Kriek! The door gave a shrill, protesting cry as it swung open, the sound cutting sharply through Tian’s ears. The hinges, long neglected, had surrendered to rust; flecks of corroded iron scattered upon the floor, marring the polished tiles beneath Tian’s feet.

“Confound it,” he muttered, his voice rising with irritation. “What sort of establishment keeps its doors in such disrepair?” The remark rang clear and disdainful, Tian’s patience, it seemed, was as finely tuned as his taste.

Are all wealthy men so particular? Kihyeon wondered inwardly. Perhaps so, but that is their business, not mine.

Without another word, Tian beckoned to a nearby attendant, releasing Kihyeon’s hand as he did so. His instructions were brisk and precise: the floor was to be cleaned at once, and some remedy found to prevent the rusty fragments from scattering further. After all, he observed, countless waiters would pass through this door, bearing trays of food for the evening’s guests, and he would not have the dignity of their service marred by something so trivial as a neglected hinge.

Kihyeon seated himself first, placing his small handbag neatly at his side before drawing out his phone and switching it on. The faint glow of the screen cast a soft light upon his features. Meanwhile, the cleaner summoned by Tian had already departed to fetch a broom and pail.

Tian, having finished his brief inspection of the door, turned away from it with a sigh and approached the sofa opposite Kihyeon. With a composed air he lowered himself into the seat.

“My apologies, Kihyeon,” he said at last, adjusting his posture as though to settle the matter with dignity.

Kihyeon, however, could not quite grasp the reason for such vexation. Surely a creaking door and a few specks of rust were trifles unworthy of genuine anger. Still, he offered a faint smile and replied gently, “It’s all right. It didn’t really bother me.”

At this, Tian’s expression shifted most curiously. His brow furrowed, and one eyebrow arched upward in perplexity. For a moment he regarded Kihyeon as though the young man had spoken in some foreign tongue, incomprehensible to all reason.

“It may not trouble you,” Tian began, his voice calm but edged with discernment, “yet this establishment prides itself upon a reputation for immaculate service and scrupulous maintenance. It is, in fact, listed among the city’s most distinguished restaurants for its supposed perfection in cleanliness and care.”

He paused, his gaze turning briefly toward the offending door, as though its rusted hinges were a personal affront.

“If even the door to the VIP room is left to decay in such a state,” he continued, “what, then, are we to imagine of the lesser halls below? Is that not, in its own quiet way, a deception? This place is no different from the common ones, only dressed in finer words. It seems my expectations were, once again, too high.”

Kihyeon had never before witnessed Tian speak at such length. During their school days, he had been a man of few words—content to offer a small smile while others filled the air with chatter, and, on occasion, a soft laugh that vanished almost as soon as it appeared. Tian spoke only when addressed directly, or when circumstance compelled him to do so; otherwise, his silence was his armour.

In those days, it would have been unthinkable for him to deliver a speech of any sort. A simple “yes,” a quiet “all right,” or perhaps a polite nod—such were his usual replies. And yet, the man seated before Kihyeon now seemed altered, almost unrecognisably so. Since their graduation, something within Tian had shifted.

It was strange, truly, for Tian had once despised him—of that Kihyeon was certain. Or at least, he had believed so. But ever since that incident, Tian had begun to speak more freely. Whether this change was reserved for Kihyeon alone, he could not tell. Even that very morning, Tian had greeted him with a warmth that was… unfamiliar.