(He) looked at Vermouth, and when he spoke, the voice was Disguise's slightly neutral, clear, and calm tone: "How is it? Are there any flaws?"
Vermouth walked forward, scrutinizing him closely, even reaching out to touch "Disguise's" cheek, feeling the genuine skin texture. Finally, she shook her head and praised, "Perfect. You've even mimicked the professional sharpness in her eyes and the subtle, hard-to-detect trace of arrogance. Unless someone is extremely familiar with her and possesses extraordinary observation skills for prolonged close contact, it would be impossible to see through it."
"That's good." Kanjuro (now Disguise) smiled faintly. The smile looked somewhat peculiar on the feminine face. "Well then, my dear 'date,' we have an entire night to properly discuss how to make this 'prelude,' and tomorrow's actual 'performance,' even more spectacular."
He dragged the unconscious, real Disguise into an extremely hidden corner inside the Bell Tower, using special restraints to ensure she couldn't escape or make a sound, and left enough air and water. "She will stay here quietly until everything is over," he explained, his tone flat.
Having done all this, the two left the Old Bell Tower and vanished into the depths of the forest like ghosts once more. This time, their pace was no longer hurried; they moved like true night wanderers, heading toward a quieter high slope in the forest that overlooked the valley's night view.
On the way, Kanjuro (in Disguise's appearance) suddenly asked, "Do you think Renya Karasuma will suspect you after you bring 'me' back?"
Vermouth walked beside him, pondering for a moment upon hearing the question. "In the short term, probably not. 'Capturing' or 'turning' a detective trying to spy aligns with my usual style and efficiency. Moreover, his current focus is seven-tenths on how to use that group of detectives against you, and three-tenths on the mansion's defense and that 'Final Verification' he obsesses over. He still has basic trust in my 'loyalty,' or rather, he is confident he can control me." She paused and added, "Of course, how long that trust lasts depends on our subsequent performance, and... the magnitude of the shock when you confront him directly."
Kanjuro chuckled. "It seems we need to make this performance convincing enough."
The two reached the high slope and found a flat boulder to sit on. Below, the Twilight Mansion resembled a giant golden beetle crouching in the valley floor. Lights were gradually turning on, yet they failed to dispel the deep gloom. The night sky was clear, and stars began to appear, contrasting sharply with the distant city lights.
They stopped talking about plans, the Organization, or killing. Vermouth produced a small silver flask from somewhere and handed it to Kanjuro. Kanjuro took it and drank, finding it strong whiskey, the heat sliding down his throat.
"Is this a date?" Vermouth took a sip too, gazing at the starry sky, her tone somewhat ethereal. "Under the enemy's nose, wearing someone else's face, drinking stolen liquor, and plotting how to overthrow his headquarters."
"Is it not romantic enough?" Kanjuro turned his head to look at her. He wore Disguise's face, but his eyes held Kanjuro's unique depth and playfulness. "I think there is no date more fitting for who we are. Dangerous, secretive, imbued with the scent of betrayal and conspiracy, the ending unknown... just like us."
Vermouth was silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed, the smile much more genuine, having shed much of her Disguise, appearing somewhat fragile and beautiful under the starlight. "You always find a way to make the worst things sound... irresistible."
She turned her head and looked directly into Kanjuro's (Disguise's) eyes, as if trying to see the true soul beneath the Disguise. "Father, after all this is over, if I am still alive... how will you settle me? Will it be like with Akako, Aoko, or Yukiko?"
Kanjuro did not answer immediately. He reached out, gently lifting Vermouth's chin with his fingertips. The movement was tender yet carried undeniable control. Even while wearing someone else's face, the aura belonging to Kanjuro was clearly conveyed through his eyes.
"You are different from them, Vermouth," he said slowly. "You are more complex, stronger, and more dangerous. You are a poisoned dagger that has its own thoughts yet yearns for a true master. Simple 'collection' or 'control' would be an insult to you, and a waste."
His voice was deep and magnetic: "What I want is not to lock you in a display case. Instead, after this game ends, I want you to stand beside my throne, the only one qualified to stand with me and appreciate this boundless dark landscape that we have created together. Of course, the prerequisite is..."
He leaned in, whispering close to Vermouth's ear, like a demon sealing a pact: "The prerequisite is that you survive until that moment, and... that your heart ultimately chooses to sink completely into the abyss on my side."
Vermouth's body trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the intense shock of being completely seen through and simultaneously promised an unimaginable "future." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath of the cold night air, and when she opened them again, her gaze was filled with near-fanatical resolve and dark submission.
"Then," she proactively kissed Kanjuro's (Ikumi Tamata's) lips. The kiss was brief and forceful, carrying the scent of blood and alcohol, more like a brand. "Let this date be... the first night leading to that future."
The night deepened, and starlight shifted. The two figures on the high slope—one bearing the appearance of a female detective, the other the organization's most dangerous traitor—completed a dark, unknown pact and "date" under the shadow of the enemy's lair. And tomorrow, when the morning light illuminates the Golden Mansion again, a more breathtaking "performance," destined to decide the fate of countless people, will officially begin.
The real Ikumi Tamata lay unconscious in the corner of the Clock Tower, while Kanjuro, disguised as her, would "triumphantly" enter the king of crows' final lair alongside Vermouth. The game entered its most crucial round. Morning light pierced the towering stained-glass windows, casting mottled shadows across the dark red carpet of the Golden Mansion's main hall. The air was filled with the scent of old wood, expensive spices, and a faint, subtle metallic odor. Detectives and scholars who had arrived earlier were already gathered here, talking in low groups, the atmosphere even tenser than yesterday, carrying the instinctive vigilance and unease of prey entering an unfamiliar den.
The main topic of conversation was naturally the disappearance of Ikumi Tamata the previous night.
"She still hasn't returned? The phone isn't connecting either," said a middle-aged man wearing glasses and looking like a scholar, pushing up his spectacles anxiously.
"Could something really have happened? This place is awfully strange." Another burly man, who looked like a retired police detective, folded his arms and vigilantly scanned the emotionless servants standing throughout the hall, who were presumably Mansion staff.
"I heard that demon called Kanjuro might be nearby too..." a well-informed private detective said in a hushed, fearful tone. "The young master of the Hakuba Family privately warned a few acquaintances to be extremely careful. Could Tamata have..."
The sentence wasn't finished, but the implication was clear—she had fallen victim to Kanjuro.
Just as these speculations and anxieties were simmering, a concealed oak door on the side of the hall opened, and Vermouth gracefully walked in. She had changed back into an elegant black dress, her blonde hair perfectly styled, and the mysterious, languid smile had returned to her face, as if the meeting and pact in the forest last night were merely a dream. Her appearance immediately drew many gazes. Some who knew her celebrity identity as "Chris Vineyard" showed surprise, while a few who vaguely sensed her other identity had their eyes narrow slightly.
She calmly walked toward a small bar counter on one side of the hall and poured herself a glass of water, acting as if she were simply attending a typical high-society gathering.
Barely five minutes after Vermouth entered, the main doors of the hall were pushed open again.
The morning light outlined a figure in a sharp khaki trench coat with neat short hair—it was none other than "Ikumi Tamata." She (He) wore a perfectly measured trace of fatigue and weariness on her face, holding the characteristic notebook and binoculars case, walking steadily into the hall.
The hushed whispers instantly ceased, and everyone's gaze focused on the newcomer.
"Miss Tamata!" the scholar-like man exclaimed in surprise. "You're back! We were worried about you!"
"Ikumi Tamata" paused at the doorway, calmly scanned the varied expressions of the people in the hall, nodded, and spoke in her clear, composed voice: "I apologize for causing concern. Last night, I was surveying the terrain and architectural structure outside and wandered too far. I accidentally fell asleep in an abandoned Hunter's Cabin on the edge of the forest, only waking when the sky was fully bright." The explanation was reasonable, and the tone was flat and natural, revealing no flaws.
Hearing this, most people breathed a sigh of relief.
"It's good that you're safe, that you're safe!" The burly former detective walked over and patted "her" shoulder (Kanjuro controlled his muscles, giving a slightly stiff but restrained reaction consistent with Ikumi Tamata's personality). "You wouldn't believe it, we heard that Kanjuro might be around here too, and we thought..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but the implication was obvious.
"Kanjuro?" "Ikumi Tamata" frowned slightly, showing appropriate confusion and vigilance. "The one in the rumors...? He came too?"
"Saguru Hakuba said so, so it should be correct," another detective interjected, his worry undiminished. "This is trouble. The Mansion is already strange enough, and now with that demon..."
The crowd began discussing quietly again, their conversation shifting to how to guard against Kanjuro, who might be lurking in the shadows, and whether they should unite.
At this moment, on the edge of the crowd, Saguru Hakuba was intently watching "Ikumi Tamata." His detective intuition was screaming. The Ikumi Tamata before him was flawless in appearance, voice, mannerisms, and even subtle habits (such as the angle at which she pushed her glasses, or how she held her notebook). But that feeling... he just sensed something was wrong. Was it the eyes? Ikumi Tamata's eyes should be sharp and focused, carrying the specific scrutinizing quality of someone with a Prosecutor background. Yet, the eyes of "her" now, though sharp, were too still deep down—still like a deep pool, seemingly absorbing all surrounding light and emotion, rather than projecting a judgmental glare outward. Furthermore, when "she" walked in, there was an extremely faint, intangible sense of... presence? No, not power or oppression, but a more subtle, contradictory feeling of being both incompatible with the environment and yet cleverly merged with it.
Saguru Hakuba's brow furrowed tighter. He recalled Kanjuro's effortless smile on the plane, and the phrase, "I can easily Disguise myself as anyone." A terrifying hypothesis surfaced in his mind, but he forcibly suppressed it—it was too absurd. If the person before him was Kanjuro in Disguise, where was the real Ikumi Tamata? Why would Kanjuro do this? Just to sneak in?
He subconsciously looked toward Vermouth, finding the Thousand-Faced Demoness leaning elegantly against the bar, seemingly unconcerned as she sipped her water. Only when "Ikumi Tamata" entered did their eyes subtly meet for a fraction of a second, so fast it might have been a hallucination.
Just as Saguru Hakuba was struggling internally, he noticed Ooka Momiji's abnormality beside him.
Ooka Momiji had been distracted since the morning. Now, her eyes were wandering, completely ignoring the detectives' discussions around her, and paying little attention to the "returned" Ikumi Tamata. Her fingers unconsciously twisted the cuff of her Kimono, her gaze occasionally darting towards the hall entrance and the windows. Her lips were slightly pursed, and her expression was a mixture of worry, anxiety, and a hint of... lost confusion?
"Momiji?" Saguru Hakuba called softly.
Ooka Momiji snapped back to attention, looking at him with a slight panic: "Ah? Saguru, what is it?"
"Are you alright? You've been distracted since this morning." Saguru Hakuba looked at her inquiringly. "Are you worried about Kanjuro?"
Ooka Momiji's body gave an almost imperceptible tremor. She lowered her eyes, concealing the complex emotions within: "...Yes, a little. He clearly came, but he hasn't shown his face, and I don't know what he's planning." The explanation was reasonable, but Saguru Hakuba felt that her worry contained more than just fear of a dangerous person.
What she was actually thinking was: Where did Kanjuro go? Why hadn't she seen him since they parted last night? He hadn't even left a single word. Was the demon who spoke of "playing with pure feelings" just speaking casually? Or had he silently begun his operation, perhaps even... met with some misfortune? (This thought made her chest tighten, but it was immediately replaced by deeper confusion and a hint of resentment—Why should she worry about him?)
She forced herself to stop thinking, turning her attention to "Ikumi Tamata," who was briefly conversing with a few detectives, trying to concentrate. However, she didn't even realize that when her gaze swept over "Ikumi Tamata," the subtle flutter in her heart, triggered by the dangerous charm belonging to Kanjuro that was deeply rooted in her memory, created a sense of displacement with the capable face of the other woman before her, making her even more agitated.
Inside the hall, "Ikumi Tamata" was responding to others' inquiries with brief, in-character remarks, occasionally sweeping her gaze across the room, taking in everyone's expressions and reactions—including Saguru Hakuba's scrutinizing look, and Ooka Momiji's poorly concealed concern over the whereabouts of "the real Kanjuro."
Kanjuro (in Disguise) felt completely calm, even finding it amusing. Saguru Hakuba's sharpness was commendable, but he could not see through this Disguise, which was assisted by the power of the dark bible and was a near-essential imitation. As for Ooka Momiji's reaction, it was within his expectations; the contradiction and struggle within this chess piece were precisely one of the "sights" he enjoyed witnessing.
His gaze and Vermouth's briefly met across the hall again, an unspoken understanding passing between them.
The first step of infiltration was successfully completed.
Now, "Ikumi Tamata" was in position. And this hunting drama, staged within the Golden Cage and targeting the king of crows, along with the interspersed desires, fears, and calculations of the many "actors," was about to formally enter its climax. The real storm was quietly brewing beneath the seemingly calm morning light and conversation.
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