Ding-a-ling~
The tavern door swung open, and the bell overhead gave a cheerful jingle.
"Welcome," the bartender called instinctively.
Hayashi Yoshiki stepped into the dimly lit room.
Even before he made it to the bar, a wave of tension rolled through the space—particularly from Vodka, who sat rigidly, eyes fixed downward.
"Yo! Cointreau!" said Chianti, ever the first to speak.
"Long time no see," added Korn, turning his head slightly.
"Indeed," Yoshiki replied gently.
He made his way to the bar where Gin sat, taking a final drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out. The silver-haired man gave him a faint nod.
"What brings you here?"
"In a good mood tonight. Thought I'd have a drink."
Yoshiki took a seat—but instead of scanning the drink menu, he turned toward Vodka, who was stiff as a board.
"Mr. Vodka," he asked with a smile, "you seem tense. Not in a bad mood, are you?"
"N-No! I'm fine—great, actually!"
Vodka replied instantly, mimicking Yoshiki's voice a little too precisely—his nerves warping the tone.
Yoshiki raised an eyebrow.
Chianti found this absolutely hilarious. She hopped down and slapped Vodka on the back.
"Come on, Vodka! You're scared stiff of his revenge and you're not even hiding it."
"Revenge?" Yoshiki echoed.
"Oh, you don't know? He's the one who detonated the building's communications bridge last time."
Chianti grinned and sold him out without hesitation.
Vodka's heart seized.
He wanted desperately to clamp her mouth shut, but under Yoshiki's gaze, he couldn't even move.
Cointreau... He's dark. A psychopath. A walking disaster...
Even those who hadn't offended him ended up dead. What chance did Vodka have?
"S-Sorry, Cointreau..." Vodka stammered.
"So it was you who set off the bomb?" Yoshiki replied, sounding genuinely surprised—completely ignoring the apology.
Vodka felt a chill rush through his spine.
But moments later, Yoshiki turned back to the bar, eyes drifting to the liquor shelf.
"Well," he said flatly, "it was just an accident. So, I accept your apology, Mr. Vodka."
"...You do?"
"'Accident'—what a beautiful word."
Yoshiki smiled.
"Sometimes, a tiny accident can throw off even the most meticulous plan. I realized that long ago... which is why I find the concept so charming."
"So no, Mr. Vodka. I won't hold it against you."
"Something you understood long ago?" Gin finally spoke, intrigued.
From the way Cointreau phrased it, he implied he'd once failed to kill someone—because of an accident.
But he didn't elaborate.
Instead, he turned to the bartender.
"Cosmopolitan, please."
Then, with a casual smile:
"By the way—I've joined the task force."
"What?!" Chianti nearly dropped her glass. "You joined the police!?"
"Well, a special task force, actually. They're focused on investigating accidental homicides."
"That's insane!" she laughed. "They've basically let a wolf into the henhouse. What are those salary-draining cops even doing!?"
She poured herself a drink and raised her glass.
"Hey, let's celebrate! Double pay now, huh?"
Gin let out a rare snort of laughter.
Cointreau... always full of surprises.
Just recently, Vermouth had been taken in for questioning. The organization had learned a special unit was targeting their "accidental" murders.
Now?
Cointreau had infiltrated that very group—before they even found out.
Did he predict this and plan accordingly?
Not that it mattered. If someone were to claim Hayashi Yoshiki was working for the police?
That was more absurd than the sun rising in the west.
"Just don't blow your cover," Gin said coolly.
"Naturally."
Chianti glanced between the two of them.
"Cohen, say something, will you?"
Cohen sipped his drink in silence.
Eventually, he turned to Yoshiki and asked, deadpan:
"Will you still have time to write novels after joining the task force?"
"I've been thinking about plots lately," Yoshiki replied vaguely.
But that was enough to make Cohen smile faintly.
The Cosmopolitan arrived.
Its sweet-sour scent—cranberry juice, lime, vodka, and the liqueur that shared his codename—filled the air.
"There should be some skilled IT experts in the organization, right?" Yoshiki asked.
"Yeah. What're you planning?" Gin asked, intrigued.
"I want to coordinate some operations within the task force."
Yoshiki's eyes narrowed.
He had high hopes for Noah's Ark—a theoretical artificial intelligence capable of roaming the internet freely, accessing any system, and processing data at superhuman speeds.
If it worked, it could uncover Rum's true identity—and even reveal the mastermind behind the Zoo.
But Yoshiki wasn't naive enough to rely on just one plan.
Even without the Zoo's secrets, AI had immense utility for him.
With its processing power, physics calculations, mapping capabilities, and real-time navigation of terrain, traffic, and behavior models, it could become the ultimate accident orchestrator.
If the user of such a system... was labeled as an accidental killer—
Yoshiki gently swirled the drink in his hand, as if it were champagne.
His smile deepened.
"..."
Next to him, Vodka trembled.
That smile—so calm, so deadly—fixed on the Cosmopolitan in his hand?
What the hell does he mean by smiling like that at a cocktail!?
He leaned over to Gin, panicked.
"Gin… Gin! If I wanted to apologize properly… what should I do?" he whispered.
Yoshiki turned to him, looking puzzled.
"Hmm? Just cooperate with my plans from now on, Mr. Vodka."
Does… Does that mean dying according to your script!?
Vodka looked crushed.
Gin rolled his eyes.
"Idiot. He's talking about task force operations."
"Ah—right! Of course! I'll do my best!"