The silence that followed Jun-ho’s words was sharp. On the laptop screen, Jace’s grin didn't vanish, but it stiffened, the pixels lagging for a second as if the connection itself was stunned by the audacity of a "background actor."

"Make her wait?" Jace repeated, his laugh sounding a little more forced now. "Wow. The help is pretty vocal today, huh? I like the spirit, man. Very... protective. I didn’t know you had such caring friends, Min-ah…"

Min-ah’s eyes went wide, looking between Jun-ho and the screen. "Jun-ho was just helping me with English earlier, Jace. They’ve been really supportive."

"I’m sure they have," Jace said, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back. "Anyway, I’ve got to run to a team meeting. Min-ah, I’ll text you later, okay? And hey—make sure those guys don't burn the beans."

With a final, dismissive wink, the screen went black.

Min-ah sat still for a moment; her hands wrapped around the warm cup of Bitter Cocoa. She looked up at Jun-ho, her expression unreadable. "You didn't have to say that, Jun-ho. He’s just... he’s under a lot of pressure over there."

"Pressure doesn't make a person forget a clock," Jun-ho said, his voice still vibrating with a bit of the adrenaline from the confrontation.

"I have to get to class," Min-ah muttered, suddenly flustered. She took a quick, long gulp of the cocoa, winced at the bitterness, and then grabbed her bag. "The drink is... It’s different. Thanks, guys."

As she hurried out, the bell gave a sharp clack, leaving the two boys alone in the amber-lit silence of the shop.

"Well," Si-woo said, finally settling down the milk pitcher. "You just officially declared war on a guy who has a ten-year head start and a fan club. How’s the view from the front lines?"

Jun-ho walked back behind the counter, the weight of the morning starting to press down on him. "I don't care about his fan club. Did you see his face? He wasn't even sorry he missed her call. He treated it like a joke. Asshole"

"He treated us like a joke," Si-woo corrected, his eyes flashing with a cold, Parisian pride. "But let’s get back to the guy in the suit. If Jace is thousands of miles away, he didn't send a private investigator to check on us in person within twenty-four hours. That’s too fast, even for a 'Global Ten'."

Jun-ho leaned against the espresso machine. "Then who was it? If it wasn't Jace, and it wasn't a movie scout..."

"Maybe someone else is interested in the Class Rep," Si-woo mused, tapping his chin. "Or maybe someone is interested in us."

Before Jun-ho could respond, his phone buzzed in his apron pocket. He pulled it out, expecting a delivery ping or a message from his sister. Instead, his breath hitched.

It was an Instagram notification. @Jace_TheStriker started following you.

A second later, a Direct Message popped up.

Jace: Hey, café guy. Jun-ho, right? Jace: Look, I appreciate you looking out for Min-ah. It’s a nice little side gig. But let’s be real. She’s a Class Rep with a big future. You’re the guy who brings her coffee. Don't let the 'Bodyguard' thing go to your head. I’d hate for things to get awkward when I fly back. Jace: Keep the lattes hot. OKAY.. ☕️😉

Jun-ho stared at the screen, the condescension in the text feeling like a physical weight. He showed the screen to Si-woo.

Si-woo read it, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "Oh, he’s rattled. He’s marking his territory from across the ocean. That’s not the move of a confident 'Saint.' That’s the move of a man who’s afraid he’s losing his throne."

"What do we do?" Jun-ho asked.

"Ignore him for now," Si-woo said, his eyes gleaming. "We let him wonder why his 'warning' didn't work. And tomorrow? We make sure Min-ah doesn't even think about her phone while she’s in this cafe."

Jun-ho looked at the black sedan’s empty parking spot outside and then at the glowing screen in his hand. He was a middle-class delivery guy with a scooter and a dream, fighting a soccer star and a mystery man in a suit.

"Sixty days," Jun-ho whispered. "The countdown just got a lot shorter."