On the other side.
Gin, who had finished his overtime early and was just thinking of heading back to the base to rest, noticed his phone vibrate and couldn't help pressing between his eyebrows.
He had thought some sudden job had come up for him to handle again, but when he lit up the screen, what popped up was a message from Uzo.
Gin: "..."
...That didn't seem much better.
Speaking of which, why was Uzo contacting him at this hour all of a sudden? Judging from Vodka's reaction, that guy seemed to have already cooked up two cases in a row today. Could it be that he still hadn't had enough fun?
As he pondered, he frowned and opened the email.
Then he saw two brief lines of text on it: [I've used up my bullets. The boss said anything that can be reimbursed should be reimbursed through the organization, so...]
"?" The corner of Gin's eye twitched. That bastard Bourbon—what kind of nonsense was he teaching him all day long? Sooner or later, he would find a way to shoot him dead.
No, wait.
After a full day of work, Gin steadied himself, moved his weary gaze away from the conspicuous word "boss," and let it fall on another spot again.
...Bullets?
What bullets?
And what did he mean by "used up"?
A few flashes of thought swayed through his mind and pieced together the truth in an instant.
The veins at Gin's temple began to throb. Expressionless, he picked up his phone and pressed the dial button hard, asking coldly, "You fired a gun?"
Vodka, who had been getting drowsy beside him, heard this and sat bolt upright with a shiver. "?!"
Fired a gun?
What firing a gun?
"Judging from Brother Gin's expression, the person who