Hayashi Yoshiki took Yoko Okino to a bar.
Since it was still early—just before 9:00 p.m.—there weren't many people inside.
The lighting in the establishment was dim.
Soft yellow light barely illuminated the tables and chairs, and the bartender behind the counter, a young woman, gave them only a slight nod in greeting. The overall atmosphere was quiet and subdued.
"Let's sit over here."
"...Okay."
Sitting at the bar would have been too conspicuous, so Hayashi Yoshiki and Yoko Okino took a seat in the corner.
She was slightly reserved.
And yet, a little surprised: "This is my first time in a place like this..."
"Did you think it'd be a noisy bar?"
"Yeah, I was really nervous earlier. I thought it would be a loud and crowded place..."
Despite being worried, she hadn't said anything.
Hayashi Yoshiki just smiled.
He picked up the drink menu, glanced at it briefly, and handed it to Yoko Okino.
She actually seemed quite curious about alcohol.
Given her public image, she rarely had opportunities to try it, and now she seemed genuinely intrigued.
"Yoshiki-kun, what kind of drink is Cointreau?"
"Cointreau…?"
Hayashi Yoshiki paused for a moment, then smiled. "It's an orange-flavored liqueur. It has a distinct sweetness, but at its core, it's a distilled spirit—about 40% alcohol."
"I see."
Yoko Okino looked back at the menu.
The bar specialized in cocktails, but the names were confusing, and she looked a bit lost.
"Maybe I'll just go with this one."
"Cointreau?"
"Yeah. I like things with orange flavor."
"Got it."
Hayashi Yoshiki quickly ordered a neat Cointreau and a neat Curacao.
Although the bartender was slightly surprised, she still prepared the drinks according to standard.
Yoko Okino took a sip of the Cointreau. It was served in a classic glass with a few ice cubes. The slightly diluted liquor had a pale golden hue.
Its orange peel and fruity aroma was quite fragrant...
It was clearly alcohol, but the first sip was surprisingly sweet. It wasn't spicy—rather, it had barely any harshness at all.
Surprisingly pleasant.
"Are you okay with it?"
"Yeah, I think I'm going to like this, Yoshiki-kun."
"I see..."
Watching her face turn rosy from the alcohol, Hayashi Yoshiki smiled gently.
"But Yoko, didn't you forget something just now?"
"Huh?"
"You said last time that you wanted to clink glasses."
"Ah! That's right..."
With a cheerful smile, she belatedly raised her glass.
Hayashi Yoshiki lifted his as well and gently tapped it against hers.
"Cheers."
It was a simple, happy voice—Yoko Okino had been wanting to say it for a long time.
Hayashi Yoshiki tried the Curacao he'd ordered.
The light blue drink looked beautiful in the glass. It tasted a little bitter at first but became quite refreshing once the ice had melted a bit.
He glanced at the time on his watch.
"What is it, Yoshiki-kun?"
"Nothing—just reminding you to check your messages around 9:30."
"9:30?" Upon hearing this, Yoko Okino's pretty face lit up with a sweet smile. "Then I'll keep track of the time for you."
"Thanks, Yoko."
"Mhm!"
Time Rewind — Different Location
On the rooftop of a darkened building, Gin, Vodka, and others had arrived about twenty minutes earlier.
"We shoot as soon as the target appears, right?"
At the edge of the rooftop, Chianti had already set up her sniper rifle.
Peering through her scope at the entrance of a building in the distance, she grinned with twisted excitement: "I promise to make this guy die ugly."
Next to her, Korn remained stoic.
He silently adjusted the scope of his own rifle and muttered calmly: "We're ready."
Gin didn't respond.
Vodka, on the other hand, chuckled. "Once the guy steps out, we'll send him to hell."
"What about his bodyguards?"Chianti asked with gleeful bloodlust.
"Kill them too."
Gin answered without hesitation, cold eyes scanning the street below. "A greedy man is never satisfied. Kill him, then renegotiate with whoever takes over."
The Black Organization was massive but clandestine.
Although it had its own smuggling routes for weapons, explosives, and experimental materials, it often partnered with local organizations or logistics companies.
Their current target was the head of a logistics company secretly collaborating with the syndicate.
He had recently become greedy, and negotiations had broken down. So Gin decided to kill him and speak with his successor instead.
The four quietly lay in wait on the rooftop.
"We better not mess this up."Vodka said casually. "I heard the intelligence division's under a lot of pressure lately. Rum is furious."
"Why?"Korn asked, focused on the scope.
"No idea. Big bro might know."
"Don't ask about what you shouldn't."
Gin's words were ice-cold.
He did, in fact, know.
An American celebrity had died recently, scrawling the word Rum on the wall in his own blood. That incident had drawn heightened attention to the Organization.
The boss was livid.
Was it a leak? A careless member?
Gin doubted Rum had made such a rookie mistake. Anyone who knew his identity had to be someone important.
"Hey, bro, over there!"
"What?"
"Isn't that the guy Cointreau's targeting?"
Bored, Vodka had picked up binoculars and spotted a man at a nearby intersection.
"Cointreau's target?"Chianti grinned. "Want me to shoot him too?"
"Don't get involved."
Gin noticed the man as well.
A bald man in a black suit, built like Vodka but with a nastier face, stood at the crosswalk as if waiting for someone.
One glance and Gin lost interest.
BuzzBuzz!
A text came through. Gin glanced at it—Hayashi Yoshiki.
"21:32:14"
The phone's clock showed 21:31—but it had just ticked to 21:32.
Fourteen seconds to go?
"Watch the guy below!"Gin said sharply.
"Huh?"
"Cointreau's about to make his move."
His voice was uncharacteristically alert. His green eyes fixed on the bald man at the crosswalk, scanning the surroundings.
10… 9… 8…
Gin counted silently.
A car suddenly roared past the block.
Its engine echoed even up on the rooftop. The driver seemed to be racing against the red light.
3… 2… 1…
The car, in a desperate swerve to avoid an oncoming SUV, lost control.
It veered off course, barreled toward the bald man, and—
0.
The car slammed into a store. Its front end crumpled into the wall.
Gin's eyes narrowed.
The bald man, having barely dodged the crash, collapsed on the pavement, paralyzed with fear.
Did it fail?
It looked like Cointreau had miscalculated this time.