Hayato Masaki led Yoko Okino to a quiet lounge bar.
It was barely nine, so the place was nearly empty.
The lighting was dim.
Soft amber glows gently lit the tables and chairs, while a young female bartender behind the counter gave a subtle nod to greet them. The vibe was hushed, serene.
"Let's sit here."
"…Okay."
The bar counter felt too exposed, so Hayato Masaki and Yoko Okino picked a corner table.
She seemed a touch reserved.
But also intrigued. "This is my first time in a place like this…"
"Thought it'd be one of those loud spots?"
"Yeah, I was kinda nervous, expecting somewhere packed and noisy…"
Worried, but she hadn't said a word earlier.
Hayato Masaki just smiled.
He grabbed a drink menu, glanced at it, and passed it to her.
Yoko seemed genuinely curious about the options.
Her idol image rarely allowed her to explore alcohol, so she studied the list with interest.
"Hayato-kun, what's Cointreau?"
"Cointreau… huh?"
He paused briefly, then smiled. "It's an orange-flavored liqueur. Pretty sweet, but still a distilled spirit—around 40% alcohol."
"Oh, I see."
Yoko scanned the menu again.
The bar leaned heavily on cocktails, but the cryptic names stumped her.
"Maybe I'll go with this one."
"Cointreau?"
"Yup. I love orange flavors."
"Got it."
Hayato Masaki ordered a straight Cointreau and a straight Curaçao.
The bartender raised an eyebrow but prepped the drinks as requested.
Served in old-fashioned glasses with a touch of ice, the slightly diluted Cointreau glowed a faint yellow. Yoko took a sip.
It had a rich orange peel and fruit aroma…
Despite being liquor, the first taste was a surprising sweetness, barely spicy—almost no burn at all.
Shockingly easy to drink.
"Not bad?"
"Mm, I think I'm gonna love this, Hayato-kun."
"Nice…"
Seeing her cheeks flush from the alcohol, Hayato Masaki smiled.
"But, Yoko, didn't you forget something?"
"Huh?"
"Last time at the restaurant, didn't you say you wanted to clink glasses?"
"Oh, right!"
Beaming, she raised her glass belatedly.
Hayato Masaki lifted his, tapping it lightly against hers.
"Cheers!"
Her lively tone betrayed how long she'd wanted to say that.
He tried his Curaçao.
The pale blue liquid looked striking in the glass, with a slight bitterness at first sip, but the ice made it crisp and refreshing.
He glanced at his watch.
"What's up, Hayato-kun?"
"Nothing, just gotta send a friend a text around nine-thirty."
"Nine-thirty, got it," Yoko said, her pretty face lighting up with a cute smile. "I'll help you keep track."
"Cool, thanks for the backup, Yoko."
"Yup!"
---
Time shifted forward.
Scene change.
A pitch-black skyscraper rooftop, where Gin, Vodka, and others had arrived twenty minutes ago.
"When the target steps out, we drop him immediately, right?"
At the roof's edge, Chianti had her sniper rifle set up.
Her eyes locked on the distant building's entrance through the scope, a grin spreading. "I'll make sure he goes down messy."
Cohen, beside her, was quieter.
He adjusted his own rifle, tested the aim, and said evenly, "Ready."
Gin didn't respond.
Vodka chuckled. "Soon as that guy shows, straight to hell."
"What about his bodyguards?" Chianti asked, amped up.
"Kill them too."
Gin's reply was instant.
No hesitation, just a cold smirk as he stared down at the building. "Greedy bastards never know when to stop. Kill him, then we deal with whoever takes over."
The Organization was massive but stayed in the shadows.
Guns, explosives, lab materials—they had their own channels, but often worked with local gangs or shipping firms for logistics.
Tonight's target was the head of a shipping company they'd long partnered with.
His demands had grown too big, talks were stalling, so Gin decided it was time for new management.
The four waited patiently on the rooftop.
"Gotta make this clean," Vodka said casually. "Heard the intel team's been under crazy pressure. Rum's pissed."
"What happened?" Cohen asked, still focused.
"Dunno the details, but Aniki might."
"Don't ask what you don't need to know."
Gin shut it down coldly.
He did know—a famous performer in the States had died, leaving "Rum" scrawled in blood on their wall. It'd spiked scrutiny from multiple agencies.
Even that man was furious.
Had someone leaked Rum's info again?
Gin mulled it over.
With Rum's caution, leaving a name at a kill seemed too sloppy. And only high-ranking members knew Rum existed.
"Hey, Aniki, check that out."
"What?"
"That guy at the intersection—isn't he Cointreau's target?"
Bored, with two snipers on their own mark, Vodka scanned the area with binoculars.
He'd spotted a figure at the nearby crosswalk.
"Whoa, Cointreau's guy?" Chianti perked up. "Want me to take him out for fun?"
"Stay out of it, Chianti."
Gin had clocked the man too.
Black suit, Vodka's build, a menacing bald head, standing at the corner like he was waiting for someone.
One glance, and Gin lost interest—or would have.
Bzzt~ Bzzt~!
His phone pinged. He checked it—message from Cointreau.
"21:32:14"
The phone's clock read 21:31, but as Gin noticed, it ticked to 21:32—
Fourteen seconds?
"Watch that guy down there!" he barked.
"Huh?"
"Cointreau's making his move."
Gin's voice carried a rare edge of caution mixed with thrill, his green eyes fixed on the bald man, scanning the surroundings.
The others turned their attention too.
10… 9… 8… 7…
Gin counted silently.
A car roared down the road near the intersection, its engine loud enough to reach them faintly.
3… 2… 1…
The car gunned it, trying to beat the red light's final seconds. As it crossed the line, an SUV turning from the opposite lane forced a sharp swerve. The speeding car lost control, careening toward the man at the corner—
0!
It slammed into a shopfront, the front end crumpling against the wall.
The bald man, grazed by the car, collapsed in a terrified heap, too stunned to move.
Gin's eyes narrowed.
A miss?
Looked like Cointreau miscalculated this time.
***
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