“You like Shishiba?… Seriously?”

Nagumo’s fingers curled a little tighter around the steering wheel, his knuckles just barely tensing before he forced himself to relax. The wind rushed through the open window, ruffling his already messy hair, but it did nothing to cool the irritation creeping up his spine.

“Why?”

He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t teasing. It was a rare moment where he actually sounded… genuinely curious. Maybe even a little bit annoyed—not that he’d ever admit it. Of all people, Shishiba? It didn’t make any damn sense.

He scoffed, shifting in his seat as he shot you a glance, sharp eyes scanning your face like he was trying to find the answer himself. “I mean, the guy fights with a hammer. A hammer, for god’s sake. That’s not exactly top-tier assassin material.”

Nagumo clicked his tongue, shaking his head with a huff that was almost—almost—childish. “And let’s be honest, he’s not even that good-looking,” he added, his voice deliberately casual, though the underlying jealousy was obvious. “I mean, come on—compared to me? Be serious.”

He drummed his fingers against the wheel, his ever-present smirk twitching at the edges. “Besides, I know I’m a better assassin than him. No contest. So, tell me,” he tilted his head, that familiar playfulness creeping back into his voice, “what’s he got that I don’t?”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.