"You look like hell, Gin. Wa~"
Vermouth strolled into the safe house leisurely, only to find Gin wrapped in bandages and Vodka mid-treatment.
——Though she had seen traces of the rooftop chaos, she hadn't expected it to be this disastrous.
Gin, his entire body trembling slightly, ignored her.
Though the old man Pisco was now dead, there was still a mess to clean up.
The family of the murdered congressman, Shigehiko Tsuchiguchi, had to be dealt with. Pisco's home and office likely held many Organization-related secrets that had to be wiped clean.
Gin was busy issuing orders by text—assigning various members to sanitize the remaining evidence. Finally, he reached for a cigarette.
"Aniki... Cohen said we shouldn't smoke right now."
Gin lit the cigarette anyway.
As the air thickened with tension, Vermouth gave a small chuckle. She opened a photo album on her phone and held it out to him.
"Look—what a pity. The girl you're obsessed with? She was a fake."
In the photo, the mask had been removed, revealing the face of a completely different woman.
Even before seeing the picture, the creeping sense of wrongness had been growing in him. The photo only confirmed what he already suspected.
"That woman is probably being protected by another organization now," Gin growled.
The sniper trap—using Sherry's identity—clearly came from a group that had deep knowledge of her background. They had deliberately sent out bait, disguising a decoy as her to fake her death.
Whoever they were, they must value her greatly.
This only enraged Gin further.
Shirley is valuable. If she hadn't betrayed the Organization…
Had she remained loyal, Gin never would've thought of killing her. But now? Another group was exploiting her. And Gin hated that.
"So what now?" Vermouth asked, watching him carefully.
"This won't end here."
"Ah, but I don't think you can pull the same stunt twice."
Vermouth smirked, crossing her legs as she elegantly perched on a barstool and lit her own cigarette.
"Let's talk about Cointreau. On the way here, I got a call from Rum. He's very impressed. He wants Cointreau transferred to the intelligence team."
"Huh? Boss Rum wants Cointreau with the intel guys?" Vodka gasped.
"Well, his skills do suit the intelligence team," Vermouth smiled. "And he is a detective, after all. Perfect for analysis."
"Let Rum tell me that himself," Gin scoffed.
He sneered. Sure, Cointreau's talents could be useful for intel work—but they were even more effective in the field. More importantly, Gin and Rum had their... disagreements.
To have someone he personally discovered snatched away with just a word?
Besides, the intelligence unit didn't offer the same thrill. There weren't as many chances to kill. And knowing Cointreau's mindset—he wouldn't be happy unless he had blood on his hands.
Vermouth chuckled softly.
Cointreau's real identity was clear. Before, she was only 70–80% certain. But after Gin confirmed he was a detective?
Suddenly, Gin's phone buzzed.
Message from Cointreau:
"Chris Wynyard. This actress is with the Organization, isn't she?"
Gin narrowed his eyes.
Gin: "How did you find out?"
Cointreau:"Kenzo Masuyama should not have been able to produce a purple handkerchief during police questioning. Yet he did.
I considered that he might've anticipated it and brought an extra one. But the color assignment at the venue was random—like a lottery.
That leaves only one possibility: someone else with a purple handkerchief helped him.
Based on various details, I ruled out the others. The most suspicious remaining person… is her."
Gin stared at the screen, then gave a low, sinister laugh.
This is Cointreau indeed.
Though Vermouth had identified Pisco as a liability, Cointreau had identified Vermouth herself—without even knowing it.
Gin, usually cold and unreadable, couldn't help but feel a rare flicker of pride.
To think I pulled such a gem from the ranks of fodder...
"Vermouth. There's a member of the intelligence unit who's good at disguises—and a serious pain to deal with."
"Oh?" Vermouth smiled. "From the look on your face, did you hear something... pleasant?"
Meanwhile, across town, Hayashi Yoshiki saw the reply pop up on his phone.
Gin had taken the bait.
Vermouth—named after an aromatized fortified wine. Technically not true wine, as it's infused with various botanicals—cinnamon, cloves, and so on—to enhance its aroma.
Like the drink, Vermouth herself was a chameleon. A thousand faces. A thousand masks.
If he was to guard against her, it was best to let the Organization know that he already knew of her existence.
Hayashi Yoshiki pocketed his phone.
"What's wrong? Are you feeling lightheaded? Was today's operation too much for you?"
Lying atop him, Seiran Hoshi shook her head quickly.
She rubbed her cheek against his palm, trying to calm her rapid breathing.
Then she tilted her head slightly.
Her flushed lips gently kissed the thumb pressed near her mouth—sucking it softly, submissively.
"I'm just... too excited..."
There was a glimmer of mist in her grey eyes, a hazy trance washing over her. Their skin was pressed so close, that Yoshiki could feel the tremble in her thighs.
He pulled her tightly into his arms.
His strong, warm embrace engulfed her, offering both intimacy and safety.
"Thank you for taking such a risk for me today, Miss Seiran."
His magnetic voice echoed so near her ear, that she could feel his breath.
Until you can't take it anymore…
Hayashi Yoshiki smiled to himself, savoring the dazed, intoxicated look in her eyes.