The next day, in a rather secluded tavern in the United Kingdom.
Umarov sat at a wooden table with a glass of whiskey in front of him, containing a spherical ice ball. Under the bar's lighting, it possessed a certain elegance.
Beside him was a metal box, evidently holding something important.
"In good spirits, I see."
While Umarov quietly sipped his drink, a man in a casual suit and a hat seated himself opposite Umarov, speaking, "I can't believe we're meeting back here again!"
He snapped his fingers and said, "A martini, please."
Upon hearing this, the accompanying bartender turned to head towards the bar.
"You haven't changed."
Seeing the man ordering a drink, Umarov spoke, "Always a martini. If the owner knew a national minister came here just to drink martinis, it would be quite the joke."
As he spoke, Umarov's tone lifted slightly, with a hint of amusement, "Am I right, Lord Sweet?"
"How many times have I told you?"
