Looked like Cointreau miscalculated.
Watching the bald man, shaken but staggering to his feet after collapsing in terror, Gin thought as much.
He was mildly surprised, but not shocked.
Staging "accidents" was inherently unpredictable—weather, the target's reflexes, any small glitch could throw it off by miles.
Cointreau had come this close to nailing it—if the car's angle had shifted just a hair.
Gin didn't expect a follow-up; Cointreau's texted timestamp had passed.
"Cointreau actually flubbed it…"
Vodka caught up late, peering through binoculars at the rattled man.
He wasn't sure how to feel.
Relieved, maybe.
Realizing Cointreau's spooky methods could fail made the world seem a bit fairer. The guy's constant air of danger—especially after rumors he might be unhinged—had always left Vodka on edge.
"His job tanked. Want us to clean it up?" Chianti asked eagerly, itching for a kill.
"I'll do it," Cohen offered.
"Hey! I called it first!"
"First shot wins."
"Shut it—that's not your mission—"
Gin started to snap them back to focus, but his phone buzzed again.
Bzzt~ Bzzt~!
Instead of checking it, a gut feeling made him glance at the street.
The bald man, cursing under his breath at the wrecked car that nearly killed him, stepped back a few paces—
Thud!
A body plummeted from above, crushing him flat.
The impact was so swift, so brutal, that Gin and the others only processed it after both men lay still, unmoving.
"…"
"Dead?"
"…Dead."
Through their scopes, Chianti and Cohen saw blood pooling from the heads of both men.
As pros, they knew—those two were gone.
"That guy… fell from, like, the tenth floor," Vodka said, swallowing hard.
A fall from that height, smashing into someone…
Cointreau, that nutcase, killed two people just to take out one target?
Vodka felt sick.
"…"
Gin went quiet.
Cointreau loved striking when his prey thought they'd escaped—something Gin's straightforward killer mindset couldn't grasp.
He didn't get it, but it hit hard.
That twisted bastard.
Cointreau: "Mission done."
Cointreau: "Image.jpg"
Cointreau: "Cheers"
The attachment showed a glass of what looked like straight Cointreau.
Gin didn't reply.
He pocketed the phone, noting Vodka's silence and, for once, Chianti's lack of chatter.
"Clean up, we're pulling out."
"Huh? Why? Our target's about to show!"
"Cointreau's stunt was loud enough. You think sniping a few more won't draw heat?"
Sure, they could strafe Tokyo Tower with an Osprey if needed, but Gin opted for caution. He ignored Chianti's protests, heading for the rooftop stairs.
"Let's go."
Vodka trailed him first.
The rooftop felt icy, unsafe—like the floor might cave in. He hustled after Gin.
Cohen followed.
Chianti muttered, "Tch!" but packed her rifle and left.
---
Feeling a bit woozy.
Yoko Okino's tolerance was low—one Cointreau left her tipsy, bordering on drunk.
She sat primly.
No slurring nonsense, just flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, quietly composed.
"Think we call it here. Let's head back."
"…Okay."
Hayato Masaki took her hand, leading her out of the lounge.
Her mind was still clear.
The commercial strip was quiet past ten. Yoko let him adjust her mask, watching him obediently.
"You good? We'll grab a cab."
"Mm…"
She nodded faintly.
A taxi rolled up. Hayato Masaki flagged it, helped Yoko in, and gave the driver her apartment's address.
The ride was calm.
The driver focused, while Yoko's song played softly on the radio.
Hayato Masaki listened, occasionally glancing at her. In the dim car, was she looking at him behind those sunglasses? Hard to tell.
About twenty minutes later, they arrived.
"You okay getting back like this?"
"…Yeah, I'm fine."
"I'll walk you to your door."
"Thanks, Hayato-kun."
Some get chatty when drunk, but not Yoko. Her mind, though, was racing.
The elevator climbed to her floor.
At her door, she paused.
"So, Hayato-kun… I'll head in?"
"Hold on. Mind if I see your face one more time, Yoko?"
"…Sure."
She slipped off her sunglasses and mask, revealing her lovely, flushed face.
Her soft smile met his gaze. Suddenly, Hayato Masaki closed the distance, bold and direct.
"Ah—"
Her small gasp was cut off as he kissed her.
Her lips carried the sweet orange tang of Cointreau.
A moment later, he pulled back slowly.
"Startled?"
"…Yeah."
His gentle smile met her half-lidded, dreamy eyes.
She dipped her head, voice barely a whisper.
"But…"
Shyly, she added, "It felt really… masculine, Hayato-kun."
***
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