Chapter 192: Superfluous People and Matters
At Albedo's words, Mouri Ran blinked, and it took her a few seconds to catch up with what had just happened. Then she began waving her hands in flustered protest, anxious to explain that she had only done what anyone would have, with no thought of a reward. It took Albedo's repeated insistence before she finally, sheepishly, accepted his gift of thanks.
Ran and Sonoko exchanged a glance, and together they took the painting from Albedo's hands. Conan, curiosity getting the better of him, crowded in at Ran's side, rising onto his tiptoes and craning his neck for a look. Seeing how much of a strain it was, Ran bent forward slightly and tilted the canvas toward him, and only then did Conan's heels finally return to the ground.
Conan fixed his gaze on Albedo's painting. The background was the same maple grove they had admired only moments ago—except that now two figures stood at its heart: Suzuki Sonoko and Mouri Ran. Sonoko was up on her toes, tying something to a maple branch, while Ran stood beside her, pulling the branch down within her friend's reach so that the red handkerchief could be fastened in place.
Neither face had been rendered in fine detail, yet a single glance was enough to convey Sonoko's yearning for love and Ran's tender blessing for her dearest friend. Conan had to admit it was a genuinely fine piece of work—every nuance of Sonoko's and Ran's expressions captured to perfection, as anyone could tell from the way the two of them kept the canvas in their hands, loath to let it go.
And yet, in Conan's view, the painting suffered from one enormous flaw—namely, why wasn't he in it?! He was the one who was close to Ran, so why did the picture Albedo had given her hold no trace of him whatsoever?! If that boy-crazy Sonoko made the cut, then slipping him in as well couldn't possibly have been much trouble.
With Ran and the others absorbed in the painting, Kaeya drifted over to Lisa and asked under his breath, "Lisa, I still don't get it. What on earth gave you the idea to make a potion like that?"
"A potion like that, hmm?" Lisa regarded him with a look that hovered somewhere between a smile and its absence. "My, my, Kaeya. I do believe your mind is wandering somewhere rather impolite~"
Kaeya looked away, visibly ill at ease, and only when the corners of Lisa's mouth curved in satisfaction did she finally deign to explain. "It's merely a byproduct of an experiment. What Albedo and I set out to develop was a potion that could alter the color of fabric without leaving the slightest trace—this was simply an unexpected result the process saw fit to produce along the way."
Only when Albedo nodded to confirm her account did Kaeya finally believe it. "So that's how it is. And did the two of you succeed?"
"We did. Better still, we found that the two potions work best in combination—together they can change a person's entire outfit with remarkable ease. For infiltration and quick-change work, they could prove a tremendous help," Albedo expounded at his own unhurried pace.
Privately, he suspected the people of Teyvat had little use for such a thing—but in the Black Organization, it might just find a purpose.
From what he knew, ever since Alhaitham had learned that Cointreau of the Black Organization was the Traveler's older brother, what little enthusiasm he'd ever had for work had dwindled to precisely nothing. Lately he had been coasting, pure and simple—every appearance of diligence while on the clock, then out the door the moment it struck quitting time. Nothing remained of the earnestness he'd shown when he first joined the Organization, and it had been ages since he'd produced any research results at all.
Though the Boss had yet to breathe a word on the matter, Gin and Rum both seemed rather less than pleased about it.
According to Kaeya, Alhaitham meant to apply himself a little more for the time being—scrape together some passable result or other, just enough to demonstrate that he had, in fact, been taking his work seriously.
As luck would have it, the potion he had on hand could be handed off to Alhaitham just like that—passed off as the fruit of his recent labors, it would buy him a grace period.
Then, all at once, Albedo sensed Conan drawing near, and the group let the subject drop. Anything further could wait for a private message to Alhaitham later.
He turned to the boy standing before him and asked gently, "Conan? Is something the matter? Don't tell me Miss Mouri doesn't care for the painting?"
"Ah—no, no, it's not that." Conan shook his head, then fidgeted a little before asking, "Albedo-niichan... could you add me to the painting too?"
"No." Albedo's refusal was instant and absolute.
"Eh?! Why not?!" Conan's eyes went flat as dots. Never in a million years had he expected Albedo to turn him down without so much as one second's hesitation.
"Because this painting is, above all, a portrait of the bond between Miss Mouri and Miss Suzuki. To add bystanders to it would be to spoil the mood of the piece."
In short, Albedo simply felt that Conan—a fake child, at that—was one figure too many for a painting devoted to the friendship between Suzuki Sonoko and Mouri Ran.
"If Conan would like a painting of his own, I'd be happy to do a separate one for you later," Albedo offered at last, tossing the boy a token crumb of comfort.
"N-no, don't go to any trouble, Albedo-niichan." Yeah, better to just forget it. The entire point of getting into the painting had been to appear in it beside Ran; a portrait of him alone wasn't worth bothering Albedo over.
"That's right! You're just a little grade-schooler—what do you need a painting for?!" Suzuki Sonoko planted herself a few steps in front of Albedo, flapping a hand at Conan to make it abundantly clear that the little brat was not to go pestering people over every little thing.
By then, Ran had—with Noelle's help—carefully packed away the painting Albedo had given her.
"Conan, you shouldn't go interrupting people like that," Ran added, fixing him with a look of gentle reproach.
"Okaaay, Ran-neechan—" Conan answered, dragging the words out in utter resignation.
Just then, Conan noticed Albedo and the others peering at something over his shoulder. He turned—and, sure enough, a man was making his way toward them.
"Um... you're all here for the maple viewing, aren't you?" The man stopped a short distance away and, with an apologetic air, delivered a remark that left them completely at sea. "I'm sorry. The way today has turned out—that's all because of me."
While this man—who had appeared out of nowhere, calling himself a former staff member of the Winter's Red Maples film crew—explained the situation to Conan and the others, a very long way from the maple grove, certain members of the Black Organization were hard at work on the collaboration with Ningguang.
The Organization stood to profit handsomely from the deal, yet Rum, by all accounts, was far from satisfied. The terms Curaçao and Camus had negotiated, in his eyes, fell short—and as if that weren't enough, the other tasks he had assigned them had not only gone undone but been found out as well.
When the news reached Gin, he lost no time in seizing the chance to mock Rum with a few well-placed barbs. That only stoked Rum's fury higher; deeming the pair simply incompetent, he punished Curaçao and Camus most severely.
And when word of that reached Cointreau, he took it upon himself to call Rum out in the Organization's action-team group chat. The blame for this mess, he argued, lay squarely with Rum himself—negotiating the collaboration successfully was job enough, so what was the point of all those superfluous extras?
The message drew a chorus of agreement from the group—Chianti and Vermouth included.
And when Rum somehow caught wind of it, his anger burned hotter still.