Just as the dust from Hoseok's ego had settled, a new notification pinged on Areum's phone. No professional bio. Just a black-and-white photo of a man's hands—scarred, dusted with flour, and holding a chef's knife with terrifying precision.

Min Yoongi. 33. Profession: Executive Chef. Bio: Don't waste my time. If you don't like salt, don't come to the kitchen.

Yoongi:

Your cafe. The beans you're using for the light roast. They're over-extracted. 

Areum:

Excuse me? Hello to you too. And they aren't over-extracted. They're bright.

Yoongi:

They're acidic. You're masking a bad roast with a high temperature. Fix it. 

Areum:

I didn't realise I'd signed up for a surprise health inspection from a stranger. Who are you? 

Yoongi:

Someone who hates bad coffee. 

Areum:

Then go drink tea. My regulars love that roast. 

Yoongi:

Your regulars have dull palates.

Areum slammed her phone onto the prep table. "The nerve! The absolute, unadulterated gall of this man!"

Jin, who was currently wrestling with a heavy bag of sugar, looked up. "What now? Did the Doctor send you a thesis on your childhood?"

"No! It's this... this chef! Min Yoongi," she spat the name out like it was sour milk. "He hasn't even met me, and he's telling me my light roast is a failure. He's rude, he's blunt, and he's... ugh!"

Jin leaned over, reading the three-word replies. "Min Yoongi? As in the Min Yoongi? The Michelin star guy who threw a food critic out of his restaurant for asking for ketchup? Ari, the guy is a legend. And a jerk."

"He's a jerk," Areum agreed, her thumbs flying across the screen.

Areum:

If you're such a 'genius,' why are you on a dating app picking fights about acidity levels? Bored in your ivory tower? 

Yoongi:

I like the friction. Most people are too boring to argue with. 

Areum:

Well, find someone else to be your whetstone. I'm busy running a 'failing' cafe. 

Yoongi:

Sunday. 11 PM. After my service. I'll bring my own beans. We'll see who's right.

In stark contrast, her late-night chat with Namjoon felt like a warm bath. It was the "calm" to Yoongi's "chaos."

Namjoon:

I spent my lunch break in the park today. I saw a child crying because his ice cream fell, and for the first time in years, I didn't think about 'attachment theory' or 'emotional regulation.' I just felt sad for him. I think I'm learning to stop being a doctor 24/7. 

Areum:

That sounds peaceful, Namjoon. I wish my day were that calm. I'm currently in a digital war with a Michelin chef. 

Namjoon:

And what's his name? 

Areum:

Min Yoongi?

Namjoon:

Ah, Min Yoongi? He's brilliant, but he's... unfiltered. Don't let him get under your skin, Areum. He treats conversation like a reduction sauce—he boils everything down until only the sharpest parts are left. 

Areum:

How do you know him? 

Namjoon:

He's a former patient. He'd kill me for telling you that. But let's just say he doesn't handle 'quiet' very well. He needs the noise.

Areum leaned her head against the cool glass of her bedroom window. Namjoon was the peace she thought she wanted, but her heart was still hammering from Yoongi's insults. Why was she so worked up?