Everyone sat at the bar.
The bartender wiped glasses in silence. Gin was focused on his phone, editing messages. Hayashi Yoshiki leisurely flipped through a book, sipping his drink. Vodka and Cohen clinked glasses beside each other.
"Mission. When am I getting another mission?"
She couldn't help but storm over and ask Gin.
He glanced at her coldly, but surprisingly answered with patience:
"Wait. You'll have your chance to show off soon."
"You're not going to make me just stare at the target forever again, are you? And then call me back without a shot fired?"
Chianti immediately let out a loud "tsk!" and stalked away. She picked up her rough concoction—Chianti and Cointreau—gulped it down, and sighed:
"That should taste terrible, right?"Hayashi Yoshiki smiled at her from his seat.
"I figured. I can't imagine what that combo would even taste like."
"Are you implying something?"Chianti gave him a devilish grin, her eyeliner winged like a blade."I think you should try more things, no matter what it is."
"Have you ever tried mixing Chianti with Gin or Vodka?"
Chianti's face twisted in mock outrage. Gin, who had been texting, stopped and shot a sharp glare at the two. Vodka, mistaking the attention, looked up with a clueless, "Huh?"
"You're a brave one,"Chianti's eyes flickered with an odd glint.
Though she was the "Phoenix Chick" of the Crouching Dragon and Phoenix Chick duo, and often hot-headed, she wasn't stupid. Few people in the organization dared to joke about Gin like that.
Which meant one thing:
Cointreau—Hayashi Yoshiki—was either incredibly competent or incredibly well-connected.
"I just hope the workplace relationships here can be a little easier,"he said with a warm smile.
Chianti clicked her tongue again and walked off.
Yoshiki turned back to his book, lifting his glass of Champs Élysées. He asked casually:
"Speaking of which, what exactly is the action group Chianti mentioned?"
"Operations and intelligence,"Gin, seated beside him, replied coolly."Those are the two main branches in the organization. But it doesn't matter to you. Unless that gentleman gives special instructions, I'll be assigning your tasks."
He already knew—Gin ran the Action Team, while Rum was the shadowy head of Intelligence.
Compared to the ever-visible Gin, Rum was far more elusive—always masked in false identities, often using pseudonyms. Paranoia incarnate.
"Hey! Who wants to play pool?"Chianti called out.
Cohen silently set his glass down and walked over.
Soon, the sound of clacking billiard balls echoed through the bar.
Yoshiki watched for a while, then set his book aside and wandered over. Vodka followed.
"Watch me!"Chianti shouted with enthusiasm.
She talked non-stop during the game, a stark contrast to the silent Cohen—yet both were exceptionally good.
Must be the sniper training. Their precision with angles and calm under pressure was obvious.
"It'd be brutal playing against them if they weren't holding back,"Vodka muttered.
In the end, Cohen won.
Yoshiki took the cue from Chianti, casually chalked it, and leaned in to serve. That's when Cohen said:
"I've read your book."
"It's good. I liked it."He paused."You still collecting names for supporting roles?"
That made Yoshiki smile more genuinely than he expected. A rare compliment.
They played a few rounds.
Though Cohen started strong, Yoshiki was incredibly steady—every shot precise, calculating the angles and ball trajectories with natural ease.
Eventually, Cohen lost. Without a word, he handed the cue to Vodka.
The man hesitated, unsure. He wasn't a masochist—and didn't want to insult Cointreau by backing out either.
"If Mr. Vodka isn't in the mood, don't force yourself."Yoshiki smiled and put the cue down himself.
Then he handed his notebook and pen to Cohen, who opened it to a blank page and scribbled his name in large, neat letters.
Gin noticed, but said nothing.
With that unexpected reward, Yoshiki decided to leave.
After downing half a glass of ice water and ignoring Chianti's casual, possibly flirtatious suggestion that he spend the night, he stood to go.
"Wait."Gin called out.
"Beika Town has been cracking down hard on drunk driving after midnight."
"My brother and I got stopped five, six times recently. Most traffic cops back off when they see my brother, but there's this dumb lady officer who… anyway, it's best not to drive now."
Vodka grudgingly admitted that the officer's driving in her tiny patrol car had impressed him—even if it annoyed him too.
"No worries. I wasn't planning to drive anyway." Yoshiki shrugged. "Wouldn't want the headlines to read 'New Detective Arrested for DUI.'"
As the door swung shut behind him, Chianti's voice called out faintly:
"Want a ride home in my sports car?"
But he didn't look back.
Just as he reached the sidewalk, his phone buzzed.
He pulled it out of his pocket.
A new message from Yoko Okino:
"Yoshiki-kun, tomorrow is April 13th. Do your best~ ?(?o?o?)??"
Yoshiki couldn't help but smile.
"Such a diligent little calendar," he muttered affectionately.
He didn't reply right away.
Instead, he stood there quietly, still feeling the cold night breeze, the muted city lights, and the ever-present weight of the darkness he lived in.
But in moments —small, soft messages reminding him of the date—he felt a little more human.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.