Think of Something Quick!
Meanwhile, elsewhere…
“Vodka, what happened to your sunglasses?” Gin keenly noticed something off about Vodka today and asked.
Vodka held back but couldn’t contain himself, speaking dryly, “Because my sunglasses were smeared with super glue…”
He didn’t say who did it, but Gin could guess the culprit without being told.
Recalling last night’s events, Gin closed his eyes briefly to calm his emotions. That little brat was still alive largely because of his own responsibility.
Ten years ago, when his Boss shoved a genius little girl at him to look after temporarily, Gin thought she was less like the artificial intelligence his colleagues described and more like artificial stupidity.
He could have insisted and gotten rid of this burden, but… he found himself suddenly trapped in a time loop, unable to move forward.
At first he didn’t understand why, but after several repetitions he realized it was because of that little idiot he’d been forced to take in!
Gin’s mind wasn’t lacking—his reasoning abilities weren’t weak, and his intuition was sharp enough. He gradually figured out the pattern: whenever this little idiot was in danger, time would reverse for him.
When he first discovered this, he didn’t think it was a bad thing. Taking this unlucky child to dangerous places to test intelligence—when danger arose, he could just shoot her to trigger the automatic reset, safely eliminating wrong answers. Wasn’t that great? But then he discovered that if he subjectively knew about the danger in advance, he couldn’t make plans—time would reset the moment he made the decision.
And during each reset, other already-established events couldn’t be changed either. If he tried to do anything other than save her, time would glitch back to the beginning like a bug, making it impossible to gain any foresight benefits from this time reversal.
Because of this, Gin had to suppress his desire to eliminate her and patiently rescue her every time, just so his own time could progress.
There was even a time limit—each instance gave him just enough time to accomplish the rescue in the shortest possible timeframe. He couldn’t even adopt an “out of sight, out of mind” approach by dumping her somewhere far away. Not that he hadn’t tried—it just proved useless and wasted his time. Besides, Natsume Natsuki was still very useful to the Organization, so he couldn’t defy the Boss’s orders.
He couldn’t even get angry or administer physical punishment, because this unlucky creature would run away from home when scared or unhappy, immediately landing herself in danger that he’d have to rescue her from!
He couldn’t even keep her normally imprisoned, because as a child she had Organization-related training programs, and when she grew up and became useful, she had missions. After learning from some magician, her escape skills reached master level! All because Vermouth insisted on cultivating her! And this was the suffocating ability they ended up cultivating!
After yet another successful escape, the little idiot stared curiously at him standing at the door, his anger simmering beneath the surface, and asked, “Boss Gin, is this what Vermouth and the others call ‘roleplay’?”
At that moment, the twenty-year-old Gin froze for a second before understanding, instinctively taking a step back. He looked at the twelve-year-old bean sprout before him with indescribable expression, feeling like he’d just heard a horror story.
After that, he gave up on the option of locking this troublemaker in a dark room and told her to stay away from Vermouth—that woman really wouldn’t teach her anything good.
After trying every method, both overt and covert, Gin finally accepted the reality three years later: he truly couldn’t get rid of this little burden, couldn’t make use of her, and sometimes even had to coax the little brat.
Now, ten years later, he had almost grown accustomed to it, to the point where he could barely muster the energy to get angry anymore.
After all, even the seven-year itch had passed three years ago.
As for the speculations within the Organization, he couldn’t be bothered to correct or comment on them. With his rising position and increasingly ruthless methods, no one dared to say anything to his face anyway.
Gin’s current mindset was like that classic saying: “Let’s just make do and get by—it’s not like we can split up, right?”
At this thought, the air around Gin grew heavier, causing Vodka, who was driving beside him, to glance over repeatedly. Vodka had only one thought: What has Cocoa Wine done now?
Thinking this, Vodka hesitated, unsure whether to speak up. After all, he was also a member of the Cocoa Wine Victims Alliance, though compared to Gin, he was still the junior in this group.
Vodka adjusted his sunglasses, only to be reminded that these were his third new pair this week. Perhaps lost in his emotions, he spoke from the heart with genuine sincerity: “Big brother, why not sign Cocoa Wine up for another class? I remember her saying a couple of days ago that she thought playing the harp looked elegant.”
That’s right—even if it was signing up for a class, it had to be one the little menace wanted to take herself. Otherwise, she had eight hundred special tricks to skip class, and her pestering to avoid attending would double in intensity.
For instance, Rum once delusionally tried to train her into an all-rounder agent type by forcing her into sniper training. Unsurprisingly, it failed, and to this day, she still held a strong aversion to firearms, resulting in poor shooting skills and an unwillingness to practice. According to her own words: “As long as I make sure not to shoot myself, what’s the problem with accidentally hitting others?” Those who heard this were astounded and insisted that she not be allowed near guns when they were around.
Vodka even believed this was one of the reasons Cocoa Wine targeted Chianti—her first impression of all snipers was unfavorable, and she’d pick a fight with them right away.
Normally, someone so arrogant and self-centered wouldn’t fare well in the Organization, which wasn’t running a charity. But… she was essentially a second-generation member of the Organization, and she was a rare brainy research talent.
In the Organization, second-generation members already had privileges. Add the scarce talent buff, the Boss’s favoritism and leniency, and later Gin’s forced protection, which eliminated any possibility of her being mentally manipulated, she quite justifiably strutted around the Organization as she pleased.
As for others who got bumped into by her overbearing ways… some were angry, but after glancing at Gin, they figured it wasn’t worth making a fuss. After all, if even Gin wasn’t doing anything about it, they might as well endure it.
Although Gin had long grown numb to the outside world’s gaze, he hadn’t completely given up on everything. Hearing Vodka’s remark, he shot the other man a glance devoid of emotion, carrying only a trace of chill.
Vodka shuddered, and upon realizing his misstep, was about to apologize and rephrase when Gin coldly interjected, “She’s already taught herself.”
…So you’d actually thought of this already, boss, and even implemented it first?!
Several thoughts raced through Vodka’s mind, but he cautiously voiced aloud, “Cocoa Wine is quite impressive then.”
It was precisely this kind of impressiveness that, in such moments, could transform into a blade pointed at their own people.
Gin merely snorted dismissively at this, closing his eyes to rest and offering no further comment.
He didn’t deny Vodka’s earlier statement either. Hah, if she were truly useless, he would have resolved the problem long ago.
Meanwhile, Vodka earnestly racked his brains to offer suggestions: “Then… what if we try to get Cocoa Wine to meet more people? After all, everyone’s energy is limited…”
Even if it wasn’t ideal, ever since hearing Chianti’s “dog theory,” Vodka couldn’t help but view Cocoa Wine as a pet Gin had raised but couldn’t get rid of. This idea stemmed from that—if you found more people to walk the dog together, wouldn’t its energy be depleted so it wouldn’t destroy the house?
Gin’s voice was low, clearly indicating his mood was far from good—in fact, it had worsened, carrying a hint of impatience: “She refuses to meet new members. She thinks the Organization’s confidentiality isn’t strong enough, worries about encountering undercover agents and exposing herself. She claims brainy elites like her are the most targeted and endangered.”
Vodka: “…” So you’ve tried this move too, boss?! And you were convinced by that kind of reasoning?! Do you actually want to get rid of her or are you just looking for excuses to keep her?!
Vodka felt he shouldn’t think any further—the more he pondered, the more terrifying the conclusions became.
His sluggish mind struggled to keep up, and he woodenly suggested, “Then… what about having her pursue another Ph.D.?”
The atmosphere around Gin grew even heavier: “She just returned from completing one. She’d absolutely refuse to go out again anytime soon, even if it killed her.”
Vodka: “…” Boss, are you genuinely troubled by this?! This problem sounds weird no matter how you look at it! It feels like it’s all your own indulgence that caused this!
Meanwhile, Gin opened his eyes and suddenly asked, “How far is Sherry’s research institute from here?”
…So the final solution is to try hard to make her stay overnight outside?!
Vodka choked up, then after a moment’s thought, found it feasible: “Cocoa Wine would probably be willing to go to Sherry’s place. After all, they were classmates and spent time together in the U.S…. But Vermouth doesn’t like Sherry, not sure if that would cause issues.”
Vermouth…
Gin couldn’t help but close his eyes again, suppressing his irritation. That woman better not teach that little idiot any more strange things!