Chapter 8 About Artworks

The distillery's model worker had well-maintained long, straight silver hair, neatly tucked into a hat. His trading partner had already left, and Gin picked up his phone to check messages for the seventeenth time since he left.

Vodka has mysteriously disappeared; he's not replying to texts or answering phone calls.

As Gin began to recall the details of his interactions with Vodka over the past few days, he wondered if his underling had developed some inappropriate thoughts, or perhaps he had been kidnapped by someone.

This time, the two split up. Vodka went to the research institute to retrieve a new drug specifically developed for the leaders of the Port Mafia, while Gin was responsible for making direct contact with their people.

The contact person sent by the other party was a girl dressed in a brightly colored kimono.

The organization has always avoided crossing the line in Yokohama, a place teeming with people with supernatural abilities.

The old leader, who was barely clinging to life and desperately trying to find a possible cure through the organization's technology, also offered a reward that satisfied the organization, only requesting that the transaction be conducted outside of Yokohama.

Correspondingly, the organization also cooperated by leaving its headquarters in Tokyo.

After repeated confirmation by the two criminal gangs, they finally chose this forest with its supernatural legends.

As a result, Vodka, who was responsible for getting the medicine, disappeared without a trace.

The girl with superpowers believed he had been kidnapped by rival forces of the Port Mafia and only said she needed to go back to report to her boss.

Now Gin can only hope that the intelligence team can find Vodka as soon as possible. After all, their organization believes in finding the person alive or dead.

After waiting for a while, Gin's patience was about to run out when he heard the faint sound of footsteps being trampled on the grass from the depths of the woods. Finally, Vodka, limping, came into Gin's view.

The word "miserable" is not enough to describe Vodka's condition; his face was covered with bruises and purple marks.

The black suit that was fine when he parted ways with Gin last night was now dusty and had irregularly distributed holes. His coat and sunglasses were nowhere to be found, and one of his hands hung limply to the side, looking broken.

If Vodka hadn't actually been an office worker, he would probably be pretty much finished by now.

"You encountered a bear?"

Gin looked at the vodka who was stumbling towards him.

It looks somewhat like a car accident, as if it was hit by something and flew into the air, then rolled several times on the ground after landing.

"Big brother, I brought the things from the research institute."

He gave irrelevant answers, and Vodka practically dragged his body along with his soul; he couldn't even hear what his older brother was saying.

Gin had lent a hand to his underling, and Vodka, still clutching the briefcase containing the new medicine, handed it to Gin.

The moment Gin got his hands on him, the poor little brother, who had barely made it this far, finally passed out in relief.

Gin looked at Vodka, who was lying unconscious on the ground, and opened the briefcase in his hand.

With a click, just as Gin had predicted, the briefcase contained not the latest drug, vodka, but a photograph, and nothing else.

It was practically an empty bag, and Gin noticed the weight was off as soon as he took it.

However, given Vodka's condition just now, he was completely unable to accurately sense the actual weight of the briefcase.

It's highly likely that after Vodka's accident, he accidentally swapped bags with someone else, or... that person had their eye on Vodka and deliberately orchestrated this accident to obtain the research institute's latest findings!

Seeing his seriously injured younger brother, Gin frowned and dialed the organization's medical team.

The organization acted quickly, bringing not only a medical team but also a number of intelligence personnel. Rum was already on edge when he heard that the medicine had gone missing.

His reaction this time was not as agitated as usual. He didn't even blame Gin and Vodka for their incompetence, but instead exuded a sense of superiority that said, "He knew it."

Other factions in Yokohama would inevitably send people to intercept the drug; Vodka was lucky to have survived.

However, two hours later, Gin received feedback from both the medical team and the intelligence team, and the results were absurdly terrifying.

"You mean, Vodka got himself into this state?"

"Yes, Lord Vodka must have fallen accidentally while trying to avoid some animal or person, but one thing is strange, there is no cliff there."

How did he fall and get so badly injured? Was it really the work of those Yokohama ability users?

"Lord Gin, we found a very thin, white hair at the scene..."

Their intelligence team knew that Gin's hair color was more of a grayish silver, and unlike this soft strand of hair, the organization's top killer's hair was very stiff, not like this marshmallow.

Gin stuffed the hair into the empty bag as well.

Now that there are two leads, Vodka probably won't be able to work for a while, but his mission can't stop.

The missing drugs can be searched for by Rum, and the Port Mafia also needs a codenamed member responsible for negotiations to participate in the investigation. Even if the investigation proves that Yokohama forces were not involved, it can still demonstrate their organization's stance.

Choosing the right person to negotiate is of utmost importance, and Rum is currently looking for someone.

In the evening, inside an ordinary detached villa in a residential area, Amuro Tooru looked at the unexpected guest who had suddenly arrived.

Since he was assigned to England, he had gotten to know many codenamed members through that blond boy, and Curaçao was one of them.

Curaçao also sized up this unusually lucky young man with a dark face. This kid was busy with missions in order to become a codename member as soon as possible, and Curaçao didn't expect to see him here.

However, if he can endure under Barbaresco for a little longer, he will be free.

Rum had already noticed this peripheral member who not only completed the task exceptionally well but was also unusually diligent.

For the first time, this autocratic old man did not doubt an outer member who was working too hard to complete tasks and climb the ranks.

Rather, it would be abnormal for Amuro Tooru not to work hard. Apart from English whiskey, no one in the organization could tolerate this unconsciously artistic madman.

After all, Amuro Tooru was nominally under Sinclair's command, but in reality, both of them were overshadowed by Barbaresco.

"And England?"

Curaçao asked her about her ultimate purpose for coming here.

There was a clanging sound coming from the kitchen; someone was busy doing something inside.

"Is he in the kitchen?"

Amuro Tooru's feigned calm face suddenly crumbled upon hearing the word "kitchen," and Curaçao's heart tightened.

"Is that Barbaresco in the kitchen?"

A slight noise came from the entrance hall, and a blond boy carrying a paper bag walked in with a smile on his face, looking to be in a good mood.

The paper bag contained several German breads. Upon seeing the unexpected visitor, the person greeted the codenamed member who liked children.

"Miss Curaçao, you've arrived," he said, heading towards the kitchen to put the bread on the table.

Sinclair turned around when he didn't hear Curaçao's voice for a while.

What came into view were two ashen faces. Sinclair was startled, and he had a vague feeling that something was amiss.

"What happened?"

Before the two people could tell the poor child what had happened, Liangxiu placed a plate of avant-garde "artwork" next to the bread.

Barbaresco, radiating joy, was still wearing an apron.

Sinclair stared at the blood-stained apron and suddenly hallucinated a kind of good chef.

Thinking of the human-centered head chef, Sinclair couldn't help but shudder as he looked at the "work of art" on the plate, the ingredients of which were unrecognizable.

Stop thinking about it. This isn't the city, and it's certainly not Lane 23.

Now Sinclair finally realized where the misunderstanding was: there was a sound coming from the kitchen.

Of the three of them, the only one besides him who could make edible food was sitting on the sofa.

Help! Manager Dante!!

Unfortunately, there won't be any clocks here to rescue them.

The room fell into a deathly silence as the three people stared intently at the indescribable object on the plate.

The other two were still in the living room, only able to make out a general outline. Sinclair, who was at the dining table, had already heard the universe singing to him.

The vibrating cell phone saved the poor child, Sinclair shouted incoherently.

"Miss Ryoshu, I have a mission!!"

He turned and ran out of the house.

In truth, he didn't know what the news was; in any case, being able to escape smoothly was his victory.

I'm so sorry, Mr. Amuro, Ms. Curaçao!

Liangxiu ignored Sinclair's escape and turned to look at the two organization members who were still sitting motionless in the living room.

At that moment, their phones all started vibrating simultaneously.

Curaçao secretly breathed a sigh of relief, as one of the few people in the organization with common sense.

She affectionately pulled the only peripheral member who hadn't received the message away from that horrible "artwork."

"A bunch of clueless idiots," Barbaresco clicked his tongue as he looked at the empty house.

She took off her blood-stained apron and prepared to pick up her phone, which was lying on the coffee table.

He casually picked up a black, unidentified object from the plate and put it in his mouth. What's so scary about squid ink fried chicken nuggets? It's not like it's for the Twisted One to eat.

FromRum

[Choose a later date to travel to Yokohama and negotiate with the Port Mafia executives; they will grant you permission to bring in English whisky.]

Hmph, as Ryosuke looked at the message, something stirred in his heart. Yokohama, huh?

Sinclair returned dejectedly to Ryōshū, noticing that the color of her lips was identical to the color on the plate.

"Ahhh! Miss Ryoshu, you can't eat that! Throw it out!"

There's no Dante here who can bring people back to life at any time!

As soon as Curaçao entered, she saw the blond boy brazenly pinching Barbaresco's face and trying to put his hand into her mouth.

She quietly closed the door. It seemed she had slept too late last night and was even hallucinating. She should go back to sleep. Hmm, it was just a hallucination.

A note from the author:

----------------------