Inside a luxurious suite at the Park Hyatt Tokyo, Toru sat at the desk in a bathrobe, typing rapidly on a laptop.
On the large bed nearby, Vermouth leaned against the headboard. She was wearing Toru's shirt, which hung open to reveal a wide expanse of fair, delicate skin. Her deep cleavage was impossible to ignore.
Vermouth crossed her long, beautiful legs, which were encased in black stockings, and idly flexed her feet. Holding her phone, she scrolled through short videos on TikTok to pass the time. A slender cigarette rested between her fingers, and she occasionally giggled at something in one of the videos.
Even the Thousand-Faced Witch of the Black Organization and a famous Hollywood actress could only watch short videos when she was bored.
After all, there were only so many forms of entertainment. Given Vermouth's identity, she had already experienced most of them and had little interest left.
Of course, Vermouth's greatest source of enjoyment lately was spending intimate time with her young lover.
Even when they traveled together, they rarely went sightseeing. Instead, they would spend the entire day in bed, doing little besides eating and indulging in the kinds of activities couples enjoyed.
Vermouth turned her head and looked at Toru, who was deep in thought before the computer. She extinguished her cigarette, switched off her phone, and picked up a bottle of beer from the bedside table.
Barefoot, she crossed the soft carpet and approached Toru from behind, wrapping her slender, fair arms around his neck.
Lost in thought, Toru felt two soft curves press against his back. He came back to his senses and asked with a smile, "What's wrong, Vermouth?"
"What are you thinking about, Boy?"
As she spoke, Vermouth took a sip of beer but did not swallow it. Instead, she tightened her arms around Toru's neck and kissed him, sharing the beer's pleasant bitterness with him.
The two lingered for a while before separating. Toru wiped his mouth and said, "I'm writing a letter to our presidential candidate and carefully considering how to phrase it."
Vermouth looked at the computer screen, where Toru had written a fairly short letter. Its main purpose was to inform the presidential candidate that CIA Director Spencer intended to have him assassinated.
Vermouth raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Couldn't you just send him the recording you obtained from Burns?"
Toru shook his head and leaned back, resting against the exceptionally comfortable softness behind him.
"Don't you understand our presidential candidate's personality?"
"He's a loudmouth. If I sent him the recording now, he would definitely make it public. He might even confront Spencer directly."
"Do you think Spencer would admit that he planned to assassinate a presidential candidate? Of course not. He would deny it vehemently and claim that the recording was fabricated. The Democratic Party would also help cover it up, and eventually the whole matter would fade away."
"If Spencer abandons the assassination attempt, then even if our presidential candidate becomes president and dislikes him, Spencer could still retire peacefully."
"Even if I killed him afterward, our plan to infiltrate the Central Intelligence Agency would fail."
Toru's explanation made Vermouth narrow her eyes. She took another sip of the bitter beer, swallowed it, and asked softly, "So, Boy needs the assassination attempt to happen? And from the way you're speaking, it sounds as though you already know who the next President of the United States will be."
Toru smiled mysteriously. He did not answer the second question and instead addressed the first.
"That's right. The assassination attempt must happen, but our esteemed candidate cannot actually die."
Toru nodded gently. "After it happens, we'll send him the recording. By then, he won't make it public, because he'll know someone genuinely tried to kill him."
"At the same time, he will develop an intense hatred for Spencer. Even if I kill Spencer later, our future president will suppress the matter. A major incident will become a minor one, and a minor one will quietly disappear."
"Furthermore, once our esteemed candidate takes office, this evidence of an assassination plot will give him every reason to conduct a major purge within the Central Intelligence Agency. The resulting power vacuum will be the perfect opportunity for us to place our own people inside."
Toru licked his lips, his eyes filled with undisguised ambition.
"A single purge won't allow us to take over the entire Central Intelligence Agency, but it will establish us as a major force within it."
"We have plenty of time to play this political game with them until the world's largest intelligence agency becomes our property."
"No matter how many times the presidency changes in the future, the true master of the Central Intelligence Agency will always be us."
Toru folded his arms and rested his head against Vermouth, breathing in the woman's intoxicating fragrance with complete confidence.
Vermouth held him tightly and slowly moved her body against him.
A man's confidence and ambition had always been among the most intoxicating aphrodisiacs for women.
Vermouth was still a woman, and she was no exception.
This man had truly calculated everything.
As a witch who yearned for paradise while remaining trapped in hell, Vermouth's feelings were complicated.
She looked down on mediocre men, yet she also despised murderers who possessed no principles and had completely surrendered themselves to darkness.
At the same time, Vermouth appreciated genuinely good people, but she would never become too close to them because she knew doing so would only cost her life.
Toru was the only man she had ever met who could satisfy all of her complicated emotional needs. He gave her everything she needed emotionally while also sharing her worldview.
This man was capable and possessed extraordinary skill. With only a few moves, he had taken control of an organization that had dominated the world's underworld for decades. Now, he was even plotting against the United States Central Intelligence Agency.
Combined with combat abilities that far surpassed both Gin and Shuichi, a man with such courage and intelligence was truly rare.
What moved Vermouth most was that despite possessing all of these abilities, Toru still had a conscience and a line he would not cross.
He was not like Gin, who could cast aside every emotion to achieve his goals. Nor was he excessively kind, bound by rigid morality, or burdened by naive compassion.
He walked the narrow line between heaven and hell perfectly, which was also what Vermouth desired most.
She did not yearn for paradise, nor did she wish to enter it. She only wanted to walk between light and darkness.
And Toru had brought her there.
Simply being beside this man made it impossible for her not to crave intimacy with him.
With that thought, Vermouth acted on her desire. She smiled seductively and knelt in front of Toru, lowering her beautiful face, alluring without appearing vulgar.
Soon, the hotel room once again descended into their shared madness.
...
Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach, Florida, had been built and owned by the American socialite Post nearly a century ago.
Since its completion, the estate had served as a venue for social gatherings. It was intended to provide a winter retreat for American presidents and to host foreign dignitaries.
Post's idea had been sensible. By donating an estate, she hoped to gain opportunities to interact and communicate with more members of high society. However, successive American presidents had declined to use it.
It was not until forty years ago that the estate was purchased by a businessman and became his most important residence.
That businessman was now a presidential candidate.
"Mr. Donald, we received a special letter addressed to you. It claims that the director of the CIA intends to have you assassinated."
Donald's private security adviser frowned as he approached him with the letter in hand.
(To be continued.)