Blood dissolved in the purple-red wine, haloing a somewhat beautiful color, like the silhouette of a sunset drifting on the surface of the sea.
Soon, the red slowly dissipates, mixing completely with the darker wine, and the magnificent halo color fades away, leaving only a deep red, and a few bright red traces of blood sliding down from the rim of the glass.
Ichijō Mirai's stroke was so casual that not only the wine, but also the tray, the surrounding rows of chairs, the floor, the black priest's attire, and even Akai Shūichi's clothes were splattered.
The place with the most blood was the back of the chair that he had put up after spilling the blood without bandaging it, and the blood gathered around the edges of the chair like red pearls in a line and fell to the ground.
Akai Shūichi looked at the blood-stained wine glass for a few seconds, then to Ichijō Mirai's hand, "You cut your right hand, your usual hand,"
"No treatment?"
The cut was a little deep, across the palm, destroying the palm lines, and Ichijō Mirai raised his hand to look at it, judging: very serious.
Serious enough that he would be healed in an hour or two.
He tore off a piece of the hem of his shirt and wrapped it around his right hand perfunctorily so as not to let the perceptive FBI man notice that his wounds were healing at a somewhat irregular rate, "OK," he said.
"It's done. Drink?" Ichijō Mirai eyed Akai Shūichi with interest, not hiding his bright smile, "You don't want to drink, do you?"
"Is it," He smiled, "because you're afraid I'll poison it?"
"No, Mr. FBI?"
Very provocative.
"Two glasses of wine, two partners," Akai Shūichi said, his expression unchanged, holding out his right hand, spreading it out, "and the dagger."
"I didn't realize you had the habit of carrying a dagger with you, thanks for not killing me last time."
He took the dagger, made a cut in the palm of his left hand, raised his hand above the two glasses of wine, and watched as his blood dripped into the wine in cascades.
In the ripples on the surface of the wine, the brilliant colors that had just disappeared reappeared.
"A toast to our cooperation?"
Akai Shūichi handed back the dagger.
His expression was still calm, as if it hadn't fluctuated, but it was just as provocative as the bright, harsh smile.
Ichijō Mirai was in awe.
Ichijō Mirai was amazed at the brazenness of this FBI man.
Back in the racing car, he had realized that this FBI man cared very little about things, was a bit unscrupulous, and could say 'please' in a low voice without a change of face, without hesitation.
But then Akai Shūichi, who was not as brazen as Akai Shūichi is now, used his skill of speech to turn a scene where one person was supposed to drink another person's blood wine and admit that the other person was a Savior into a scene where the two people were drinking wine together.
Not only does it defuse Ichijō Mirai's deliberate hint of contempt, but it also equalizes the two parties once again.
"Almost as brazen as I am, Mr. FBI."
"Your words," Ichijō Mirai looked to his glass of wine, "and your behavior,"
"Are always two different things."
Both glasses were brewed with human blood.
The inner glass had been spiked with less blood, nearly half a glass, and still showed some of its luster, while the outer glass, nearly full from Ichijō Mirai's generosity and Akai Shūichi's spiking of the blood, was subtly shimmering with the luster of blood.
Ichijō Mirai was not a cleanliness freak.
But like any normal human being, he would be tempted to refuse something that was not so acceptable, such as being touched by someone he disliked, reaching out and touching another murderer's head, or drinking a glass of wine with blood in it.
Even if it's his own blood.
"Even if you disguise yourself as a harmless canine, your wolf's heart will show its sharp teeth and wolf's tail when it makes you hang your head," Ichijō Mirai said, reaching for the glass of wine on the inside, "so confident that I won't refuse?"
Akai Shūichi smoothly picked up the outer glass of wine, his expression finally changing as he smiled a little, "Uh-huh."
"I think I'm pretty interesting and haven't bored you to the point of abandonment."
"At this stage, no matter what I do, if it amuses you, you'll go along with it," he raised his glass, "Cheers?"
The glass was full, and when you clinked it, blood clashed from the mouth and splashed into both glasses.
At the first glance, Ichijō Mirai refused, "No."
He lifted the cup, took a half-sip of it nonchalantly, and then put it down, his eyes turning to the cup in Akai Shūichi's hand.
"Huh?"
Akai Shūichi pressed his glass against the mouth, lowered his eyes to the halo of purple and bright red coloring on the surface of the wine, raised his glass and drank.
He drank quickly.
There was so much blood in that glass of wine that the liquid and the blood hadn't yet blended completely and evenly, and some of it gushed out of the glass and showered Akai Shūichi's clothes.
As the liquid in the glass rapidly disappeared, the knot in his throat moved, moving with each swallow of the mixture of blood and liquor.
Ten times in all.
Akai Shūichi set the glass down only when the last drop of blood and wine had dripped out along the rim, and with a slight twist of his fingers, he turned the glass upside down, "That, I suppose, conveys some of my attitude, doesn't it?"
He smiled again, the knot in his throat moving as he swallowed the last sip of the complex liquid, "...My Lord?"
There was something cold about the smile, something like the chill of a sharp dagger.
Ichijō Mirai smiled back, but didn't say anything, just smiled down.
After half a moment, he suddenly opened his mouth and spat the mouthful of wine back into the glass, "Very well,"
"I'm satisfied," He looked up, not hiding his sunny grin, "Go ahead, what do you want to know?"
"I can provide you with one piece of information, one."
The sun's rays were bright, but blinding.
And provocative.
Akai Shūichi's eyes settled on the glass, which had returned to its original waterline, and his eyebrows darted.
After a few seconds, he shifted his eyes to Ichijō Mirai, to that wide, beatific smile, and lingered for a moment on the spot of crimson color at the bottom of it.
Even if he didn't actually drink, Ichijō Mirai swallowed some of it while holding it in his mouth, and he wiped his chin unconcernedly with his fabricated right hand, a little surprised, "Huh, why aren't you smiling anymore, my disciple?"
Not very hurtful, very provocative.
You've got the wine in your mouth, it doesn't make much difference if you drink it or not, you drink the wine and drink it anyway, if you don't drink it, you'll drink some of it in as well.
But not drinking, it's provocative.
Ichijō Mirai was a pro at provocation.
He shook his glass of red wine, and said, "Is it in your nature not to smile?"
"I see."
Repeating what he had just said, "You've pleased me, and as a reward for that, I'm willing to give you a clue at the beginning of our partnership,"
"What would you like to know, Mr. Disciple, who is also doesn't like to smile by nature?"