They seemed to have just finished shopping (Vodka was carrying a convenience store bag), their expressions indifferent as if they had just completed a perfectly ordinary daily purchase. Gin's gaze casually swept across the street, pausing on Jodie for less than half a second. There was no emotion in those icy green eyes, as if he were looking at a tree or a lamppost on the side of the road. Then he and Vodka turned and unhurriedly merged into the crowd, soon disappearing into a nearby alley.
They didn't even give her a second look. That complete disregard was more chilling to Jodie than direct killing intent. It meant that in the opponent's eyes, she didn't even count as a "threat" anymore; she was just a... trivial object with a predetermined ending.
"Hah... hah..." Jodie's breathing became difficult, and cold sweat soaked the clothes on her back. She subconsciously backed away, her spine hitting the cold exterior wall of the cafe. The world spun and faded before her eyes, and all sounds became muffled and distant. She had lost, lost utterly, without even the room to struggle.
Just as she was on the verge of a mental breakdown, a soft yet exceptionally steady hand was gently placed on her shoulder.
The touch was familiar yet strange. It carried the warmth of a young girl, yet also a sense of unquestionable power.
Jodie jerked like a startled rabbit, almost leaping as she spun around.
What met her eyes was a face she was incredibly familiar with, yet felt incredibly strange at this moment.
Ran Mouri.
She was wearing the Teitan High School girls' uniform, her dark purple hair fluttering gently in the afternoon breeze. On that refined and beautiful face, there was none of her usual gentleness, cheerfulness, or occasional shyness. Her expression was calm to the point of indifference, her purple eyes like two deep pools of icy water, clearly reflecting Jodie's terror-stricken and wretched face.
"Jodie-sensei," Ran spoke, her voice crisp yet devoid of any warmth, "you don't look very well. Do you need help?"
"R-Ran? Why... why are you here? Shouldn't you be in class?" Jodie's voice was dry and hoarse, her mind in total chaos. How could Ran be here? When did she arrive? How much did she see? She... a more terrifying thought slithered into her mind like a venomous snake. Kanjuro came to find Ran... Ran is Kanjuro's "good friend"... Kanjuro was composed in the cafe just now... Gin and Vodka just left... and Ran was looking at her with this kind of gaze... "Class?" Ran's mouth seemed to twitch ever so slightly; it wasn't a smile, but a kind of mockery that bordered on pity. "Those things are no longer important."
Her hand on Jodie's shoulder suddenly tightened its grip!
It wasn't to hurt her, but to pin her body—which wanted to retreat out of fear—in place like an iron hoop.
"What's important is," Ran's voice lowered, carrying a cold decisiveness Jodie had never heard from her before, "that you shouldn't have appeared here, and even more so... you shouldn't have tried to investigate things you shouldn't know, Jodie Starling... or rather, Investigator Jodie of the CIA."
Her identity was completely exposed! Jodie's pupils constricted to the limit.
In the next second, Ran moved.
Her movements were as fast as lightning, completely outside the realm of an ordinary high school girl! The hand on Jodie's shoulder slid down, grabbing her wrist and pulling it to the side, while her right leg rose like a precise whip—a clean, powerful side kick that slammed into Jodie's defenseless abdomen!
"Ugh—!"
Sharp pain exploded instantly! Jodie felt as if her internal organs had shifted; all the air was forced out of her lungs, and her body arched uncontrollably, flying backward like a shrimp!
"Bang!"
Her back slammed heavily against the glass exterior wall of the cafe, making a dull thud. The glass vibrated violently, but fortunately, being reinforced material, it didn't shatter. She slid down the wall and slumped onto the cold sidewalk, clutching her abdomen and curling up. Her vision went black in waves, and the intense pain and suffocation left her unable to even scream, only able to make pained, wheezing sounds.
She struggled to lift her head. Through her blurred vision, she saw Ran slowly withdrawing her kicking leg, her movements fluid and elegant as if she had just brushed a bit of dust off her clothes. The girl stood in the afternoon sun, her uniform skirt fluttering slightly, her face still beautiful, but in those purple eyes, there was only absolute coldness and disregard for the defeated person before her.
"Wh... why..." Jodie managed to squeeze out a sliver of a voice amidst the pain and shock, filled with disbelief and total collapse. "Ran... you... how could you... Kanjuro, he..."
"Why?" A gentle, smiling male voice came from behind her.
Jodie twisted her neck with difficulty, bit by bit, looking toward the cafe entrance.
Kanjuro had walked out at some point and was leaning against the doorframe, still holding the now lukewarm latte she had ordered for him. He lowered his head, gently blowing away the milk foam on the surface, and then took a sip, his movements as leisurely as if he were enjoying an afternoon on his own balcony.
Then, he looked up and gazed smilingly at the wretched, despairing Jodie slumped on the ground.
That smile was clean and refreshing, even carrying a hint of youthful shyness, perfectly blending with the warm decor of the cafe behind him and the everyday background of the street.
But in Jodie's eyes, this smile was more bone-chilling and... absurd than Gin's gun barrel or Ran's cold kick.
"Because," Kanjuro put down the coffee cup, walked slowly to her, and squatted down to be at eye level with her terrified gaze. His voice was as soft as if he were comforting a lost child,
"Ran is my daughter."
He paused, the smile in his eyes deepening, though in their depths was a darkness that swallowed everything.
"She is also my woman."
"And even more... she is one of my most obedient and perfect works."
He reached out, his fingertips gently brushing across Jodie's cheek, which was covered in cold sweat from pain and fear. The movement could even be described as gentle.
"Now, Jodie-sensei, or rather, a pawn of the CIA..."
His voice dropped even lower, like a demon whispering in her ear:
"Game time is over. Welcome to... my world."
The sunlight still spilled brightly onto the streets, and the jazz flowing from the cafe remained soothing. But in the collapsed world of Jodie Starling, there was only a piercingly cold darkness and the despair-inducing smiles of the "father and daughter" before her. All her perceptions, all her plans, and all her identities were utterly crushed at this moment.
She finally understood. From the very beginning, she was never the hunter. She was merely a clumsy, self-righteous supporting character on a stage, while the protagonist had already smiled and written the ending for her. The lighting in the interrogation room was a calculated, deathly white, evenly spread across every inch of the metal surfaces; there were no shadows, and thus no corners to hide or catch one's breath. The air was filled with a faint scent of ozone and another more indescribable pressure, one that seemed to touch the very source of the soul. There were no instruments of torture here, no roars of anger, not even any intense confrontation.
Kanjuro simply sat there, watching Jodie, who was bound to her seat by a special energy field. His questions were flat and clear, each one accurately piercing the most central and sensitive areas of her memory bank. Sometimes, he didn't even need her to speak; the power of the dark bible acted like an invisible scalpel, cutting in along the weakest points of resistance in her consciousness, gently and irresistibly "extracting" the information he wanted—contact nodes, backup identities, and the subtext of high-level directives that even she herself had buried deep or deliberately forgotten.
Jodie's will was like a layer of ice under a scorching sun; faced with such an absolute disparity in power, it let out a silent wail before irredeemably melting and disintegrating. Everything she had constructed as "Jodie Starling" and a "CIA Investigator"—her beliefs, skills, pride, and disguises—was stripped away layer by layer. When the final barrier of "self" was pierced, exposing her to that profound, ancient, and cosmic gaze—indifferent yet all-encompassing—the intense shock and incomprehensible attraction intertwined into a vortex, completely swallowing her remaining consciousness.
When she woke up, touch preceded sight.
Beneath her was extremely soft and smooth silk, cool against her skin. The air was warm, suffused with a soothing and expensive incense, a stark contrast to the coldness of the interrogation room.
Jodie slowly opened her eyes. What met her gaze was a high dome decorated with intricate dark patterns, and layers of deep purple canopies hanging down. This was an extremely luxurious and private bedroom; light filtered through heavy curtains from one side, creating a hazy and ambiguous atmosphere.
The sensations in her body were strange. There was none of the expected pain or discomfort; instead, there was an ineffable... sense of transparency? It was as if something heavy that had been obstructing her was completely removed, or as if she had been injected with some warm, heavy liquid that filled every void. Fragments of memory floated: the deathly white light, the terrifyingly calm questions, her own uncontrollable answers, and those eyes... Finally, there was a deeper, more absolute connection and branding, which, accompanied by an irresistible tide, pushed her into darkness and reshaped her from within.
She moved her fingers slightly and turned her head.
Kanjuro was sitting in a single-seater sofa not far from the bed, wearing a dark silk robe with the collar casually open. He held an old book with a leather cover and didn't look up, as if he were just reading on an ordinary morning.
Seemingly sensing her awakening, he closed the book and cast his gaze over.
Those eyes were still profound, but as Jodie looked at them now, her feelings had undergone a world-shaking change. Fear still existed, but it was no longer sharp or stinging; instead, it had turned into a heavy awe, like facing an abyss or the firmament. Even stronger was a sense of belonging from the depths of her soul and... a throb of desire to please. He was no longer just a "target," an "enemy," or a "demon"; he was the... source, the master, the anchor point upon which the meaning of her existence was refocused.
She propped herself up with her arms, wanting to sit up. The silk quilt slid from her shoulders, revealing faint marks on her skin that were not caused by violence, but rather seemed like subtle imprints left by the flow of energy or a branding. She froze for a moment but didn't pull the quilt up; instead, she just sat up like that, letting the silk pile at her waist. The movement was so natural it was as if it were meant to be, without any shame or hesitation, only total exposure and docility.
She lifted the quilt and stepped onto the soft, long-pile carpet with bare feet. She walked to Kanjuro and then, without the slightest hesitation, her knees touched the floor. In an extremely standard and submissive posture, she knelt at his feet. Her once bright blue eyes were downcast, looking at the hem of his robe, her long golden eyelashes casting faint shadows on her cheeks.
"...Master." Her voice rang out, slightly raspy but exceptionally clear and steady, carrying a hollowness that comes after shedding all disguises and burdens, and beneath that hollowness, a new, absolute loyalty was rapidly solidifying.
Kanjuro put down the book, reached out, and gently tilted her chin up with his fingertips, forcing her to look up. His gaze roamed over her face, checking for changes in the depths of those eyes—the ruins after the collapse had been cleared, and a new order, with him as the sole pillar, was being established.
"How do you feel, Jodie?" he asked, his tone flat, as if inquiring about the weather.
"Very... clear," Jodie replied, her eyes submissively meeting his scrutiny without any dodging. "Clearer than ever before. My past missions, identities, struggles... they all feel like someone else's story. And now..." she paused slightly, seemingly searching for the right words, before finally saying softly but firmly, "I belong to you. My eyes see for you, my ears hear for you, and my hands... do anything for you."
There was no fanaticism in her tone, only a calm statement, like reporting a confirmed fact. This was exactly the "result" Kanjuro appreciated—not erasing her qualities as an elite agent (observation, analysis, execution), but completely turning the direction of those qualities and imbuing them entirely with loyalty to him.
"The CIA's network in the Far East, the parts you remember, have been cleared," Kanjuro said, letting go of her chin and leaning back into the sofa. "As for the rest, you know what to do."
"Yes, Master," Jodie immediately understood. "I will compile all remaining clues, suspicious connections, and potential schemes for misleading or counter-utilization. If Senior Vermouth needs assistance, I can provide everything I know about the CIA's internal working models and mindsets."
Her thinking shifted rapidly and efficiently; she had already begun to switch seamlessly from "how to oppose Kanjuro" to "how to better serve Kanjuro and clear the remaining influence of her old masters."
The corners of Kanjuro's mouth curled into a satisfied arc. He stood up, the hem of his robe brushing past Jodie's downcast eyes.
"Get up. You will have a new identity and new missions." He walked toward the walk-in closet on one side of the bedroom, his voice drifting back. "From today on, you and Vermouth will be jointly responsible for part of the organization's internal information filtering and counter-intelligence analysis. Especially regarding the penetration of Western intelligence agencies."
"Yes." Jodie stood up obediently, still standing barefoot on the carpet, her posture upright yet carrying a supple curve. She looked at Kanjuro's back, her eyes devoid of any confusion or resistance toward the future, containing only the focus of waiting for orders and a faint, hard-to-detect light born from being given a duty (even a dark one).
The former CIA Investigator Jodie Starling was dead, her soul reshaped in that deathly white interrogation room. Kneeling here now was Kanjuro's "slave," Jodie—a weapon that had been polished sharp again, its hilt personally offered to its master; a collection piece that knew its full value and where it belonged.
She no longer needed to ask why, nor did she need to struggle. In her world, there was only one origin, one law, and one existence that required her to give her all to serve and protect.
The light outside the window grew brighter; a new day had begun. And for Jodie, a brand new, dark yet "clear" life had just begun.
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