Worried that Angela might think he was being too casual—inviting a third person into what was supposed to be their meal—Zhou Zhuang returned to the table with his head lowered, deliberately dodging her gaze.
But since he'd already invited the "uncle," he steeled himself, lifted his head, and met Angela's eyes.
Before he could even start explaining, Angela spoke first:
"Manager, it seems you've found another outstanding talent for the company."
"Angela… huh?" Zhou Zhuang froze. He had been fully prepared to apologize, and now he had no idea what she meant by "outstanding talent."
Still—if Angela was handing him a reason on a silver platter, he wasn't going to waste it.
He immediately latched onto it as his "official" motive.
"Ah, yes! Exactly! I could tell he had enormous potential, so I wanted to use this chance to invite him to join the company!"
His earlier guilt vanished. He planted his hands on his hips and looked like he was waiting to be praised.
Angela simply smiled at his chin-up pose and didn't comment.
After a moment of posturing, Zhou Zhuang softened again and apologized:
"Still… Angela, I'm sorry. Tonight was supposed to be me treating you to dinner, but before we even finished, my vanity made me add another person."
Angela shook her head to show she didn't mind.
"Rather than apologizing to me, Manager, you should focus on how you're going to invite him into the company next."
Zhou Zhuang smacked his forehead.
"Right! Then I'll drag over the next table and set it up."
Gregor quietly selected high-fat meats from the cooler. Beside him, the old man restocked the items Zhou Zhuang had ordered earlier, then tossed in a pile of his own specialty picks to grill together.
"Gregor."
"Hm? What is it?"
"I'm not trying to scare you," the old man said, "but in my view, those two customers aren't ordinary. They're too polite. In the Backstreets, 'polite' isn't exactly a compliment."
"I know," Gregor said, lifting a piece of meat and studying it.
"But look at me. A broken 'feather' from within the Wings… and a participant of the 'Smoke War.' Even if they have some shady agenda, how much worse can it get?"
Hearing Gregor's self-mockery, the old man burst out laughing.
"Yeah. The Smoke War. We crawled out of that hell alive—why would we be afraid of anything worse?"
Gregor went quiet again, thinking.
Because even though he didn't have proof…
both times today, when his right arm tried to go out of control, it calmed down while that "kid" was nearby.
The first time, in the convenience store, he'd felt an overwhelming "if I attack, I die" premonition and forced himself down.
But the second time—just now—was different. He wasn't even attacking the kid, so there was no death-warning… and yet the rampage still got suppressed.
By what?
That faint, unreal cold snort—like it might have been his imagination.
Gregor couldn't be completely sure… but he felt it had to be connected to Zhou Zhuang.
The old man noticed Gregor spacing out and snapped his fingers in front of him.
"What're you thinking about? You done picking? If you're done, hand me the basket so I can grill your stuff."
Gregor came back to himself and passed the basket over.
Halfway through, he hesitated and asked awkwardly:
"…Want me to help you out?"
The old man blinked, surprised.
"Hey, I just look old. I'm still tough. And it's not much meat—won't take long."
Then he saw Gregor's restless unease and immediately understood why Gregor offered.
He waved him off more gently:
"I'm fine alone. You go sit with the kid. If you were eating on credit, sure, I'd make you work for it. But tonight you're a guest—someone's treating you. How can I make a guest do labor?"
Easy for you to say… Gregor thought, looking at the old man's grin.
He sighed.
He couldn't let the kid think he'd treated a complete ingrate.
So Gregor walked toward Zhou Zhuang's table.
Zhou Zhuang sat beside Angela, rehearsing in his head:
When do I bring it up? How do I pitch joining Lobotomy Corporation without scaring him off?
But the moment he saw Gregor actually coming over, his mind went blank. Every plan evaporated.
When Gregor reached the table, Zhou Zhuang stood, offered him the empty seat, then sat down again after Gregor did.
They stared at each other in mutual silence—so synchronized it was painful.
The awkwardness thickened.
Zhou Zhuang couldn't take it anymore.
He spotted a few skewers left on a plate and seized the chance to speak.
He chose his words carefully and said:
"Um… Uncle. Earlier I heard you telling the old man you were hungry. There's still a bit left here—eat some first to hold you over until the next batch comes."
Gregor didn't refuse the kindness.
"Alright… thanks, kid."
He reached out with his left hand and started eating.
Having been hungry all day, that first bite mattered—so he still held back a little, since there wasn't much on the plate.
Zhou Zhuang watched him accept the food and immediately started scrambling internally for how to open the real topic—
But before he could, the old man arrived with a huge platter of freshly grilled skewers, piled high.
Zhou Zhuang decided: eat first, talk later.
And so he and Angela slowly worked through the remaining space in their stomachs, the "recruitment" conversation postponed by the most powerful force in the City:
hot barbecue hitting the table.
....
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