[Inorin's Note: Hey everyone, quick apology for the quiet week here! Over the last few days, we've been working behind the scenes to officially launch our own dedicated reading site.
Moving forward, Elysian Reads (elysianreads[.]com) is going to be our primary hub for all novel releases. (P.S. Just swap the [.] with a regular dot . to open the link!) It's packed with some really neat custom features designed to make reading way more enjoyable.
That being said, Webnovel isn't getting left behind. I'll be dropping a mass release here shortly to clear out the missed chapters, and our regular updates will be right back on track. Thanks a ton for hanging in there with me!]
Chapter 208: Not a Result
At that moment, a chime broke the silence in the Porsche 356A. Gin picked up his phone, his silver hair glinting in the dim light of the cabin. A new message had arrived.
From Wanderer.
'Failed to retrieve Kir. Device attached.'
Vodka, gripping the steering wheel, glanced over from the driver's seat. The sender's name caught his eye. "Aniki," he rumbled, his curiosity piqued, "what's that from Wanderer about?"
Gin's gaze, cold as steel, flicked to his subordinate. "I gave him a task," he explained, his voice a low rasp. "Go to Beika Central Hospital. Retrieve Kir. If retrieval was impossible, plant a tracker. A tracker the FBI won't find."
"Oh, I see." Vodka nodded, but a furrow of doubt creased his brow. "But... is it wise to rely on Wanderer alone for that?" The hospital was crawling with feds—FBI territory. He'd heard there were at least twenty agents inside, not to mention their ace, the traitor Rye. Could a kid, even one with a codename, really handle that hornets' nest?
"He wasn't alone," Gin stated flatly. "I arranged a distraction to draw off some of the FBI."
"A distraction? Who?" Vodka mentally ran through the roster for the operation. Chianti and Korn were on sniper duty outside the hospital. Vermouth was covering the parking garage exit. He couldn't think of anyone else assigned to go inside.
Gin's lips parted, a single name dropping into the car's interior like a chip of ice. "Bordeaux."
Vodka's eyes widened. "Bordeaux?" he echoed, disbelief coloring his tone. "But Aniki... isn't he one of the lab coats? A researcher?"
A humorless sneer twisted Gin's lips. "So what if he is? He's produced no results lately. Just a drain on funds and resources. It's high time he made himself useful to the operations division."
"But... but I heard he did have a breakthrough recently," Vodka ventured cautiously, recalling a conversation with Vermouth just two days prior. 'Could she have been mistaken?'he wondered.'Did Bordeaux not actually have any new results?' The way she had spoken about it, she seemed to know exactly what it was, and she'd been practically glowing with satisfaction.
Still, faced with a choice, Vodka would sooner believe Vermouth was completely wrong than entertain the notion that his Aniki was misinformed.
"That does not count as a result!" Gin's voice was a low snarl. Even just thinking about the "function" of the new potion Alhaitham had developed was enough to make his face cloud over. "What use is a potion that makes clothes disappear or change color?!"
"Ah... indeed. That's... quite useless," Vodka agreed, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple. He could feel the dangerous chill radiating from his boss. This was the first he was hearing of the potion's actual effects.
Honestly, if Gin wasn't sitting right there, radiating murderous intent, Vodka might have been tempted to message Bordeaux and ask for a sample. It sounded rather interesting.
Just then, Gin's phone chimed again. He flipped it open.
'Mission accomplished. 8 FBI agents neutralized. I'm off the clock. Don't bother me unless it's important.' —Bordeaux
Gin's expression, already thunderous, darkened several shades further. It was as if a storm cloud had personally settled over his head.
Another message arrived immediately after. It was from Bordeaux again.
'Don't bother me even if it is important.' —Bordeaux
A strange thing happened then. The suffocating pressure in the car seemed to recede slightly. Gin's face, instead of contorting further with rage, smoothed into an unnerving calm. He simply put his phone away and, without a word, began reviewing the operational plans on his main terminal, as if he hadn't just been flagrantly disrespected.
But Vodka, sitting beside him, felt a fresh wave of anxiety. He had a sinking feeling that if they weren't in the middle of a critical mission, his Aniki would already be on his way to pay Bordeaux a personal visit, pistol in hand.
Wisely, he didn't dare mention the researcher's name again. He quickly refocused on the mission, discussing the plan to intercept Kir.
A few minutes later, Vermouth's voice came through their comms. "Gin, three dark blue vans have left Beika Central Hospital, one after another. So, which of these three is our prize?"
"Understood." Gin opened his terminal, pulling up the feed from the tracker Wanderer had planted. The signal was strong and clear.
"It's the last vehicle. Car number three."
The answer was delivered without a hint of hesitation.
"Copy that," Vermouth replied. The roar of her motorcycle engine was audible even over the comms as she peeled out to tail the third van.
Gin relayed the information to Chianti and Korn, ordering them to move and provide support for Vermouth.
The moment Vodka heard "car number three," he was already turning the Porsche's wheel, the car's powerful engine growling as he accelerated to follow the tracker's position.
By now, Vermouth had caught up to the third van. She activated the infrared scanner on her own device, her eyes scanning the screen to determine the number of occupants. The results came back almost instantly, and she contacted Gin again, a slight frown in her voice.
"Gin, my scanner shows only two heat signatures in this vehicle—driver and passenger. The cargo area is empty. Are you sure you didn't make a mistake?"
"No. That's the one." Vermouth's report only strengthened Gin's conviction. "The person in the passenger seat is Kir."
Just as he finished speaking, Vodka expertly maneuvered the Porsche alongside Vermouth's motorcycle. Ahead of them, they had a clear view of the third van, with Agent Camel at the wheel. Not long after, Chianti and Korn's vehicles fell into formation behind them.
Meanwhile, in a Chevrolet trailing the second van, Shuichi Akai and Conan Edogawa exchanged a look. They had been prepared for a chase, a diversion to draw the Black Organization's attention. But the road around them was clear.
Something was wrong.
"They're not taking the bait," Shuichi murmured, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "It seems they already know where Kir is."
He immediately realized the implication. "It seems that boy didn't manage to take Kir, but he left something behind." He eased his foot off the accelerator, knowing there was no longer any point in continuing the charade.
Conan nodded from the passenger seat, a thoughtful expression on his face. A small part of him was relieved. Since their plan had always been to return Rena Mizunashi to the Organization, this wasn't a complete disaster.
But he couldn't help but be astonished. The Organization had sent only two people—one of them a teenager, no older than thirteen or fourteen—against a hospital full of FBI agents. And that had been enough to throw a wrench in the FBI's carefully laid plans.
On Gin's side, they were completely oblivious to the decoy's situation. Their convoy was closing in on the third van, fanning out to box it in and force it to a stop.
But in the blink of an eye, the target vehicle ahead of them suddenly lurched. It began to swerve violently across the road, tires screeching in protest, before crashing headlong into the guardrail with a deafening shriek of tortured metal.
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