The drive back to the coffee shop wasn't silent this time. Do Jin had softened since their first meeting, leaning back in his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing lazily as he talked.
"You really broke his wrist?" he asked, half-grinning, half-incredulous.
"He pulled a gun," Tae-min replied simply.
Do Jin laughed. "Yeah, but still… you're something else, kid. Most rookies would've panicked."
"Guess I'm not most rookies."
They shared a brief silence before Do Jin nodded approvingly. "You did good today. Boss'll be happy."
When they reached the café, the lights inside were dimming, and the sign at the front was half-turned to Closed. Tae-min stepped out, shutting the car door behind him.
"You not coming in?" he asked.
Do Jin waved him off. "Nah. That's between you and the boss. He likes talking to people one-on-one."
The car rolled away, taillights fading into the night.
Tae-min stood outside for a second, the soft hum of neon reflecting in his green eyes. Then he entered.
The barista from before was cleaning up the counter, her hair loose now, apron untied. The café was quieter than usual—only the faint jazz tune and the buzz of the refrigerator.
"Oh, you're back," she said, smiling faintly. "Boss said you'd stop by. He's coming in a minute."
Tae-min nodded and leaned on the counter.
"You work late," he said.
"Part-time. Pays better than most." She glanced at him curiously. "You and the boss look alike. Are you his little brother or something?"
Tae-min blinked, a bit thrown off. "No. Just coworkers."
"Huh," she said, studying him again. "Weird. You could've fooled me. You're around the same height too. How old are you?"
"Nineteen."
Her eyes widened. "Really? He's only twenty-four."
Tae-min raised an eyebrow. "Only five years older?"
"Yep." She smirked. "You'd think someone like him would be older. The way he carries himself…"
Before Tae-min could respond, the door to the backroom swung open and Sang-ho walked out—same confident stride, same casual aura that filled the space like smoke.
"Speak of the devil," the barista murmured before slipping away to the back, leaving the two men alone.
Sang-ho grinned as soon as he saw Tae-min. "My guy! How many clients did you hit today?"
"One."
Sang-ho froze mid-step. "One?" He frowned. "You were out the whole day and only got one?"
Tae-min placed the envelope of money on the counter. "He owed ₩6.8 million. Paid it in full."
Sang-ho's eyes widened. "Wait… that guy? That guy? The golf course one?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
Tae-min shrugged. "He didn't want to pay. Tried to pull a gun. I stopped him."
For a moment, Sang-ho just stared at him—and then burst into laughter, loud and genuine, echoing through the café.
"Unbelievable! You're insane!" he said between laughs. "Do Jin wasn't kidding about you being something else."
He slapped the counter and leaned closer. "We gotta celebrate. Come on, I know a place. Drinks on me."
"I don't drink," Tae-min said.
"Then you'll start tonight," Sang-ho replied, grinning. "Don't tell me you're just gonna go home after a day like that? Come on, it's still early."
It wasn't his usual slick persuasion this time. There was something earnest behind his tone—almost lonely.
Tae-min hesitated, then sighed. "Fine."
The club was loud but not wild—low lights, soft beats, people laughing at tables with half-empty bottles. Sang-ho ordered two glasses of soju, then lifted his cup. "To first days."
Tae-min clinked his glass against his and drank. It burned. His throat tightened, but he didn't flinch.
"Not bad for a first-timer," Sang-ho said, impressed.
"I've had worse."
They both chuckled.
They didn't drink much—two bottles between them, barely enough to blur the edges of the night. Around ten, they stepped outside, the cool air cutting through the remnants of alcohol. The streets glowed faintly with neon, the hum of nightlife fading into the distance.
Sang-ho leaned against a wall and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "You smoke?"
"No."
He held one out. "You do now."
Tae-min stared at it for a second before taking it. "Why not."
The first drag was harsh. He coughed once, earning a laugh from Sang-ho.
"First time drinking and first time smoking," the older man said. "Big night, huh?"
"I guess so."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was quiet, human. For the first time, Sang-ho didn't look like the untouchable gang leader. Just a guy trying to breathe.
"My dad used to hit my mom," he said suddenly, staring off at nothing. "She'd take it out on me. Guess that's what love looked like in our house." He smirked faintly. "Still, I like to think they loved me. Maybe that's stupid."
Tae-min looked down at his cigarette, the smoke curling upward. "My dad was a soldier. Died in a car crash when I was twelve. Mom left me when I was six. Said I reminded her too much of him."
Sang-ho's gaze shifted to him, quiet. "Guess we both had it rough, huh?"
"Guess so."
They laughed softly, not because it was funny, but because it was easier than feeling the weight of it. Two broken pieces recognizing each other.
For the first time in a long time, Tae-min didn't feel alone.
When they finally parted ways, Sang-ho clapped him on the back. "You did good, kid. Real good. You've got a place here."
Tae-min walked home, the night air cool against his skin. The world felt… different. Not brighter, not darker—just more alive.
For the first time in years, the thought that came to him wasn't cold or empty.
This time, when he whispered to himself what's next?
It wasn't out of apathy.
It was out of anticipation.