Now, as for the rest of the guys — well. When you're in Korea, Korean BBQ isn't optional. It's not a suggestion. It's a moral obligation.
And so, Ahn Jae, Silas, and Kang Ian — the resident Koreans of the group, self-appointed guides, and proud ambassadors of their nation's greatest culinary contribution to mankind — led the charge. They knew exactly where to go. The best of the best. No compromises, no second guessing, no "oh anywhere is fine." Absolutely not.
And the budget? Courtesy of their ever benevolent, ever generous, spiritually enlightened CEO Foca — was essentially a blank check.
So naturally, they made full use of it. Every last cent. As one should.
Because listen — refusing a sincere, wholeheartedly given gift out of some misguided attempt at politeness? That's not humility. That's not grace. In my book, that's a crime. A discourtesy, even. A sincere gift that is given from the heart is meant to be received from the heart — fully, gratefully, and without hesitation.
Now —
However.
And pay attention here, because this is important —
There is a massive, critical, non-negotiable difference between a gift given wholeheartedly with zero strings attached, and a gift that comes with a whole spool of strings attached. The kind of gift where you pull on one thread and suddenly you owe someone your firstborn, your reputation, and three years of unpaid emotional labor.
Learn to tell the difference. Discern. Differentiate. Protect yourself accordingly.
Capisce? Good.
Now. Back to the beef.
The guys ordered mountains. Literal, towering, glorious mountains of premium Grade A Hanwoo — Korean beef of the highest, most gloriously marbled variety. Stack after stack after stack, hitting the table in waves, the grill barely keeping up with the demand.
It had been a rare thing, since joining the company — truly being able to sit down, let go, and eat without limits. No watching portions, no mental calculations, no quiet restraint in the back of the mind. Just food. Just pure, unfiltered, unrestricted eating. The kind that felt almost rebellious in how good it was.
So when the opportunity landed in their laps?
They took it with both hands. And then they ran.
The waitstaff were visibly, genuinely astonished. Serving plate after serving plate disappeared at a pace that defied reasonable explanation. It was less like watching people eat and more like watching a natural phenomenon unfold in real time — a force of nature dressed in matching outfits, inhaling premium Hanwoo with the calm, systematic efficiency of Kirby on a Tuesday.
No breaks. No slowing down. Just the steady, relentless consumption of beef.
The grill sizzled. The plates kept coming. And somewhere in the kitchen, a waiter was quietly wondering if they needed to make an emergency call to restock.
****
"Oh my God," Isaac moaned, eyes half closing as he placed another piece of beef on his tongue. "It just— it MELTS—"
"Holy fuck," Nikola said.
A succinct review. Eloquent in its simplicity. The man said what he said and it was enough.
Ryu and Corsair, operating entirely on their own wavelength as they always did, had quietly established a system — making lettuce wraps for each other without discussion, without fanfare, just the easy unspoken shorthand of two people with full sibling energy and zero need to explain themselves. They ate in companionable near-silence, savoring each bite with the reverence it deserved. The only sounds from their corner were the occasional, deeply sincere "Oishii—" and the kind of involuntary moan that happens when food is just genuinely, unreasonably good.
"Dude..." Mika said.
That was it. That was the whole sentence. But it carried everything — the weight of finally, finally sitting in front of a Korean BBQ spread and not doing a single calorie calculation in the back of his head. Just eating. Just enjoying. The word "dude" had never worked so hard in its life.
The grill crackled. Another stack of Hanwoo hit the table. Life was good.
"It would've been even better with soju," Kang Ian said, casually, conversationally, the way someone says something without fully thinking it through —
And then he felt it.
A gaze. Boring into the back of his skull like a drill. Slow. Deliberate. Loaded.
He stiffened immediately.
"Whatever you do," Silas said, voice dropping low, leaning slightly toward him with the calm urgency of a man who had assessed the situation and was choosing friendship, "do not turn around. If you value your life."
"...Sunday's giving me the look, isn't he," Kang Ian said. Less a question, more an obituary.
"It's not just a look," Ahn Jae murmured, leaning in just slightly.
"If a look could physically smack you in the back of the head," Silas said, with the measured tone of a man painting a very specific picture, "that would be it."
"CRAP—" Kang Ian said, out loud, at normal volume, before his brain caught up with his mouth. He cleared his throat. Sat up slightly straighter. Pivoted with the energy of a man attempting a controlled landing after a freefall.
"B-but — since we're all trying to be healthier these days... water would probably be the better choice, don't you think? ...Guys?"
Silence.
Ahn Jae turned to look at him slowly. Eyes wide. Blinking. Processing. Running back what he just heard and checking it against reality.
What, he thought, with great feeling, was THAT. Was that damage control? That was supposed to be damage control? There is no way that's going to w—
Silas had already placed his face directly into his palm. Both languages — Korean and English — cycling through his head in a rotation of quiet, heartfelt disbelief.
It was, objectively, the most unhinged, most transparent, most cosmically embarrassing attempt at damage control any of them had ever witnessed in their collective lives.
And then —
A few seconds passed.
The burning gaze at the back of Kang Ian's head... faded.
Kang Ian sat very still. Waited. Did a careful, internal check.
Gone. The stare was gone.
"I cannot believe," he breathed, the relief flooding out of him slowly, "that that actually worked."
Ahn Jae and Silas both turned to look at him.
Then at each other.
Then back at him.
No words. Just the shared, silent, mutual bewilderment of two people watching the laws of logic get folded in half in real time.
Some things in this world simply cannot be explained.
This was one of them.
****
Over at another end of the table, a considerably more philosophical conversation was unfolding — as philosophical as a conversation can get over a sizzling Korean BBQ grill, anyway.
"Okay but real talk," Nikola said, gesturing at Isaac with his chopsticks, "don't you raise cows and stuff back home? On the farm?"
"Mhm," Isaac confirmed pleasantly, placing another piece of beef on the grill.
"So how are you just... fine with this?" Nikola gestured at the spread between them. "Like, doesn't raising them make you attached? Doesn't it mess with you, eating them after all that?"
Isaac considered this genuinely, the way he considered most things — unhurried, unbothered, chewing thoughtfully before he answered.
"Honestly? I'm perfectly fine with eating meat," he said, Alabama drawl warm and easy. "Love it, actually. I think... my parents just raised me that way from the start. Never get too deeply attached to the animals we raise, because at some point — they're gonna go away. That's just the nature of it."
He swallowed, loaded another piece, and kept going.
"Don't get me wrong — we always gave them love. Every single one of them. They're precious gifts from God, and we treated them as such. Made sure they were cared for, raised right, treated humanely. So when the time came, we knew we'd done our part." A small shrug. "At first it was hard, parting with them. But after a while... you just get used to it, I guess."
Nikola chewed on that alongside his food.
"But doesn't it get to you even a little?" he pressed. "Like — knowing you raised that specific animal and now you're sitting here eating it? Doesn't it make you wanna... gag? Even slightly? Like, that could be Tommy the cow right there."
Isaac looked at the piece of beef on his chopsticks. Looked at Nikola. Looked back at the beef.
"I dunno..." he said slowly. "I guess the fact that we never did the butchering ourselves helps. But honestly? I don't really overthink it." He popped the piece in his mouth, chewed, and finished with complete serenity. "I love the animals on the farm. I love raising them. And I love meat. Simple as that."
Nikola stared at him for a moment.
"...I kinda admire that, actually," he said.
"Things don't have to be complicated, right?" Isaac said simply.
"Yeah." Nikola snorted. "Tell that to this entire generation."
"I genuinely don't understand it," Isaac said, and he meant it — no irony, no performance, just pure sincere bewilderment. "I don't know if it's just because I'm a country boy, but why does everyone in the city overcomplicate everything? I'm not gonna lie, I am completely lost half the time."
Nikola pointed at him with a fresh lettuce wrap, solemn as a man delivering a verdict.
"Know what? Stick to how you know to live your life. Trust me. It'll serve you better than the alternative."
"I plan on it," Isaac nodded, with quiet resolve. "My head started aching after a certain point, trying to keep up with it all." He nodded again, more to himself than anyone else. "Yeah. Simple really is the best."
Nikola looked at him. Really looked at him. This golden retriever of a human being, sitting there eating premium Hanwoo with a completely unbothered soul and the peaceful expression of someone who had never once in his life manufactured a problem that didn't exist.
"You blessed sonofabitch," Nikola muttered.
"Hmm?" Isaac looked up mid-lettuce wrap, blinking.
"I said," Nikola repeated, with an amused smirk, "you are a blessed son of a bitch."
"Oh!" Isaac's face opened up into a warm, appreciative smile. "Thank you for calling me blessed! Blessed is good!"
And then his expression shifted.
Slowly. Quietly. Like a sky changing weather.
His eyes hardened. His voice dropped — low, calm, and carrying the particular weight of someone who meant every single syllable.
"But don't you call my momma the b-word." The Alabama drawl didn't waver. If anything it made it worse — all that softness wrapped around something with an iron core. "You hear me? I will fight you."
The table radius around them went slightly quiet.
Nikola raised both hands immediately. One still holding chopsticks. The other clutching a fresh lettuce leaf. Full surrender. No hesitation.
"Alright, alright. My mistake. My bad. It won't happen again, ever, in this lifetime or any other."
Isaac held the stare for exactly one more second.
Then the warmth flooded back into his face like a light switching on.
"You're forgiven," he said pleasantly, and went right back to eating.
Isaac is, without question, one of the most precious people to ever exist. The kind of person you want to wrap in bubble wrap and protect from the general nonsense of the world.
He is also, without question, someone you absolutely do not want to cross — because those arms weren't built in any gym. They were built slowly, steadily, over years of farm work that no amount of reps on a machine can replicate.
And somehow? That's so much more terrifying.
****
PS- Sunday is the name of Kang Ian's personal manager.