Chapter 76: The Birth of Cointreau
The ordeal had finally reached its conclusion. The rhythmic, deafening roar of helicopter rotors shattered the early morning stillness, descending from the sky outside the sprawling estate. After a grueling, blood-stained night, the survivors could finally leave the cursed grounds that had served as a tomb for so many.
As they piled into the cabin, the heavy metal doors sliding shut against the biting wind, the atmosphere remained thick with unresolved tension. Senma Furuyo, the elderly detective, sat rigidly. Her sharp eyes remained fixed on Morikawa Shiro. Finally, unable to suppress the burning curiosity she had harbored all night, she leaned forward over the roar of the engine.
"So," she began, her voice cutting through the mechanical din, "who exactly are you? How is it that a supposed outsider knows the bloody history of the Twilight Mansion in such intimate detail?"
Morikawa casually withdrew his gaze from the scratched acrylic window. He looked back at the receding silhouette of the mansion, offering a helpless, self-deprecating smile. "I told you, I'm just a passerby. As for the history... an elder in my family happens to be quite knowledgeable about these things. I've just heard him mention it in passing."
"I sincerely hope you aren't spinning tales for an old woman like me," Senma Furuyo replied dryly. She didn't press him further. Instead, with a sudden, shocking agility, she hauled the helicopter door open. The freezing altitude wind howled into the cabin as she stepped out into the void, plummeting toward the earth.
Before the collective shock could even register, Kogoro Mouri lunged forward. He threw himself out the open door, diving straight after the falling woman. A heartbeat later, the distinctive snap of fabric echoed through the air. A pristine white hang glider deployed against the dawn sky, safely catching Senma Furuyo and instantly shattering his disguise, revealing his true identity: Kaitou Kid.
Inside the cabin, the remaining detectives sat in stunned silence. Their gazes slowly, almost mechanically, drifted away from the vanishing white glider and locked squarely back onto Morikawa. If Kogoro Mouri had been the Phantom Thief all along, their suspicion naturally gravitated toward the mysterious young man who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
Morikawa raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, his expression the picture of exasperated innocence. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I really am just passing by."
Whether the brilliant minds in the cabin actually bought his story was another matter entirely.
Natsume, sitting quietly in the corner, paid absolutely no attention to her brother's theatrical performance. Her golden eyes were glued to the window, her breath fogging the glass. She was waiting.
And then, it happened.
As the first rays of the morning sun crested the horizon, the ancient, blood-stained outer walls of the Twilight Mansion began to peel away, shedding their decaying facade. The dawn light struck the exposed surface, igniting a blinding, incandescent brilliance. The entire structure was cast in solid gold.
A chorus of sharp gasps filled the helicopter. The Twilight Mansion had finally bared its true, magnificent form to the world.
A few hours later, the local police located Morikawa's broken-down vehicle exactly where he claimed it would be, stranded on a desolate stretch of road miles from the mansion. A thorough inspection of the surrounding dirt revealed a clear set of footprints matching his shoes, perfectly corroborating his mundane alibi.
Faced with hard physical evidence, the skeptical detectives were forced to concede. It truly had been a bizarre, astronomical coincidence.
With his car repaired, Morikawa offered a polite, unassuming wave to the authorities and the detectives, sliding behind the wheel and driving off into the morning mist.
The moment the police cruisers faded from his rearview mirror, the heavy vibration of a phone buzzed against his thigh.
He pulled the device from his pocket. The caller ID flashed a single, ominous name: Gin. A quick glance at his notifications revealed a string of missed calls from the previous night. The Twilight Mansion's remote location and thick walls had completely severed all cellular signals.
He tapped the screen and brought the phone to his ear. "Gin. Is there something so urgent that you felt the need to call me so suddenly? And so many times?"
Gin ignored the greeting entirely, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. "Cointreau. Where were you last night? Why couldn't I reach you?"
Morikawa Shiro—known within the darkest corners of the underworld as the Executive Cointreau—allowed a genuine, relaxed smile to touch his lips. The harmless passerby vanished, replaced by an aura of quiet, untouchable authority.
"Nowhere special," Cointreau replied smoothly. "Just revisiting an old haunt. I heard a flock of detectives were heading to the Boss's old mansion to hunt for his lost treasure, so I decided to drop by on a whim. I honestly didn't expect them to actually find it." He chuckled, a soft, nostalgic sound. "You know, the very first time I met the Boss, he wanted to get rid of me because that treasure hadn't been found. Pity he didn't succeed."
Cointreau's mind drifted back across the decades, settling on the events at the Twilight Mansion forty years prior.
When Aether had first crashed into this world, he had been entirely disoriented. His memories were fractured, a chaotic haze with only one clear, anchoring truth: Natsume. He knew, with an instinctual certainty, that his sister would not arrive until much, much later.
At that time, the master of the estate, Renya Karasuma, was already a paranoid, ruthless old man. Upon discovering that a strange youth had inexplicably bypassed his security and materialized inside his mansion, Karasuma's patience snapped. Frustrated by the lack of progress in unearthing his treasure, he ordered his men to dispose of the uninvited guest.
It was a spectacularly foolish decision.
Even in his weakened, confused state, Aether was a being from beyond the stars. He wasn't someone a handful of mortal thugs could handle. He had dismantled Karasuma's executioners with terrifying, effortless precision.
That was the moment Renya Karasuma recognized his true value.
Seeing that the otherworldly youth was adrift and lacking resources, Karasuma swiftly changed tactics, offering a proposition. He would provide Aether with anything he desired, and in exchange, Aether would temporarily lend his strength to Karasuma's growing syndicate.
Knowing he had decades to kill before Natsume's arrival, and possessing absolutely zero desire to spend those years sitting idle, Aether agreed with a noncommittal shrug.
Thus, Aether was reborn in the shadows as Cointreau.
In those early years, despite valuing Cointreau's lethal efficiency, Karasuma remained deeply paranoid. He subtly kept the young man isolated, excluding him from the Organization's core power circle. Cointreau couldn't have cared less; he only wanted a distraction to pass the time.
But everything changed when Karasuma realized a terrifying truth: Cointreau did not age.
Decades bled past, yet the youth remained exactly as he was. Suddenly, Cointreau's worth skyrocketed in the eyes of a man obsessed with immortality.
Karasuma began feeding him greater authority, integrating him into the most critical operations. Eventually, he handed Cointreau absolute control over the European division. It was a calculated, desperate move to bind the immortal youth to the Organization, weaving a web of power and responsibility so thick he could never leave.
Cointreau knew the truth, of course. If Karasuma hadn't been acutely aware that he couldn't defeat Aether in a direct confrontation, the old man would never have used such slow, diplomatic methods. He would have strapped Aether to a cold laboratory table, dissecting him alive to extract the secret of eternal youth.
Thinking of agelessness naturally brought Vermouth to mind. Her unchanging appearance was undoubtedly a byproduct of the Organization's twisted, relentless experiments. Yet, despite all their dark miracles, that greedy old man was still not satisfied.
"But didn't Vermouth tell you my whereabouts?" Cointreau asked, pulling himself from his memories. "I specifically went to her to get a disguise fitted."
"No." On the other end of the line, Gin's jaw tightened. He recalled Vermouth's cryptic, infuriating smirk the previous day when she vaguely mentioned Cointreau was going to see a treasure. His trigger finger twitched with the sudden, violent urge to put a few holes through her smiling face.
Confirming that Cointreau was alive and uncompromised, Gin prepared to sever the connection. "Since you're fine, get back here immediately. We have an operation in two days."
"Wait." Cointreau's voice cut through, stopping Gin from ending the call. He paused, letting the silence stretch for a fraction of a second. "If one day, you had to choose between the Boss and me... who would you choose?"
Gin's brow furrowed deeply. He pulled the phone away from his ear, glaring at the screen as if checking to see if he had dialed a lunatic by mistake. "What kind of fit are you throwing now?" he sneered, his voice dripping with icy disdain. "After all that paranoia, has your brain finally stopped working?"
Cointreau remained entirely unfazed by the mockery. "Just humor me. Assume my brain isn't working. Never mind, if there's nothing else, I'm hanging up."
"You."
The line went dead.
Cointreau stood frozen for a long moment, the rhythmic beeping of the disconnected call echoing in his ear. It took a second for his mind to process that Gin's final, single word hadn't been an insult. It was the answer to his question.
A warm, relieved smile spread across Cointreau's face. Gin really was a decent person beneath all that killing intent. All those years of mentoring the silver-haired assassin hadn't been for nothing. It seemed he was genuinely more popular than that paranoid old Boss.
Miles away, in the dimly lit interior of a black Porsche 356A, Gin stared at Cointreau's contact name on his glowing screen. He lit a cigarette, the cherry burning bright in the shadows.
Tsk, Gin thought, his eyes narrowing. Did the Boss do something stupid again lately?
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