Chapter 163: Love Letter
"Then, we'll just wait for the results." Gin drew a cigarette from its case with one hand, his movements economical. He placed it between his lips, then produced a lighter with his other hand, the sharp click echoing in the tense silence of the car before a small flame flickered to life.
Seeing this, Cointreau let out a quiet hiss of irritation and cracked open the window on his side, letting the cool night air rush in to ward off the impending smoke.
"Rest assured," Cointreau said, his voice directed toward the passing city lights. "It won't be long before we know whether that detective has any connection to the FBI."
"Speaking of which," Vodka began, turning in his seat. He remembered that Kir was still unaccounted for. "Aniki, what's the plan for her?"
"Hmph. That depends on whether Kir leaked any of the Organization's intelligence before we can retrieve her. If she did, then..." Gin let the sentence hang, the unspoken threat more potent than any word. The chilling implication was lost on no one.
He took a long drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing brightly in the dark interior. "However, I doubt Kir would break so easily. Regardless, we must find her location as soon as possible, using whatever means are necessary."
With the matter of the fingerprints temporarily settled, Vermouth was in the mood for a little sport. Hearing Gin's resolve to rescue Kir, she arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Oh? And do you have any leads?"
"Leads are things you find when you look for them," Gin retorted, his gaze shifting to the rearview mirror to land on her. "Vermouth, I don't care what sort of relationship you have with Mouri Kogoro. But if it turns out he is indeed connected to that wiretap, I trust you know what must be done."
It was a final, ice-cold warning.
"My, my," Vermouth purred, her tone unchanged. She flicked a glance at Cointreau, who was leaning against the window, watching the exchange with detached amusement. "In that case, I can only hope the fingerprint has nothing to do with Detective Mouri."
Meanwhile, in a laboratory deep within the Organization's base...
"What is this?" Alhaitham picked up the small electronic device that had just been tossed onto his desk. He looked up, his face an impassive mask, at the man standing before him.
A short while ago, Alhaitham had learned Cointreau's true identity from Kaeya. The lingering questions he'd had about this character—one who never appeared in the original plot—were finally answered. After gaining a clear understanding of Cointreau's status within the Organization, Alhaitham realized the other man could achieve far more than he ever could. There was no longer any need for him to expend effort infiltrating the inner circle.
Since that revelation, Alhaitham had perfected the art of slacking off. He adhered strictly to an eight-hour workday, leaving the laboratory precisely on time and refusing all overtime. Perhaps it was because of the significant results his research had yielded early on, but his authority in the lab was now considerable. As long as progress was being made, no one bothered him.
Therefore, strictly speaking, it was now Alhaitham's personal break time. He stared at the person who had barged into his private room to assign him extra work. The only reason he hadn't forcefully ejected the intruder was out of consideration for the fact that this man was the Traveler's brother.
"Oh, it's a wiretap," Cointreau said. Seeing Alhaitham's less-than-welcoming posture, he didn't press the issue. Instead, he casually poured himself a glass of water from a nearby carafe and sat down opposite the scholar, clearly intending to have a proper discussion.
"I am aware," Alhaitham replied flatly. He ignored Cointreau's self-serving actions, casually set the bug aside, and picked up the book he had just put down, his eyes immediately returning to the text.
"My question is, what do you want me to do with this wiretap?" Alhaitham asked, not bothering to look up.
Cointreau briefly explained the task. "Check if there are any fingerprints on it. If there are, I need you to replace them with those of a random FBI agent."
"And am I permitted to refuse?" Alhaitham finally closed his book, leaned back in his chair, and fixed Cointreau with an unreadable gaze.
"That's probably not an option," Cointreau said after taking a sip of water. "I've already spoken to Gin. Besides, this won't take much of your time, and it will earn you a favor from Vermouth. You could gain more intelligence from her. It's a rather good deal, wouldn't you agree?"
"Then why don't you do it yourself?"
"Alas, I lack the expertise," Cointreau sighed, setting down the glass. He propped his chin in his hands and offered a placid smile. "The capable should do more, after all."
Alhaitham's gaze remained steady, his expression unchanging. He looked at the familiar golden eyes across from him and delivered his countermove, his tone utterly devoid of emotion.
"The Traveler received a love letter today."
Cointreau's head snapped up. The casual confidence vanished from his face, replaced by stark disbelief. "What did you just say?!"
"Assuming there is nothing wrong with your auditory senses or your memory, you should have heard precisely what I said." Alhaitham did not avert his gaze, watching with clinical interest as Cointreau's expression began to crumble. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched the corners of his lips.
He knew this news would shatter the Traveler's brother. When Kaeya had relayed the same trivial information to him earlier, Alhaitham had dismissed it as uninteresting. But now? It was the perfect tool. Who told this man to so brazenly assume he could add to his workload? Now his own mood was ruined, wasn't it?
Feeling a sense of deep satisfaction, Alhaitham comfortably picked up the coffee at his side and took a slow sip.
"Wait... is this true?" Cointreau braced his hands on the table and shot to his feet, his eyes boring into Alhaitham, desperately hoping the scholar would admit it was all a joke.
"It is, naturally. I never lie."
Alhaitham's answer shattered the last glimmer of hope in Cointreau's heart.
"Then... what was Natsume's reaction? Did she accept it?"
Cointreau's head dropped, his blond hair falling to cast his eyes in shadow. When he spoke again, his voice was dangerously tight. He had finally found his little sister. She was still so young—her age wasn't even a fraction of his own. She was just an ignorant little girl, nowhere near old enough to be dating.
Heh. He would very much like to see which shameless bastard had dared to seduce his innocent, naive younger sister.
Alhaitham simply replied, "I don't know."
"You don't know?!" Cointreau's voice cracked with incredulity. "Don't you have a way to contact Natsume?"
"I do have a method of contact, yes. What of it?" Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. "I have no personal interest in the outcome, so why would I go out of my way to ask?"
"You don't care, but I do!" Cointreau protested loudly, practically ordering Alhaitham to find a way to learn Natsume's response as soon as possible, no matter who he had to contact.
"I refuse. I have matters to attend to now." Alhaitham's eyes glinted with triumph as he watched the man who had completely lost his earlier composure. "Oh, that is to say, the task you just assigned me. I simply don't have the time to help you."
Finally satisfied, he picked up the wiretap he had previously ignored, rose from his chair, and walked around the stunned, staring Cointreau, leaving the room without a backward glance.
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