A man in a red cycling suit sped through the city on his motorcycle.
The glow of the street lamps gleamed off his helmet's visor and slipped swiftly behind him as he raced down the asphalt.
Sawaki Kouhei slammed down on the accelerator, causing the bike beneath him to roar fiercely. Most pedestrians didn't even get a proper look at him—only a blur and a storm of dust left in his wake.
Driving was undoubtedly dangerous. But if he didn't, Sawaki Kouhei felt he'd explode from the pressure boiling inside him.
It all began with an accident three months ago.
That night, after finishing a long day's work, Sawaki had been riding home on his motorcycle when he nearly collided with the famous model Osanai Nana, known for her reckless driving. Though he avoided major injuries, the fall had left him with a taste disorder.
According to the doctors, the loss of taste might have stemmed from extreme psychological stress… or potentially a mild brain trauma.
For a professional wine taster, losing the ability to taste was the same as losing everything.
Drowning in despair and fury, Sawaki Kouhei chose revenge—not just on Osanai Nana, who caused the crash—
Asahi Katsuyoshi, the rich tycoon who pressured him financially,
Tsuji Hiroki, who humiliated him in public,
Nishina Minoru, an amateur claiming to be a gourmet who spread misinformation about wine…
They were all on his revenge list!
By sheer coincidence, Sawaki came across the name Murakami Jo. Upon learning that all his targets had numbers in their names, he decided to kill Murakami and use playing cards to pin the blame on him.
Even if it meant innocent people might be harmed—Sawaki didn't care.
As the winding road ahead began to twist, Sawaki had no choice but to slow down. But just as he turned into the second curve—
The front tire shook violently. Before he could react, the bike tipped and hurled him into the air.
He hit the pavement hard, tumbling twice before skidding to a stop.
Luckily, his racing gear and helmet prevented serious injury—but pain still throbbed through every inch of his body.
He groaned, trying to stand.
But before he could rise, he saw a Hummer rumbling toward him, headlights flashing.
A good Samaritan? Is someone coming to help? he thought.
That illusion was shattered the moment the door slammed open and a towering man jumped out, storming toward him.
The stranger grabbed him by the collar and hauled him upright with one hand.
"It's you, isn't it?"
The man spoke with a thick Kansai dialect, his eyes sharp and merciless.
Before Sawaki could speak, the Hummer's passenger door swung open, and out stepped a woman—with a sniper rifle in hand!
Chianti casually walked over to the overturned motorcycle and popped open the trunk.
She glanced inside and grinned wickedly.
"Oh ho~ looks like we've got evidence. Our boy's carrying a crossbow in here!"
"Then we've got the right guy."
Tequila shoved Sawaki into the Hummer without ceremony.
"Wait, who are you people!? What is this!?"
Inside the car, another thin man sat silently—Cohen, pointing a pistol directly at Sawaki's forehead.
The icy barrel pressed against his skin sent a surge of dread through his body.
"What a pathetic little coward," Chianti sneered as she climbed in from the other side, her twisted smirk gleaming.
Sawaki didn't dare speak again.
Who were these people? Had Katsuyoshi Asahi found out about his revenge plan and sent hitmen after him!?
"Still, I didn't expect we'd find him so easily."
Chianti leaned back in her seat, feet up on the dashboard.
"Gotta hand it to Vodka—he hacked into those surveillance cams in no time. He's got some skills."
Tequila threw her an annoyed look.
"Get your feet off the dash."
"What's the big deal?"
"Say that again and I'll blow your head off!"
Chianti raised her gun in fury.
Only Cohen's cool voice defused the tension, making her reluctantly lower the weapon—though her feet remained firmly planted on the dash.
Tequila stopped paying attention. He turned the wheel sharply and drove straight to a remote warehouse on the city's edge.
After parking, he got out and yanked Sawaki from the backseat.
"Wait—what are you doing!? What do you want from me!?"
"Did Katsuyoshi Asahi send you!?"
"I can pay! I can give you money!"
Tequila ignored the screams and dragged him into the warehouse.
Once inside, before Sawaki could even steady his footing, Tequila drove his fist hard into his stomach.
The force crushed his breath instantly.
He doubled over in agony, mouth open in a silent scream—but before he could react, another brutal punch landed on his face.
Tequila's fist smashed into Sawaki's jaw, sending him flying two or three meters away. Blood and teeth spilled across the floor.
But Tequila wasn't finished.
He stalked over, grabbed Sawaki by the collar again, and hauled him back up like a rag doll.
"Please... don't hit me... let me go..."
Sawaki's words gurgled through a mouth full of blood, air whistling through the gaps where his teeth had been.
His face was covered in bruises, and tears streamed from the corners of his swollen eyes.
Pathetic. Disgusting. Weak.
"You had the nerve to attack Cointreau? You brought this on yourself!"
Chianti burst out laughing from the side, clearly enjoying the show.
As a wine taster, Sawaki had heard the name before—but this context made no sense!
Then the answer dropped like a guillotine:
That name, spoken in Tequila's deep voice, made Sawaki's blood run cold.
What!? He was just a detective!
How was he connected to these monsters with guns and military vehicles!?
"Now tell me—why did you target him?"
Tequila demanded, yanking him forward again.