Chapter 42
Hiromitsu should have known. How could a mere mortal possibly fathom the problem-solving methods of a genius who could come up with a malicious scheme like the pure-hate black-moonlight body-double literature?
Scotch Whisky looked at his own selfie in the front-facing camera, his vision going black again and again.
Playing Pinga might have cost him his integrity, but playing Gin had directly shattered the personality of a Public Security mole.
That was Gin, the arch-nemesis of all undercover agents!
Every red-side agent who had infiltrated the distillery had dreamed of one day gaining Gin’s trust. Whether the moles hated Gin or despised Gin, Gin was an insurmountable mountain in their undercover careers. The experience of the moles during their infiltration could be summed up in four words—“Love and Producer: Gin.”
Hiromitsu was a retired player of “Love and Producer: Gin,” the number one victim.
An’an was unaware of Mentor Scotch’s complex inner journey. She admired her masterpiece with satisfaction.
“Hiro, if you ever don’t feel like working hard anymore, taking on cosplay commissions is a way to survive.”
High EQ, great cooking skills, gentle and considerate, and his makeup and voice impersonation were perfectly restored. If he wasn’t the ceiling of the commission world, who was?
“My ability is the strongest in the world.”
An’an admiringly touched Hiromitsu’s smooth, beautiful, tangle-free, split-end-free, long silver hair. “Such a perfectly restored wig would torture so many wig makers to death. The packing fee alone would be enough to make a person cry.”
Could [No Longer Human] get such a high-quality wig? Could [Unlimited Void] give Gojo Satoru such beautiful hair?
Hmph, weaklings.
An’an was so satisfied that she touched it again and again, and couldn’t help but start braiding it.
Hiromitsu: What’s more terrifying than cosplaying Gin?
Cosplaying Gin with pigtails.
As he was thinking how terrifying this was, he bent down so that the girl wouldn’t have to strain to reach on her tiptoes.
Without realizing it, An’an had given “Gin” a full head of dreadlocks. She had even contributed her own small hair clips, colorful and pinned all over the man’s bangs.
“An absolute trendsetter!” The dark-haired girl took out her phone and snapped a series of photos. This had to be commemorated.
In the blinding flash of the camera, Hiromitsu suddenly had an epiphany.
The one being persecuted here was Gin. What did it have to do with Scotch Whisky?
He: “Take a couple with my phone too.”
Gin’s blackmail material, get√
An’an’s ability was truly terrifying. How many people could she ruin?
After dreadlock Gin, the album was successively filled with peace-sign Gin, hand-gesture-dance Gin, two-hands-making-a-heart Gin, and clenched-fist-cat-face Gin.
An’an: Hiro is so cooperative. I feel like he would even be willing to learn and dance a girl group dance on the spot.
This was the camaraderie of the distillery. So noble, so willing to risk their own lives to retaliate against others.
Gin was truly worthy of being a shampoo spokesperson. The quality of his hair was enviable. After undoing the braids, a quick comb was all it took to make it smooth and silky again, without even needing to apply hair oil.
An’an: I’m tempted. Who’s going to get me a link?
“The makeup is restored. The character is already half-established,” the rising star actress Miss An imparted her industry experience. “Silver-Haired Model Bro is much easier to play than Twisted Deep-Closet Bro. You just need to remember three words.”
“Cool! Cooler! Coolest!”
A cool-faced guy. This was Hiromitsu’s new persona.
After giving her instructions, the dark-haired girl summoned Hiromitsu back to the Mentor Observation Room.
The mere surveillance cameras on the cruise ship could not hinder her genius plan.
…
In the dead of night, a lonely, bright moon hung over the sea. The waves gently lapped against the ship’s hull, making a splashing sound.
The noisy water music festival had closed for the night. Chianti stretched and walked towards Korn, who was holding a fishing bucket by the deck.
“A good harvest,” Chianti snapped her fingers. “Find a grill. We’re having an extra meal tonight.”
Korn nodded. The night was the time for the organization’s members to be active. The vast, dark sea was their comfort zone.
As Chianti and Korn were discussing whether to have fried fish or grilled fish, a dazzling light suddenly flashed past the butterfly tattoo at the corner of her eye.
The sniper’s keen intuition made Chianti turn her head abruptly. “What’s that—the coast guard’s boat!”
A boat, breaking through the sea, was sailing towards the cruise ship from a distance, getting closer and closer.
The late-night snack plan was ruined. A few minutes later, the six of them gathered in Gin’s room.
“The coast guard’s boat is approaching the cruise ship,” Korn said. “Could they be here for the bombs from during the day?”
“Unlikely,” Bourbon shook his head. “If it were for the bombs, the police would have been here long ago.”
A silence fell over the room, an unsettling atmosphere lingering in the air.
Gin’s cold gaze swept over everyone’s faces. Vodka was anxious, Chianti looked away, Korn was silent, Scotch was expressionless, and Bourbon’s face was unreadable.
“It’s not necessarily related to the organization’s mission,” Bourbon broke the silence. “This cruise ship is heading to Yokohama. Maybe it was the Port Mafia who alerted the coast guard.”
His words weren’t very convincing. Everyone knew that the Port Mafia was a major taxpayer in Yokohama. If the Port Mafia had really caused trouble, it should have been the Armed Detective Agency or the Special Division for Unusual Powers who came.
The reason Amuro had said this was because he was just as clueless as Gin.
He hadn’t even passed on the information yet. Why were the coast guard here?
The undercover Public Security officer didn’t understand. He was greatly perplexed.
“Hack the cruise ship’s surveillance,” Gin ordered.
There was only one intelligence operative present. It was undoubtedly Bourbon’s job.
The blond, dark-skinned young man opened his laptop, his ten fingers flying across the keyboard.
One by one, the surveillance footage was pulled up. Bourbon rewound the surveillance time to half an hour ago.
None of the six people present had stayed in their rooms. The surveillance in the corridor had recorded everyone leaving.
Chianti and Korn had left together. The surveillance footage showed Chianti rocking out at the water music festival and Korn quietly fishing by the deck.
Gin and Vodka had left their rooms at the same time. The two had separated in the first-floor lobby. Before parting, the silver-haired man had looked up at the surveillance camera, pulled his hat down low, and walked into a blind spot.
Scotch Whisky had gone out alone. His figure had also only appeared on the surveillance for a short time. Snipers were more sensitive to cameras.
Bourbon had first gone to the open-air barbecue bar. After being repeatedly hit on, he had chosen to go to an empty deck to gaze at the horizon. He had passed the fishing Korn on the way and had stopped to chat with him about fishing techniques for a while.
“If it were one of us who leaked the information, the probability of being caught on surveillance is very low,” Bourbon said, repeatedly switching between the surveillance footage from different locations. “What’s next? Should we check their private phones?”
“Wait a moment,” Scotch Whisky spoke up. He pointed a finger at the edge of the screen. “This camera. Rewind the time a little further.”
The mouse moved to the image Scotch had pointed to. After zooming in, the progress bar was dragged back.
The surveillance footage here was of a corridor. At the end of the corridor was the door to the captain’s room.
A pitch-black figure appeared on the screen.
A black fedora, a black overcoat, black leather shoes, and the iconic waist-length silver hair made the few people in front of the computer gasp.
No one dared to make a sound. Only the surveillance recording continued to play diligently.
“Gin” walked down the corridor and stood at the door of the captain’s room, knocking with his knuckles.
The door to the captain’s room was opened. The surveillance showed “Gin” exchanging a few words with the person inside. Then, a person in a crew member’s uniform, his face pale, hurried away.
The silver-haired, green-eyed man was very concise. His cold and handsome eyes exuded a powerful aura that could be felt even through the screen.
There was no mistake. Chianti, Korn, and Vodka were all screaming in their hearts: It’s him! It’s Gin/Aniki!
Bourbon’s fingers twitched. He switched the screen, following the crew member’s movements all the way.
Then, the distillery members saw the crew member arrive at the cargo hold and carefully move out a picture frame covered with a black cloth.
The sea breeze lifted a corner of the black cloth, revealing the magnificent, heavily detailed ukiyo-e woodblock print underneath.
The surveillance froze on the image of the crew member taking out a satellite phone and calling the police. The room was silent.
Chianti: “…”
Korn: “…”
Scotch: “…”
Bourbon: “…”
The four of them didn’t speak. They just silently stared at Gin.
Silence, a silence that could last until the end of time. No one dared to be the first to break the fragile peace of the night before the storm.
“How could it be!”
Gin’s most loyal little brother broke the dead silence. Vodka’s voice was so loud it could have lifted the ceiling. “How could Aniki be a traitor?!”
Vodka had worked like a horse for the organization for so many years and had never heard of such an absurd thing!
“Slander!” he shouted. “It’s definitely slander!”
“But the fact that Gin’s face appeared on the surveillance is a fact,” Scotch pointed out.
Vodka: “That can’t be the real Aniki… a disguise! That’s right! Someone must have disguised themselves as Aniki!”
Everyone present knew Vermouth and was naturally aware of the magic of disguise. But the problem was…
“Gin’s black overcoat and black fedora are custom-made,” Korn said in a deep voice. “The ones in the surveillance don’t look like fakes.”
Chianti: “That’s right. Even the way he walks is exactly like Gin himself. Even if Vermouth were here, she couldn’t imitate him so perfectly.”
Bourbon: “Vodka, you’ve followed Gin for so many years. Do you dare to tell us what your first reaction was when you saw the surveillance? Did you really think it was an imposter?”
Besides Vodka, everyone in the Black Organization had been pointed at by Gin’s gun and questioned: “Are you a mole?”
In the past, they had swallowed their anger because Gin was impeccable in his private conduct. They couldn’t win an argument.
Now, they had finally caught Gin’s weakness.
A paranoid person who suspected everything, only to discover in the end that the most suspicious person was himself. Was there anything more satisfying in the world?
Even if Vodka desperately defended his respected big brother, it was useless. He was a well-known Gin stan in the distillery. According to the principle of avoidance, Vodka’s testimony was not admissible.
“What now?” Scotch asked. “Because of Gin’s betrayal, our mission has completely failed.”
The most important cultural relic had been taken away by the crew. The coast guard was about to board. It was a dead end.
Normally, everyone would be held accountable for a failed mission, but this time… Chianti and Korn looked at each other. “Let’s deal with the cops first. We’ll report the details to Rum and that person when we get back to the organization.”
Bourbon had no objections. He hid his shock well and showed no flaws.
Gin—Gin had leaked the information? Was that really possible?
An undercover Public Security officer wouldn’t even dare to make this up in his dreams!
Amuro secretly pinched his thigh. It hurt. It wasn’t a hallucination.
Gin’s stiff and furious face seemed to indicate that there was another story behind this case, but, Bourbon thought, who cares.
Well done!