Because he had already eaten the food Bourbon made.
There are only a few ways to build connections within the Black Organization: shared interests, mission cooperation, getting into bed (ahem), so on.
Although it hasn't even been a month since the transfer order, the increase in their familiarity with each other is already comparable to what Bourbon experienced in two years within the Black Organization.
Gin himself was not someone who cared much about gluttony—specifically, if something tasted bad but wasn't poisonous, he could swallow it without changing his expression if necessary; as for delicious food.. if it didn't suit his palate, he truly wouldn't even lift his chopsticks.
It is unknown how this inexplicably picky principle was formed, but Shiratori's presence inevitably caused it to flourish; later, once Gin had both wealth and status, he became even more fastidious.
However, he himself was someone whose fate was fundamentally incompatible with the kitchen.
He had once gone to Heine's house for a few meals, later had also eaten at Rye's place once or twice.
How should I put it.. it was above average, but it still didn't reach the level of his requirements.
However, Bourbon's is different!
It really does taste delicious.
“You could become a chef,” the Silver-haired youth said, swallowing a small piece of charcoal-grilled Sanma. The white, tender flesh stood in stark contrast to the golden, crispy skin. It tasted of the unique freshness of Sanma, the meat being soft yet firm, cooked to perfection, with a hint of acidity from the lemon juice to cut the fishiness.
Gin expressed his rare sincerity.
“You flatter me.” The blonde-haired youth smiled, his greyish-purple eyes seemed to hold the warmth of sunlight—whether this warmth was genuine or not remained to be seen, but it had to be said that, compared to the unapproachable Gin, his popularity was much greater.
While speaking, Amuro Tooru handed a small bowl of miso soup to Gin.
He made sea bream miso soup, with small, evenly sized pieces of fish bobbing in the soup. Shreds of red and white radish were scattered throughout the broth, so soft they seemed to melt in the mouth, with occasional bits of seaweed peeking through. A sprinkle of finely chopped green onion enhanced the flavor, as the essence of the soup ingredients blended with the rich aroma of the miso.
Gin thought for a moment, wondering if this was some kind of sugar-coated bullet?
—But it really is delicious.
The Blonde-haired youth also made a portion of Tempura; he took a shrimp-shaped piece himself to taste it, then nodded in satisfaction, pushing the Sauce toward Gin in the process.
Gin watched him for a while, seeing nothing but genuine interest and an invitation in his eyes.
What is this?
Is a detective who can't cook a good member of the Japanese Public Security?
If you keep this up, I'm going to start doubting your actual job!
The Silver-haired youth silently reached out with his chopsticks..
The fresh large shrimp had a springy texture, its snow-white meat carrying the aroma of seafood; the skin, fried from the perfect ratio of flour, egg, water, was golden and crispy, creating a striking contrast with the shrimp meat. It was a feast for the eyes, tender and sweet, once dipped in sauce, the greasiness was significantly balanced.
Gin silently gave a nod of approval.
He decided to accept this sugar-coated bullet.
Seriously, Amuro Tooru, you could totally open a restaurant once you retire!
..
Bourbon had successfully used gourmet food to entice Gin.. but he received no special treatment in return.
It sounds so tragic that even Feiwen would weep, however, the reality is just that cruel.
Gin stated that he was a man of principle.
But to be honest, Bourbon's work was far too easy compared to that of his predecessor..
After all, his actual role was within the Intelligence Department; although Gin was willing to "make full use of his talents," he wasn't so ruthless as to truly treat him like something less than a human being.
Gin was very satisfied with Amuro Tooru.
If working with Rye was the thrill of two powerhouses fighting side by side, then having Bourbon as a partner was more like having a dedicated logistics support.
He possessed keen observation skills, a gentle yet firm attitude, was decisive in his actions.
Sometimes the Silver-haired youth would think silently that if only there were more undercover agents like this.. Given the efficiency of those people in the Black Organization.. he would have a much easier time working with an undercover partner.
But that was just a passing thought—Gin warned himself not to indulge in comfort. He knew that reality was sorrowful; good teammates were rare, while useless teammates were a dime a dozen—and some of them were even secretly letting people off easy.
This kind of life would continue for a while before he threw in the towel.. for a very long time.
..
Thinking about it this way, it felt inexplicably sorrowful..
Gin sighed silently to himself, then propped up his head with one hand, rubbing his temples with his thumb.
After seventy-two consecutive hours without sleep, although his physical strength allowed him to endure, he was still exhausted.
The silver-gray Maserati sped along the highway, with Vodka driving.
A life-or-death informant was placed in the passenger seat, Amuro Tooru sat beside him..
Or rather, he had fallen asleep while leaning against the backrest in the seat next to him.
Normally, the Blonde-haired youth would never be this careless; however, this mission was too difficult. Escaping had taken a great deal of effort, now that he was in a relatively safe environment and had treated his wounds, his mental state had slightly relaxed.. drowsiness was inevitable.
Actually, Gin also really wanted to sleep.
He felt as if his brain were a chaotic mess, as if it were shrouded by a thick layer of dark clouds; it was as if he had consumed far too much liquor, leaving him with a sudden, fleeting sense of being tipsy.
His thumb rubbed his temples rhythmically for a while before gradually coming to a halt.
The wheels rolled rapidly across the ground. Gin blinked, his green eyes holding a hint of fatigue, which deepened as time passed and the car body vibrated gently—
He closed his eyes.
..
It seemed as if he had returned to a time long ago.
By the way, who is he?
The Silver-haired youth tilted his head, feeling a bit puzzled.
But he knew that the youth beside him, who possessed a pair of beautiful blue eyes, had the codename Heine.
But.. shouldn't Heine be older?
This thought flashed through his mind, then the Silver-haired youth felt it was absurd again; Heine is clearly this age, what on earth am I thinking?
Vermouth's appearance remained unchanged even after several years, like a flower that bloomed with extreme beauty yet would never wither.
"Plastic flowers," the Silver-haired youth thought to himself.
"So, marriage.. is the grave of love." Heine smiled, propping his head up with his hand, his blue eyes shimmering with a drunken light. Before him sat a bottle of Tennessee Whiskey, the empty bottle—he had finished it all.
Before that, Heine seemed to have exchanged a few playful words with Vermouth. Despite his young age, he already had his future..
Wait, his future.. what?
Forget it, anyway, his point was that Heine's personality has always been that of a carefree rogue.
Vermouth was not particularly interested in Heine, who was still a youth, but she was socially adept; since Heine was a newcomer with enough potential, she gave him some face so as not to let the atmosphere turn cold.
Heine, having been politely declined, did not dwell on it; instead, he looked at the Silver-haired youth with a half-smile, as if seeking some kind of response.
The Silver-haired youth was clearly not interested.
Actually, he has a point." Vermouth's blue eyes were filled with fragmented light, making them appear exceptionally bright. "Marriage is indeed the grave of love.. however—
"You have to have love first." The Blonde-haired woman tilted his head back and took a sip of liquor.
..
The scene.. seemed to have changed.
The girl with Green eyes stared at him intently, her lips curling slightly. "Don't listen to their nonsense.."
"Then what are your thoughts?" the Silver-haired youth [male] seemed to have replied with such a sentence.
“.. I.. I don't know either.” The Green-eyed girl faltered for a moment, then her eyes widened: “But! You have to feel this for yourself! Don't listen to what others say!”
"So what?" the Silver-haired youth [male] replied nonchalantly.
“?”
Whether it is the 'grave of love' or not, there must be love first." The Silver-haired youth's eyes were cold. "I cannot imagine myself having any 'love'.
The Green-eyed girl froze for a moment, then blinked. "Then, what about 'liking' someone?"
“I won't, either.”
She looked at him in silence, then spoke softly, "It's okay if you don't 'love'.. but, why not try to 'like' instead?"
Even without "liking," how lonely it must be.
“You're overthinking it,” the Silver-haired youth said without hesitation.
The girl seemed to reveal a look of sadness, the Silver-haired youth did not quite understand the meaning of such a look.
But he knew that the girl was not wearing such a look because of herself.
—Then because of whom?
Gin suddenly wanted to comfort the Green-eyed girl, he reached out his hand—
But the Silver-haired youth did not.
And so, the scene shifted once again.
..
The beautiful woman stood beside Heine and gave him a gentle smile, his eyes and brows carrying a refreshing vitality.
He recognized that this was Sheila.
How could she be here? — Wait, where.. is this?
The Black-haired girl's figure appeared for only a moment before vanishing; the dove wing tattoo on her slender, fair arm was lifelike, her Blue eyes seemed to harbor the stars and the sea.
..
The blonde-haired youth lay on the ground, completely unaware, as the silver-haired youth leaned down and cast a curious glance at him.
Then he lifted his gaze and looked at the card that had fallen from the blonde-haired youth's pocket—it was a Student ID.
The name of the owner on the Student ID was clear: Furuya Rei.
The silver-haired youth blinked. He was about to stand up and say something to his friend, but he was unable to do so, as his cautious consciousness reminded him that something seemed to be approaching.
He blinked, reaching toward the direction the 'thing' had come from, only to see—