Chapter 330: Treating and Trading
Hearing that this cheerful boy had once been kicked around by one of Glenlivet's former colleagues, Gin initially dismissed him as a minor, insignificant lackey. It was strange, however, that the kid could still smile so brightly at someone tied to his own humiliation.
But as Glenlivet elaborated, the perpetual ice in Gin's gaze cracked. He cast another, much sharper look at the boy in green.
Gin sized Venti up with cold, calculating precision. With his slender build, soft features, and refined, almost theatrical attire, the boy looked every bit like a sheltered, wealthy young master out to experience the gritty real world. This little brat is actually one of the ministers within the Teyvat Organization? It was an entity whose true depths even Gin hadn't fully fathomed. Did this so-called minister earn his high-ranking position through sheer intellect? He certainly didn't look particularly bright or dangerous.
A similar skepticism flickered through Kir's mind. Unlike the ruthless executive beside her, however, she shared a deeper, hidden partnership with Glenlivet. She knew his true identity: an undercover agent planted by the Teyvat Organization itself.
Because of this, Kir found herself intensely curious. What kind of leader could possibly tolerate an arrogant, insubordinate rogue like Glenlivet? More, how did they manage to make him go undercover so obediently? Weren't they afraid a wild card like him would simply defect? Come to think of it, despite their alliance, Kir still had no idea which specific department of the Teyvat Organization Glenlivet actually belonged to.
"Ehe, don't say that." Venti strolled up to the group, his steps light and practically bouncing to an unheard melody. He had clearly overheard Glenlivet's barbed introduction, but he didn't seem to mind the insult in the slightest. Instead, he flashed a brilliant smile. "I'd almost forgotten about that little incident! How do you remember it even more clearly than I do?"
Glenlivet rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't get stuck. "Of course you don't care. Signora is already dead. Even if you wanted to hold a grudge, where would you find the chance?"
"Mm-hmm, exactly." Venti nodded, his expression turning mock-solemn. "She was struck down by your mother, after all."
Venti let out a dramatic, airy sigh. "Besides, I didn't really care back then either, okay? Look, even after Signora stole something so incredibly important from me, I never once thought about seeking revenge." He drooped his shoulders, looking thoroughly dejected. "That was the vital proof of my position as the Minister of Mondstadt. Sigh... my current status as a minister is practically in name only now."
"Don't mention that old woman!" Glenlivet's face instantly darkened, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low bark.
Gin observed the exchange from the corner of his eye. He noticed that while Glenlivet was clearly agitated and impatient, he didn't deny a single word Venti had said. That meant the bard's ridiculous claims were entirely true.
Is Glenlivet's mother really that powerful? Gin mused silently. To easily strike down an operative capable of defeating a Teyvat minister... no wonder no one from the Teyvat Organization had actively pursued Glenlivet after he supposedly went rogue.
Then again, was the power gap between the ministers of the Teyvat Organization truly this massive? Or was this Venti simply an exceptionally useless outlier, a figurehead unable to even protect his own proof of office?
"Fine, fine, I won't mention her." Venti shrugged nonchalantly, smoothly steering the conversation toward his actual, primary reason for tracking the Wanderer down in the first place.
Venti shifted his bright emerald eyes toward Gin and Kir, who had been quietly absorbing the exchange. "Are these your new colleagues from that 'Winery' you recently joined? Honestly, I absolutely adore the codenames your new organization uses. Speaking of which... could you ask them to help me order a few drinks? Don't worry, I have money! Um... well, maybe not a lot..."
"So what if they are? I'm not exactly close to them," Glenlivet replied, his tone dripping with cold dismissal. "If you want a drink, ask them yourself. I'm certainly not going to put in a good word for a freeloader like you."
Hearing Glenlivet completely disavow any sense of camaraderie—despite their frequent recent missions together—Kir couldn't help but secretly roll her eyes. It was exactly the kind of ungrateful behavior she expected from him.
Venti turned his expectant, puppy-dog gaze toward Gin. Just as he did, a malicious, cunning smirk crept onto Glenlivet's face—the very same boy who had just sworn he wouldn't lift a finger to help.
He narrowed his indigo eyes, looking at Gin with a mocking half-smile. "Hey, Gin," he drawled slowly. "I think you could actually use this golden opportunity to make a little deal with our esteemed Minister here. As long as you agree to treat him to a few drinks, I guarantee this Minister will obediently answer whatever questions you have. You wouldn't know it just by looking at him, but this guy is a total, hopeless drunkard."
Gin remained silent for a moment, his mind working rapidly. He didn't immediately reject the suggestion.
A few glasses of alcohol were pocket change, and Venti was, despite his appearance, a minister of the Teyvat Organization. The boy was bound to possess a wealth of highly classified inside information. Even if every word spilling from Venti's mouth turned out to be a lie, the nature of those lies would still reveal valuable clues. It was a zero-risk investment. Besides, with Glenlivet standing right there, Venti couldn't stray too far from the truth without being immediately called out.
Making his decision, Gin turned and led the group toward a secluded leather booth in the dimly lit corner of the establishment. He flagged down a waiter, ordered a generous selection of top-shelf liquor exactly to Venti's eager specifications, and soon placed the brimming glasses in front of the beaming bard.
The bar had a strict policy against selling alcohol to minors, of course. But once a sharply dressed adult had paid for the drinks, the bartenders had no way of controlling whose hands the glasses ultimately ended up in.
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