TOIGC 96

Shake Things Up (2)

Yoongi’s hand remained extended in the air.

Glancing at the outstretched hand—as if offering to help him up—Watanabe instinctively grabbed it and scrambled to his feet.

“Did you start modeling for Hermès again?”

Though he already knew the full picture, Yoongi feigned ignorance and casually inquired about his current situation.

“Huh? Ah, no… Well, you know, just…”

Watanabe stammered, his face flushing bright red. At the same time, any lingering doubts about why Yoongi was here or why he was being so strangely friendly instead of hostile completely vanished from his mind. After all, Yoongi was expertly pacing the rhythm of the conversation to ensure those thoughts never took root.

“Still haven’t gotten back into Hermès?”

Yoongi was the very reason Watanabe had lost the gig in the first place, but delivered with such an unbothered, natural nonchalance, the remark completely bypassed Watanabe’s self-awareness. He started spilling details without a second thought.

“Umm… I’m modeling for a different brand right now…”

“A different brand? Which one?”

“Well… you know…”

Since it was a brand two whole notches below Hermès in prestige, Watanabe struggled to spit it out—especially knowing just how massive a hit Yoongi had been among Japan’s high-society elites during his stint as the face of Hermès Japan.

While not as widely publicized back in South Korea, Yoongi’s modeling career had worked wonders for Hermès Japan. Before long, even the flagship store’s clerk recognized him, staring intently in their direction with a look of utter astonishment.

“Is there something on my face?”

At Yoongi’s casual question, the clerk flushed slightly and blurted out:

“Excuse me… c-could you possibly be… the former Hermès Japan model…?”

“That’s me.”

At Yoongi’s smiling nod, a deep blush crept across the clerk’s cheeks. Even though his hair was kept short like a regular South Korean student’s, much like Wonbin rocking a short bob, Yoongi radiated an off-the-charts level of natural charm regardless of the cut.

“Watanabe, what’s wrong? Is it really that hard to talk to me? Do I make you that uncomfortable?”

“It’s just…”

Even with all the time to mentally prepare while Yoongi chatted with the clerk, Watanabe stammered, unable to form a proper reply.

“I’m a little disappointed, you know. I heard Japanese people don’t hold grudges, but I honestly didn’t expect Watanabe to still be this intimidated by me. Weren’t our little issues completely settled after that whole ordeal?”

The disappointment in Yoongi’s voice sent a subtle jolt of dread through Watanabe, prompting him to blurt out the brand name and launch into a defensive whine.

“It’s just… it’s a bit of an embarrassing brand to mention to you…”

“What’s wrong with that brand? If Hermès is a boutique reserved for the ultra-wealthy, isn’t that brand a friendly, approachable name that brings a sense of familiar warmth to everyday folks? Sounds like a pretty decent way to get your name out there.”

“W-Well, I suppose so…”

Watanabe smacked his lips with a wistful expression. Landing a gig with Hermès Japan meant stamping your face across the high-society register and becoming an object of pure envy among the elite. While his current gig might win him fleeting adoration from the common masses, it wasn’t what Watanabe actually wanted—which was why he couldn’t bring himself to heartily agree with Yoongi.

“Anyway, we’re definitely past all the bad blood now, right?”

Seeing the object of his terror and awe approach him so casually, Watanabe hurriedly and enthusiastically nodded his head.

Of course, completely oblivious to Yoongi’s inner thoughts, Watanabe instinctively slipped right back into his habitual, groveling posture.

“Right, seeing as I just got into Japan, I’m starving. Have you eaten yet?”

“Huh? Oh, no. Not yet.”

“Know any decent restaurants around here, then? My treat.”

“Really?!”

Hearing that a stronger power was showing him favor lit up Watanabe’s face, and Yoongi delivered the finishing touch by casually tossing an arm over Watanabe’s shoulder.

Though still just a middle schooler, Yoongi was already closing in on the late 170s in height, towering well above the 170-centimeter Watanabe—more than tall enough to sling an arm comfortably around him.

“Of course. To celebrate letting bygones be bygones, I’m footing the bill. Lead the way to someplace expensive and delicious.”

“Got it!”

Following eagerly behind a visibly thrilled Watanabe, Yoongi offered a brief, cold smile—one that only Choi Chul-gyu caught from the corner of his eye.

When Yoongi looked at the restaurant Watanabe led them to with such supreme confidence, he wore a doubtful expression.

“Here?”

“Yeah. This place is seriously good.”

It was a restaurant where a meal cost around 10,000 yen per person. Converted to a modern standard or compared relatively, it was equivalent to a high-end 30,000 to 40,000 yen dining experience—by no means cheap. Even so, Yoongi shook his head.

“Subpar.”

“Why…? Is it too expensive…?”

Watanabe’s neck shrank slightly into his collar.

“Nah, I just figured you thought way too little of my budget.”

“W-What do you mean by that…?”

Seeing Watanabe slightly spooked, Yoongi intentionally let a faint smile touch his lips.

“We can’t have our very first meal together at a place like this. Secretary Seo.”

“Yes, sir.”

Catching onto Yoongi’s intent on cue, Seo Jong-hoon smoothly chimed in.

“Find us a proper, top-tier restaurant in the neighborhood.”

“As it happens, I know just the place you’d appreciate.”

Following Jong-hoon’s guidance, the group piled back into their cars and headed to the venue he had in mind.

“Gah—T-This is…!”

Watanabe’s jaw dropped so wide he looked like his jaw might unhinge, staring in sheer disbelief.

“Something wrong?”

Faced with Yoongi’s feigned innocence, Watanabe reacted like he had lost his mind.

“Y-Yoongi, do you even have the faintest clue how much a meal costs here?!”

The spot Jong-hoon had brought them to was an ultra-luxury French restaurant targeting the hyper-wealthy. It was an obscenely expensive establishment aimed squarely at Japanese consumers who harbored such intense French fantasies that psychologists had literally coined a term for it: “Paris Syndrome.”

“How much?”

“It easily clears a minimum of fifty thousand yen per head.”

“Sounds trivial enough.”

In modern terms, this was a Michelin-tier establishment costing 100,000 to 150,000 yen per person. Even for someone like Watanabe, blowing that kind of cash on a night out drinking was doable, but dropping it purely on a single meal was an astronomical sum he wouldn’t ever dare dream of paying out of pocket.

“Secretary Seo, you and the others come back here with the rest of the crew in two hours.”

At Yoongi’s command, everyone except Cha Pil-gyu respectfully bowed their heads and peeled off from the group. You couldn’t treat everyone identically all the time; following his grandfather’s advice, Yoongi was actively drawing clear, reasonable boundaries to maintain order.

It was advice born of hard-earned experience. For Yoongi—who needed more efficient ways to govern his rapidly expanding ranks of subordinates—it was like finding water in a desert. Naturally, both Ryu Geun-tae and Choi Chul-gyu had agreed instantly, ensuring directives like this went off without a hitch or a whisper of dissent.

Hiding a quiet chuckle, Yoongi headed toward the restaurant’s grand entrance flanked solely by Cha Pil-gyu, while a visibly nervous Watanabe scurried along behind them.

“Welcome, gentlemen.”

Getting into this establishment alone required serious social cachet, but neither Yoongi nor Watanabe encountered any friction at the door. Thanks entirely to the presence of Cha Pil-gyu. Catching sight of an imposing bodyguard trailing the young VIPs, the front-desk attendant ushered them straight inside, where floor staff promptly guided them to their table.

A moment later, Watanabe glanced between Yoongi and Pil-gyu with a deeply bewildered look before scanning the empty space around them. It suddenly hit him that when Yoongi had given instructions earlier, everyone else had dispersed and vanished. To Watanabe—who didn’t understand a lick of Korean—it looked like all of Yoongi’s subordinates except the muscle had abandoned him, leaving him thoroughly confused.

Up until now, every single conversation had flowed through Seo Jong-hoon, and now Jong-hoon was nowhere to be seen.

“Something on your mind?”

“Ah, well, I don’t see the interpreter guy anywhere—wait, huh?”

For a split second, Watanabe wondered if his ears were playing tricks on him.

“What’s wrong?”

“W-W-W-Wait, what, what? You—you can speak our language?”

“Yeah. Started studying it about three months ago.”

“What? Three months?!”

“Yup, three months. So I’m still pretty rough with formal honorifics and keigo. I’m mostly sticking to standard everyday vocabulary for now, so you’ll have to excuse that.”

“Hold on—are you seriously telling me that in a mere three months, you reached a level where you can casually converse in fluent Japanese?!”

Seeing Watanabe’s eyes bulge out like a pair of boiled eggs, Yoongi looked genuinely perplexed by his reaction.

“Is that really so strange?”

“Are you kidding me?! Of course it’s strange! If I told you I mastered Korean—or, uh, Joseon… whatever, Korean—in three months, would you believe me?”

Watanabe had almost slipped into his usual colloquial habits, but frantically corrected himself mid-sentence upon remembering who was sitting right across from him. After all, while he was terrified of Yoongi, his ingrained condescension toward South Korea hadn’t magically evaporated overnight.

“Couldn’t you?”

“Huh?”

“If you studied for about three months, wouldn’t that be doable?”

“No way! Absolutely impossible!”

Catching the sheer panic in Watanabe’s reaction, a playful, mischievous glint finally showed in Yoongi’s eyes.

“Just kidding. Though it’s true I started studying three months ago. I inherited a pretty stellar brain thanks to my grandfather. Well, they say real geniuses can prep a lecture in German after studying it for just a week, though.”

At Deok-bae’s invisible grumbling, Yoongi shot a sidelong glance in Deok-bae’s direction, letting out a soft huff of amusement before smoothly nodding.

“Working with Hermès Japan made me curious about the country, so I picked up the language. Makes things a lot more convenient, don’t you think? Come to think of it, you’re actually the very first Japanese person to find out I speak the language.”

Though he didn’t fully grasp the broader context, realizing he held a unique distinction fluttered a brief sense of pride through Watanabe’s chest.

“Well, I suppose that’s quite an honor.”

“Shall we order some food, then?”

Yoongi ordered straight off the menu without glancing at the prices once, even summoning the sommelier to pair the meal with a remarkably high-end vintage wine for Watanabe.

“Good lord… Are you sure this is okay?”

While internally agonizing with the thought, Is he actually going to dine and dash and leave me with the bill?!, Watanabe forced a tight, polite smile and kept the conversation moving.

“I honestly don’t get why you keep looking at me like I’m about to rob you. Guard Cha?”

At Yoongi’s nod, Pil-gyu slightly unbuttoned his suit jacket, flashing a thick, neat stack of cash tucked securely inside his inner pocket.

“I really hate dragging unclassy things out into the open like this, but my family is quite well-off. You probably heard as much from your own parents, didn’t you?”

The moment those words dropped, Watanabe shuddered violently, instantly flooded with vivid memories of getting thwacked over the head with a wooden sword by his father for nearly wiping out their entire bloodline.

“Ugh…”

Given the terrified look in Watanabe’s eyes, his parents were clearly front and center in his mind. Seizing the opening, Yoongi smoothly steered the conversation toward his actual objective.

“Anyway, I noticed you back at the Hermès flagship store earlier. Still carrying a bit of lingering regret over losing that spot, are you?”

At the mention of Hermès, Watanabe’s expression darkened instantly.

“Well, naturally…”

Watanabe had landed a modeling gig well beyond his actual capabilities purely thanks to his parents’ political backing and family clout. Considering the immense cultural prestige Hermès commanded among the elite, it was only natural that losing it stung deeply.

“Hmm. You know, if I sat down and had a little chat with your parents, I just might be able to pull some strings and get you another shot at it.”