The streets at night were alive with the hum of a sleek silver sedan speeding through them.
Vodka sat in the driver's seat.
He seemed quite skilled at handling vehicles, coaxing most of them into a smooth, steady ride under his control.
"This car's not bad at all. Drives real smooth," Vodka remarked with a nod.
"So, what were you two doing just standing there earlier?"
"Big brother's car got its tire shot out by a bullet. We were calling someone to tow it away."
"…Your daily life sure is colorful."
Hayato Masaki, seated in the back, raised an eyebrow at Vodka's blunt honesty.
Gin didn't bother responding.
As soon as he settled into the passenger seat, he caught a distinct whiff of feminine perfume lingering in the car—notes of evening primrose and lily of the valley, elegant yet lively, likely belonging to a young woman with refined taste.
Judging by the strength of the scent, she hadn't just been in the car for a quick ride.
These thoughts flickered through Gin's mind before he spoke. "The library case is still generating a lot of buzz. We'd be wise to strike while the iron's hot."
"Yeah, I've got a handle on that," Hayato Masaki replied, meeting Gin's gaze in the rearview mirror. "So, where are we headed now, borrowing my car like this? If it's for a hit, I'm afraid I'll have to pass."
"To another one of the Organization's bars. You'll meet some new associates while we're there."
"Sounds good."
Hayato Masaki's interest was piqued.
He glanced at the direction the car was heading, noting it wasn't toward the big black building from before.
Somewhere more out of the way, perhaps?
Vodka was driving faster than usual.
Maybe because Hayato Masaki was in the car, Vodka felt an odd sense of security, his mood lifting slightly as he pressed on.
The drive stretched on for nearly half an hour.
Their destination was indeed remote—a bar tucked away among residential buildings. The only sign of its existence was an unassuming plaque bearing a black spider logo and the name Black Widow. No other markers hinted at it being a bar.
"You guys are so slow!"
The moment they stepped inside, a sharp, high-pitched voice rang out impatiently.
"It's not that we're slow. Big brother's car had a little issue," Vodka explained.
"Hmm?"
Chianti dragged out the sound, her tone skeptical. "I told you that old clunker's no good. Spending a fortune every year to maintain it—why not just get a sports car? A sports car!"
"No, it was a bullet that hit the tire."
"A bullet? For real? Hahahahaha!"
Chianti's shrill, mocking laughter erupted instantly, grating and malicious.
Gin ignored her completely, heading straight to the bar counter and taking a seat.
Hayato Masaki took a moment to observe his surroundings.
This bar felt like the opposite of the one at the big black building. The atmosphere was surprisingly bright, but like the other, it was devoid of outsiders.
No one paid Chianti's cackling any mind, and eventually, she lost interest in her own outburst, her attention shifting to Hayato Masaki's unfamiliar face.
"Who's this?"
"Cointreau. New to the Organization," Gin said at last, lighting a cigarette and glancing at Chianti. "You don't need to know more than that. He won't be working with us much."
"Oh! Orange liqueur, huh?"
Chianti ignored Gin's warning, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "That sweet stuff—I thought it'd be a woman's code name!"
"Don't underestimate Cointreau, Chianti," Vodka said as he sat down, wiping at imaginary sweat on his brow.
Chianti's reckless mouth never stopped. If she ever found out that the ever-smiling Cointreau was constantly scheming in the shadows, plotting fatal "accidents," would she still be so brash?
"Hey there, senpai," Hayato Masaki said with a bright smile.
"Hah!"
Chianti quirked her left brow at his cheerful expression.
She was a wiry woman, her frame almost fragile.
Her chin-length, mushroom-cut brown-red hair framed her face, and a black neck gaiter hugged her throat. She wore a low-cut black bodysuit that clung to her like a second skin.
Chianti's appearance screamed instability.
It wasn't just the swallowtail butterfly tattoo beneath her left eye. Her decent-looking face was smeared with stark black eyeshadow, no other makeup in sight, and her lipstick was a toxic shade—almost like a delinquent trying too hard.
"Not bad. Your face is the kind I could get behind," she said with a teasing smirk. "Name's Chianti. I'm with the action team."
"Korn."
A dull, quiet voice came from the side, belonging to a reserved-looking man.
"Nice to meet you."
Hayato Masaki greeted them both with a smile. After Korn gave a slow nod, he turned his attention to the bar counter.
The bartender silently slid a drink menu toward him—wines and cocktails from around the world, a selection even richer than the one at the big black building.
"A Champs-Élysées, please. Thank you."
"Coming right up."
"Hey, make me a Chianti and Cointreau special!" Chianti shouted abruptly, her manic energy flaring as she leaned toward the bartender. "It'll work, right? It's gotta taste good, yeah?"
The bartender nodded patiently. "Of course. One moment, please."
Hayato Masaki waited quietly.
The Organization's code names followed a pattern: men were named after distilled spirits, women after fermented drinks. Chianti and Korn fit the mold.
Chianti, named for both a wine and a region in Italy, suited her brash, fiery personality—perhaps a nod to the stereotype of Italians being bold and expressive.
Korn, on the other hand, came from a plain German grain spirit, unremarkable and straightforward, much like his silent, stoic demeanor.
***
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