"Another bowl!"
Danzo shouted, slamming his empty plate down and demanding more of the spicy stew.
"Another one? Since when did you start loving spicy food this much?"
Leaning on his elbow, Frey asked, still not halfway through his own meal.
"This is your fault! Why do you only eat spicy stuff?"
Danzo glared, having developed a strange habit of copying Frey's taste.
"I never asked you to follow me around. As for the reason I eat this much spice..."
Frey smiled faintly as a distant memory surfaced—one of the few he could proudly call a good one.
"Let's just say I miss a friend who used to make this kind of food."
"Old man Shaheen?" Danzo asked, broth dripping from his chin.
"You still remember him, huh?"
"Of course. I visited him with you a few times... I wonder where that weird old guy went."
Danzo remembered the strange dishes the man used to make. They weren't popular ... barely anyone ever visited his place.
But the food wasn't bad. In fact, it was… unique.
