Chatchawin stood in a state of tranquil absolute, arms crossed in the center of the small garden behind the restaurant. The scent of rice bran hung in the air, and dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting shifting patterns across his stoic features. He locked eyes with Ohm and Tum, who watched him with a ravenous curiosity, waiting for the godfather to reveal the masterpiece of a puzzle he had just laid on the table.

Chatchawin’s slender fingers lightly brushed the glossy edge of a Monstera leaf. “You are among the few people I truly trust. I value the friendship we’ve built,” he began, his voice low and steady. “And I’m not here to corner you with complex ultimatums like the others.” He paused, letting the weight of the moment settle. “Join me. Let’s see this mission through to the end.”

Ohm erupted into a boisterous laugh, looking like a teenager who had just been invited on an expedition to a forbidden land. He snapped his fingers—crack!—a definitive “yes” before even giving it a second thought.

“Sounds thrilling,” Ohm replied, a wide, mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I’m starting to get bored of this kitchen anyway. A tour of China? Why not? Let’s see what kind of inspiration I can scavenge for my future menus.”

Tum, ever the observer, tried to peer through the aura radiating from Chatchawin. But the tycoon maintained a surface as smooth as a mirror, his emotions and expressions locked behind a professional seal. Tum could catch no ripples, no tells.

“But we have to open a restaurant there, right?” Tum asked, his tone meticulous. “How exactly do you plan to lure the heavyweights of the CK Group into our dining room?”

Chatchawin turned to Tum, then shifted his gaze to Ohm with a knowing, cryptic smile. “I have a way to draw the tigers out of their cave... and I can guarantee they will walk into your restaurant of their own volition.”

His sharp eyes swung back to Tum. “But for this plan to work... you’ll have to part ways with Ohm for a while.”

Tum blinked rapidly, confusion clouding his face. He pointed a finger at his own chest, uncertain. “You mean... I’m not part of this project?”

Chatchawin shook his head slowly, the master strategist’s smirk becoming more defined. “Quite the opposite. You will be going—but as the private secretary to Mr. Gawin.”

In that instant, Tum saw it: a vibrant, concentrated aura of deep orange and yellow erupting from Chatchawin. It was the color of a complex, multifaceted scheme. He realized then that he was being positioned at the very epicenter of the conflict.

Ohm rubbed his chin, mentally mapping the strategy. “So Gawin goes in as the investor, and Tum goes in as the secretary...” He raised an eyebrow, pointing at himself. “What about me? Am I supposed to run the kitchen solo?”

Chatchawin nodded, anticipating the question. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I believe you have one other person you trust, don’t you? The boy with the bowl-cut bangs... the round one who helped you take down the imposter chef back then.”

Ohm blinked, but before he could even form a protest, a twenty-year-old youth with a stout frame and jagged bangs emerged from the shadows of the restaurant. Holding a massive, melting ice cream cone, he strolled in as if in slow-motion, spinning once to make his white T-shirt flare out like an action hero’s cape. He stopped, flicking his bangs toward Ohm with a hundred percent unearned confidence.

“Don’t you worry, Boss! I’ll be your number one right-hand man!” Phueak, the boy with the troublemaker’s grin, declared with a cocky wink. “Man... that was so cool,” he whispered to himself, admiring his own entrance.

Ohm could only roll his eyes toward the heavens, pinching the bridge of his nose as his blood pressure spiked at the arrival of this walking, talking disaster.