Café 90s sat on a quiet but trendy corner of their neighbourhood. Unlike the new-gen franchises nearby, it was a sturdy, two-story building with large windows and a worn wooden sign that looked like it hadn't been repainted since the 1997 financial crisis. Inside, the air smelled of dark roasted Arabica and old paper. To Jun-ho, it was a sanctuary. To Si-woo, apparently, it was his next battlefield.

Jun-ho arrived ten minutes early for his interview, dressed in his most "dependable young man" outfit: a crisp white shirt and dark trousers. He stood in front of the glass door, practising his humble smile in the reflection. He is determined to land the job.

"I can do this," he whispered. "Work hard, be the reliable right-hand man, and eventually, the 'friend' label will—"

THUD.

A shoulder collided with his, nearly sending Jun-ho face-first into the glass. He didn't even need to look up. The scent of that expensive sandalwood cologne was a dead giveaway.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," Jun-ho hissed.

Si-woo stood there, looking like he’d just stepped off a Parisian runway. He wore a light linen blazer over a casual tee, his hair perfectly tousled. He held a leather-bound resume that looked like it contained a peace treaty.

"Ah, Jun-ho. Good morning," Si-woo said, his voice smooth and utterly devoid of remorse. "It is a beautiful day for a... bonding experience, no?"

"The sign said one opening, Si-woo. One. Go find a luxury boutique or something. This is a cafe. We do manual labour. We sweat. This job is not for you."

"I am very good at sweating," Si-woo replied with a calm, infuriating smile. "In France, I once helped harvest grapes for an entire weekend. My endurance is... superior."

Before Jun-ho could retort, the door swung open. Instead of Min-ah, they were met by a woman who looked like she could chew through espresso beans without blinking. She was small, silver-haired, and wore an apron that said 'Grind or Get Out.'

This was Grandmother Jung, the true matriarch of Café 90s.

"Are you two the ones here for the job?" she barked. "You’re blocking the entrance. Customers aren't birds; they won't fly over you. Get inside."

The two boys scrambled in, standing stiffly in front of the counter. Min-ah was there, too, tying her hair into a ponytail. She brightened when she saw them. "Oh! You both actually came! Halmoni, these are my classmates I told you about."

Grandmother Jung squinted at Jun-ho. "This one looks like he knows how to follow orders. Reliable. Probably boring, but won't break the machinery." Then she turned to Si-woo. Her eyes narrowed. "And this one... he looks like he’ll cause a riot. Every girl in the district will come here to stare at him and order one water."

Si-woo bowed deeply. "I am Han Si-woo, ma'am. I wish to learn the heart of Korean service from a master such as yourself."

The old woman snorted. "Flattery won't fix a broken latte art, boy. I only needed one person. But my regular dishwasher just quit." She sighed, looking at a stack of mugs. "Fine. You," she pointed at Jun-ho, "you’re on the floor and the register. And you," she pointed at Si-woo, "you’re in the back with the suds until you learn the menu."

Jun-ho’s heart soared. He was on the floor! He’d be right there with Min-ah!

The first hour was a disaster of competitive proportions.

Whenever Min-ah walked by the register to give Jun-ho an order, Si-woo would suddenly emerge from the back, drying his hands with a towel, to ask her a "crucial" question about the difference between a flat white and a latte.

"Si-woo, the dishes!" Jun-ho whispered-yelled as a line of three people formed.

"The dishes are resting," Si-woo replied. "Jun-ho, you look stressed. Your posture is very... rigid. It makes the customers feel like they are in a library."

"It’s a cafe, not a lounge in the Louvre! Get back in the kitchen!"

The bell chimed, and Ye-na walked in. She wore her school gym jacket, her knuckles still taped. She didn't even look at the menu.

"Protein latte. Double shot. No sugar," she said, her voice a low drone.

Jun-ho blinked. "Uh, we don't really have—"

"I’ll make it," Si-woo interrupted, stepping forward. He grabbed a shaker, trying to look professional. "I recall the 'intense' girl from the hallway. You require energy for your... violence?"

Ye-na leaned on the counter, her eyes tracing Si-woo’s clumsy movements. "It’s called boxing, Frenchie. And you’re holding that milk pitcher like it’s a bomb. If you burn that milk, I’m making you do fifty burpees in the alley."

Si-woo actually flinched. He started the steamer, and it let out a high-pitched screech that made the regulars wince.

"See?" Ye-na said, her face expressionless. "Trash footwork, trash hand-eye coordination. You’re lucky you’re pretty, or the Grandma would have fired you five minutes ago."

"I am learning!" Si-woo protested, his ears turning red.

"Learn faster," Ye-na said. She glanced over at Jun-ho. "And you. Stop staring at the Class Rep and check the order on table four. The old guy over there is looking at his watch."

By the afternoon lull, the boys were exhausted. Jun-ho’s feet ached, and Si-woo’s linen blazer was stained with dish soap.

Min-ah came over, handing them both a cold glass of peach iced tea. "You guys did great! It’s much more lively with both of you here."

Jun-ho took a sip, feeling the tension melt. "Thanks, Min-ah."

A slow, melancholy ballad from the 1990s began to play on the cafe’s vintage speakers. Si-woo’s expression shifted. The playful smirk died, and he looked out the window. For a second, he looked like the boy who had lost his father all over again.

Jun-ho noticed the change. He felt a pang of sympathy he really didn't want to feel.

"Hey," Jun-ho said, nudging Si-woo with his elbow. "The dishes are piling up again. Don't tell me a 'Ferrari' like you is already out of gas."

Si-woo blinked, snapped back to reality. He looked at Jun-ho, then at Min-ah, who was smiling at them both. He straightened his apron.

"A Ferrari never runs out of gas," Si-woo replied, his voice softer. "It just pauses for a pit stop. Watch me, Jun-ho. I will finish those dishes with such 'passion' you will weep."

"In your dreams, returnee," Jun-ho laughed.

As they both headed back to their stations, Ye-na watched them from her corner table. She pulled out a notebook and scribbled:

"The pretty boy has a weak heart. The local boy has a weak spine. This is going to be a long season."

She stood up, grabbed her gym bag, and tossed a note on the counter. "See you tomorrow, losers. Fix the steamer, Si-woo! It sounds like a cat in a blender!"