Conan: Begins to collaborate with Miss Bayonetta and become famous

Chapter 921 Vermouth: You've aged a lot, Gin

"Okay! Okay! Come on!" McCallen took several deep breaths, forcing her wildly beating heart to calm down.

He deftly moved from the driver's seat to the passenger seat, and precisely pried open a lever behind the steering wheel with his index finger.

"Autonomous driving has been activated."

He lifted the laptop from his feet and placed it flat on his lap. His hands danced across the keyboard like a pianist, moving so fast they were just blurry images.

Inside the train compartment

The White Widow and Zola entered the rest carriage one after the other, walking gracefully through the aisle as the mountain and lake scenery outside the window flashed by.

The white widow paused in front of a private room, her long, snow-white hair tracing an arc as she turned, carrying a faint fragrance. She turned her head and gently opened the door halfway: "Don't disturb me before I meet with my client."

"Bang." Before the door slammed shut, she gave her brother Zola a sweet smile, then disappeared into the room.

Zola nodded silently, stood still outside the door, clasped her hands in front of her abdomen, and scanned her surroundings warily, regarding protecting her sister's safety as her duty above all else.

In private room

The white widow entered the room, looking around somewhat blankly before her gaze finally met her reflection in the mirror. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.

This was the first time she had ever felt such immense psychological pressure. Anyone in this situation would likely find it unbearable, and might even break down—after all, their every action at this moment was related to the future of humanity and involved countless possible outcomes.

She leaned wearily against the door, her bright eyes slowly closing.

Suddenly, she heard a faint rustling sound ahead. Her eyes widened abruptly, and she was shocked to see a woman in a black trench coat who looked exactly like her standing in front of her!

For a moment, the white widow even thought she was hallucinating.

The two stared at each other, locked in a tense standoff for several seconds. Just as the White Widow was still reeling from the shock and confusion, the black-clad "White Widow" pounced forward like a cheetah! She pulled a syringe filled with a potent anesthetic from her trench coat pocket, held it firmly between two fingers, and simultaneously slammed the White Widow against the sofa with her left hand in a claw-like motion!

Despite multiple rehearsals, the actual execution went awry. When the white widow fell, her ankle slammed heavily against the corner of the sofa with a dull thud.

But the black-clad "White Widow" remained calm—she had already investigated; the room was extremely soundproof, and unless someone was rocking loudly inside, it would be virtually impossible for anyone outside to hear. Instead, she transformed her palm into a blade, striking precisely and ruthlessly at the White Widow's neck!

With a crisp "click," the white widow lost consciousness completely and collapsed limply into the other person's arms.

“So filthy.” Vermouth’s voice echoed in the room.

She looked at the white widow's face in the mirror, her eyes revealing undisguised disgust. "Your face is barely passable."

“However… if I looked like that,” Vermouth gripped the cross key she had somehow taken from the White Widow, and sneered, “I would have gone to a plastic surgery clinic for a makeover long ago.”

She slowly opened her hands, gazing calmly at the two keys in her palms that were powerful enough to change the world order.

"This is... something that can change the world?" Vermouth's tone was calm, unlike the White Widow's excitement; instead, she was unusually composed. The tool capable of controlling the world was right before her eyes, yet a barely perceptible worry flickered in her eyes.

She gently closed her eyes, silently thinking, "Where are you now... Baijiu (a type of Chinese liquor)?"

"Alana?" Zola called out with concern from outside the door, accompanied by a gentle knock. His voice was so tender it was almost dripping with affection: "Are you alright? I heard some noise. Do you need me to buy you some porridge?"

"Knock knock knock! Knock knock knock!" Seeing no response from inside, Zola's brows furrowed even more, her worry deepening, and her voice becoming increasingly gentle: "Are you alright? Answer me."

Vermouth gripped the two keys tightly in her hands, calmly opened the door, and met the gaze of Zola, who was pacing anxiously outside.

The two looked at each other for a few seconds.

Zola looked at her "sister" who had changed into all black and stammered, "You... why did you change your clothes?"

“I’m not like you, wearing the same clothes from start to finish.” Vermouth chuckled, walking past Zola with perfect ease. “Let’s go, don’t keep the client waiting.”

Business class cabin

"Squeak-"

The two main doors of the business district opened simultaneously. Vermouth walked past the grim-faced Kava and Vodka with an air of nonchalance.

Fortunately, the other party's attention did not linger on this "white-haired woman"—who would have thought that the key that everyone dreamed of was now in the hands of a seemingly unrelated woman?

Vermouth lifted the deep red velvet curtain in front of her.

Before even stepping into the room, a familiar name reached my ears.

"Mr. Gin".

“Gin…?” Vermouth looked at her old friend, who was both familiar and unfamiliar, and murmured softly. Despite being mentally prepared, she couldn’t help but sigh when she saw it with her own eyes—Gin had changed so much.

If it weren't for the lingering, strong smell of smoke and the name the other person gave, she would never have believed that the man with the neat short hair and slightly thin build was actually the once sharp and edgy Gin.

He cut off his signature long silver hair and dyed it black, with only a few strands of white hair visible among them. The once arrogant man now looked so weathered and haggard.

Rum's defection and the loss of a large number of key members forced him to shoulder the heavy responsibility of being the organization's second-in-command. Although the organization is now in turmoil, the situation is at least somewhat more stable than when Rum first defected.

Vermouth had anticipated that Gin would change, but she hadn't expected the change to be so drastic. How long had it been since Baijiu last saw him? It seemed that "turning white overnight" or "aging instantly" was not just a legend.

“You…” Gin, though his weariness was undeniable, still possessed keen insight. He immediately noticed the unusual behavior of the “White Widow” before him—though Vermouth’s shock was only fleeting.

“You…” Gin’s icy gaze swept across Vermouth’s face like a scalpel, his voice chilling to the bone, “You are not Alanna Mitsopris.”

He took a step closer, his presence commanding, and repeated, "You are absolutely not."