The soft hum of the café machine filled the silence between them — not comforting, not warm — just… there. Background noise to a scene neither of them knew how to start.
Outside, rain tapped on the glass like an impatient ghost.
Not a storm. Not a drizzle. Just that annoying, middle-of-the-day kind of rain that matched exactly how Hyunsoo felt inside.
Jinwoo sipped his iced Americano, slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world. Like he wasn't staring holes through Hyunsoo's face.
Hyunsoo, meanwhile, was aggressively stirring his cappuccino — foam already murdered, coffee on the verge of existential crisis.
"So..." he finally said, voice low, heavy with accusation. "You seriously just gonna sit there and pretend this is a vibe? Just two bros grabbing caffeine... after you folded me like laundry in that dungeon?"
Jinwoo blinked once. Calm. Too calm.
"I apologized."
"Apologizing doesn't pay my fcking hospital bills, bstard."
That hit the air like a slap. Jinwoo paused mid-sip, brow twitching ever so slightly.
In his head, gears turned.
'Money? He wants money?'
His lips curled into a slow, evil grin. One that said I've just decided to ruin your day out of spite and affection.
"Hey, Hyunsoo."
Hyunsoo's eyes narrowed. "What."
Jinwoo leaned forward. "How about a deal?"
Before Hyunsoo could answer, Jinwoo smiled — not the charming kind. The kind that made people lock their doors and check if they had holy water.
"What the—ew. What is that face?" Hyunsoo recoiled. "You look like a raccoon that found a camera."
Jinwoo pouted dramatically. "You hurt me."
"Good."
"You think I'm flirting?"
"I think you're hallucinating."
Smack.
Hyunsoo's hand hit his cheek, a clean, no-nonsense slap that said "shut up" in every language at once.
Jinwoo winced, rubbed the spot like a cartoon character, and blinked fake tears into existence. "You abuse me because you feel, Hyunsoo."
"Shut up."
"You shut up."
"You shut up first."
Their table was quiet for a second. Just long enough for both of them to remember the mess that brought them here.
Hyunsoo sighed, leaned back, eyes dark under the café lights. "Seriously though. What do you want, Jinwoo?"
Jinwoo tapped his phone, screen lighting up with the blue glow of Winstagram. He turned it toward Hyunsoo with casual menace. "You know Hero Hunter, right?"
Hyunsoo frowned. "...Obviously. That guy's famous. Took out an A-Rank solo. Total menace."
His voice faltered.
Eyes flicked to the screen, then back to Jinwoo.
"No… no way."
Jinwoo's smirk widened. "Way."
"You're that guy?!"
"Surprise," Jinwoo said like he'd just pulled a rabbit out of a criminal record.
Hyunsoo immediately leaned back, arms crossed, spine stiff. "No. Nope. Absolutely not. I'm not doing whatever the hell this is."
"Come on. Just hear me out."
"You almost killed me, bro."
"You lived, didn't you? And now I'm offering you something better than survival." Jinwoo leaned in, voice low and honey-slick. "I'm offering you a job."
Hyunsoo narrowed his eyes. "You trying to be my boss now?"
"I'm trying to be your bag. As in, let's chase one. Together."
There was a beat.
Then another.
"...How much?"
Jinwoo's grin came back full force. "Forty million won in two weeks."
Hyunsoo blinked. Twice. "...That's fake."
"It's very real."
Hyunsoo looked down at his coffee, then out the window, then back at Jinwoo.
This guy. This absolute clown.
But hospital bills weren't the only thing weighing on him. There was someone else he had to take care of. Someone who didn't deserve to suffer for his failure.
"...Fine," he muttered.
Jinwoo's eyes lit up like he'd just won the lottery and unlocked a secret achievement. "Atta boy."
"But," Hyunsoo cut in, voice sharp. "I want details. What do I have to do?"
Jinwoo leaned back, fingers steepled like a Saturday morning villain.
"Fight with me."
"...Like, against you?"
"No. With me. On my side. Same team. Teamwork makes the dream work, remember that, future king."
Hyunsoo blinked. "You're not the king of sh*t."
"You're right. I'm the CEO."
Smack. Again. Jinwoo took it like a champ.
"I swear," Hyunsoo muttered, sipping his cappuccino. "You're the only man I know who can make coffee taste like rage."
"And you're the only man I know who makes punching people look like foreplay."
"WHAT—"
"I said let's make money together," Jinwoo grinned. "Now, about our first job..."
Jinwoo rubber his hand like a fly seeing a healthy human.
"Alright, alright. So here's the situation—this guy, Min-shik... something. I don't remember his full name. Doesn't matter. What matters is—dude's an A-Rank. But not just any A-Rank. He's, like, high-tier A. Peak. The kind that makes your spine consider retirement."
Hyunsoo raised a brow. "And lemme guess—you wanna take him down?"
Jinwoo grinned, full of dumb confidence and caffeine. "Not alone. I'm not suicidal, just reckless. So we team up. You and me. Tag-team him like a morally grey wrestling duo."
Hyunsoo squinted, processing. "…You realize that's probably illegal, right? Like—technically speaking—you will go to jail for fighting against hunters if you get caught."
Jinwoo winked, and said it like a punchline. "if."
"You're joking."
"I'm broke, not kidding." He leaned closer, lowering his voice like it was national treasure intel. "The reward's 20 million won. Plus an extra 250K if I hang him upside down."
Hyunsoo stared at the raindrops sliding down the window like God was eavesdropping. He sighed. "…What's the cut?"
"Seventy-thirty," Jinwoo said, casual.
"Seventy for me?"
Jinwoo snorted like he was being personally attacked. "You wish. Me, obviously. I'm the brains, the charm, the negotiator. You're just the emotional support sword."
"…Sixty-forty."
"Ninety-ten."
"You just increased it!"
"Exactly. That's how negotiation works."
Hyunsoo glared. "You're a menace to capitalism."
"Fine, fine. Fifty-fifty. Happy now? We'll even hit a diner afterward, celebrate like kings."
"You paying?"
Jinwoo blinked, then deadpanned. "Hell nah."
There was a tense beat. The kind of silence that hangs right before a sitcom laugh track drops. Then they both cracked up.
"Alright," Hyunsoo muttered, pushing his empty cup aside. "But if I land in the hospital again, I'm dragging your corpse in with me."
"Deal," Jinwoo said, already standing like they'd just closed a stock deal on Wall Street.
Hyunsoo barely had time to process before Jinwoo smacked him on the back, nearly knocking the soul out of him.
"Alright, partner! Let's go."
"Go where?"
Jinwoo threw on his coat like a K-drama protagonist leaving the set. "Shopping."
Hyunsoo blinked. "Shopping… for what?"
"Drip."
"Drip?"
"Drip."
"…You mean, like… clothes?"
"Not just clothes," Jinwoo said, already scrolling through Winstagram stories of overpriced outfits that looked like fashion and war crimes collided. "I'm talking transformation. Resurrection. We're dragging your fashion sense out of the grave and baptizing it in retail therapy."
"I thought this was about dungeons and money."
"It is. And part of surviving this business—" he pointed at his own outfit, smug "—is looking like you already won. Image is power. Aura is everything. You roll up in a torn hoodie, people think, 'meh.' You roll up in a ₩2 million coat? Suddenly you're dangerous. You're mysterious. You're that habibi their parents warned them about."
Hyunsoo opened his mouth to argue. Then closed it.
"…You're insane."
"And you're underdressed. Let's fix that."
----
One hour later...
Hyunsoo stood outside Arcadia Luxe.
Correction—he trembled outside Arcadia Luxe. His soul was halfway to ascending. His wallet was drafting a will.
This wasn't a mall. No, no, no. This was a luxury labyrinth, a glittering seven-floor monument to capitalism and clout. There were glass elevators that looked like they were powered by manifesting dreams. A chandelier shaped like a diamond galaxy. Somewhere inside, a man played Chopin live while a koi pond gently trickled around a Gucci logo shaped like a halo.
"This," Hyunsoo whispered, "feels like a scam in building form."
Jinwoo stood beside him like a tourist in heaven. Sunglasses on. Hands in his coat pockets. Radiating influencer energy like it was his side hustle.
"Welcome," he said, stretching his arms dramatically, "to Arcadia Luxe. Where dreams die, but aesthetic lives forever."
Hyunsoo deadpanned. "My bank account just flatlined."
"I can hear it," Jinwoo said solemnly.
Then he grinned, teeth flashing. "Too late. We've got a private stylist appointment."
Hyunsoo blinked. "A what now—"
Before he could even flinch properly, a woman in a black suit materialized from thin air like a retail ninja.
"Mr. Seo?" she said smoothly. "Right this way."
Heels clicked like gunshots on marble.
Hyunsoo leaned in, whispering fiercely, "Seo? I thought your name was Jinwoo Park!"
"Fake names are in vogue, dumbass," Jinwoo whispered back. "It's tradition. Every smart character does it."
"This isn't a manhwa, idiot!"
"Mr. Seo?" the woman called again, voice polite but layered with that unspoken corporate threat. The kind that said, "We know your browser history."
She turned slowly, smile strained. "Is there a problem, Mr. Seo?"
Jinwoo stepped up like a scam artist mid-con. "Not at all. My… cousin here was just overwhelmed by your… radiant hospitality."
Hyunsoo nodded weakly. "Y-Yeah. I've never felt so... politely threatened."
The woman nodded, silently promising to bill them for existing. "Follow me."
They were led into a lounge that felt like Elon Musk's living room had a baby with an art museum. Velvet couches. Soft lighting. Water trickling down a literal wall-sized indoor waterfall. There was fruit-infused water, of course. Probably sourced from a secret glacier.
A stylist appeared, gliding over like a judgmental panther in Louboutin heels.
She scanned Hyunsoo. Once. Twice. A pause. A sigh.
"Let's see what we're working with," she said, circling him like a shark. "Hoodie. Jeans. Trainers from... 2019?"
"They're broken in," Hyunsoo muttered defensively.
"They're broken down, sweetie," she replied. "We want danger. We want villan energy here, not a broke.
"…Villain?"
She smirked. "You'll thank me."
---
Montage time.
Cue the fashion try-on sequence, complete with chaotic music, camera flashes, and Hyunsoo coming out of the dressing room in increasingly wild outfits:
1. A bright red trench coat with flame embroidery.
"Why do I look like a fire mage who DJs on weekends?"
"Too niche," the stylist muttered.
Jinwoo gave a thumbs-up anyway. "Looks hot, though."
2. All-black leather. Sunglasses. Boots with steel toes.
"…Am I in the Matrix?"
"No," Jinwoo said, "you're about to sue the Matrix."
3. A fluffy pink fur coat with glittery jeans.
"Absolutely not."
"Agreed," the stylist said. "This one's for the bold. Not the brooding."
Finally—finally—the outfit.
White pants, pressed and tailored like a CEO's ego. A creme white shirt with subtle gold threading. A navy-blue blazer sharp enough to cut feelings. A striped tie in muted gold and midnight tones. Hair slicked back, but with just enough mess on one side to say I woke up expensive. Shoes that gleamed with sin and tax fraud energy.
The staff blushed a little, stating her own opinion
"Villan type things don't suit him"
Hyunsoo stepped out. He didn't speak. Just stared at his reflection.
"…Am I hot?"
Jinwoo, sprawled like a satisfied fashion god on the velvet couch, whistled. "Bro. You look like you killed someone in a rooftop club and got away with it. With style."
"I feel powerful," Hyunsoo admitted. "Also, slightly like I'm in debt."
"You are."
"…Which one?"
"The latter."
They both left the lounge and entered into the mall.
The world doesn't just notice Hyunsoo—it pauses for him. Like reality lagged just to process his glow-up. Every security guard, every model-wannabe sipping overpriced lattes, every brand rep pretending not to eavesdrop—they all turn, double-take, and question their place in the food chain.
Jinwoo follows behind him, arms inside his black jeans, smirking like a producer watching his project hit the red carpet.
"Oh my god," someone whispers from the second-floor balcony.
"Is he famous?"
"I think I follow him on Insta."(he doesn't have one)
"Shut up, he's coming this way!"
His new shoes click across the marble floor like punctuation marks.
Click—confidence.
Click—regret nothing.
Click—sue your ex for emotional damage and win.
They pass a row of designer stores. Every mannequin flinches.
A stylist from a rival boutique pokes her head out and drops her clipboard. She doesn't pick it up.
Jinwoo leans in, still trailing behind. "How's it feel?" he whispers. "To radiate 'mysterious CEO who doesn't need investors because he is the investment' energy?"
Hyunsoo doesn't respond. He just slides on the sunglasses.
They reflect the world—dazzling, blurred, irrelevant.
They both left the mall, one dazzling like a model the other like a mischievous raccon planning something new.