Klee's Little Disaster
Vermouth arched her eyebrows in mild surprise. "Mr. Kaeya has a child? Leaving a little one alone really isn't safe, you know. Klee, was it? What an adorable name. If you're worried, I could have someone look in on her, if you'd like."
She mentally reviewed the dossier her intelligence team had provided—there had been no mention of a child anywhere in it. Had he hidden her well? Or was she a friend's daughter? If she could seize this chance to get her hooks into the man's weak spot, so much the better.
"No need. I've asked a friend of mine here to look after Klee for the time being. It'll be fine... probably." Kaeya's voice wavered with just a hint of uncertainty.
He went on to explain the girl's situation briefly. "Klee is the younger sister of a friend of mine. Her brother's away, so I'm looking after her for a while."
The truth was, Kaeya hadn't originally planned on bringing Klee at all—but right before his departure, the girl had caused a catastrophic incident. While out blasting fish, she had accidentally demolished a good portion of the raw materials Diluc had set aside for brewing dandelion wine, forcing him to hastily rework his plans and substitute cider for the missing dandelion wine. His workload ballooned overnight, and for days his mood was so foul that Klee didn't dare so much as touch her Sparkling Bombs.
Left with no alternative, Kaeya had compensated Diluc for part of the losses and then spirited Klee out of that oppressive household in the dead of night. Thankfully Lisa was here in Japan; otherwise, he would never have felt comfortable leaving Klee on her own.
Vermouth was rather surprised to learn that Kaeya had friends in Japan of all places, and was just about to probe further into who this friend might be when a sudden blackout swallowed the room, cutting her off mid-thought.
The memorial service had moved on to the slideshow presentation.
Kaeya tilted his head back and looked up—there, on the pull ring at the top of the chandelier, faint traces of luminescent paint glimmered.
So that's how it's done.
Vermouth caught his movement. "It seems you've already figured out how we intend to handle this, Mr. Kaeya?"
"Mm. It would appear the person your organization assigned to this operation is a fine shot."
What followed unfolded more or less as expected. With a crack of gunfire too faint for most ears, the chandelier came crashing down from the ceiling—and landed squarely on Nokizono Kunihiko.
When the police on scene came up empty in their initial investigation, they had no choice but to let the guests begin filing out. But before the crowd could get far, the officer in charge stopped everyone cold: the seven individuals who had collected purple handkerchiefs from the register were to remain behind. Among those seven, unmistakably, was Chris.
Kaeya produced his own handkerchief—blue—and turned to Chris with theatrical regret. "Miss Chris, it seems you have business to attend to. A shame you won't be able to keep me company any longer."
Vermouth watched him prepare to leave, one brow arching in an amused smile. "How very ungentlemanly of you, Mr. Kaeya. Your lady companion might be in trouble, and yet here you are, ready to walk out first."
Kaeya shrugged. "Can't be helped. Nobody ever taught me to be a gentleman—after all, the girls I grew up around were often far more formidable than the boys."
With a lazy wave of his hand, he headed for the exit.
Vermouth could only watch him go. With police swarming the area, there was no way to signal anyone; all she could do was let Kaeya walk out alone.
He didn't leave the hotel right away, though. He found a member of the staff, asked for the location of the old wing and its wine cellar, and set off in that direction.
He remembered the original story: after Pisk had discovered Haibara's identity and taken her away, she had remained unconscious for roughly an hour before waking. Pisk would be stuck inside the hotel under police watch for the time being—which made this the perfect opportunity to copy some files from the Organization's computer stashed down in that cellar.
When Kaeya reached the cellar door, he gave the handle a twist through his glove. Locked, just as expected.
He sighed. Lock-picking was hardly his forte. Fine, then—there was always the fireplace chimney on the roof.
He climbed the stairs to the rooftop and pushed open the door. To avoid leaving tracks in the snow, he could only move forward in short bursts, casting his Elemental Skill with every few steps. By the time he finally reached his destination, he eased open the chimney's cover with exaggerated care and dropped inside.
The moment he emerged from the fireplace, Kaeya spotted a tea-haired child lying sprawled on the floor—Sherry, beyond a doubt. He paid her no further mind; wary of waking her, he stole across the room on feather-light footsteps to the computer sitting on the desk.
"Tch. A password, of course. Not exactly my specialty either. Really, this is the sort of moment that calls for outside help."
He promptly contacted Alhaitham, sent over a rundown of the situation, and while he was at it, asked how long the man intended to keep his induction into the Black Organization a secret from the Traveler.
Before long, Alhaitham—now fully briefed—sent back a single word: shellingford.
A second message followed: "Strictly speaking, I haven't been hiding anything from the Traveler. I simply haven't volunteered the information. As for when she finds out—well, that depends on when she takes it upon herself to ask, the way you just did."
Kaeya sighed and set the matter aside. First things first: the files in front of him.
He typed in the word Alhaitham had sent, and sure enough—the password worked. With access granted, he copied every research file on the machine onto his USB drive.
Then came the cleanup: erasing every trace he'd left in the cellar, retracing his route back up through the chimney to the rooftop, carefully replacing the cover exactly as he'd found it, and using his Elemental Skill once more to reach the rooftop door without a single footprint. One last look back confirmed the snow was untouched, and he slipped out of the old wing.
He had accomplished everything he'd come to the memorial service for—but he had no intention of leaving just yet.
After all, Kaeya knew perfectly well that before long, Gin was going to take a tranquilizer dart from an unknown assailant—that is, from Conan—and, rather than let the drug rob him of his ability to move, would coldly put a bullet through his own arm to stay functional. And if Kaeya happened to be nowhere to be found at that exact moment, what if Gin's paranoid streak flared up and he started suspecting that Kaeya was the mysterious helper who'd smuggled Sherry out? Kaeya had zero interest in inviting that kind of trouble.
He handed the loaded USB drive to Noelle, whom he'd contacted in advance, and had her take it back for safekeeping—carrying the thing on his person right up next to Black Organization members was far too risky.
Back at the memorial venue in Beika Hotel, Vermouth stood with her arms crossed, enduring the police questioning in boredom, when she suddenly sensed someone come up behind her—footsteps so faint she would never have caught them had she not been listening. Just as her instincts sharpened into silent alarm, a familiar voice slid into her ear.
Kaeya greeted her with an easy smile. "Miss Chris. We meet again."