Zongman: Becoming Prime Minister in the Conan Universe

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"Sit still, let me check it!"
Fujiwara Toru quickly went to Vermouth's side, helped her sit down on the sofa which was barely usable, and simultaneously took out a tourniquet.

He thought Vermouth had been shot, so he prepared to use the tourniquet to stop the bleeding first, then quickly send her to the hospital.
America's medical standards in other areas might be debatable, but their level of treating gunshot wounds was definitely world-class.
Many people who had been shot, due to the critical situation and soaring adrenaline, felt no pain at all for a short time, and didn't even know they had been shot.

Fujiwara Toru thought Vermouth was the same. The frantic shooting by those armed men just now was indeed heart-pounding and fraught with danger.
However, after the adrenaline subsided, people would feel extreme fatigue and pain.
"No, I don't think I was shot. My leg doesn't hurt that much."

Pressed down on the sofa by Fujiwara Toru, Vermouth wanted to say something.
But she saw Fujiwara Toru bring a first-aid kit from the hotel room and quickly cut open her trouser leg with scissors. Seeing Fujiwara Toru's serious look, Vermouth swallowed the words she was about to say.
How long had it been since someone had genuinely cared for her like this?

It had been too long, even Vermouth herself couldn't remember.
She thought her heart had already withered, ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) but she never expected that one day, she would bloom again, regaining hope and passion.
"Boy, you seem very concerned about me?"

Vermouth looked warmly at Fujiwara Toru, who had cut open her trouser leg, and said softly.
Fujiwara Toru looked up at her, didn't say anything, just checked her wound.
Vermouth's calves were straight and slender, her skin delicate and flawless. Especially when wrapped around his waist, it was truly mesmerizing – something Fujiwara Toru had verified last night.

However, on this fair calf, there was a bleeding wound.
He carefully examined it and said, "You weren't hit by a bullet. You're lucky, it just grazed you."
Saying this, Fujiwara Toru took out disinfecting supplies and said, "Endure it."
The stinging pain from the wound on her leg made Vermouth shudder and clench her teeth tightly.

After disinfecting Vermouth's wound, Fujiwara Toru applied medicine and wrapped it with a bandage.
"The wound isn't too deep, and it was treated immediately, so it shouldn't leave a scar."
Fujiwara Toru stood up and tossed aside the used medical kit.

He then asked Vermouth, "Can you walk?"
Vermouth stood up, revealing a charming smile: "This little injury is nothing, I won't hold you back."
Fujiwara Toru nodded, picked up the UMP9 from the ground, and threw one to Vermouth, saying:

"Based on my understanding of Mossad, they can't possibly only have these assassination methods. There must be more danger waiting for us."
Vermouth wasn't an ordinary woman. She was quick and agile, calmly checked the bullets and the firearm, and said, "Boy, how are we going to leave?"
"To the underground parking lot. Driving is safer than walking!"

After speaking, Fujiwara Toru took out his phone and sent a message requesting backup.
Those "squids" might just want to kill Vermouth, but since he was now involved, there was no need to be polite, just report it directly to the superiors.
After all, this was America. No matter how much America and Jerusalem were like father and son, they couldn't just let them cause trouble like this.

"The CIA doesn't have the authority to dispatch police domestically. This matter should be reported to the FBI or SWAT for support."
"But before the backup arrives, we can't just sit and wait to die."
Fujiwara Toru and Vermouth left the room, cautiously entered the corridor. Vermouth was also professionally trained. The two moved one behind the other, carefully watching both ends of the corridor, and arrived at the elevator.

The hotel was in chaos. Although the intense firefight just now was on the upper floors, it had already spread downstairs.
All hotel room doors were tightly closed. The guests in the first-floor lobby were screaming and running outside. The sirens of police cars and ambulances could be heard in the distance.
Fujiwara Toru and Vermouth weren't stupid enough to take the elevator directly to the basement. If someone guarded the elevator entrance, they would be finished.

The two took the elevator to the fifth floor, then used the fire escape.
These Mossad personnel were elite armed individuals, and it was still unknown how many there were.
As long as he wasn't immune to bullets like Superman, he had to be extremely careful.

A body of flesh and blood could truly be killed by a single bullet.
Arriving in front of a Porsche 911 in the underground parking lot, Fujiwara Toru quickly checked the vehicle and found no bomb installed. He then signaled Vermouth to get in the car.
The two sat in the driver's and passenger seats respectively. Fujiwara Toru started the car, and this silver-white Porsche 911 quickly drove out of the underground garage and onto the streets of the metropolis.

"Are we safe?"
Vermouth, sitting in the passenger seat, moved her leg slightly. The leg that had just been injured had walked so much, causing her to feel pain again.
Fujiwara Toru glanced sideways, took out a military-grade portable morphine injection from his clothes, and threw it over: "If you can't bear it, take a shot first."

After speaking, he looked at the rearview mirror again. Behind his car, two black Chevrolet SUVs were following him.
"We've been spotted. Someone is chasing us. Hold on tight!"