Taste Of Algorithm Jinkook/Kookjin story

Coincidence

He stared at it, his blood running cold.

He understood immediately. It was him. Jungkook had not accepted the overpayment. He had identified it, isolated it, and sent it back. It was a surgical strike. A message more powerful than any word.

Your rules do not apply to me. Your attempts to quantify this, to reduce it to a transaction, are invalid. I see your surcharge. I reject it. The game is not what you think it is.

Jin sank onto his couch, the phone falling from his numb fingers onto the cushion beside him. He had thrown his best punch. He had used his own currency, the currency of settled accounts and zero balances, and Jungkook had not just blocked it; he had dissolved it into nothing.

The hollow ache in his chest was no longer just an ache. It was a chasm. And he was staring into it, realizing he had no idea what the rules were anymore. He had no idea what game they were playing.

All he knew was that he was losing.

The cold satisfaction of the bank transfer had curdled into a sickening dread. The returned "inconvenience fee" was a ghost in Jin's account, a digital smirk that followed him for days. It was a checkmate he hadn't seen coming. Jungkook hadn't just rejected his payment; he had rejected the very framework of their interaction. Jin's rules—pay your debts, keep the ledger clean—were null and void here. He was playing a game with no rulebook, against a grandmaster who kept changing the board.

He threw himself into his work at Jin Eatries with a manic intensity that left his staff walking on eggshells. He was at the restaurant before dawn, experimenting with ferments and broths, and he was the last to leave, scrubbing every surface until it gleamed. He was building a fortress of productivity, brick by exhausting brick.

It was during one of these late-night sessions, the kitchen silent save for the hum of the coolers, that the back door opened with a soft, definitive click.

Jin didn't need to look up. The air in the room changed, thinning, charged with a familiar energy that made the fine hairs on his arms stand erect. He kept his head down, his focus laser-locked on the delicate task of piping a vegan coconut cream into perfect rosettes on a series of tasting spoons. The repetitive motion was a meditation, a wall against the world.

Jeon Jungkook moved into his periphery, a shadow in a flawlessly tailored charcoal suit. He didn't speak. He simply stood there, observing. The silence was a weapon, and he wielded it expertly, letting the pressure build until it was a physical weight on Jin's shoulders.

Jin's hand, usually rock-steady, betrayed him with a faint tremor. A single rosette collapsed into a messy, pathetic blob. He cursed under his breath, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet, setting the piping bag down with a force that was anything but casual.

"Is there a reason you're lurking in my kitchen after hours?" Jin snapped, finally turning to face him. He crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive barrier. "Did I underpay for something? Send the wrong screenshot? Or are you just here to audit my dessert plating?"

Jungkook's eyes flicked from the ruined dessert to Jin's face. His expression was unreadable, but a faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips. "The precision of your work is usually impeccable. I was... admiring it."

The compliment was a landmine. Jin felt his jaw tighten. "Admire from your skyscraper. This is a workspace, not a gallery."

"A workspace you haven't left in fourteen hours," Jungkook noted, his voice low. He took a step closer, not enough to crowd, but enough to shrink the vast kitchen around them. "Your dedication to Jin Eatries is... notable."

"It's called running a business. Something I have to do, since I can't just acquire them when I'm bored." The retort was weak, childish, and he hated himself for it.