"Hiss!!"
The sound of someone sharply inhaling echoed in the room.
When Hayashi Yoshiki entered, he was met with the sight of Vodka sitting shirtless, and beside him, Cohen calmly wrapping a bandage around his arm.
Usually covered by his black suit, Vodka's well-toned and overly muscular physique—riddled with scars—was now fully on display. It was the kind of build that might draw unwanted attention from either gender.
"Gunshot wound?"
Yoshiki raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What happened?"
"...We were tricked by that organization."
Vodka turned to him and explained, "I went with my brother today to kill a small rat from that group—turns out it was an ambush. A sniper was waiting."
"And then you got shot a few times and crawled back in disgrace?"
Chianti, holding a wine bottle, laughed mockingly as she strolled over, her arrogance making Vodka scowl.
Even though Vodka was often just Gin's punching bag, he still had some pride—especially when being ridiculed by Chianti.
"Well, what else? That sniper was 700 yards away, and their shooting is better than yours or Cohen's. We— hiss!!"
Cohen, unbothered, pressed on the wound again, causing Vodka to wince in pain.
Vodka glanced at Cohen's impassive expression and twitched in irritation but said nothing—after all, aside from Gin, Cohen was the only one here capable of handling bullet wounds, and Vodka wasn't about to bother Gin for medical care.
"700 yards… Impressive," Cohen commented in his usual emotionless tone.
"Hmph. If they were really that skilled, we wouldn't be here talking," Chianti scoffed, though her eyes grew noticeably sharper.
She and Cohen had been training their sniping daily in the organization's VR simulators, but their maximum range was still around 600 yards. They still had a ways to go.
"That sniper was good."
Gin entered at that moment, cold as ever. "But I've memorized their presence. If I ever sense it again, I'll kill them first."
Huh?
Yoshiki, who had remained silent until now, raised an eyebrow in thought.
He knew Gin's skills were fearsome, but at 700 yards, you couldn't even see the sniper's figure clearly with the naked eye—how could he claim to recognize their "presence"?
But of course, what Gin meant by "presence" wasn't scent or visual memory—it was something more abstract: aura, killing intent, the intangible essence of a person.
"But someone ambushing you like that... it means the target you went after was just bait," Yoshiki observed. "They exposed a pawn just to lure you into a kill zone."
"Ah…"
"So, what now? Do we pull back for a while?" he asked.
"Hah."
Gin chuckled darkly, glaring at Yoshiki. "If they want to play games, then I'll play until the end."
A cruel gleam flashed in his emerald eyes. He was seething with anticipation, eager to find the sniper and put a bullet between their eyes.
"That's wonderful to hear."
Yoshiki smiled faintly.
Based on Gin's reaction, he could already predict what the man would do next—counter-ambush. He would likely survey terrain in advance, set up a sting operation, and lure the Zoo's agents out, where he could destroy them.
Perfect.
Yoshiki now had plenty of Zoo pawns in his hands, thanks to Seiran Hoshi. More than enough to play a few new games.
Still, Seiran was too valuable to send out just yet.
Gin eyed his smile and growled, "This has nothing to do with you. Just go back to being a detective."
"...Haven't I always been one? A detective and a novelist," Yoshiki replied casually.
Once again, he played innocent, distancing himself from the incident. Gin just sneered.
Cohen finished bandaging Vodka's arm and looked over at Yoshiki.
"I finished your book," he said calmly. "That chapter where I died—very well-written. I liked it."
"THAT'S what you call reading a book?!"
Chianti snapped, visibly disgusted. "You've practically defiled that novel! Reading your own death scene over and over again is just gross!"
"Then you clearly don't understand me."
Cohen stood, peeled off his bloodied gloves, and walked toward the sink to wash his hands.
Chianti scoffed with a frustrated "Hmph!"
Yoshiki chuckled.
He hadn't seen Tequila today, but as if summoned, the door burst open, and in came Tequila—arms full of snacks in various shapes and sizes.
"Oi! Somebody help carry this!"
Tequila shouted in his Kansai dialect. Cohen, now with clean hands, moved to assist.
There was a lot of food.
Chianti cheered as she rummaged through the bags. "Finally, something to go with the wine!"
"Got any grilled squid?"
"I dunno, look for yourself!"
Even Gin walked over to take a look.
Yoshiki smiled, waved goodbye, and prepared to leave.
"Oi, brother! Not staying to eat?" Tequila asked, already munching on a skewer.
"No thanks. I've got something else to handle."
"We even bought McDonald's…"
"..."
Yoshiki stopped at the door.
Eventually, he turned back and grabbed a burger before heading out.
He drove straight to the Kindaichi Detective Agency.
Due to the popularity of his recent novel and the media buzz following the Beniko Suo case, Hayashi Yoshiki has become somewhat of a celebrity. Fans often lingered near the office, and occasionally, even paparazzi showed up.
Because of this, Yoshiki only came by late at night these days.
Tonight, the inbox was once again overflowing.
Love letters. Fan gifts. Letters of admiration, advice requests, television show invitations—and the occasional strange, inexplicable case file. The inbox was packed to the brim.
He put on gloves and carefully sorted through the items.
As he worked, he wondered whether it was time to hire an assistant—just someone to handle fan mail and keep things in order. Coming in person like this was getting troublesome.
Suddenly,
A letter slipped out from the pile.
He picked it up.
Written in large, furious red characters across the white paper were:
"HAYASHI!!!! YOSHIKI!!!"
So many exclamation points. So much force in the pen strokes. The sheer rage embedded in the handwriting was palpable.
Yoshiki narrowed his eyes and smirked.
He crushed the note into a ball and casually tossed it into the trash.
Who the hell sent me that?
Hard to say.
But... definitely amusing.