged—men in black and gray pouring from the building, guns drawn, firing on the Hummer in the courtyard.
Bang bang bang bang!!
Tequila ducked back inside his vehicle as bullets ricocheted off the steel plating.
A few enemies spotted Gin and Vodka and turned to aim—only to be immediately shot down by Gin's icy-precise handgun.
"More of them over there!"
A man tried to shout a warning, but a sniper round pierced his forehead mid-sentence.
Chianti, perched in a nearby building, reloaded swiftly, pivoted, and fired again—
With Cohen on overwatch from another direction, the two snipers provided perfect coverage, silencing threats before they escalated.
The precision sniping threw the enemy troops into panic.
Tequila seized the moment—leaning out of the Hummer, he opened fire again.
Gin and Vodka joined in, bullets flashing in all directions.
"Watch it, Cointreau!" Vodka shouted, ducking a near miss.
Hayashi darted behind the Hummer for cover, narrowly dodging the fire aimed his way.
Sparks flew as bullets collided with steel. The air reeked of blood and gunpowder.
Raising his Beretta, Hayashi spotted a snarling enemy—and fired.
He watched the bullet leave the muzzle and pierce the man's forehead, clean and fast.
The man dropped, stunned.
But before Hayashi could even lower his weapon, the fallen man's partner retaliated.
Suddenly, another sniper bullet flew in—
The second attacker collapsed.
"Your aim's not bad, Cointreau," Chianti purred into the comms.
Hayashi didn't answer.
He stared at the smoking muzzle.
At the collapsing body.
At the blood slowly pooled on the ground.
No disgust. No guilt.
Only one emotion stirred in his heart—
Gin reached into his coat, pulled out a grenade, and expertly pulled the pin.
He tossed it in an elegant arc—right into a cluster of enemies.
The shockwave rattled the ground beneath their feet.
The courtyard had once held twenty guards.
Now only four or five remained—and they were scrambling to retreat into the building, panic on their faces.
Tequila leapt out of his Hummer and charged.
"Let's go," Gin said.
As they moved, Gin suddenly raised his left hand and fired one precise bullet into a "corpse" nearby.
"Still alive," he muttered.
If only someone like Kudo Shinichi could maintain this level of awareness all the time—there wouldn't be a need for any plot armor.
From inside the building, more gunfire erupted—but it was clear from the screams that Tequila wasn't the one falling.
"Find the guy listed in the intel," Gin said sharply.