"The suspect behind the serial murders of police officers has been arrested!""The youngest elite surgeon, psychotherapist... and criminal!""The truth behind the string of police killings revealed!""A therapist who murdered to cover up his past."
In a dimly lit room somewhere in Osaka—
Stacks of newspapers lay before Gin, each one plastered with headlines about the now-exposed police murder case. The television was tuned to the same story, the volume low but steady.
"According to the suspect's confession, Fudo Kyousuke—""—he murdered a fellow doctor with whom he had a personal grudge a year ago and staged it as a suicide. Upon learning the MPD would reopen the case, he orchestrated a string of police officer murders, hoping to shift suspicion to another target and prevent the truth from coming out."
Gin lit a cigarette, inhaling quietly.
Beside him, Vodka squinted at the news and frowned.
"Fudo Kyousuke... wait, isn't that...?"
"Cointreau's psychiatrist," Gin replied flatly.
"Ah, right—that guy!"
The moment the realization hit, Vodka fell silent again.
Now suddenly wary, he glanced back at the papers—though the articles focused on Fudo's crimes, the words Cointreau and murder jumped out at him between the lines.
"This has to be Cointreau again, doesn't it?"
"You think this guy just randomly snapped?" Gin sneered.
Kill a colleague, then start murdering cops to cover it up?
To Gin, the answer was obvious: Fudo had been manipulated—or worse, used—by Cointreau. And the fact that Hayashi Yoshiki became a celebrated detective for "solving" the case? It reeked of familiarity.
Vodka typed rapidly at the keyboard, pulling up the timeline of Fudo's crimes.
The first officer was killed exactly one month after Gin had last assigned a task to Hayashi Yoshiki.
So that half-month stretch when the Tokyo police went on high alert—when the increased patrols interfered with Gin's operations? That had been Cointreau's fault.
All just because he was bored?
It wasn't the first time he noticed that Yoshiki's actions occasionally had ripple effects on the organization, even if unintentionally.
Should I tell him myself to try to make the scene and impact as small as possible when killing people next time
But that would contradict what Gin had once told him—
"Only the organization can let you use your full potential."
...Would he really have to eat his own words?
Seeing his brother deep in thought, Vodka didn't speak. But internally, he was reeling.
Cointreau's dangerous. Killing people was one thing... but even a psychiatrist?
Should I be careful around him too...? What if he controls me one day just by talking...?
Then, the door creaked open.
Vermouth strolled in with a smile, her high heels clicking softly behind her. Behind her was Calvados, laden with shopping bags like a walking luggage rack.
"Ugh, the mood's so gloomy the moment I walk in. Any word from Bourbon yet?"
"You trying to draw attention?" Gin glared at her coldly.
Vermouth simply laughed and sauntered over.
"Well, blame all these boring assignments lately... Oh? Didn't expect you to be reading newspapers like an old man."
"If you're bored, go help Bourbon infiltrate the other side's base." Gin's voice cut like ice.
The target base was in Osaka's port district.
Their plan had been to assassinate a mid-level enemy leader, then send Bourbon in disguised as him. The elimination had already been executed—Bourbon was inside.
Vermouth offered a sly smile and picked up one of the papers.
Reading the news wasn't unusual for Gin, but scanning five or six papers at once? That only happened when something truly got his attention.
Behind her, Calvados staggered over to the couch and dumped the bags. Though he adored Vermouth, he wouldn't dare provoke Gin. He awkwardly walked over to Cohen, who sat silently flipping through a novel.
"You... read novels?"
Cohen nodded and patted the book.
"This one's good. I like it a lot."
Just as Calvados was about to ask more, Gin's voice cut in:
"Cohen. Call Chianti and Calvados. Get ready for training."
But Cohen stood without a word and headed out.
Gin wasn't about to risk revealing anything about Hayashi Yoshiki. His identity had to remain classified—even from allies. And with Vermouth nearby, that caution doubled. She might have heard of "Cointreau," but his real background, his reach... even Gin wasn't sure how much she knew.
Vermouth flipped through the paper casually.
A psychiatrist who killed multiple officers... And that's what Gin's fixated on?
Something didn't add up.
He rose from his seat, and Vodka followed silently.
Vermouth put down the paper, crossed her legs, and pulled out her phone. Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Did you catch the title of the book Cohen was reading?"
Seconds later, the reply came:
"Didn't see it clearly. Looked like a mystery novel?"
"Should I ask him again?"
"Would you? Thanks, Calvados ❤️"
A bit paranoid, perhaps—but still...
Gin calling Cohen away right after he mentioned the novel? He never micromanaged his agents' reading habits. Unless...
Something about that book—or its author—was worth hiding.
And Vermouth was going to find out.