The pact had been signed in 70% dark chocolate, but the hangover of their shared defeat felt much more bitter. After a sleepless night spent with Su-bin analysing the soccer star who volunteered at animal shelters, Jun-ho and Si-woo arrived at Café 90s with bloodshot eyes and a single, unified goal.

"Absolutely not," Jun-ho hissed, holding a piece of dark denim at arm’s length.

Si-woo, who was currently checking his reflection in a polished espresso machine, didn't look up. "It’s a classic silhouette, Jun-ho. Don’t be so provincial. If we’re really going to 'out-exist' that guy in California, we have to look like we belong on a billboard, not a construction site."

Grandmother Jung had pulled out the "special" uniforms for the aspiring new hires. These weren't your average coffee-chain vests. They were a throwback: crisp off-white Oxford shirts, heavy indigo denim aprons with the leather cross-back straps, and polished brass name tags.

"I look like a blacksmith’s apprentice," Jun-ho grumbled, his fingers tangling in the complicated leather harness. "And you look like you're playing 'Waiter' in a high-budget drama. What the hell is this thing?"

Si-woo finally turned, his apron tied with a precision that was borderline aggressive. "The difference, Jun-ho, is that I wear the clothes. The clothes wear you. Now, stand still. The plan will fail on day one if the Class Rep sees you looking like a laundry basket."

Si-woo reached over, his long fingers deftly tightening Jun-ho’s straps. For a second, the two rivals were inches apart, a rare moment of non-violent cooperation that mirrored their late-night meeting on the Lee family floor.

"Don't get used to this," Jun-ho muttered.

"Trust me," Si-woo replied, pinning Jun-ho's name tag on with a sharp click. "I'm only doing this because your crooked tag is giving me a migraine."

The bell above the door tinkled—a light, melodic sound that signalled the beginning of their "so-called Operation."

Min-ah walked in, her school bag slung over one shoulder. She stopped dead when she saw them. Her eyes travelled from Jun-ho’s rugged, hardworking look to Si-woo’s effortless "Parisian" poise.

"Oh," she whispered, her cheeks turning to a light shade of red. "You guys... actually look like you belong here."

Jun-ho’s Internal Monologue: Score one for the 'Daily Presence' strategy. I’m already more essential than a photo on a screen. Si-woo’s Internal Monologue: She’s staring at my rolled-up sleeves.

"What can we get for the Class Rep today?" Si-woo leaned over the counter, his voice dropping into that smooth, practised tone.

"Just an iced latte," Min-ah said, setting her phone on the counter. "I have a lot of English prep to do. Jace is supposed to call me later to help with my English prep."

The air in the cafe shifted instantly. The truce was tested.

"English prep, huh?" Jun-ho said, surprisingly cool as he reached for the milk. "You know, Si-woo lived abroad. He’s basically a living dictionary. You shouldn't waste your study time waiting for someone to call you from all the way across the world"

Si-woo blinked, surprised by the assist from his arch nemesis. He quickly caught on to the tactical takeover. "Exactly. Why rely on a 15-hour time zone difference when you have local expertise? I’ll even bring a croissant to your table—on the house."

Min-ah laughed; her laugh eased the tension. "You guys are acting weirdly friendly today. Did you guys finally stop arguing?"

"We’ve moved on to bigger things," Si-woo said, shooting Jun-ho a fake, blindingly bright smile.

"Yeah," Jun-ho added, slamming the espresso tamper down with a satisfying thud. "We're focusing on Quality Control now. Ensuring everything in this cafe—and your life—is up to standard."

Min-ah smiled, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and moved to her usual corner table. But as she sat down, she didn't open her book. She just stared at her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen, her expression turning slightly anxious.

She wasn't just waiting for a call. She was waiting for a sign.

Behind the counter, Jun-ho and Si-woo didn't need to speak. They both saw it. The soccer genius from America was late, and The Operation had officially begun.