This feeling became even stronger in the subsequent conversation.
I have already contacted Bourbon, I will bring him along for this operation." Gin set down his wine glass, his demeanor professional. "I'll pick a few more people in a moment and send the list to you later. Don't forget the weapon supply.
Cavendish raised an eyebrow.
Wait.. wait!
He could not help himself: "You've already contacted Bourbon?"
Yes." Admitting it without any hesitation, Gin leaned back against the sofa, a slight curve appearing at the corner of his mouth—in Cavendish's eyes, it looked like mockery no matter how he looked at it. "I prioritize efficiency.
".." For a moment, the usually silver-tongued Cavendish actually didn't know what to say.
He decided to ignore the fact that was weighing heavily on his heart—that jumping into a pit was not exactly a pleasant experience—and tried to lighten the atmosphere: "Taking Bourbon? I thought you would choose Heine."
Then it would be boring. Gin thought nonchalantly, having already seen through Heine's true nature as a sister-complex brother.
However, he did not answer Cavendish, but instead asked in return, "Why?"
Cavendish, who had been swindled, gave a cold snort. "After all, it's a Black Fox mission; wouldn't it be quite appropriate to bring a Best Friend along?"
After all, the abbreviation is also BF.
Gin raised an eyebrow, asking disdainfully, "You think that guy is my Best Friend?"
“No.” Cavendish was nonchalant, his long, beautiful fingers tapping lightly on the sofa. “I don't think we have any friendship to speak of, but your connection is indeed quite good.”
Is that so?
Gin thought about it idly.
Cavendish couldn't stand his nonchalance and added another jab: "I hope you don't complicate this matter in the end—like turning it into something like a Boyfriend or something."
Gin sneered and retorted, "I don't have the habit of taking my subordinates to bed—This is a habit of yours."
Faced with such slander, Cavendish was dumbfounded: "Mine?"
Gin ignored him: "By the way, have my helicopter sent over quickly."
Cavendish tried his best not to roll his eyes. He gave a light cough and asked with restraint, "Your?"
“Mine.” Gin said righteously, “As quickly as possible.”
He emphasized.
The black-haired man's mouth twitched. "You had this all planned out, didn't you?!"
“So what?” Gin responded calmly, without even a twitch of her eyebrows.
Knowing he couldn't win an argument with him, that if things turned physical, he would be the one getting taught a lesson, Cavendish had no choice but to swallow his indignation.
Even with his composure and social finesse, he couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration. Left with no other choice, he could only resort to mockery: "What do you need a helicopter for? To play Match-3?!"
Who knows—" Gin chuckled softly. "Maybe it's to bomb Tokyo Tower?
-----------------------
Author's Note: The next chapter will be out in a while.. Little Angels, go to sleep quickly; you can read it tomorrow morning.
Also, there should be a double update tomorrow as well. Love you all~
..
Thank you for the Grenade, Banruo Little Angel, love you mwah~
Thank you to the landmine from Shuhai Lichen Little Angel, love you mwah~
Little Angels who provided Nutrient solution:
Lianxiang Xiyu 20 bottles; Baiyiqing 10 bottles; Shiran 3 bottles; Snare " Suo Bu Zhu Si 1 bottle;
Chapter 105: Chapter 100: Sober, Cruel
Cavendish clearly took Gin's words as a joke.
Gin had no intention of offering further reminders; in fact, he harbored deep resentment regarding this matter—though he had never once voiced it.
Once all the details had been discussed, Gin decisively saw his guest out.
“Not even a glass of water for me?” Cavendish was clearly quite helpless. Standing at the Entrance, he held his Guitar case in one hand and looked up at Gin with a lazy gaze.
Gin tilted her head, glanced in a certain direction, then turned around.
Cavendish??
The Silver-haired youth had not been gone long, when he returned, he held an unopened bottle of white wine in his hand.
Riesling。
He said nothing, but he raised his hand and passed the wine bottle over, his Green eyes cold and aloof.
Although he did not speak, this gesture had already revealed the hidden meaning quite clearly.
Cavendish gave a light chuckle and took the Riesling. He held the bottle up, inspecting it from top to bottom for a moment, before finally breaking into a satisfied smile.
Winstein Riesling from Romil Winery," the black-haired man nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over the wine bottle before settling on his colleague's face. "Spatlese?
"Kabinett," Gin corrected slowly.
The flavor is a bit light." Cavendish blinked, lifting the guitar case in his right hand and swinging it onto his shoulder. "I don't much care for overly light red wine.
Gin let out a sneer.
Before he could speak, Cavendish added, "But I quite like this brand—especially this one you gave me, so I'll make do with it."
Gin shot back without giving him any face: "Well, thanks a lot then."
You're welcome." Cavendish nodded with a deadpan expression, as if he hadn't understood Gin's sarcasm at all. "But why did you think of giving me this?
Because it was bad luck.
This sentence could clearly not serve as an answer to Cavendish.
Gin gave a light cough and said nothing.
Fortunately, Cavendish didn't truly want a definitive answer after all, so he curved his eyes in a smile, casually and briskly lifting the neck of the Riesling bottle, tilted his head toward Gin with a grin, saying, "See you~"
It was as if the previous confrontation and meticulous bickering had never even existed.
..
Just as Heine placed great importance on Sheila, Sheila also cared deeply for his Brother.
Similarly, as one of the few people in the Black Organization he could actually talk to, Gin did not want to take Heine's life unless it was absolutely necessary—though, of course, he felt no psychological burden at all when it came to setting him up.
This is a fine tradition of the Black Organization.
It could be said that trying their best not to involve Heine was already a mutual understanding between Gin and Sheila.
However, this did not mean that Gin would not dig a pit for Sheila.
Looking at Bourbon, who had a beaming smile on his face but no warmth in his greyish-purple eyes, then shifting his gaze toward Gin, who stood a few steps away with his hands in his pockets and a cold expression—
Sheila misses Jingjing very much.
The Little Fairy gave a light cough, yet her face still maintained an impeccable, faint smile.
In the missions in Africa, one must not only face potential enemies but also the pressures of nature and the local poverty and unrest.
As a girl who naturally turns heads, Sheila had long since grown accustomed to her stunning beauty while facing the mirror every day—and she carried no idol-like baggage about it—but she also understood more or less just how much lethality her looks possessed.
Usually, she was the one playing others, but at certain moments, she ended up playing herself.
Therefore, she was very wise enough not to reveal her true face; with a bit of grooming and Vermouth's assistance, her dazzling beauty was somewhat subdued.
She also wore a pair of large Sunglasses and a sun hat, looking like an ordinary Tourist.
However, her figure could not be hidden.
Sheila wore a tight-fitting leather coat, covering himself from his neck to his ankles, striving to leave no skin exposed. On his feet, she wore a pair of military-style leather boots, his mid-length black hair was tied up high, making his look even more heroic and valiant.
It was a helpless choice; her clothes were specially made, with all sorts of "little things" tucked away neatly inside. There were many venomous insects in Africa, a single sting could be fatal. Furthermore, with combat potentially breaking out at any moment, she couldn't exactly dress like a Tourist.
However, in Niger, a country located on the southern edge of the Sahara Desert.. there really aren't many people dressed heavily.
Looking at the beads of sweat on the Little Fairy's forehead, one could tell just how much pain she was in.
Gin didn't wear much, but he still had her standard black coat. However, facing the typical tropical desert climate without even changing his expression, Sheila truly admired him.
Admiring or not, Sheila was still very unhappy when faced with behavior that had clearly set him up.
He blinked his eyes, then blinked again.
And then she decided—
Ignore Bourbon.
Nonsense, Scotland is a genuine Traitor within the organization. Regardless of the reason, Bourbon could never bluntly demand, "Why did you stop me from seeing Scotland?"
After all, he was the one with even greater suspicion.
Sheila could understand his resentment and anger, but then again..
Who cares?
If he were a member of the Black Organization, then what did his emotions have to do with him? It would be better if he died.
If he is an Undercover in the Black Organization, then what do his joys and sorrows have to do with him? It would be better if he died. If he is an Undercover in the Black Organization, but isn't every Undercover walking on thin ice? Those who walk between life and death all have their own pain and necessity, each has their own unwillingness and anger.
Some are merely more fortunate.. while others are even more unfortunate.
And some will even stake their own lives.
And when has she ever been any better?
Sheila was not a very kind person, nor was he a very compassionate person—someone who couldn't harden their heart could never be a good Undercover.
To put it bluntly, were his subordinates not innocent when they died during his undercover period? Did she not know they were innocent? It was simply for the benefit of more people that they were "sacrificed."
But was it fair to them?
Sheila gave a light chuckle, looking up at Gin not far away, who still maintained that same cold and indifferent demeanor, as if he were an outsider watching coldly from the sidelines.
Rational and clear-headed.