Thinking this, Vodka cautiously assessed the painter's build and decided he didn't look like someone trained in martial arts.
He then checked the places on the painter's body where a gun could be hidden and found that the man wasn't carrying any dangerous weapons.
Only then did Vodka speak, feigning curiosity. "What are you painting?"
The painter was immersed in his own world of art and ignored him.
"Dr. Araide" happened to be standing not far from the painter. Hearing that, she walked over and curiously took a look.
When she saw the sketch, her brow rose, and a smile nearly appeared at the corners of her eyes. Fortunately, as a professional Film Queen, Vermouth quickly controlled her expression. She put on a shocked, disbelieving look. "Mr. Yamada only sprained his ankle; he isn't dead. Why did you paint him like this?"
Vodka: "?"
He had merely picked someone who looked suspicious and used him for diverting trouble to others, yet this guy was actually painting him?
And judging by Vermouth's words, it definitely wasn't a good painting!
The curiosity Vodka had feigned moments ago suddenly became a great deal more genuine. Unable to resist, he took several large strides... then pretended to limp as he approached and lowered his head to look at the painter's work.
On the deathly pale paper, rough gray pencil strokes formed an incomparably bloody scene—within it, "Mr. Yamada" lay crookedly amid a patch of bushes, his right leg bent unnaturally backward. Several Fishing Lines were cinched around his neck, while a sharply whittled arrow was buried deep in his back.
It was as though he had stepped into countless traps at once. Terror and bewilderment remained on his sharply defined face. His sunglasses had fallen off, revealing a pair of slightly bulging eyes. Stared