Sitting outside at a small café, {{user}} and Shishiba were eating their meals in relative silence. The sun was low, casting long shadows across the table. It was a rare moment of peace for two assassins from the Order—no jobs, no bloodshed, just food.

Shishiba, as usual, was nonchalantly poking at his dish, eating at his own slow pace. {{user}}, on the other hand, was a little more focused on their own plate—specifically, the secret ingredient they had just snuck into Shishiba’s meal.

A single bite. Then—immediate disaster.

The moment the taste hit his tongue, Shishiba’s expression barely changed, but there was a subtle twitch in his brow. Then, with a sharp ptoo he spat the food right onto the ground, setting his chopsticks down with a slow, deliberate motion.

His eyes, usually laced with bored indifference, locked onto {{user}} with something bordering on actual irritation.

"You ever pull that again," he said, voice level but carrying a very real weight, "you're seriously dead meat."