Chapter 54: Cooperation (Part 2)
'Cooperation? What kind of cooperation?'
Toru Amuro kept his expression perfectly neutral, though a flicker of sharp annoyance flared behind his eyes. Hearing that the Organization was actively planning to expand its sphere of influence was the last thing an undercover agent wanted to learn. He quickly buried the untimely emotion beneath a mask of casual curiosity, his mind already spinning to extract more intelligence from the shadows.
"There is no need for you to know the details right now," Gin said, his cold voice cutting through the damp night air. "This cooperation is primarily led by Cointreau. He was previously in charge of affairs in Europe and is intimately familiar with these matters."
Gin shifted his gaze, his chilling green eyes sweeping over Bourbon and the tall, broad-shouldered man standing nearby. "Bourbon. Irish. You two will follow his lead from now on. Vermouth will be responsible for providing operational assistance."
After issuing the directive, Gin turned his attention toward a figure standing quietly in the deepest pitch of the alley's darkness. Amuro tracked his gaze, his muscles tensing slightly. So that was Cointreau. This was the first time he had ever heard the codename.
To be handed the reins of such a critical operation meant Cointreau's standing within the Organization was far from ordinary. He might even sit on par with Gin himself.
Amuro watched as the figure finally straightened up in response to Gin's gesture, taking slow, deliberate steps out of the shadows.
As the harsh, pale moonlight washed over the newcomer, Amuro narrowed his eyes, committing every detail to memory. Long blonde hair, neatly tied back, framed a face with surprisingly soft, almost gentle contours. At first glance, he looked entirely out of place in the criminal underworld, exuding a quiet, unassuming grace. But a closer look at those striking golden eyes shattered that illusion entirely. They were pools of absolute stillness—devoid of warmth, devoid of fluctuation. From the moment he stepped into the light, his expression remained chillingly indifferent.
Irish crossed his thick arms, a sneer twisting his lips as he looked down at the slighter man. "So you're Cointreau. I've heard the rumors—the big shot running things over in Europe. But this is Japan. If we're all supposed to roll over and take orders from you, I have to wonder... do you actually have the fangs for it?"
Bourbon remained silent, leaning casually against a rusted shipping container. He wanted to observe this suddenly appearing executive. Hearing Irish take the lead as the aggressive test subject was the perfect opportunity to gauge Cointreau's true capabilities.
A soft, almost bored sigh escaped Cointreau's lips.
Then, the air snapped.
Before Irish could even twitch, a metallic glint flashed in the dark. Cointreau closed the distance in a fraction of a second, his movements a blur of terrifying, kinetic precision. He stepped inside Irish's guard without a sound, his arm snapping up. The cold, biting edge of a dagger was suddenly pressed flush against Irish's carotid artery.
"How about it?" Cointreau asked, his voice entirely flat. "Have I proven my skills now?"
Irish stiffened into a statue. He slowly lowered his gaze, his eyes crossing slightly to look at the razor-sharp steel resting against his throat. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his temple. He swallowed hard, the movement of his Adam's apple brushing dangerously against the blade.
So fast. His body hadn't even registered the threat until the blade was already at his neck.
"Pro—proven..." Irish grunted, his previous arrogance evaporating into the night air.
Hearing the strained reply, Cointreau didn't push the humiliation any further. With a flick of his wrist, the dagger vanished back into his sleeve as smoothly as it had appeared.
He stepped back, sweeping his golden gaze over both Irish and Bourbon. "Regarding the upcoming cooperation between the Organization and the Ragnvindr Family, I expect you to fully follow my arrangements. If you have any questions, speak up now. Otherwise, keep your mouths shut."
Irish rubbed his neck, finally breathing again. Even with the blade gone, the phantom chill of the steel seemed to linger on his skin, a stark warning that kept any further objections locked firmly in his throat.
Bourbon naturally kept his silence as well, though his mind was racing. He was now deeply wary of the blonde man. He hadn't reacted to Cointreau's movement either. One blink, and the man had crossed the space between them. If an operative with that kind of lethal speed decided to target him, surviving would be a coin toss at best.
"Good," Cointreau said, turning away. "Since no one objects, we are done for today. I will notify you of the specific mission details later."
"Cointreau. It has been a long time."
Seeing that the official briefing had concluded, Vermouth stepped into the moonlight, a languid, dangerous smile playing on her lips. "Since I am responsible for providing your assistance, it seems we will be seeing quite a lot of each other from now on."
Cointreau paused, glancing back at her over his shoulder. "Long time no see. But... should I be calling you Chris now?"
Bourbon kept his breathing steady, listening intently to the exchange. He filed the detail away instantly. Judging by Cointreau's phrasing, Vermouth had operated under a different name in the past.
"Heh," Vermouth chuckled, though the sound lacked its usual warmth. "Forgetting a lady's name isn't very gentlemanly."
Beneath her calm exterior, her mind was calculating rapidly. She hadn't expected Cointreau to arrive in Japan right now. He was notoriously difficult to read and even harder to manipulate—far more troublesome than Gin in many respects. His presence was highly unfavorable for the personal agenda she had been carefully setting into motion.
"I was never a gentleman to begin with," Cointreau replied dryly.
Feeling that the purpose of the gathering was fulfilled, he had zero interest in trading veiled barbs with the actress. He turned his back on the group, his coat catching the night breeze as he prepared to leave.
"Did you come to Japan so suddenly because you intend to look for someone?" Vermouth asked, her voice dropping a fraction of an octave. "Have you found them?"
She needed to know his true motive, praying it wouldn't intersect with her own targets.
"Guess," Cointreau threw back over his shoulder, not breaking his stride as he vanished back into the shadows.
Bourbon pushed off the shipping container, walking over to Vermouth with a perfectly crafted look of mild curiosity. "Looking for someone? Is Cointreau tracking down a target?"
"It is nothing," Vermouth replied smoothly, shutting down the inquiry.
She watched the empty space where Cointreau had disappeared. She had always suspected he was relentlessly searching for a phantom—someone who simply didn't exist. But that was his business. Without his explicit consent, she wasn't about to gossip about his obsessions to a hound like Bourbon. Asking him directly just now had already crossed a subtle line.
Seeing the closed look on her face, Bourbon didn't press the issue, simply locking the information away in his mental vault.
With Gin offering no further instructions, the group dispersed. Irish climbed into his own vehicle, his face still grim, while Vermouth slipped into the passenger seat of Bourbon's car.
The roar of engines faded into the distance, leaving only the biting wind sweeping through the empty industrial lot. Vodka shifted his weight, glancing at the tall man in the black trench coat.
"Big Brother," Vodka began, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. "Why did the Organization suddenly decide to play nice and cooperate this time? It doesn't exactly fit our usual style, does it?"
Gin reached into his coat and pulled out a cigarette. Vodka was instantly there, snapping his lighter open to offer a flame. The cherry glowed bright orange in the dark. Gin took a slow, deep drag, the smoke curling from his lips as he exhaled into the freezing air.
"Heh. It was the other side who came knocking first," Gin sneered, his eyes narrowing. "They somehow managed to sniff out that the Organization possesses anti-aging technology. They specifically demanded a data exchange regarding it."
"Then why agree?" Vodka blinked, genuinely surprised. "In the past, whenever some fools tried to pry into our business, we either sent a strike team to silence them, or we dragged them into the fold by force. This is the first time I've ever heard of us agreeing to a mutual partnership."
"The other party offered a condition the Boss simply couldn't refuse," Gin said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. He cast a sideways glance at his subordinate. "Besides... who told you the Organization didn't send people to silence them?"
Vodka swallowed hard, a cold sweat breaking out on his back. "Then... what was the result?"
Gin took another drag, the glowing ember illuminating the sharp, cruel lines of his face. "No result. Wiped clean off the map. Regardless of whether they were outer ring grunts or codenamed operatives, shortly after Rum sent them to investigate the Ragnvindr Family, they vanished without a single trace."
"Tsk. A bunch of trash," Gin spat, his tone dripping with absolute disgust.
Although the operatives sent to investigate belonged to Rum's faction and had nothing to do with his own division, the sheer incompetence of losing an entire scouting party without gathering a shred of intel felt like a stain on the Organization's reputation.
Gin couldn't fathom why the Boss hadn't severely punished Rum for the catastrophic failure. He was even more baffled by whatever secret negotiations had taken place between Rum and the Ragnvindr Family afterward—negotiations that somehow ended with Rum personally proposing this alliance to the Boss, and the Boss actually agreeing.
Still, the internal politics were obvious. The Boss clearly didn't trust Rum entirely. This massive operation wasn't handed over to Rum's loyalists. Instead, Cointreau was brought in to lead, flanked by Irish—who had deep ties to Pisco, an old-timer in the Organization—and Bourbon, who operated under Rum. It was a perfectly calculated web of mutual surveillance, designed to keep everyone in check.
Yet, as he stared out into the dark, even Gin felt a rare twinge of genuine curiosity.
What exactly did the Ragnvindr Family possess? What kind of use could they possibly offer that was valuable enough to make Rum swallow the humiliation of losing his men, and powerful enough to convince the Boss to hand over the early research data of the Silver Bullet?
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