Chapter 97: The Role of Shuichi Akai
"No, it seems not." Vermouth watched the yellow taxi rolling to a halt in the distance. The corners of her crimson lips curled upward, carving a slow, dangerous smile into her flawless disguise.
Despite the cascade of unexpected variables that had plagued her tonight, the endgame remained unchanged. As long as she could finally eliminate that woman, the rest of the chaos would fade into irrelevance.
Raising her weapon, Vermouth leveled the cold, black muzzle directly at the approaching figure. Sherry walked toward her, each step heavy and deliberate, fighting a desperate, silent war against her own instincts.
"Welcome, Sherry," Vermouth purred, her voice dripping with lethal sweetness.
As Haibara closed the distance, her gaze darted to the side of the parked car. Her eyes widened, pupils constricting in sheer horror. Conan Edogawa lay motionless on the cold asphalt. A suffocating weight pressed down on her chest. Was she too late?
Then, she saw it. The faint, steady rise and fall of the boy's chest. A frantic visual sweep confirmed there was no pooling blood around his small frame. The breath she had been holding escaped in a shaky exhale. Edogawa was unconscious, but he was alive. For now.
Steeling her nerves, Haibara reached up and removed her tracking glasses, folding them away. She turned to face the yawning barrel of Vermouth's gun. Her small body betrayed her, trembling under the crushing aura of the Black Organization executive, but her voice remained chillingly steady.
"I came here today to end everything," Haibara stated, her tone devoid of its usual sharp edge, leaving only quiet resolve. "I don't want to run anymore. Even if the police catch you tonight, as long as I draw breath, your people will never stop hunting me. However, I want your word on one thing. Aside from me, you will not lay a finger on anyone else."
Vermouth let out a soft, amused chuckle. She agreed with effortless grace, promising that no one else would be harmed, save, of course, for the bleeding FBI agent slumped nearby.
With the terms set, Vermouth's grip on her pistol tightened. It was time to erase this lingering mistake. "Sherry," she murmured, her tone suddenly devoid of warmth. "If you want to blame someone for bringing you to this bitter end... blame your parents for taking over that foolish research."
Standing quietly in the peripheral shadows, Morikawa Shiro observed the exchange with a deep sense of speechlessness. Listen to her, he thought dryly. Vermouth had a talent for twisting the narrative, making it sound as though the Miyano family had maliciously set out to harm the world, rather than being coerced by the very syndicate she served.
More to the point, why was she still talking?
Villains who monologue invariably invite disaster. Shiro hadn't forgotten the hidden variable still in play. He had no intention of exposing the stowaway, but if the person curled up in the trunk of Jodie's car truly was Mouri Ran, this entire operation was about to derail spectacularly.
Right on cue.
Before Vermouth's finger could apply the final ounce of pressure to the trigger, the trunk of Jodie's car burst open. A slender figure vaulted out into the open, sprinting with reckless abandon. Mouri Ran threw herself over Haibara, tackling the small girl to the asphalt and shielding her with her own body.
What followed was nothing short of a theatrical farce.
Watching from the sidelines, Shiro, despite his high-ranking status as Cointreau, felt a distinct urge to rub his temples. Up on the shipping containers, Calvados opened fire. At such close range, the sniper unleashed a barrage of bullets, and miraculously failed to hit a single target.
Vermouth's reaction was even more absurd. The moment she registered that the human shield was Mouri Ran, the ruthless assassin panicked. She actually fired warning shots at her own sniper to force Calvados to stop.
Shiro sighed internally. Had Vermouth orchestrated this massive trap just to host a reunion? Not a single person she wanted out of the way had actually left, and now they were all gathered in the line of fire.
'At least my younger sister actually listens,' Shiro mused, a fleeting sense of relief washing over him. He had explicitly told her to stay out of tonight's mess, and true to her word, she was nowhere to be seen.
Watching Vermouth desperately fire bullets into the concrete to halt Calvados, Shiro finally stepped out of the shadows.
"I don't think Miss Mouri has any intention of moving aside," Shiro's calm, level voice cut through the ringing echoes of gunfire. "Since you clearly refuse to inflict any harm on her, stop wasting your ammunition. Relax. I won't breathe a word of this."
He didn't bother looking at Vermouth's stunned expression. Instead, he kept his back turned to the injured FBI agent.
"Miss Jodie," Shiro warned, his tone casual but laced with absolute authority. "I wouldn't move if I were you. The next bullet might not settle for just grazing your abdomen."
Behind him, Jodie Starling's breath hitched. Her fingers, which had been stealthily inching toward her discarded pistol on the ground, froze instantly.
A cold sweat broke out across her neck. 'How did he know?' He hadn't even glanced over his shoulder. His entire focus had seemingly been on Vermouth. Yet, he had pinpointed her exact movement with terrifying precision.
Swallowing hard, Jodie forced her hand to retreat. She didn't dare test him. Glancing toward Ran and the shrunken girl, she calculated that they were at least safe from immediate execution.
Hearing Cointreau's blunt assessment, Vermouth fired a few more frustrated rounds into the pavement before finally lowering her weapon. Her chest heaved.
Damn it. Cointreau had seen the whole pathetic display. He now knew exactly how far she would go to protect Ran, her Angel. It was a fatal weakness, a glaring vulnerability handed right to a fellow executive. He would absolutely hold this over her head.
Yet, as her racing heart began to settle, a grim realization washed over her. 'Thank god it is Cointreau.' If Gin had been standing there instead, Ran would already be dead.
Composing her features, Vermouth turned to address him. "Cointreau..."
She stopped. The spot where he had just been standing was completely empty.
Before she could process his sudden disappearance, the sharp, heavy thud of close-quarters combat echoed from the shipping containers above, followed by a sudden, violent burst of gunfire from Calvados's position.
Clutching her bleeding abdomen, Jodie gritted her teeth and forced herself to look up toward the catwalks. A weary but fierce light flickered in her eyes as she recognized the silhouette. "Shuichi..."
Vermouth caught the whispered name. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, a sneer twisting her lips. "Rye..."
A dark thrill of anticipation flared within her. She wanted to see this. The FBI's ace, the man who had once infiltrated their ranks and survived, going head-to-head against the enigmatic Cointreau. Let us see if the legendary undercover agent could actually gain the upper hand.
But the wail of police sirens pierced the night air, growing louder by the second.
Vermouth clicked her tongue in annoyance. She cast one final, lingering look at the back of her Angel, who was still fiercely shielding Sherry. The bitter taste of defeat coated her tongue. The operation was a total bust; there was no way to gain anything tonight.
She turned and strode toward her vehicle. As for Cointreau? She wasn't worried. Given his monstrous capabilities, he would easily find his own way out.
Slipping into the driver's seat, her mind was a whirlwind of frustration and adrenaline. In her distracted state, she completely failed to notice the small, bespectacled figure quietly lying in wait in the back seat.
Moments earlier, high up on the harbor's scaffolding.
Shuichi Akai had lined up the perfect shot to shatter Calvados's legs and neutralize the sniper. He squeezed the trigger.
A blur of motion intercepted the trajectory. Morikawa Shiro materialized out of the darkness, his boot lashing out to deflect the barrel of the sniper rifle just enough, throwing Akai's aim off by a crucial fraction of an inch. The bullet sparked harmlessly against the steel grating.
Before Akai could chamber another round, Shiro closed the distance, forcing the FBI ace into a brutal, high-speed melee.
Fists and elbows clashed in a flurry of kinetic strikes. Amidst the rapid exchange of blows, Shiro smoothly diverted a strike from Akai and threw a glance over his shoulder.
"Leave," Shiro ordered Calvados, his voice calm despite the intense combat. "The police are minutes away."
Calvados, still reeling from the sudden ambush, didn't hesitate. He didn't know this man's face, but two facts were glaringly obvious: Vermouth had personally brought him to this highly classified operation, meaning his rank was formidable, and more, the man had just saved his life.
Scrambling to his feet, Calvados grabbed his gear and vanished into the shadows of the harbor. Shiro knew the sniper would report this to Vermouth, and she would undoubtedly cover for the retreat to avoid the Boss's wrath.
"The police are already here. Aren't you going to run?" Shuichi Akai asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He threw a heavy hook, his emerald eyes locked onto the stranger matching him blow for blow.
Internally, Akai's mind was racing, a heavy sense of dread settling in his gut.
'Who is this guy?'
When did the Black Organization acquire such a terrifying asset? What was his codename? Based on how Vermouth deferred to him, this man held significant authority. He certainly wasn't some disposable foot soldier. Yet, during Akai's entire tenure deep undercover within the syndicate, he had never once crossed paths with him.
And worse...
Akai blocked a sweeping kick, the sheer kinetic force of the impact sending a numb shockwave up his forearm. He narrowed his eyes. They appeared to be fighting to a standstill, but Akai's honed instincts screamed a different reality.
This man was holding back.
The realization was chilling. When Akai had been focused on Calvados, he hadn't sensed a single shift in the air. He hadn't noticed this man leave the ground level, scale the containers, and close the distance until he was already within striking range. If the stranger had chosen to draw a gun instead of engaging in hand-to-hand combat... Akai knew he might already have a bullet in his skull.
The existence of an executive with this level of stealth, speed, and restraint was catastrophic news for the FBI.
Morikawa Shiro easily parried another of Akai's calculated strikes, his expression remaining unreadable.
He knew exactly what the FBI agent was likely thinking, but his reasons for holding back were purely pragmatic. He didn't want to kill Shuichi Akai. In fact, he needed him alive and active.
The Black Organization was a sprawling, paranoid beast. If Shuichi Akai remained a massive, glaring threat on the board, he would naturally draw the undivided attention of the Boss and Rum.
And as long as the syndicate's most dangerous eyes were fixated on the FBI's silver bullet, Shiro would have all the breathing room he needed to maneuver in the shadows, build his own forces, and execute his true plans undisturbed.
[Inorin's Note:
Enjoying the story? Dropping a quick review, comment, or Power Stone means the world to me and keeps these daily updates flowing!
Want to read 50 chapters ahead or just want to help keep a shameless translator alive? (My livelihood actually depends on this, haha 😭). You can support me directly here:
(P.S. Just remove the brackets and replace the [.] with a regular dot . to use the links!)
✨ Patreon (50 Advanced Chapters): patreon[.]com/InorinTL
☕ Ko-fi (Support / Sponsor): ko-fi[.]com/InorinTL
Thank you so much for reading and keeping this project alive!]