Isn't it very scientific to use the Death Note to kill people?

"..."

Lin Jiashu's face was hidden in the shadows.

The evening sun was almost setting, its last rays just before sinking below the horizon parallel to the factory entrance. As the orange light shone into the factory, his expression, which he avoided the light, was startlingly somber.

"Cointreau?"

Ignoring Vermouth's voice, he walked out without a word.

Lin Jiashu took out his phone and seemed to be editing a message. He pressed the keys so hard that he almost broke the phone.

"..."

The vodka, which was blocking the factory entrance, hurriedly moved aside.

He took several steps back and watched Jundu walk outside. When he reached the parking spot at the entrance, he saw Jundu put down his phone, put his hands in his pockets, stand there for two seconds, and then suddenly kick his older brother's Porsche door.

"..."

Vodka opened his mouth, then looked at his older brother Gin, who was standing in the factory completely unaware of what was happening, but ultimately didn't dare to say anything.

Chapter 15: In this respect, we are on the same page.

The roar of engines shattered the silence of the dockside streets.

Amuro Tooru drove his iconic RX-7 like a white lightning bolt around the corner, his tires crushing gravel and kicking up clouds of dust.

No enemy was spotted in the side mirrors, and no snipers were lying in ambush on the surrounding buildings. Gin's cold, viper-like gaze seemed to still be fixed on his back... This prompted Amuro Tooru to jerk the steering wheel, making the car trace a dangerous arc in the narrow alley, leaving that life-devouring shadow behind.

My heart was pounding in my chest.

Having barely escaped the brink of death, his hands on the steering wheel unconsciously tightened, adrenaline still surging in his blood, keeping his senses extremely sharp.

After confirming that he had shaken off any potential pursuers, Amuro Tooru's tense nerves finally relaxed a little, but he still dared not be careless in the slightest.

Gin won't give up easily. To resolve this exposure, we either need to make a breakthrough with Curaçao, or simply abandon the undercover operation and return to the Public Security Bureau.

Amuro Tooru has prepared for the worst.

However, what he absolutely had to care about was the issue of Hayashi Yoshiki.

Why would he be Cointreau?

No matter what, Amuro Tooru couldn't reconcile the face of that mysterious, accidental killer with that of a young man who was always smiling and kind to everyone!

In a daze,

He recalled the cold, ruthless countdown voice of "Cointreau," altered to sound during the Osaka incident...

It is precisely because of Cointreau's existence that the Black Organization is able to make a huge commotion each time, and then escape the scene by using various incredible accidents and grand explosions, causing the Public Security Bureau and the police to return empty-handed time and time again.

The financial impact of those accidents is immeasurable, and the lives of the citizens involved are far more than just a heavy number...

That's why Amuro Tooru couldn't understand why it was him.

But at the same time, new doubts arose in his mind.

—Only Jundu could have managed to break the emergency lighting in the factory at such a critical moment to escape.

So, is he actually on our side?

But while committing such large-scale killings, they are also constantly saving lives...

What a joke!

Amuro Tooru's brows furrowed tightly, and he gripped the steering wheel even harder.

The white RX-7 sped along the highway.

The headlights of oncoming cars in the opposite lane, along with the neon lights and streetlights on both sides, constantly pierced through the windshield. Under the dazzling light, Amuro Tooru suddenly noticed something strange about the sun visor on his driver's seat.

The movable part on top is not properly fitted, and there are obvious signs that it has been tampered with.

Realizing something was wrong, he immediately reached out and opened the sun visor.

As the sun visor flipped down, Amuro Tooru's eyes suddenly narrowed: a neatly folded white strip of paper was stuck between the mirror frame and the roof lining.

Without a moment's hesitation, Amuro Tooru ripped off the note, unfolded it with one hand, and steadily controlled the steering wheel with the other, maintaining the RX-7's speed without slowing down in the slightest.

The note contained only one line of cold, printed text:

Check out the gift I prepared for you in the passenger seat; the countdown is about to begin.

The contents on the paper struck Amuro Tooru's wary nerves with precision, like bullets.

Countdown...

Within the organization, Cointreau's countdown is always the most dangerous; once it reaches zero, an accident is bound to happen.

His pupils contracted sharply, and his gaze swept across the inconspicuous armrest box in front of the passenger seat. His heart felt as if it had been gripped tightly by an invisible hand, and it almost stopped beating.

Hayashi Yoshiki...

So that guy didn't intend to let himself live?

A tremendous sense of crisis overwhelmed him like a tsunami. However, he couldn't park now! Parking in an open area was tantamount to suicide; he could be sniped or overtaken at any moment. He couldn't just surrender in a busy city center either. He had to take action!

Amuro Tooru's mind raced, and instead of letting go of the accelerator, he pressed it even harder!

The RX-7 let out an even wilder roar, shooting like an arrow towards the abandoned riverbank wasteland ahead. It was far from the road, with a relatively open view, so even if the countdown in the armrest box indicated a bomb, the blast radius would be limited.

The engine roared and the wind howled, but Amuro Tooru's world seemed to consist only of the armrest and the non-existent ticking countdown in his ears.

He forced himself to stay calm, his fingers as steady as a rock, and the vehicle maintained an eerie stability at high speed.

Just as they reached the edge of the wasteland, Amuro Tooru suddenly swerved the steering wheel, sending the car swerving in a semi-circle across the soft mud, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Just as the car body had not yet come to a complete stop and was still gliding due to inertia—

He unbuckled his seatbelt, and like a cheetah poised for action, he leaned toward the passenger seat with incredible speed and angle, his left hand firmly gripping the steering wheel to control the direction, while his right hand precisely locked the armrest box!

"Click!"

A soft sound rang out like a thunderclap in the deathly silent carriage.

Amuro Tooru abruptly flung open the box lid! His entire body tensed, bracing himself for the impact, the flames, and the destruction; he even instinctively turned his head away—

However, the earth-shattering event that was expected did not occur.

There was no fire, no loud noise, and no scorching heat.

Only a slightly muffled "bang!" followed, accompanied by countless colorful, light plastic ribbons and sequins, gushing out like a fountain from the narrow space of the armrest box!

Red, yellow, blue, green... cheap colored confetti flew everywhere and instantly covered Amuro Tooru's face, his shoulders, steering wheel, dashboard, and even a few pieces stuck to the corners of his mouth, which were slightly open in surprise.

Time seemed to stand still.

The RX-7, which had been gliding at high speed, finally came to a complete stop. The engine was still humming softly, and inside the cabin, there was only the faint sound of ribbons and sequins slowly falling.

Amuro Tooru remained in that leaning posture, frozen for a full two or three seconds.

The expression on his face, a mixture of extreme tension, a sense of impending doom, and a momentary shock, was indescribably complex. Cold sweat trickled down his taut jawline, dripping onto his sequined trousers.

He slowly shifted his gaze from the messy armrest box piled with colorful "wreckage" to his hands covered in confetti.

The sudden relaxation of nerves that have been stretched to the limit does not bring relief, but rather a feeling of powerlessness that is almost exhaustion.

He took a slow, deep breath, his chest heaving violently, as if he had just struggled out of the deep sea.

Then, a low, short laugh, full of absurdity and self-mockery, escaped from his throat.

"hehe……"

He released the steering wheel, leaned heavily back into the driver's seat, wiped his face with his hand, and brushed away the annoying ribbons, revealing a face full of exhaustion and helplessness. He looked at the note half-buried in the ribbons on the passenger seat, and then at the small, disposable ceremonial cannon device in the armrest box, which looked incredibly comical after exploding.

"Is this the gift and...surprise prepared for me?" Amuro Tooru muttered to himself, a frustrated yet cold smile curving his lips, his eyes sharp as knives as they swept across the empty wilderness. "What a bastard..."

This was indeed a surprise.

A surprise that, after a life-or-death race, mocked his tense nerves in the most absurd way.

But it reminded Amuro Tooru that his ability to escape Gin's gun and now breathe calmly was all part of Kimi's plan.

"..."

Amuro leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and felt the exhaustion after the adrenaline receded, as well as the irregular throbbing of his heart in his chest.

Although it was just a false alarm, it was more exhausting than a real bomb.

Night wind blew in through the car window, rustling the cheap ribbons... He took out his phone, found Lin Jiashu's number, and wanted to dial, but then decided against it because he didn't know what was going on on Lin's end.

More important than that is contacting Kazami right now.

He quickly got up and made a phone call.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Rena Mizunashi was still wearing handcuffs.

After receiving only basic first aid for the wound on her shoulder, she was pushed into the car.

She played the role of an organization member who had been betrayed by her comrades with a cold expression, her eyes revealing undisguised anger and gloom.

"Keep an eye on her, if she does anything suspicious..."

Gin's icy gaze sent a chill down Rena Mizunashi's spine.

He didn't finish his sentence.

Lin Jiashu smiled and got into the back seat of the car with Mizunashi Rena.

There were originally three cars at the scene.

The Porsche 356A that Gin and Vodka drove, the RX-7 that Vermouth drove over Bourbon, and finally, Yoshiki Hayashi's car.

Rum has already issued orders to verify the authenticity of Curaçao's text message and has asked Gin and the others to bring Curaçao back—time is of the essence, and if Curaçao has indeed regained her memory, she may be at risk of leaking information.

Gin, who was already considering how to deal with the police, didn't have much time to waste here. Therefore, the task of keeping an eye on Rena Mizunashi fell to Yoshiki Hayashi and that unofficial member. With Jundo's abilities, keeping an eye on Kir was not a problem at all, as long as he didn't try to kill Kir himself.

Gin, a cigarette dangling from his lips, strode quickly toward his car.

The moment his hand touched the car door handle, his keen eyes quickly noticed the shoe print on the fender.

He immediately looked up at Lin Jiashu, who had gotten into another car.

Finally, Gin, with a cold expression, got into the car without saying a word.

"drive!"

"Okay, big brother."

Vodka immediately started the vehicle.

The black Porsche classic car passed through the factory gate first, followed by Lin Jiashu's BMW.

"Lord Jundu, may we go back to the safe house now?"

"can."

Looking away from the gunshot wound on Mizunashi Rena's shoulder, Lin Jiashu looked at the unofficial member in the driver's seat, whose face was also covered in blood, and laughed, "You need to get your facial wound treated quickly, or it might leave a scar."

"Yes, I understand."

The latter immediately nodded gratefully in response.

Lin Jiashu simply smiled.

Whether or not a scar remains on the face is no longer meaningful to this unofficial member.

His name had already been recorded in the Death Note; otherwise, why would an unknown unofficial member like him be summoned to this place to cooperate with Gin's operation? Yoshiki Hayashi just needed someone to be injured by the shards of a lampshade that broke due to the high temperature at the right time, so as to facilitate Amuro Tooru's escape.

"I never imagined that the legendary Cointreau was actually the famous detective."

With her hands handcuffed, Rena Mizunashi's scrutinizing gaze fell on Yoshiki Hayashi—during the Beika Hospital incident, she, Yoshiki Hayashi, and Conan had secretly reached an agreement that she would continue to infiltrate the Black Organization. However, she never expected that Yoshiki Hayashi would also be in this organization, and that he was none other than the legendary and mysterious Junto.

"In this respect, Miss Kiel and I are pretty much the same. If you hadn't chosen to leave before, you would be a household name as a news anchor by now, wouldn't you?"

So you mean we're both equally bad?

Rena Mizunashi's meaningful gaze fell on Yoshiki Hayashi's face.

The phrase "half a pound of silver" in her words refers to her undercover identity.