Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Vermouth
America, New York, the city that never sleeps. Park Hyatt Hotel.
Fujiwara Toru opened his eyes and looked out through the French windows of the hotel room.
This was a high floor of the Park Hyatt. The nearest tall building was several hundred meters away.
The suite, over two hundred square meters in size, had an outer-layer garden view. Standing in the garden and looking down, one could see the bustling streets of the metropolis below.
As a luxury suite with a nightly rate of up to five thousand dollars, it was certainly not something the average person could afford.
The morning sun streamed through the glass, spilling onto the spacious bed. Toru squinted and casually glanced to his side.
A woman with light golden long hair was lying with her back to him. Through the gap in the blanket, her fair and beautiful back was visible.
Toru carefully lifted the blanket and got out of bed. Scattered across the polished wooden floor was a mess of clothes.
The woman's black lingerie and underwear. A pair of men's boxer briefs.
Even with the air purifier running, the scent of intimacy still lingered in the room, silently revealing what had taken place the night before.
"Boy, what are you going to do?"
A lazy and seductive voice came from the bed, making Toru, who was getting dressed, pause.
With his back to the woman, he quickly put on his close-fitting clothes and replied, "My family messaged me. I need to go back."
Click—
The sound of a lighter igniting.
The woman with light golden hair and an alluring figure leaned against the headboard.
She ignored the blanket sliding down her smooth skin. Between her slender fingers was a lit women's cigarette.
Her fingers were long and elegant, with a faint nude polish. She took a puff and slowly exhaled smoke.
After blowing out a cloud of smoke, the woman turned her head to look at the man who had already put on his pants and shirt. Her voice carried a hint of emptiness and complaint.
"Boy, you're not just playing with me, right? Was last night just a one-night stand? Well, I am eight years older than you."
Her words ended with a touch of self-mockery.
Toru buttoned his shirt and said, "Of course not, Chris. Don't overthink it. My family really does have something urgent."
"Aren't you going to an audition this afternoon? I'll come find you tonight. Want to grab a drink at a bar?"
Chris exhaled another puff of smoke, her voice much softer. "The audition's just a formality. The lead role's already confirmed to be mine, so it doesn't matter whether I show up or not."
"It's almost noon. Want to get lunch at the hotel restaurant together?"
By now, Toru had already entered the bathroom. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he straightened his clothes and casually replied, "I'm just a no-name. Chris, you're a popular Hollywood star right now. It'd be a real problem if the paparazzi caught us together."
Standing in front of the mirror, Toru patted his face and let out a long breath.
He'd been transmigrated into this world for nearly twenty years. It wasn't until a year ago that his memories had fully recovered.
He wondered if transmigration came with a "fuzzy memory in the womb" setting. From the moment he was born until he was nineteen, he knew he was a transmigrator, but his memories from his previous life had always been vague.
Then, a year ago, after experiencing a certain special event, his past-life memories returned completely. That's when he realized... this was an anime world.
Toru's eyes momentarily blurred. In his vision, something only he could see appeared.
---
[Name: Fujiwara Toru]
[Physical Fitness: 10 (Muscle strength, nerve reflexes, immunity, and recovery)]
[Skills: Learning, Sports, Mystical]
[You have gained 1 Physical Fitness point]
[You have gained 1 S-rank Skill point]
[You have gained the special ability 'Spirit Vision']
[You have received one 'Advanced Technology' item draw opportunity]
[...]
[Final Mission (Impossible?): Become the Prime Minister of Japan or the President of America has been activated]
---
"So this is the full cheat activation, huh?"
Toru muttered.
He'd been able to see this panel from a young age but had never figured out how to use it.
At thirteen, he'd suddenly received a Physical Fitness point and a B-rank skill point. Overjoyed, he began carefully analyzing and experimenting with the cheat.
After numerous tests, he finally uncovered its principle.
Simply put, it was a "female favorability" reactor. When a woman developed genuine romantic feelings for him, he would receive rewards.
But before he was thirteen, he was still just a kid. The girls around him were the same age, and none had any real concept of love. The cheat never reacted.
Once he discovered the secret, Toru immediately turned into a player, using every trick in the book to toy with girls' hearts.
Over the past seven years, he had deceived countless girls both emotionally and physically. It was cruel, but a necessary sacrifice, he then used the resulting skill points to improve himself.
But Toru found that the issue still wasn't solved.
No matter how deep the girl's affection was or how high her favorability got, the highest reward he ever got was an A-rank skill point. His physical fitness also capped at 10, the upper limit for an average human.
It wasn't until he met this woman that things finally changed.
"Not only did I gain an S-rank skill point, but the long-locked Mystical skill branch also unlocked, and even my Physical Fitness started breaking past human limits."
Toru took a deep breath. All of it was connected to the woman outside, the one he had been intimate with last night.
And the biggest difference between this woman and all the others was that she was an important female character from an anime.
"So that's it. I finally understand the cheat's condition."
Toru wiped his hands with a towel and walked out of the bathroom.
Chris was already out of bed. Her fair and slender feet stepped onto the wooden floor.
She looked at Toru and gave a cold yet seductive smile. "I'm an actress, not a Japanese idol."
"Even if the paparazzi catch us dating, no one would care."
As she spoke, Chris turned around gracefully. She picked up the black lace lingerie from the floor, extended the straps to her bare back, and hooked a finger in Toru's direction.
The meaning was obvious. She wanted him to help clasp her bra.
Toru didn't move. His hand slid inside the collar of the suit jacket he had just put on.
Seeing that he didn't come to help, Chris raised her delicate brows, clearly displeased by his lack of tact. She had to fumble with the clasp herself as she continued speaking.
"Boy, we've known each other this long, but we've never gone for a drink together. I should get to know you better. What kind of drink do you like?"
Toru pulled a Beretta M9-A3 tactical pistol with a suppressor from inside his jacket.
He raised his elbow, assuming a standard CARS tactical stance, and aimed it at the woman in front of him. He chuckled softly.
"I like Sherry cocktails. Three-quarters Sherry, one-quarter French Vermouth, and ideally a drop of orange-flavored liqueur."
"It's light, sweet, rich, with just a trace of bitterness. Leaves a long, lingering aftertaste."
Vermouth seemed unaware a gun was pointed at her. She slowly turned around.
At some point, a small, custom-made pistol, only the size of a woman's palm, had appeared in her hand too, also aimed at Toru.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 2: The Witch
Toru's eyes narrowed slightly when he saw the custom-made pistol in Vermouth's hand.
He had been exposed.
That was his first thought.
Immediately, he began running through everything in his head, analyzing where he might have slipped up.
Every detail of his interaction with Chris Vineyard—or rather, Vermouth—flashed rapidly through his mind.
Countless images and scenes passed by, but he still couldn't pinpoint exactly where his identity had been revealed.
Noticing the look in his eyes, Vermouth, wearing only her bra and underwear with newly pulled-up black stockings clinging to her long, pale legs, curled her lips into a playful smile.
"Fujiwara Toru, illegitimate son of Fujiwara Yoshitaka, the current chairman of Japan's National Security Committee."
"Your mother was deceived by Fujiwara Yoshitaka and became pregnant. The Fujiwara family refused to acknowledge you. She brought you to America when you were three, and died of a terminal illness when you were five."
"As an undocumented immigrant, you roamed the streets at five, were picked up by an orphanage, and at eight, you were taken in by the current CIA Director and placed under special training."
"Under the CIA's training, you excelled, far beyond the standard. You eventually became the Director's adopted son."
"You personally orchestrated and executed the takedown of the Colombian drug cartel, arresting its leader and sending him to prison. At twenty, you became a Special Agent Inspector for the CIA. Codename: Wick."
Vermouth spoke in a calm, unhurried tone. Her slender fingers held a slim women's cigarette as she gently exhaled smoke.
It was mint-flavored. Even a few steps away, Toru could smell its cool aroma.
He didn't show any panic. Keeping his silenced pistol trained on her, he calmly walked over to the nearby sofa and sat down.
"Oh? And how do you know all this?"
Though he kept his voice steady, he was cursing internally.
Damn it. There's a mole in the CIA. And not a low-level one either.
CIA was divided into four major divisions: the Directorate of Operations, the Directorate of Intelligence, the Directorate of Science and Technology, and the Directorate of Support.
Toru, of course, belonged to Operations. As a Special Agent Inspector, he was at rank four, a high enough position for someone his age.
Nine ranks were still above him, but the CIA operated with a linear structure. Besides the Director, not everyone had access to agents' identities.
Especially in the Special Operations Division, only a handful of top-level officials had clearance to investigate agents' full backgrounds.
Toru rapidly filtered through those names. Who was the mole? Who sold him out?
Once he found them, he'd personally drown their head in a toilet.
Vermouth casually brushed her lightly curled golden hair aside, giving a mysterious and seductive smile.
"Secrets make a woman more attractive, Boy."
Toru remained calm, as though unconcerned about his identity being exposed.
He added, "So, Ms. Vermouth, is that all you know about me? Or do you have more to share?"
Vermouth gave a sultry smile.
"You returned to Japan a year ago. Transferred from Phillips Exeter Academy to Shuchiin Academy to attend third year. Scored exceptionally well on Japan's national exams and applied to Tokyo University."
"In the entrance exam, you ranked first. Quite the clever Boy. Balancing your studies while serving the CIA."
Toru's expression didn't change.
He had a cheat, after all, and one of his gained skills was learning. With that kind of advantage and consistent effort, it wasn't hard to achieve top scores in high school.
But even so, getting first place in the Tokyo University entrance exam wasn't easy. There were always other geniuses in the world.
The reason he could take first was simple.
As a high-level CIA agent with access to some resources, it hadn't been hard to use America's influence to steal the exam content from Japan ahead of time.
He wasn't above abusing his privileges.
"But I'm curious, Boy. Why return to Japan? Phillips Exeter is a top-tier American high school. With your grades, getting into Harvard or Stanford would've been no problem."
"Yet you came back to Japan and entered East University. Could it be the CIA is planning something behind the scenes here?"
"Or maybe it's because your family's in Japan? You have a cousin and two younger cousins, right? Fujiwara Toyomi, Fujiwara Chika, and Fujiwara Moeha?"
Vermouth's smile was graceful, her aura sharp, as if she'd gained the upper hand.
But Toru stayed composed. He smiled faintly.
"The Fujiwara family is a political dynasty, passed down for over a thousand years in Japan. One of the Five Regent Houses. Many of its members are active in politics."
"Oh, but for your Organization, that probably means nothing. You people would even dare assassinate the Prime Minister of Japan or the President of America, right?"
"So what, are you trying to use my so-called family to threaten me? If that's the plan, I suggest you drop it."
"Go ahead. Try killing them. If you fail, that's one thing. If you succeed, you can see whether I shed a single tear."
"Since your Organization knows I'm an illegitimate child, you should understand that with my background, the word 'family' means little to me."
He paused, then added with a touch of coldness.
"Of course, they're still my family. If they die, I'll avenge them."
"Just like right now, Vermouth. Since you know what I'm capable of, yet you still dare to aim a gun at me, do you really think you can kill me? Or is there a sniper out there with me in their scope?"
Toru glanced out the window. This was a high floor, and he could easily gauge potential sniper angles.
"There are no snipers. Aside from me and the Boss, no one else in the Organization knows your identity."
"I'm just... very sad, Boy. Heartbroken, even. You knew who I was from the beginning. You've been lying to me this whole time?"
Vermouth suddenly smiled bitterly, a trace of sadness in her expression.
"...Right. As a witch, I shouldn't have hoped for an angel to save me. Someone like me was always meant to fall into hell."
Her acting was flawless. After all, the persona she once lived as—Sharon Vineyard—had won her the title of Hollywood queen.
Even Toru couldn't claim to see through her performance. But this time, he had a feeling.
She wasn't acting.
This was real.
Toru stayed silent for a moment, then said calmly,
"I didn't know your identity at first. I mean, who would've guessed that Sharon Vineyard and Chris Vineyard, the mother-daughter Hollywood stars, were actually the same person?"
"And both were part of an international crime organization."
He looked at Vermouth's beautiful, alluring, mature face.
She wasn't wearing a mask. Toru had checked.
Chris Vineyard was her most important, most stable undercover identity. It was impossible to wear a mask all the time. Eventually, someone would catch on.
But Chris Vineyard wasn't her original face either. She had altered her features slightly with makeup.
Her hair, that pale golden-blonde, wasn't a wig either. Just a simple dye job covering her natural silvery platinum.
Toru wasn't lying. He truly hadn't known at first that Chris was Vermouth. Back then, his memories still hadn't fully returned.
It wasn't until everything from his previous life came back that he realized who she really was.
"Vermouth, you've racked up quite the rap sheet. FBI, CIA, MI6, even what's left of the KGB... you've left bodies in all their ranks."
"You might be called the 'Thousand-Faced Witch,' but modern tech is advanced. You've exposed too much. If I pass your information to those agencies, how long do you think you'd last?"
His words left Vermouth silent.
She knew that even if she had strong skills, she didn't possess overwhelming combat strength.
And even if she did, no one could survive being hunted by all the world's top agencies at once.
The Black Organization had reach, yes, and informants in various intelligence circles.
But it couldn't control them. It didn't have that power.
Just then, Toru added leisurely,
"But what's even more fascinating is how everyone thinks your youthful face is just a product of disguise."
"But you've let too much slip around me. You're at least fifty, yet you still look like you're in your twenties."
"That's not something cosmetic surgery can accomplish. I'm curious. How exactly do you stay so young?"
Vermouth's expression changed. That was the one secret she didn't want exposed.
The one she had been hiding above all others.
Toru didn't care. His gaze shifted to the bed, where a red plum blossom had stained the sheets. He spoke in a strange tone.
"And here I didn't expect you to be a virgin. You act well, but your awkwardness last night gave it away."
He had seen all types of women. Vermouth's performance in that area had been too amateur to fool him.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 3: Uechi-ryu Karate
In Toru's memory, it seemed that in Conan's world, Vermouth and Gin had a physical relationship.
But now, Toru could confirm that was false. At least in the world he had transmigrated into, that setting didn't hold up.
Vermouth suddenly tossed aside the small, custom-made pistol in her hand.
Wearing only her underwear, she sat at the edge of the bed, one hand holding a lady's cigarette, exhaling smoke as she showed Toru her completely defenseless posture.
"Giving up?"
Sitting on the sofa, Toru kept his gun steady. He raised an eyebrow and asked.
"I don't think I can deal with a top-level agent who single-handedly wiped out a drug cartel using a low-caliber pistol at this distance."
Vermouth lifted her delicate chin and blew out a puff of smoke. In this regard, she had self-awareness.
On the Organization's threat list, Toru was ranked alongside the FBI's Akai Shuichi.
While Akai Shuichi specialized in firearms, especially sniping, and was better than Toru in that area, Toru's overall ability far surpassed the FBI agent.
However, Toru's threat level within the Organization was considered lower than Akai Shuichi's, mainly because Akai Shuichi had been actively investigating them, while Toru had shown no interest in their affairs.
Because of that, the Organization had no intention of killing Toru. Vermouth was simply ordered to approach and see if he could be recruited.
Even if he refused, there was no need to provoke a rising star within the CIA.
Unlike politicians who could be easily disposed of regardless of their status, someone with Toru's combat capabilities would be a nightmare to eliminate. A failed assassination would only bring disaster.
The Organization was already dealing with enough internal chaos. They didn't want more.
Vermouth's mind drifted back to a year ago.
Under the Organization's orders, she had approached Toru as Chris Vineyard at a celebrity charity gala.
As the adopted son of CIA Director Spencer, Toru's public identity had nothing to do with the CIA. He was just an outstanding high school student on the surface.
After that first meeting, they'd interacted many times. During a serial killer case, Toru saved her life. Since then, Vermouth's feelings toward him began to shift.
She no longer approached him with ulterior motives, but with sincere interest. She wanted to get closer to the boy she had begun to see as an "angel."
Unlike most who rushed headlong into passionate love, Vermouth was extremely cautious.
It was only after several months of getting to know him that she realized her emotions were changing. Gradually, she fell deeply in love.
It wasn't until yesterday that she invited Toru to this hotel and boldly gave herself to him.
Yet the man and woman who had embraced each other the night before were now facing one another with guns in the early morning light.
This contrast left Vermouth feeling tired and bitter.
So, he'd known her identity all along.
Perhaps someone like her really didn't deserve to be blessed by an angel.
She knew that forming emotional ties with a top CIA agent, who was also a master of deception, was dangerous. But she had still rushed toward him like a moth to flame.
Except for a few who were truly cold-blooded, most people carried a bit of light within, even if they lived in the dark.
Reflecting on everything, Vermouth realized clearly that she was, at her core, a sentimental woman.
Sometimes, she even envied Gin. That cold, ruthless man didn't have these kinds of troubles.
Such is the burden of being a woman.
"Boy, what are you going to do? Kill me?"
Vermouth's voice was calm. Though a trace of fear lingered in her eyes, it was merely instinct.
She knew better than anyone how much blood was on her hands. She had taken many lives. If Toru killed her here, it would be a deserved end.
In fact, she even wondered, if she had to die, wouldn't dying at the hands of the angel in her heart be a kind of redemption?
Toru didn't respond. He took this opportunity to use the rewards from his golden finger.
He added 1 point to his physical fitness, raising his stat to 11.
At this moment, Toru was gradually breaking through the limits of ordinary human capability.
However, according to his years of experience, physical fitness points did not take immediate effect. They only raised the ceiling of what he could achieve.
To reach that ceiling, he still needed relentless training.
Along with the physical stat point, he had also received an S-rank skill point.
Toru opened the sports skill category and located "Karate."
If you're living in Conan's world, there's no need to think twice. Karate is the clear choice. It's practically a cheat skill.
Just look at Kyogoku Makoto. That guy is a walking Super Saiyan.
On Toru's panel, his Karate had already reached A-rank, the limit of what he could achieve before, since he had never received an S-rank skill point.
But after Vermouth developed real feelings for him, he finally got his first S-rank point.
After regaining all his past-life memories, he had immediately gone to train in Karate. The style he chose was Uechi-ryu.
In the past, he had used all his skill points to raise it to A-rank. Combined with his physical fitness, even if the founder of Uechi-ryu rose from the grave, Toru was confident he could beat him.
Even so, after watching Kyogoku Makoto's fight videos, Toru realized he still couldn't win.
That guy's Karate had clearly reached S-rank, bordering on mastery. His destructive power also indicated that his physical stats weren't any lower than Toru's.
It was a wall that ordinary people could never cross in their lifetimes.
Fortunately, Toru had his golden finger.
Now that his Karate had reached S-rank, and his body was on its way to transcending human limits, with enough training, he was sure he could surpass Kyogoku Makoto.
Maybe even become the strongest person in the Conan world.
Snapping back to the present, Toru's finger still rested on the trigger.
Vermouth's face was calm, but he had no intention of shooting.
He had no conflict with the Black Organization. There was no reason to kill Vermouth and start a war with them.
And more importantly, he had no reason to kill a woman who had developed true feelings for him and even offered herself to him.
Why was he so sure of Vermouth's feelings?
Because he had received an S-rank skill point from her.
And most importantly, she had never shown any intention of harming him.
She had never tried to kill him. Not even once.
🎶Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone.🎶
🎶I love you, and that's all I really know.🎶
Taylor Swift's "Love Story" ringtone rang from Toru's phone.
At the same time, Vermouth's phone also rang, playing an eerie tune with Japanese nursery rhyme elements.
They glanced at each other, picked up their phones at the same time, and spoke in unison.
"Boss."
Toru's call was from his adoptive father, the current CIA Director, Spencer.
And hearing Vermouth say the same, Toru was slightly surprised.
Her call was from the mysterious Boss of the Black Organization.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 4: Please Call Me John Wick
"Okay, I understand, Boss."
Toru put down his phone.
The call had come from his adoptive father, Spencer. He had only given one instruction:
Do not kill Vermouth.
The FBI had long been investigating Vermouth's identity, while the CIA Director had known all along that Chris Vineyard was Vermouth.
Combined with the detailed intel Vermouth had just spilled about him, Toru could now confirm one thing.
There was indeed a connection between the Black Organization and the CIA.
And that connection was the CIA Director himself.
No, not an undercover agent.
A collaboration.
Toru silently mulled it over, quickly reaching that conclusion.
If the Organization had managed to insert a mole all the way to the Director's seat, it wouldn't be getting hunted by intelligence agencies worldwide.
The Organization was strong, yes. But it was still just an international criminal group that emerged after the war. It wasn't powerful enough to control the CIA, which answered only to the President.
Vermouth hung up around the same time. The once-tense and hostile atmosphere eased slightly.
Just moments ago, they'd been aiming to kill each other.
Now, they stood on the same side.
"Boy, it's best not to aim that thing at people. Accidents happen."
"I'm already about to go off accidentally."
Toru smirked, the meaning behind his words obvious.
Now that her life wasn't in danger, Vermouth returned to her usual mysterious charm.
She rose from the edge of the bed in her black lace underwear, stretching her arms. Her supple waist formed a perfect arc, her body gracefully displayed as she casually stretched.
Toru silently put away his pistol.
Vermouth opened her mouth to say something, but just then, the suite's doorbell rang.
"Who is it?"
Toru called out from inside the bedroom.
"Sir, I've brought the food and drinks you ordered."
Toru glanced at Vermouth.
She gave a small nod. "I ordered it earlier when I woke up."
With that confirmation, Toru picked up her clothes from the floor and tossed them over. "Get dressed."
He walked out to the living room, headed to the hallway, and looked through the peephole.
A waiter stood outside with a dining cart.
Toru opened the door, stepped aside, and gestured. "Bring it in."
The waiter wheeled the cart into the suite. Vermouth emerged from the bedroom, now fully dressed.
"Sir, please sign here."
The waiter handed Toru a bill and a pencil.
Toru took the pencil, but his expression shifted instantly.
In a flash, he gripped the pencil in his right hand. His arm became a blur as he stabbed it straight into the waiter's trachea.
At the same time, he spread the fingers of his left hand, swung it like a hammer, and slammed it into the waiter's temple with a cupped-palm strike.
The waiter barely registered the pain in his throat before it felt like his skull had exploded. Dazed, he collapsed to the floor.
With the pencil embedded in his throat, he couldn't make a sound. Gurgling, gasping, twitching, his pupils soon dilated.
Dead.
Vermouth stood frozen.
Toru lifted the dining cart's tablecloth.
No food.
An MP9 submachine gun lay beneath it.
Seeing the weapon, Vermouth's expression turned serious.
"How did you know he was a fake?"
Toru answered calmly, "I saw his hand. There was a thick callus between the thumb and index finger. That only forms from years of holding a gun."
"Second, waiters in a high-end hotel like this are professionally trained. His service etiquette was way off. Too many mistakes. No way he was legit."
With Vermouth's background in acting, she should have picked up on that.
But her mind had been in disarray. She hadn't noticed.
She glanced down at the corpse, quietly impressed.
This guy was clearly a trained pro. But he got taken out by Toru.
With a fucking pencil.
Unbelievable.
At that moment, Toru felt a chill run up his spine.
Alarms blared in his mind.
"Get down!"
He shouted, throwing himself over Vermouth and tackling her to the floor.
The next instant.
Da da da da!!
A hail of gunfire tore through the room. Bullets shredded the suite's front door and ripped through the living room.
A wave of metal devastation surged through.
Glasses exploded. Water spilled across the floor.
The sofa was torn to shreds, sponge filling exposed.
Decorations crashed to the ground.
The luxurious suite was reduced to rubble in seconds.
Toru clutched Vermouth and dragged her into the bedroom.
No matter how far he pushed his physical limits, he was still made of flesh and blood. A direct hit from this kind of barrage meant death.
Just as he and Vermouth scrambled into the inner bedroom, the shattered front door finally collapsed.
A flashbang was tossed into the living room.
A moment later, it erupted in a blinding burst—170 decibels of noise, over 6 million candela of light.
Fortunately, Toru had already pulled Vermouth out of the blast zone.
Even with his special training, if he had been caught in that, he'd have been disoriented, maybe even temporarily disabled.
Three fully armed attackers stormed into the suite.
Finding no one in the living room, they turned their attention to the bedroom door.
One of them pulled out another flashbang and hurled it toward the bedroom.
But just as it crossed the frame.
A blur.
A whip kick.
Toru used the move to send it flying back.
Bang!
None of the intruders had expected that.
Another blinding explosion rocked the room.
The shockwave stunned all three.
Toru rolled to the doorway, body low to the ground.
From his M9, three shots rang out.
Two to the chest, one to the head.
Three kills.
In one breath.
As the bodies hit the floor, his magazine dropped, and a new one was already in place.
Gun steady in both hands, Toru advanced with swift steps, sweeping the living room, then moved to the hallway.
Outside, a hotel waiter was crouched down, hands over his head, textbook response.
Once he confirmed the area was secure, Toru returned to the room and checked the bodies.
"A drug cartel hit?"
Vermouth was still a bit shaken, but she pulled herself together quickly.
"No. Drug cartels don't train personnel like this, and they wouldn't dare go all-in with military-grade weapons in New York."
"If this were a cartel, the FBI Director and CIA Director should both resign on the spot."
The attackers had been using HK UMP9 submachine guns.
Toru removed a magazine and showed it to her.
"Check out the rounds. Armor-piercing. It's like they were afraid they couldn't kill you even with a vest."
"This has Mossad written all over it. I've dealt with them before. No regard for consequences. Launching a hit on American soil is exactly their style."
"My status is tied to the CIA. I've never crossed Mossad. No way they're here for me."
"They're here for you. I just happened to be in the way."
He narrowed his eyes.
"...Vermouth. Did you go to Israel and stir something up?"
Her face turned grim. She pulled out her phone and quickly made a call.
"Gin. There's a mole in the Organization. Mossad, most likely. I've just been attacked. Track down whoever leaked my location. Fast."
Not many people knew Chris Vineyard was Vermouth.
But within the Organization, a few people were aware of her whereabouts. Internal collaboration made secrecy hard to maintain.
Toru looked down and spotted blood trickling down Vermouth's pant leg.
His brows furrowed.
"You're injured?"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 5: Escape and Pursuit
"Sit still. Let me check."
Toru quickly moved to Vermouth's side, helped her sit down on the battered sofa, and pulled out a tourniquet.
He thought she'd been shot, so his first move was to stop the bleeding, then send her to the hospital as fast as possible.
Many people who get shot don't feel pain at first due to the adrenaline. They might not even realize they've been hit.
Toru figured Vermouth was the same. The firefight earlier had been intense and chaotic, and it was easy to overlook a wound.
But once that adrenaline wore off, pain and exhaustion would come crashing in.
"No, I don't think I was shot. My leg doesn't hurt that much."
Pinned to the sofa by Toru's urgency, Vermouth tried to speak up.
But when she saw him pull a first-aid kit from the hotel room and cut her pant leg open with a pair of scissors, his face serious, she swallowed her words.
How long had it been since someone cared for her like this?
Too long. So long that even Vermouth couldn't remember.
She thought her heart had long since gone cold. But now, unexpectedly, it had bloomed again, like something buried for years finally seeing light.
"Boy, you seem to care about me quite a bit."
She looked at him softly as he worked.
Toru glanced at her, didn't answer, and just examined the wound.
Her calf was smooth and slender. Unblemished.
Wrapped around his waist, those legs had been quite the experience. He'd confirmed that personally last night.
But now, on that fair skin, a bloody gash stood out.
After examining it, he said, "You weren't hit directly. You're lucky. It just grazed you."
Then he pulled out disinfectant and muttered, "Bear with it."
The sting of the antiseptic made Vermouth tremble. She clenched her teeth, body tensing.
Toru applied the medicine, then wrapped the wound in a clean bandage.
"It's not deep. Since we treated it quickly, it probably won't scar."
He stood up, tossed the used supplies aside, and looked at her again.
"Can you walk?"
Vermouth stood with practiced ease, giving him a faint, charming smile. "This little scratch won't slow me down."
Toru nodded. He picked up the UMP9 off the floor and tossed one to her.
"Based on what I know about Mossad, that ambush won't be their only move. We've got more trouble coming."
Vermouth caught the weapon with ease, checked the mag and chamber. She was quick and calm.
"Boy, how are we getting out of here?"
"Underground parking lot. Driving's safer than walking."
Toru pulled out his phone and sent a coded message. It was time to call for backup.
Maybe Mossad's target had only been Vermouth. But now that he was involved, there was no reason to hold back. He would report this directly to his superiors.
This was U.S. soil.
Even if America and Jerusalem were practically family, they couldn't be allowed to pull stunts like this.
"The CIA doesn't have domestic law enforcement authority. We'll need FBI or SWAT for that."
"But we can't just sit here waiting for support."
He and Vermouth left the room and moved cautiously into the hallway.
Vermouth was a pro. The two of them moved one behind the other, weapons ready, carefully scanning both ends of the corridor as they moved toward the elevator.
The hotel was in chaos.
Even though the shootout had taken place on a high floor, the sounds had reached lower levels.
All the room doors were shut tight. Guests down in the lobby were screaming and fleeing. In the distance, police sirens and ambulances wailed through the city streets.
Toru and Vermouth weren't dumb enough to take the elevator straight to the underground parking.
If someone was waiting for them at the doors, it would be suicide.
They took the elevator to the fifth floor instead, then used the emergency staircase.
He didn't know how many Mossad operatives were involved, but one thing was certain, they weren't amateurs.
Until he became truly bulletproof, he had to play it smart.
A single bullet was enough to end a life.
They reached a silver-white Porsche 911 in the parking garage. Toru quickly checked the vehicle. No bomb.
He gave Vermouth a nod.
They got in, Toru in the driver's seat, Vermouth in the passenger seat.
He started the engine, and the Porsche roared to life, speeding out of the garage and onto the city streets.
"Are we safe?"
Vermouth shifted slightly. Her wounded leg ached from the walk, the pain creeping back in.
Toru glanced over, reached into his jacket, and tossed her a compact morphine injector.
"If it gets unbearable, use that."
Then he looked into the rear-view mirror.
Behind them, two black Chevy SUVs had locked onto their tail.
"We've been made. We've got company."
He tightened his grip on the wheel.
"Hang on tight."
(To be continued.)