After sitting for a while, the effects of the alcohol gradually took hold.
My face began to feel hot, and my body seemed lighter.
But that was all.
Hayashi Yoshiki would allow himself to get drunk—especially when he was with a woman like Vermouth.
He pulled out his cell phone and checked the time.
23:04.
Neither early nor late.
He poured himself another glass of brandy.
"Yoshiki."
A familiar voice, carrying a subtle sense of authority.
Hayashi Yoshiki looked up and saw a beautiful woman with an elegant, delicate charm, frowning at him. Her long brown hair was tied in a bun, and under her purple blazer, a tight white shirt was strained by her plump chest. The buttons of the blazer below her bustline emphasized her slender waist and the long legs beneath her pencil skirt were covered in sheer black pantyhose.
"Why are you out drinking with others so late at night? What's wrong with you?"
Kisaki Eri walked up quickly, snatching the glass of brandy from Yoshiki's hand and setting it down with a touch of anger.
Hayashi Yoshiki looked at her, his eyes narrowing.
"What tricks are you playing?"
"What?"
"I asked you—what game are you playing?"
…
After a pause, Kisaki Eri smiled.
But that wasn't her smile.
"Are you so sure that I'm not her?"
"Kisaki Eri" moved closer.
She sat beside Yoshiki, very close.
"If you wanted to fool me, you shouldn't have worn perfume. And if she really wanted to come out at this hour, she wouldn't be dressed like this. You could argue she didn't have time to change after work, but clothes worn all day aren't this pristine."
"If I'd known, I would've poured you a few more glasses."
Vermouth laughed.
She reached for his tie and tugged it, then turned over and straddled Yoshiki, claiming his lap as if it were her throne.
Using Kisaki Eri's face, she pressed her full weight against him, pulling his tie taut as she sat upright, smiling seductively.
"So tell me... how do you feel right now, Cointreau?"
"What do you want to play?"
"It's not about what I want to play..."
Her voice dropped a pitch, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"...it depends on how you want to play, Cointreau."
…
"Hehehe—Mmm~"
She moaned softly as he pulled her down, kissing her without restraint.
Yoshiki gripped her waist boldly, his other hand tracing the silky fabric of her pantyhose.
Vermouth reached up and undid his tie.
As the buttons of his shirt came undone, her smile deepened.
Just as she expected—Cointreau's body was flawless.
It was strong, sculpted—almost divine. The warmth of his skin, the firmness beneath her fingers—she didn't want to let go.
"So excited by your 'aunt's' face... You're such a pervert, Cointreau."
She teased, eyes moist with laughter.
"Before calling someone else a pervert, maybe look at your own behavior first?"
"Hehe."
She slipped her hands from his shirt and pressed down on his shoulders again.
Her fingers—nails painted a striking bright blue—tightened slightly for balance.
Then, with her legs spread over him, she gently twisted her hips.
A playful motion—calculated, precise.
"Just like the medical report said… incredibly strong."
Yoshiki lifted her chin with one hand.
"It's too early to say that."
"Hm?"
"You should at least wait until tomorrow morning to say something like that."
…
Yoshiki smiled at her—clear, refreshing, disarming.
But Vermouth knew better. That smile… it was a provocation.
And she was intrigued.
For most people living on the edge of a knife, enjoying life while it lasts is only natural.
After all, no one knows when death might arrive—suddenly, without warning.
So when it comes to fine wine, luxury goods, sports cars—every indulgence—Vermouth never holds back.
But this...
This was the first time she enjoyed life this way.
Because apart from the danger that Cointreau clearly embodied...
His face, his body, his personality—everything about him—was intoxicating.
Why not?
But when she finally woke up—well past noon—Vermouth felt only regret.
She felt like... an animal.
And he—he was too good at it.
By the second half of the night, Vermouth felt as if she were running a marathon.
Even when she wanted to quit, the finish line never came.
She was dragged the entire way—gasping by the end.
And now—he was gone.
Buzz! Buzz!
The phone, which had lit up a dozen times, buzzed and vibrated across the floor.
Vermouth gritted her teeth and rolled over.
She stepped barefoot onto the cold floor, careful not to tread on the surprising number of knotted pink rubber bags scattered around.
She picked up the phone.
Seven messages were received after midnight.
Including a call that had been hung up before connecting.
All from Calvados.
She vaguely remembered brushing him off the night before.
Calvados: "Really, don't drink too much."
Calvados: "Are you done yet?"
Calvados: "Why go drinking?"
Calvados: "Let me know when you're done."
Calvados: "Hello?"
Calvados: "You're not drunk, are you?"
…
She would need him again soon, so Vermouth played along.
You have to be careful when you keep a licking dog.
If you never throw it a bone, even the most loyal mutt will eventually wander off.
But first—she was parched.
She grabbed a large glass of water and drank deeply.
Then she picked up the phone.
"Hey, Calvados."
"Yeah, I just got up."
"Nothing."
"Sorry, it took so long to respond… What? You think I'd get lost over two glasses of wine?"
"It was just drinking."
"Still, you're sweet, Calvados. That means a lot."
"Thanks."
"It's a great bar. We should try it together sometime."
"...Okay, I should get ready for work."
The voice on the other end sounded reluctant.
Vermouth ended the call without another word.
But truthfully—she didn't need to work any time soon.
She glanced at her phone again.
The date on the invitation letter she'd sent out was approaching fast.
Time to prepare.
Even after such... intimate contact last night, Vermouth still felt curious.
What would Cointreau's expression be—
When he learned that Sherry had been killed by his own hand?
That it had all been a trap?