When the two gentlemen agreed to have lunch, they sat on the chair facing one another across a long table. They were so far apart, like two meters away.

He had seen this kind of setup before from movies where two actors would seat across one another so far they'll have to speak up in order to hear whatever they are saying.

Maybe that's just how the rich do that.

Then the chef present inside began serving them food, starting with the adobo premium. Why is it called adobo premium? Well it's just common in fancy place to add adjectives that make things sound richer than they actually are.

Timothy thought about that as the plate was set down in front of him—three bite-sized portions of adobo, neatly arranged on a white porcelain dish with decorative streaks of black garlic paste and a sprinkle of edible gold flakes.

The chef smiled politely, bowing slightly. "Our Adobo Premium uses free-range pork belly braised in organic coconut vinegar and soy sauce, reduced for six hours, then seared for texture. Served with heirloom rice from Ifugao."

Timothy gave an amused grin. "So… adobo, but it went to Harvard."

That earned a short laugh from Jensen. "You have a sharp tongue, Mr. Guerrero."

"Just an observation," Timothy said, picking up his fork. He took a bite—and to his surprise, it was incredible. The flavor was deep, rich, smoky, but clean. The kind of taste that made you pause for a second before swallowing. "Okay," he admitted. "Maybe Harvard was worth it."

"Adobo is truly a delicious dish," Jensen commented as he wiped the corner of his lips with a tablecloth.

"This is not usually how adobo are prepared Mr. Huang. This is the fancier version of it. I can cook the normal version but of course, it will be on the other time."

Jensen laughed. "I'll look forward to it."

Then, as they finished eating the adobo, a new set of dishes was brought in. The chef returned, pushing a trolley that gleamed under the soft lights. On top was a large silver platter—steam rising faintly from it, carrying the unmistakable aroma of butter and the sea.

"Next course, gentlemen," said the chef, his tone calm and respectful. "Fresh lobster. Steamed, then finished with lemon butter and herbs. A delicacy worth the wait."

Timothy leaned slightly forward, curious. The lobster was bright orange-red, its shell glistening as the chef expertly split it open down the middle, plating each half with delicate precision. The rich scent filled the room, making even Jensen glance appreciatively.

"Looks wonderful," Jensen said.

The chef smiled. "It tastes even better, sir." He turned to Timothy. "Careful, Mr. Guerrero—the shell is firm. The meat is tender, but best enjoyed freshly cracked."

Timothy nodded slowly as the chef stepped back. He stared at the lobster in front of him, unsure how to even begin. There were utensils—strange ones, thin and claw-shaped—that he had seen only in pictures.

He picked up the lobster fork, hesitated, and then looked at Jensen across the long table. The older man was already digging in with practiced ease, cracking the shell open like it was second nature.

Timothy quietly set the utensil back down.

He could figure out power grids, supply chains, and logistics models—but somehow, a lobster on a plate had him completely defeated.

Across the table, Hana, who had been quietly observing from her seat beside the trolley, noticed his hesitation almost immediately.

She stood gracefully, her heels making only the faintest sound against the marble floor.

"Sir," she said softly, "would you like me to assist?"

Timothy looked up, slightly embarrassed. "You… you know how to eat this?"

A small smile curved her lips. "Yes, Mr. Guerrero. It's not that complicated once you know where to start."

Jensen, watching with a knowing grin, leaned back in his chair. "You haven't eaten a lobster before?"

"Unfortunately not," Timothy said. "This is my first time."

Hana moved closer, standing beside him. The faint scent of her perfume reached him immediately—something light and floral, not overwhelming, just enough to linger. She took the cracker tool from the table and bent slightly over his plate, the soft fall of her hair brushing near his shoulder as she focused.

"Start from the claw," she murmured, cracking it open with one firm motion. "The trick is not to force it—let the shell give way naturally."

Timothy nodded, though his attention had already wandered from the lobster to her. The way her fingers moved with calm precision, the faint concentration in her eyes—it all felt strangely mesmerizing.

"Then," she continued, carefully pulling the white meat free and laying it neatly on his plate, "you slide the fork along the tail like this. Push from the underside…"

Her voice was soft, low enough that only he could hear it.

Timothy's heart beat just a little faster as he watched her. He tried to focus on her instructions, but his gaze kept drifting—to her side profile illuminated by the soft light, to the faint curve of her smile as she worked.

He didn't know why he was suddenly nervous. Maybe it was how close she was, or how natural it felt to have her there beside him, like this wasn't just another formal meal in a luxury suite—but something far more human, far more real.

When she finished, she straightened slightly and glanced down at him, her lips curved in quiet triumph. "There," she said gently. "Now it's ready."

Timothy looked at the plate—perfectly arranged lobster meat, glistening under the lemon glaze. "You make it look easy," he said, smiling faintly.

"It is easy," she replied, setting the utensil aside. "You just need patience."

She met his gaze then, and smiled softly.

"Thank you," Timothy said, his voice lower than before.

"You're welcome," Hana replied simply.

She returned to her seat, her composure flawless, though there was a faint warmth on her cheeks that hadn't been there before.

Timothy picked up his fork and took a bite of the lobster. It was tender, buttery, with just a hint of lemon—and yet, somehow, it wasn't just the flavor that left an impression.

From across the table, Jensen smiled knowingly, his glass of wine in hand. "You two seem to work very well together," he remarked, tone light but meaningful.

Timothy chuckled, looking briefly toward Hana. "I wouldn't survive without her."

Hana only smiled faintly, eyes lowered as she took a sip of water. "That much is true."

They proceeded to each their lunch, and once it was finished, the waiters cleaned their table by picking up the plates.

With all of it set aside, Jensen's facial expression turned serious.

"Now, let's discuss business."

"Let's do," Timothy said, agreeing on the agenda. "What brought you here in the Philippines."

"The chip, Mr. Guerrero, we want it cracked."

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