The alarm clock on Jun-ho’s bedside table didn't just ring; it screamed.

It was 5:30 AM. Outside his window, Seoul was still draped in a pre-dawn grey. His legs felt like lead weights as he swung them out of bed. The "Daily Presence" strategy sounded great at 9:00 PM over espresso, but in the early morning, it felt like a marathon with no finish line.

By 6:00 AM, Jun-ho was on his scooter, the delivery app on his phone chirping with the first breakfast orders. This was the part of his life Min-ah never saw: the wind-burned face, the hurried climbs up five flights of stairs with steaming bags of porridge, and the constant battle against the city's morning traffic.

Just sixty days, he told himself as he wove between a bus and a taxi. Sixty days to make her forget a ten-year legacy, hmm….

He arrived at Café 90s at 7:45 AM sharp, his delivery jacket stuffed into his backpack. To his immense irritation, Si-woo was already there.

The "Prince" was standing behind the counter, looking as if he had just stepped out of a shampoo commercial. He was staring intensely at a pitcher of milk.

"You're late," Si-woo said without even looking up.

"I was working," Jun-ho grunted, hanging his bag on a hook. "Some of us have to earn a living before the coffee starts flowing. What do you know?"

"Research," Si-woo replied. He poured a stream of milk into a cup with a flourish. "I’ve been awake since four. I’ve analysed the flavour profiles of the top ten cafes in California. If Jace is a 'Global Ten,' our coffee needs to be at least a twelve."

Jun-ho walked over and looked at the cup. It was a latte, but the foam was a deep, dusty pink.

"Is that... beetroot?" Jun-ho asked, sceptical.

"Hibiscus and salted caramel," Si-woo corrected. "It’s sophisticated. It’s floral. It’s exactly what a girl who is tired of 'Business English' needs to wake up her senses."

Jun-ho took a sip. His eyes widened. It was actually... incredible. But of course, he wasn't about to tell Si-woo that.

"It's okay," Jun-ho said, wiping his mouth. "But it needs more caffeine. If she’s studying for the mock exams, she doesn't need a 'floral experience,' she needs to stay awake."

"Then we combine them," Si-woo said, his eyes narrowing in a rare moment of creative synergy. "My flavour, your extra-shot technique. We'll call it the 'Bitter Cocoa Special.'"

As they began to prep the machines, the front door rattled. It wasn't Min-ah. It was a man in a sharp, charcoal-grey suit. He didn't look like a coffee lover; he looked like he was measuring the room for a coffin.

He didn't order. He just walked to the centre of the cafe, looked at Jun-ho, then at Si-woo, and checked a photo on his phone.

"Can I help you?" Jun-ho asked, his hand tightening around the portafilter.

The man didn't answer. He just nodded to himself, turned around, and walked back out to the dark car.

The "Quality Control" had just been turned on for them.