"Thank you. You've worked hard today.""Not at all—it was a pleasure."
Evening light bathed the city in soft orange hues.
A stunning blonde woman flashed a dazzling smile at the man beside her, and he blushed awkwardly under the attention.
The smile in her sea-colored eyes deepened.
Vermouth was, without a doubt, beautiful. Breathtakingly so.
Golden curls tumbled over her shoulders. Her face—flawless and radiant—was the very embodiment of charm. Her lean figure could have been sculpted by a master artist. Pedestrians turned to stare, some openly, others from behind sunglasses.
She didn't notice. Or perhaps she didn't care.
"Could you help me get these back to the hotel?""Of course."
The man cheerfully obeyed, loading the pile of shopping bags into the trunk of her luxury car.
Vermouth casually opened her phone, swiping through options to make a dinner reservation—she was the type who enjoyed life to its fullest when not on assignment.
Across the street, a construction crane was at work.
A large billboard was being raised outside a shopping mall.
The crane operator, a veteran of the trade, manipulated the swing arm with one hand and reached for his cigarette with the other. He flicked the butt down toward his makeshift ashtray…
The cigarette hit the cabin floor.
As he leaned down to retrieve it, a sudden tug in the machinery made him look up.
A steel wire rope frayed at the billboard's end.
The billboard jerked violently in mid-air, swinging with unsteady weight.
Alarmed, the operator moved quickly to stabilize it, lowering the arm.
Another cable snapped.
The massive billboard swayed dangerously, like a pendulum. Then—just as the operator panicked—a strong gust of wind slammed against the side of the swing arm.
He tried to lower it safely, but inertia pushed the swinging mass to extreme angles.
Down below, a white car turned the corner and headed straight toward it.
"No... no no no...!" the operator whispered.
The billboard slammed into the side of the speeding car like a golf club hitting a ball. The vehicle jerked violently, veered off course, and slammed into a row of parked cars across the street—
Right in front of Vermouth.
She barely had time to step back before—
Shattered glass and shrapnel exploded outward.
Thrown by the blast, Vermouth landed hard on her side. Her ears rang. Her ribs ached. The man helping her moments ago was also thrown to the ground.
The car alarm screamed into the chaos.
For a moment, Vermouth couldn't move.
Rooftop Observation Point
On a rooftop across the way, Gin lowered his telescope, chuckling darkly.
"What a mess, Vermouth..."
It was he who'd tipped off Cointreau about her whereabouts—at his request, of course.
"Said he wanted to 'teach her a lesson.' I have to admit... I'm enjoying the show._"
Behind him, Vodka watched Vermouth's crumpled figure rise unsteadily.
"You think that's it?"His voice was uneasy. "He's got a reputation, you know... he likes to end things clean."
Even he didn't quite trust Cointreau to stop at just a warning.
If he really loses control…
Gin's eyes remained fixed on the scene below.
Luckily, the hit ended there. No follow-up. No killing blow.
Just chaos—and a message.
Bandaged and bruised, Vermouth sat in the back seat of a sedan, one arm clutched over her ribs.
There was no evidence. But she didn't need it.
There was no way that billboard just happened to fall. Not in front of her. Not while she stood there carefree, unguarded.
Instead of fury, a smile crept onto her face.
So you do care about the people around you, huh?
If he'd truly meant to kill her, she'd be dead.
But this wasn't murder. It was a warning. One he'd crafted with surgical precision.
"Stay away from Ran."
And yet, he hadn't broken ties with Rum either.
It was a show of strength—and restraint.
You care… just enough.Interesting.
She opened her phone, found the name "Cointreau", and after a long pause… sent a message.
Vermouth: "I give in, Cointreau. I surrender to you."
Within two minutes, her phone buzzed.
Cointreau: "Then ask the driver to stop the car."
She blinked. What did that mean?
Still clutching her aching chest, Vermouth looked forward, then frowned.
The driver hesitated but obeyed.
Screams erupted ahead. Tires screeched. Horns blared.
A chain collision unfolded in the lane they'd been about to enter.
Vermouth stared, stunned.
If we hadn't stopped…
Then she typed another message with trembling fingers:
Vermouth: "It's gone now, right?"
She stared at the screen for a long time.