The bullet was surgically removed from his arm, followed by disinfection and bandaging. Even a strong man like Tequila couldn't help but turn pale after enduring the entire process.
Still, he probably had his own pride as a strong man to maintain. Despite taking deep breaths, he didn't utter a single word.
The one who treated his gunshot wound was Korn.
"Although Korn is good at taking lives, he's also quite skilled at treating gunshot wounds."
It was Chianti who spoke.
Upon hearing this, Hayashi Yoshiki merely replied softly, "Is that so?" His calm and relaxed expression didn't reflect the slightest surprise.
This place was the Organization's safe house.
From the outside, it looked like a normal upscale apartment. The lighting was dim, and the space was filled with guns, ammunition, and emergency medical supplies.
Vodka sat at the computer nearby, having hacked into several surveillance systems to monitor the surroundings and gauge the fallout from tonight's events.
"The police and the military are searching for us and the hitmen everywhere... Heh, but I've already erased all footage related to us."
"Well done," said Gin.
He too stood in front of the computer for a moment, then looked at Hayashi Yoshiki.
"We'll wait until the police investigation settles and we confirm it's safe before leaving here."
"Oh, I have no objection," Hayashi Yoshiki replied, then calmly sat down on the sofa.
He pulled out the book he hadn't finished reading that night and resumed.
Gin watched him for a while.
Hayashi Yoshiki was silent, expression calm, eyes fixed on the pages. Gin couldn't read any emotion from those deep, black eyes… cold and bottomless. His hair was slicked back, enhancing the image of someone utterly ruthless.
Yoshiki: "What are you staring at me for?"
"You… aren't you schizophrenic?" Gin asked bluntly.
Hayashi Yoshiki paused just as he was about to turn a page.
Vodka froze mid-typing, horrified. Did Gin just say that out loud?
He still hadn't gotten over the terror of watching Cointreau kill people before—and tonight's incident, with explosions and bloodshed barely meters away, was still too fresh.
Even Chianti was quieter than usual. Tequila wasn't shouting "brother" as he always did.
But Gin never could read the room. He simply stared back at Hayashi Yoshiki.
After a short silence:
"...I'm mentally sound. Just a bit tired," Hayashi Yoshiki said with a gentle smile—indistinguishable from his usual one.
Gin could accept that answer.
Planning the accident must have taken a toll on his mind and spirit.
Even Gin had to admit how terrifying Cointreau was. He'd anticipated and meticulously orchestrated the entire accident.
Gin couldn't even predict how the scene would unfold when it happened. Yet Hayashi Yoshiki had calculated it all.
If killing is an art, then Cointreau is the greatest artist of them all.
In Gin's eyes, his subtle personality shift now made sense. This—perhaps—was his true nature, finally showing through due to mental exhaustion.
Gin casually took the book from his hands.
"Chianti, get some glucose for Cointreau."
"Hah?" Chianti pointed at herself, incredulous.
Before she could say more, Hayashi Yoshiki turned to her and said,
"Thank you, Chianti."
She stood up to get it.
Korn, meanwhile, continued bandaging Tequila's arm. Tequila suddenly hissed,
Korn slowed his movements.
Chianti soon returned and placed the glucose water in front of Hayashi Yoshiki. She didn't tease him as she usually might.
Hayashi Yoshiki took a sip—it was too sweet.
It was nearly 3 a.m. when Hayashi Yoshiki lay down on the sofa to nap. No one disturbed him.
Only Vodka continued typing, movements now softer.
When Hayashi Yoshiki opened his eyes again, it was morning.
Chianti was sleeping on another couch. Korn was slumped in a chair, apparently asleep. Only Gin remained awake, quietly tapping away on his phone.
"Where's Vodka and Tequila?"
"In the inner room," Gin replied without looking up.
Soon, the distant sound of snoring gave context to his answer.
Hayashi Yoshiki got up to freshen up—he never skipped his morning shower. After carefully washing, he felt more awake.
Everyone else had awakened when he returned.
"Good morning, everyone."
"Morning… Cointreau."
Clearly, the others weren't used to being greeted that way.
Once everyone had washed up, Hayashi Yoshiki checked the time—it was nearly 8:30.
"Would you like to have breakfast together?"
"Let's go," said Gin with a nod.
Breakfast Preferences
In the garage, several cars were parked. Vodka walked toward a black van, spacious enough for six.
"What do we want to eat?" Gin asked from the passenger seat.
"French food!" said Chianti.
"Izakaya," Tequila chimed in, despite his tightly bandaged hands.
"Just a regular breakfast place," Korn added.
"McDonald's," Hayashi Yoshiki raised his hand.
Vodka had wanted to suggest a nice spot, but after hearing Hayashi Yoshiki's choice, he kept quiet.
The workaholic who hadn't slept all night pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.
"Let's go to McDonald's."
"Okay, big bro," Vodka replied.
On the way to McDonald's, for reasons unknown, Vodka felt strangely at peace.