Chapter 375: The Jet-Black Bell Tree Express, Conclusion
"Then we won't survive either!" Amuro snapped, his voice tight with irritation. He ran a hand through his blond hair, his eyes narrowing as he glared through the lingering smoke. "That bastard Gin... is he planning to blow us to pieces right along with everyone else?"
"Not exactly." Cointreau's voice remained perfectly level, cutting through the tension with chilling calm. "Vermouth was the one who smuggled the explosives aboard the train. Gin merely handled the welcoming committee—he rigged the terminal station with his own set of bombs."
"Is that so?" Amuro's mouth gave a violent twitch. He let out a harsh, humorless breath. Today's grand operation was going just spectacularly. Every single operative lurking in the shadows of this train was playing their own twisted game, hoarding secrets and executing hidden agendas.
Amuro paused. His sharp mind caught the glaring inconsistency. "Wait a minute." He took a slow step forward, his gaze locking onto the other operative. "If Gin wired the terminal to explode, the end result is exactly the same. We all burn. So why did he bother notifying you in advance?" A mocking smirk tugged at the corner of Amuro's lips. "I didn't realize you and Gin were suddenly so close. Did he give you a friendly little heads-up so you could make a grand escape, Cointreau?" He gestured broadly to the enclosed, rattling carriage walls around them. "I just have to wonder—where exactly does one escape to on a sealed, high-speed train hurtling down the tracks?" His tone dripped with biting sarcasm.
Cointreau tilted their head, a faint, amused glint in their eyes. "What's the matter, Bourbon? Are you jealous?"
"Hah!" Amuro let out a sharp, derisive scoff, crossing his arms over his chest.
Cointreau held his gaze for a long moment before turning away, entirely unbothered by the blonde man's hostility. "Regardless of my relationship with Gin, the clock is ticking. If you prefer not to be reduced to ash at the terminal, I suggest you handle the situation as quickly as possible."
Amuro's jaw tightened. "You're just dumping the mess on me? You're trapped on this metal coffin too. Why don't you get your hands dirty and fix it yourself?"
"Because I am entirely confident that even if this train goes up in a spectacular fireball, I will walk away without a scratch," Cointreau replied smoothly, not a single trace of bluffing in their voice. "If you possess that same level of absolute confidence, you are more than welcome to ignore the bombs."
Amuro ground his teeth together, a vein pulsing faintly at his temple. "Well, aren't you just full of yourself." He leaned in slightly, probing for a weakness. "But let's say you do survive the blast. What about her? I was under the impression you cared quite a bit about her safety. Are you really just going to turn a blind eye and let her burn this time?"
A quiet, knowing smile curved Cointreau's lips. "Naturally, I can guarantee her absolute safety as well. She won't be harmed."
Amuro cast a sideways glance at the enigmatic operative. Beneath his calm exterior, his mind raced, silently elevating his internal threat assessment of Cointreau by another massive margin. He drew in a slow, measured breath, forcing the oxygen to cool his simmering temper. He needed to focus. The lingering irritation over Kaitou Kid slipping through his fingers—a direct result of Cointreau's perfectly timed, distracting interruption—had to be pushed aside. Logic and survival took priority.
"Understood," Amuro finally stated, his voice dropping back to a cool, professional register. "I'll handle the explosives."
Without wasting another second, he pivoted on his heel and strode purposefully toward the rear of the carriage. His boots clicked sharply against the floorboards as he mentally mapped out the train's layout, preparing to sweep the compartments starting from the very last car. He had to locate Vermouth's bombs immediately. If he could isolate and detonate a small portion of the explosives in a controlled manner, he could force the Bell Tree Express to trigger its emergency brakes and halt completely before it ever reached Gin's deadly trap at the terminal.
"Wait."
Cointreau's voice stopped him in his tracks. Amuro glanced over his shoulder just in time to see a small, cylindrical object sailing through the air toward him. His reflexes kicked in, his hand snapping up to snatch it out of the air.
He opened his palm. Resting against his glove was a sealed glass test tube, filled with a thick, dark red liquid.
"Take it," Cointreau instructed casually. "It's a blood sample from our unconscious young lady. Let's see what kind of interesting secrets you can dig up with that."
"Got it." Amuro pocketed the vial securely inside his jacket. He gave a curt nod, turning his back on Cointreau, and vanished through the sliding doors toward the rear carriages.
Cointreau stood in silence, watching Amuro's silhouette dissolve into the lingering wisps of smoke that drifted through the corridor. Once the blonde detective was entirely out of sight, Cointreau slowly turned their head. Their gaze drifted toward a shadowed corner of the carriage.
A small, distinct figure had quietly materialized there, hidden from Amuro's line of sight.
After a brief, calculating pause, Cointreau adjusted their coat and walked deliberately into the shadows to meet the newcomer.
Several carriages away, the atmosphere was thick with a very different kind of tension. Vermouth stood her ground, her piercing gaze locked in a silent, deadly standoff with Yukiko Kudo. Even as she maintained her icy facade, her fingers subtly manipulated the smartphone hidden in her pocket, keeping a close eye on Bourbon's movements via the Organization's tracking software.
A cold knot of dread began to form in her stomach. The blinking light dot on her screen—the one steadily advancing toward Car No. 8—did not match the specific digital signature of the woman she had originally marked.
The digital map updated again. Cointreau's signal had converged with Bourbon's location. That meant the mysterious helper—the proxy undoubtedly recruited by the little detective to impersonate Sherry—had managed to slip through the net and escape. Vermouth's perfectly manicured nails dug into her palm. She knew the capabilities of her own tracking software intimately. With that technology in play, it was absolutely impossible for seasoned operatives like Cointreau and Bourbon to be fooled by a mere physical disguise.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. The grand, careful assassination plot aboard the Bell Tree Express had crumbled into dust. Today's operation was a complete, unmitigated failure.
Vermouth's beautiful eyes darkened, a dangerous, freezing shadow falling over her features.
Yukiko watched her old friend closely. While she couldn't see the glowing screen of the hidden terminal, she didn't need to. Vermouth's micro-expressions told an entire story. The subtle tightening of her jaw and the sudden coldness in her eyes were dead giveaways that the Black Organization's flawless plan was falling apart at the seams.
A triumphant, melodic chuckle escaped Yukiko's lips. "Oh, Sharon," she teased, her voice light and musical against the heavy silence of the cabin. "Just looking at that stormy face of yours... it seems we've managed to take the lead."
Vermouth opened her mouth, a sharp retort resting on her tongue, but her phone vibrated with a priority alert. She glanced down. Her breath hitched.
A specially marked light dot—one she had desperately hoped would stay far away from the crossfire—was moving rapidly toward Car No. 8. In a matter of seconds, the signal had practically overlapped with the coordinates of Cointreau and Bourbon.
Panic flared in Vermouth's chest, but she ruthlessly suppressed it, grinding her teeth together. She snapped her gaze back up to meet Yukiko's confident smile.
"Yes, you're in the lead," Vermouth hissed, her voice dropping to a lethal, silken whisper. "And by more than just one step, it seems. In fact, your precious son has already waltzed right up to the side of one of our most dangerous active members."
Yukiko's breath caught in her throat. 'My son? Shin-chan...'Her mind spun.'He actually threw himself right into the viper's nest? How could he do something so incredibly reckless?!'
The playful, victorious smile instantly vanished from Yukiko's face, replaced by raw, unfiltered maternal terror. She stared at Vermouth, her eyes wide with a desperate, silent plea, hoping against hope that her old friend would intervene to protect the boy she secretly favored.
But Vermouth had no time to entertain Yukiko's silent begging. Her eyes were glued to the screen. The digital dot representing Cointreau was moving deliberately toward the Cool Guy's position. The anxiety gnawing at her insides spiked into genuine alarm. Her fingers flew across the keypad, instantly dialing Cointreau's encrypted number.
The line rang only once before connecting.
"Cointreau," Vermouth ordered, abandoning all pretense of her usual seductive drawl. Her tone was sharp, frantic, and commanding. "Do not take another step toward him. Do not forget the terms of our previous deal!"
She wasn't foolish enough to believe that a predator like Cointreau hadn't already noticed the Cool Guy lurking in the shadows. The operative's senses were far too sharp. Right now, her only use was to invoke the safety of that specific girl they had discussed, praying it would be enough to make Cointreau hesitate before pulling the trigger.
A low, dark chuckle echoed through the earpiece. "Heh... I haven't forgotten our little arrangement, Vermouth," Cointreau replied, their voice dripping with dry amusement. "I simply think the boy is entirely too bold for his own good. Waltzing into a live combat zone? Daring to poke his nose wherever he pleases? Surely, you agree he needs to be taught a harsh lesson about the consequences of his curiosity."
"That is absolutely none of your business!" Vermouth snarled, the protective instinct overriding her composure. "Cointreau, listen to me very carefully. Do not dare lay a single finger on him."
A heavy silence stretched over the line for a fraction of a second.
"Fine," Cointreau finally conceded, sounding utterly bored by the prospect. "It makes no difference to me either way."
Vermouth exhaled a long, shaky breath, her shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch. She knew Cointreau's twisted sense of honor well enough. If the operative gave their word, it meant the Little Detective was safe from their wrath—at least for the duration of this train ride.
She pulled the phone away from her ear, her thumb hovering over the end-call button.
Suddenly, the floor beneath her boots lurched violently.
BOOM!
A deafening roar ripped through the length of the train, followed by the terrifying screech of tearing metal. The shockwave rattled the windows of the carriage, sending a violent tremor up Vermouth's spine.
She grabbed onto the nearest seat to steady herself, her eyes narrowing as she calculated the origin of the blast. The explosives she had carefully rigged in the very last cargo carriage had just been detonated.
Given the timing and the localized nature of the explosion, there was only one logical explanation. Bourbon had found the stash and intentionally triggered a controlled blast to sever the rear cars.
Vermouth straightened her posture, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair from her face. It was an acceptable outcome. The catastrophic damage to the rear cars would force the Bell Tree Express to trigger its emergency protocols and pull into the nearest station prematurely, completely bypassing the terminal trap.
A faint, cynical smirk touched her lips. They had all survived the day, but Gin... Gin was going to be incredibly disappointed when his grand, explosive finale at the terminal station turned out to be nothing more than a ghost town.
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