The high from their noon-time victory didn't last as long as the caffeine did.

The rest of the afternoon shift had been a draining mist of steam, clinking ceramic, and the relentless pressure of the post-school rush. Min-ah eventually packed her books and left for her academy around four, leaving Jun-ho and Si-woo to navigate the busiest hours of the day without their "Objective" in sight.

By the time the "Close" sign was finally placed on the front door, the evening wind had picked up, rattling the vintage glass. Inside, the warm yellow lights had been dimmed, leaving the corners of Café 90s in long, amber shadows. But the scent of roasted coffee is still lingering around the café.

Jun-ho was hunched over the espresso machine, his hands moving through the repetitive, rhythmic motion of a deep clean. Brush, flush, wipe. Brush, flush, wipe. His mind was stuck on that look Min-ah had given him hours ago—the first time in three years he felt like more than a background character in her life.

"You're going to scrub the chrome right off that machine if you don't relax, Jun-ho."

Si-woo was leaning against the far end of the counter, his denim apron discarded. He was nursing a small cup of espresso, looking tired but still annoyingly cinematic in the dim light, and that irritated Jun-ho a little bit.

"I'm just making sure it's ready for tomorrow," Jun-ho muttered, finally putting the brush down. "We can't afford a breakdown. Not when 'The Operation' is gaining ground."

Si-woo stared into his cup. "She didn't call him back, you know, right? After she read that text at lunch, she didn't even type a reply. She just put the phone in her bag and asked you how to use 'break the ice' in a sentence."

"I noticed," Jun-ho said, leaning his back against the counter. He felt the weight of the tiering day in his shoulders. Working delivery platforms in the morning and the cafe in the afternoon was starting to catch up to him. "But he’s still the starting striker. He’s the guy who has been there for ten years. We’ve been there for... what? A few weeks?"

"Time is relative," Si-woo said, his voice dropping an octave. He looked out the window at the quiet Seoul street. "In Paris, I used to spend months surrounded by people, yet I was a ghost. No one saw me. But today? Min-ah saw us. Really saw us. That's a ten-year head start we just cut in half."

Jun-ho looked at his rival. For a split second, he didn't look like a rival. He looked like a guy who knew exactly what it felt like to be ignored.

"Don't get emotional with me," Jun-ho said, though the edge was gone from his voice. "We still have to deal with the fact that he's coming for a visit in two months. That’s our deadline."

"Then we make those sixty days the most memorable days of her life," Si-woo said, tossing his empty cup into the sink with a soft clink. "Starting with tomorrow's shift. I'm thinking... speciality lattes. Something he can't get at a soccer camp in California."

Jun-ho managed a tired grin. "Fine. But I'm doing the foam art. Those aren’t hearts. They look like potatoes that lost a fight."

"They are abstract, Jun-ho. You wouldn't understand art if I hit you with a brick."

As they locked up and walked toward the bus stop together—an unspoken agreement to stay in "Alliance Mode" for the commute—neither of them noticed a dark car idling across the street. Inside, a pair of eyes watched them go.

The Operation was working, but Jun-ho and Si-woo weren't the only ones keeping a background check on the situation.