Taste Of Algorithm Jinkook/Kookjin story

Coincidence

"Kim Seokjin-ssi." Jungkook's voice was calm, smooth. It was the voice from the conference room. The voice that knew it had already won.

"I don't want it," Jin said, the words tight and sharp. "I don't care what you call it. I won't use it. Come and get it."

"That would be an inefficient use of resources," Jungkook replied, his tone infuriatingly reasonable. "The sample has been provided. Its disposal is your concern, not mine."

"This is a game to you, isn't it?" Jin snapped, his voice rising, echoing in the now-silent kitchen of Jin Eatries. His staff had frozen, pretending not to listen. "Sending your... your bribes down here. Forcing me to call you. Forcing me to..."

"Forcing you to what, Seokjin-ssi?" Jungkook interrupted, his voice dropping, becoming quieter, more intense. "To acknowledge that the highest quality ingredients find their way to your kitchen? To engage in a discussion about your own standards?"

"To remind me that I'm beholden to you!" The words burst out of him, louder than he intended, raw and exposed.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. A deliberate, weighted silence.

"You are beholden to no one," Jungkook said, each word precise and clear. "The oil is a sample. You are a master chef. Your only obligation is to your craft. Use it. Or do not. The choice, as always, is yours."

The line went dead.

Jin stood there, phone pressed to his ear, listening to the dial tone. He felt utterly dismantled. He had wanted a fight. He had wanted to rage against the obligation, to reject the gift. But Jungkook had refused to fight. He had simply reframed the battlefield, leaving Jin standing alone, clutching a bottle of outrageously expensive oil, looking like a fool.

He slowly lowered the phone. Jimin, Yoongi, the entire kitchen staff were staring at him. The air was thick with unasked questions.

Without a word, Jin walked to the crate. He picked up the bottle of truffle oil. It was heavy, cool in his hand. He looked at it, then at the beautiful, pristine mushrooms.

His hand trembled.

Then, with a sudden, decisive movement, he uncorked the bottle. The rich, funky, intoxicating aroma of white truffle bloomed into the air, overwhelming the scent of garlic and ginger. It was the smell of wealth. Of obsession. Of him.

He didn't pour it on anything. He simply held it under his nose, closing his eyes. And against his will, a single, treacherous thought formed.

What would it taste like in the risotto?

He slammed the cork back in, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room. His face was burning. He had lost. He had called, he had raged, and he had still opened the bottle. He had still wondered.

He set the oil down on the counter with a definitive thud. "Jimin," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Yes, hyung?"

"Run to the market. Get me a bottle of the best truffle oil they have. The most expensive one they carry. Now."

Jimin blinked. "But... we have that one." He pointed to the bottle on the counter.

"I said get another one," Jin growled, the command leaving no room for argument. "I will not use that."

It was a pathetic, desperate act of defiance. He would spend his own money, his own time, to replace a perfect product with an inferior one, just to prove a point that only he cared about.

As Jimin hurried out, Yoongi came to stand beside him. He looked at the Jeon Group bottle, then at Jin's pale, tense face.

"You know," Yoongi said quietly, "sometimes cutting off your nose to spite your face just leaves you bloody and noseless."