Conan: Begins to collaborate with Miss Bayonetta and become famous

Vermouth showed no sign of panic. Her expression was calm, and her gaze met Gin's scrutinizing eyes with composure, as if everything was as it should be.

“In my memory,” Gin’s voice was low and slow, with an undeniable coldness, as he raised his hand, palm down, and gestured a height in front of his chest, “Alanna’s height only goes this far.”

"Back then, you were still drinking hot chocolate with your mother in the Tuileries Garden in Paris."

“In Paris, I suppose,” Vermouth began naturally, a perfectly timed nostalgic smile playing on her lips, as if she too were lost in those bygone days. “That must have been ten years ago. We were both so young then.” Her voice was soft, tinged with a touch of wistfulness. “I didn’t realize you had such a good memory.”

"You're much prettier than when you were a child." Gin's comment was devoid of any emotion, as indifferent as stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.

“Let’s sit down and talk,” Gin suggested.

"It's time to get down to business." Vermouth's aura didn't weaken; on the contrary, it grew even stronger. Her eyes were sharp and calm, without the slightest fear one would show when facing Gin.

Looking across the entire organization, there are very few people who truly understand Gin's character and methods.

Vermouth, as an "old friend" who had fought alongside him or schemed against him, naturally knew his style of doing things well. If his identity were truly exposed, Gin would not waste any words dealing with him.

All he would do is slide a loaded pistol from his sleeve and, before you even have a chance to scream, precisely fire several bullets into your forehead.

Outside the car, there was an endless expanse of green fields.

A motorcycle is tearing through the grass, speeding wildly.

"What's going on now, McCarran!" Baijiu's voice came through the reconnected signal.

“Just keep driving this way! Don’t worry about anything!” McCallum’s tone was deliberately relaxed and calm, trying to create the illusion that everything was under control.

However, in reality, his legs, which were under the laptop, were trembling rapidly at a rate of five times per second, and his chin was trembling slightly uncontrollably, as if he were being continuously stimulated by an invisible electric current.

“I’ll help you navigate,” McCallum assured Baijiu, her eyes glued to the complex 3D map on the screen.

"Received!" Baijiu had no doubt and accelerated at full speed following the route provided by McCallum.

Little did he know that he was speeding toward a towering mountain with sheer cliffs.

Inside the train carriage, at the negotiating table

"Buzzing—!" The deep rumble of the train traveling through the carriage walls sounded like the never-ending war drums in the background.

“I’m here today on behalf of the entire organization.” Gin pulled a cigarette from his pocket, casually holding it between his fingers. Though his tone was calm, it carried an undeniable weight. “Although it’s not our wish, we agree to your terms.”

He took a deep drag of his cigarette, slowly exhaling a thick, grayish-white mist, his gaze piercing through the smoke to lock onto Vermouth: "In exchange for that truly complete key."

“My sister can’t stand the smell of smoke, please put it out.” Zola stepped forward, glaring fiercely at Gin, trying to gain the upper hand for his “sister.”

Gin's expression remained unchanged, not even a flicker of his eyebrows. Only his eyes, for a fleeting moment, flashed a chillingly sharp light, like an icicle piercing Zola's heart.

Zola involuntarily shivered. He had known the newcomer meant trouble, but he hadn't expected the man's aura to be so powerful and oppressive. In his previous assessment, this slightly aged man was at most an experienced executioner.

But in that one glance, he understood—the person who could sit in this position, besides being ruthless, also possessed a cold-blooded temperament that was hard for ordinary people to reach, tempered on the brink of countless life and death.

After a few seconds of stalemate, Zola was the first to look away and chose to back down.

“Although we promised to give you the full key,” Zola took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. He paused for a moment, trying to regain some of the rhythm of the negotiation, “you also know that there are no smooth deals in the world.”

"if……"

"Stop talking nonsense." Qin interrupted him coldly, her words carrying the hardness and chill of steel. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze like that of someone sizing up prey that had stumbled into a trap and was still struggling in vain.

“But we’ve encountered a small problem on our end…” Zola spoke faster, trying to explain.

“Alright,” Vermouth raised her right hand, palm flat, and gently placed it in front of Zola’s lips to stop him from continuing, “we have no problems.”

She glanced at the bewildered Zola, a hint of contempt and impatience flashing across her face, before turning to Gin and saying in a calm tone, "However... my terms of the deal have changed slightly."

"What do you mean by this?" Gin's eyes narrowed even more, and a dangerous aura began to permeate the air.

“It seems I need to remind you,” Gin flicked his fingers, ash falling in a flurry, “Your late mother and I made a promise.”

"If it weren't for this agreement, I think she would probably be dead in prison by now, wouldn't she?" He turned his gaze to the scenery rushing past the window, his tone calm but every word piercing, "Your family has been able to continue to this day..."

"It's entirely because it chose to serve the common interests of both of us." His tone gradually lowered, but the chill became increasingly biting, like a desolate plain before a blizzard.

No one can predict whether Gin will suddenly strike, pull out a gun, and pull the trigger before you can even speak.

“Listen,” Vermouth said, seemingly prepared. She had done her homework on the way to the appointment. As one of the people who knew Gin best, how could she not know about this relationship?

After all, the secret of Gin's connection with the White Widow family was known only to Gin himself and another high-ranking member of the organization—Vermouth.

She gracefully crossed her long legs, her imposing presence undiminished, and slightly raised her chin to meet Gin's menacing gaze: "Once we hand over the key to you..."

“All other powers in the world will immediately regard us as mortal enemies.” Vermouth straightened her back, her logic clear and her words sharp. “The world situation is in utter chaos right now.”

“I also know that your second-in-command, as well as several high-ranking members of the organization, have successively betrayed us, and…” She paused here at just the right moment, leaving the most crucial words hanging in the air, giving the other party endless room for imagination.

Gin's expression remained indifferent, but the veins on the back of his hand, hidden under the table, were bulging. If Vermouth were to utter another word, even half a syllable, he would draw his gun and shoot without hesitation.

But Vermouth knew him far too well.

They understand and can even accurately pinpoint the tipping point of his emotional outbursts.

“So,” Vermouth continued, her tone firm and unwavering, “I need you to provide me with some extra ‘guarantees’ beforehand.”

Gin unexpectedly revealed a faint, yet icy smile.

"You tell me first," he said with a sneer, gesturing for her to continue.

"Zora, you should leave the carriage first." Vermouth's eyes gradually turned cold, even taking on a bloodthirsty sharpness. "You are not suitable to be present in this situation."

The two members behind Gin were equally well-trained; before he could speak, they silently stood up and quietly left the carriage.

When only the two of them remained in the carriage, the air seemed to freeze. Vermouth slid a passport from her sleeve and gently placed it on the table—it was a British passport.

Gin took it and opened it without any suspicion.

On the passport photo page, there was a striking image of Baijiu!

“…This person?” Gin murmured to himself, his fingertips lingering on the photograph for a moment.

"You know him?" The 'White Widow' narrowed her eyes sharply, catching his subtle reaction.

“Of course.” Gin’s reply was calm, but in that instant, the faces of Cohen, Chianti, Vodka… those who had worked with him before, uncontrollably flashed through his mind.

Scenes of fighting side by side and sharing life and death flashed by like frames from an old silent film.

An indescribable emotion, like a thousand steel needles, suddenly pierced his heart, bringing a brief but sharp feeling of suffocation.