...What?
For a moment, Ichijō Mirai's active mind stuttered, as if the pause button had been pressed.
He frowned in confusion, "What?"
"What are you talking about?"
No way, no way, you are not talking about something unhealthy, right?
The Japanese Mafia!
Ichijō Mirai set the file down on the coffee table, sat back so that his back was pressed against the soft fabric of the couch, and pulled away from Gin in a carelessly relaxed, reclined position.
He casually scratched his hair and held a strand of it up to his eyes with his fingers to make sure that his hair was still black and his fingers were still white in color, and marveled a little, "Are you accusing me of having a bad fetish by being so blunt in your words?"
"I don't have dyed blonde hair now, do I, so why do you have this very unhealthy misconception? Please don't enter into a late-night conversation just because it's early in the morning."
"Especially late-night topics with some special fetishes," Ichijō Mirai denounced, "Although my current status is that of a Japanese Mafia, I am not a professional mafioso and am still a newcomer, not quite aware of some of the specialized knowledge."
"Please make sure not to teach me your experience and popularize my expertise, first of all, you're not my superior, secondly, we're not friends, not to the point of chatting about overly personal topics, and lastly, I'm not interested."
He was very polite, and smiled as he spoke, repeating calmly, "I'm not interested in choking, whips, high heels, yokes, ties, clips, safewords, or any of that sort of play..."
Gin: "..."
Ignoring Ichijō Mirai's usual smear-factor against him, he was actually tempted to blandly reply, "Yeah, but it sounds like you're interested and have a lot of specialized knowledge."
But he couldn't.
If he did, the next moment, his forehead might hit a cold muzzle.
"...I'm sorry," Gin spoke in a long, subtle silence, "I misunderstood."
His fingers twitched, restraining his subconscious hand from touching his cheekbone, and he calmly explained, "You struck me as a man who is not afraid of danger, and who enjoys the thrill of the chase."
As Ichijō Mirai stepped back a bit, letting the light shadows cover his face with a faint dimness, Gin remembered his second meeting with him.
He thought of the moment in the alley when Ichijō Mirai had finished his mission, walked back to the meeting place in a relaxed manner, and stepped out of a dense shadow.
Ichijō Mirai had done nothing that time, and his demonic behavior had only been realized after he left the alley, but every time he recalled it, Gin intuitively felt the choking and urgency of a knife blade in his neck.
Intuition is still ringing: Ichijō Mirai has no murderous aura.
Intuition is still ringing: But this guy definitely, definitely wanted to kill him.
Intuition continues to ring: the car is dangerous.
This kind of intuition is irrational, it's an animal's instinct to catch life, and only an animal that has been through a lot of battles can sense it as if it's an early warning, but Gin had sensed it the second time he met Ichijō Mirai, after knowing him for less than three minutes.
He had sensed it as if he had experienced it many times.
In his judgment, it was because Ichijō Mirai was so dangerous, so dangerous that his radar was shaking and vibrating before he could even think of killing him.
It was the same now; Ichijō Mirai was smiling, speaking slowly, carelessly, joking a little when he clarified his innocence, but Gin's instincts were going off.
It says, watch out for bombs.
It's still going off: watch out for guns.
And it continues to go off: beware of Ichijō Mirai, a madman who, at any moment, with a friendly smile and a peaceful gesture of no killing, suddenly pulls a gun and aims it at Gin's head...
Aimed at Gin's...
Into the air.
Gin's forehead was still a little cold, and he was on the alert for Ichijō Mirai, ready to dodge if this guy suddenly drew his gun and aimed it at his forehead.
But his thoughts were stuck for a moment, and inexplicably, there was a bit of certainty: Ichijō Mirai might shoot, but not at his forehead or heart, but at the air, so he wouldn't be able to hit, and wouldn't need to dodge, and if he did, he might be shot unintentionally.
...What kind of weird intuition is that?
Ichijō Mirai is not a kind-hearted person, he is a black guy that even Gin thinks is a bit aggressive and ruthless, he doesn't care about the so-called same thing, and it's not impossible that he would shoot his colleagues out of fun.
Gin frowned, waved away the impossible 'Ichijō Mirai will aim at the air when he shoots' premonition, and explained seriously: "Maybe it's a stereotype, maybe it's because of what you're doing that made me misunderstand a little bit," he paused.
He paused, "Or maybe it's because I've seen the reports too many times, but I haven't seen you kill with my own eyes."
If you haven't seen it, you can only imagine it.
Ichijō Mirai's face was easy to visualize, and Gin's intuition sketched out a pair of vivid red eyes with a few strokes of his mind.
"Perhaps," Gin said, "you will shudder as you detonate your own death,"
A look of excitement at the prospect of coldly firing the bullet that had detonated in the car, red eyes glowing with desire, darker pupils narrowing with excitement, a look of joy at the prospect of death.
And in this look, at some moments, it was easy to visualize him slowly suffocating in a tightened tie, but smiling with ease, as if provoking or something like that.
"It's going to be fun."
Especially with Belmode.
Belmode is a beautiful serpent, and if a serpent could compel Adam and Eve to eat the forbidden fruit, she might be able to use her dangerous and mesmerizing hooks to catch Ichijō Mirai in the act of pleasuring him.
Of course: "It's Belmode."
Gin didn't change his face, "She was the main reason for my misunderstanding."
He seemed to say nothing, and then he seemed to say everything: My misunderstanding of your unhealthy proclivities is in no way your problem, nor mine, but because Belmode is a not-so-healthy adult.
It's Belmode's fault.
The one who wasn't there is always the one who gets the blame.
Ichijō Mirai sighed meaningfully, "Really? I see."
He moves his pupils a bit thoughtfully: ignoring the 'what did you play' slander, Gin's description, in fact, isn't wrong.
It was true that when he died in the game, he wasn't too nervous, but only had the thrill of skydiving.
Especially the first few deaths, and the more important ones.
For others, death is a blade smeared with honey, tasting the sweetness as well as the blood of one's own death, but for Ichijō Mirai, it's just a hive in the shape of a knife, which he chews on with gusto for a few moments, spits out the insipid beeswax, and then enjoys the sweetness of the fresh, intoxicating taste.
Come to think of it, the feeling of death that only players can feel is really quite sick.
"I see," Ichijō Mirai pauses, repeats thoughtfully, and then extends his hand, "I didn't realize that blonde lady had such a bad fetish, no wonder she can praise me without changing her color, so brazen that even I am not as good as I am."
"Contact information."
This is not just about asking for contact information.
Gin looked down at the empty hand, and after three or four seconds of calm, habitual compromise, he put his cell phone on the dialing page and handed it to Ichijō Mirai, "Are you in a hurry?"
Ichijō Mirai dialed out without looking up, "Could you please turn on the lights?"
"In case we're going to have a late-night conversation about something that can't be seen."
It's early morning in Tokyo, afternoon in New York.
The afternoon sun was shining brightly, a warm golden glow that made it a perfect time for lunch or afternoon tea on the balcony in the sun.
Belmode answered the phone quickly, "Hello."
She laughed lowly, "It's early morning in Tokyo, isn't it? I can't believe you're calling me at a time like this, geez, I can't believe it."
"Don't you..."
In her voice, Ichijō Mirai could hear the warm sunshine, the relaxing atmosphere, and a lazy ease.
Belmode didn't sound like a member of the organization, she sounded like a beautiful woman on a relaxing vacation, lying on a beach chair and enjoying the sun and the sight of everyone on the beach.
She sounds happy.
Ichijō Mirai was happy, too, and lowered his voice similarly, "Did..."
He caught a bit of what was being said, and looked at his cell phone, then at Gin, who had resigned himself to turning on the lights, "Wow."
"You guys are really,"
'You guys are really isolating me!'
From Belmode's tone of voice and words, Ichijō Mirai could tell that she was gently spitting out rosy letters and swallowing them back, seductively.
Then their relationship was probably a bit unusual, if not a good couple, then an innocent person who had been hooking up with someone else.
He was about to make a slanderous accusation, but when he received Gin's cold gaze, he swallowed it cautiously.
It wasn't that Gin looked angry because he had been slandered.
It was because Ichijō Mirai suddenly remembered that Gin was a neon, and Belmode was a blonde.
There's a risk of getting the 'I don't like you, but my girlfriend likes you too, do you want to consider going deeper with me and my girlfriend' move: 'Okay, honey, then don't isolate yourself, join us~'.
The probability is small, but Ichijō Mirai's blood bar is low, so if you run into it, you'll be killed in seconds.
He cautiously swallowed and re-swallowed his words, swallowing back the nonsense that could trigger what would be a big move for him and a flat A for the Neon, and greeted him in a rare normal human manner, "Good evening, Belmode."
There was silence on the other end of the line.
The sunny beach babe seemed like an illusion that didn't exist, and there was only cold silence.
On the other side of the phone, there was a cold silence.
The source of the cold is Gin.
Gin turns on the light, stands at the edge of the living room, and throws an ice skate at Ichijō Mirai, who is on speakerphone.
Ichijō Mirai thinks, and thinks, and thinks, and thinks, and thinks, and weighs Gin and Belmode rapidly, and weighs who's most likely to pull off the big move: Belmode, who's actually smiling and saying complimentary things to him.
He decisively gave up on poking fun at Belmode, and lip-synced to Gin: "Husband, wife, phase?"
The reactions of the two code members are almost identical.
Gin: "..."
"No," He said coldly, "it's the silence of two crows biting at the same time as they see a cunning fox."
The same fox who could have tricked the crows into starving to death if he'd wanted to.
Until the fox makes a move, neither crow dares to move for fear that if they do, they'll be chosen as the unlucky one.
Now it was Gin who made the first move, breaking the silence.
On the other side of the phone, Belmode cautiously took a step back, "Are you..."
It was as if she had not just randomly attacked a terrifying creature from the underworld and immediately fell silent, but was silently trying to identify Ichijō Mirai's voice, "'Messiah'."
Another light chuckle, "Of course, it's time to call you by your codename, except 'Marc Brandy' is a bit rusty and has a strange implication that I don't really want to call,"
"I hear Gin calls you 'Alsace'? It's a nice alias, and it avoids the weird, bad connotations."
"It's just that 'Alsace' is one of Marc Brandy's famous appellations, and also seems to have another connotation, referring to a person's fall from just and good to evil..."
Belmode's voice seemed hesitant, lighter, and sighed softly, "I'll call you 'Messiah'."
She didn't pull any punches, "You're kind and compassionate enough to send a lot of sinners to heaven, and who better to be called that than you?"
Ichijō Mirai: "..."
He ran through the meaning of Belmode.
Level 1: 'Marc Brandy' means 'scum', how could I possibly call you such a cruel name?
Level 2: Reporting that Gin is euphemistically calling you scum on a daily basis.
Level 3: shameless boasting.
Between ingratiating himself with Ichijō Mirai and bravely exposing Gin's vilification of Ichijō Mirai, there's a clear message emerging: screw him, not me.
Like a man who encounters a poisonous snake, he doesn't need to run faster than the snake, he just needs to run faster than his companion.
Ichijō Mirai was in awe.
He locked eyes with Gin, and also softened his voice, mimicking a gentle Belmode, inquiring, "Is that so?"
"So you're calling me scum?"
Gin's expression tightened, his jaw protruding a bit, a vague greenish color as if he'd been bitten by a poisonous snake.
Before he could speak in defense, Belmode followed Ichijō Mirai's voice and immediately spoke, "Gin didn't mean it."
She enthusiastically and bravely admitted it on Gin's behalf.
After surviving the initial crisis, Belmode continued, "By the way, you called, what...?"
"Is it, like, the FBI again?"
"They are just like a group of stray dogs trying to survive with their tails between their legs," she chuckled. "I am not like Gin, who needs to manage public opinion in Tokyo. I only need to be responsible for some individual tasks in New York. Thank you for making my life in New York happier."
"Have you been in a good mood lately? Have you come across anything interesting? If not, I might be able to send you some fun toys."
'Gin's against you, unlike me, who only cares about you'.
Ichijō Mirai gasped.
He was really amazed, not only was he amazed, but he also asked Gin for his opinion, "