"It was you who poisoned them, wasn't it?" Vermouth had long since sorted out the cause and effect. Looking at Gin's back in the driver's seat, she sighed. "I don't mind teaching Uzo a lesson, but what if I accidentally get poisoned too?"
Gin sneered. "Given Uzo's recent attitude toward you, if you still feel like eating anything near him, then you deserve to be poisoned to death."
Vermouth: "..."
Forget it. There was no point talking to someone who refused to admit he was wrong even when he was.
She said nothing more, lifted a mirror to adjust her disguise, and continued brooding over her own concerns.
Elsewhere.
After Vodka's call was hung up on, he did not dare keep calling Gin one after another.
But not calling did not mean he had stopped thinking about what had just happened.
This executive, whose mind was overflowing with thoughts, paced back and forth through the private room, rubbing his chin so hard it was practically sparking. "What's going on? Why isn't Big Brother answering my calls?"
When he had first awakened, still affected by the anesthetic and the lingering effects of the Hand Chop, he had briefly suspected that he had arrived in another world. But after thinking it over, Vodka realized that was impossible.
"Forget about that building with its lights on when they shouldn't be. The urgent matter is figuring out what's going on with Big Brother."
Searching his mind for the keyword "not answering the phone," Vodka's database—stuffed full of cases against his will—instantly produced one possibility.
"Could he... already have been murdered?"
"No, what am I thinking?!"
Smack! Vodka slapped himself across the face.
"How could Big Brother possibly get murdered so easily? Besides, rationally speaking, it wasn't that no one answered the call I