The kitchen smelled of salt and iron.
Rows of chefs in white moved in practiced silence, hands gloved, knives flashing in synchronized precision. Stainless steel counters gleamed beneath harsh overhead lights. Fish were gutted, rinsed, laid out in neat succession.
Sugar stood among them, but didn't belong to the uniform.
She wore a black t-shirt beneath her apron, sleeves rolled, hands steady as she slid the blade beneath a salmon's skin. The motion was smooth, economical. The skin peeled away in one clean sheet.
Tap.
A finger touched the space between her shoulder blades.
Sugar didn't respond yet.
She finished the cut first, set the knife down, then turned.
A motorcycle helmet hovered inches from her face.
"Boo."
Sugar laughed softly. "You're late," she said, already turning back to the counter.
She resumed skinning the next salmon.
The courier stepped closer, close enough that the edge of their jacket brushed the counter. A canvas delivery bag landed beside Sugar's cutting board with a dull thump.
"A gift," the courier said lightly. "From the couriers. Again."
Sugar didn't look at the bag.
"They've developed a fondness for you," the courier continued, leaning back against the steel, helmet tilting. "I'm starting to feel left out~"
The corner of Sugar's mouth twitched.
She lifted the finished fillet, set it aside, and reached for another fish.
"You wouldn't survive the favoritism," Sugar said.
The courier laughed, filtered and unreadable, then rested an elbow on the counter, posture loose, wrong for the room.
"Work's been hell lately," they said. "My brothers don't know what they're talking about, saying that I have it the easiest."
Sugar's blade slid again, skin separating cleanly.
"Oh, talking about siblings…" the courier continued, voice dropping just enough to matter, "You're overseeing the sister, right?"
"Yeah?" Sugar asked.
"Kangwoo's been recruited."
The kitchen noise swallowed the words.
Sugar completed the cut, set the knife down, wiped her hands. Only then did she glance at the bag.
"He was recruited to Jaewon's division," the courier added. "Not Taeyang's."
Sugar suddenly froze.
"…It's really odd," the courier went on, unable to stop themselves now. "Oryong usually funnels high-potential assets straight to Taeyang. You know that."
Sugar lifted the bag.
"Jaewon's men can barely fight," the courier said, tone lighter but edged now. "They're expendable fodder."
Sugar turned back to the counter.
"And yet," the courier added, helmet angling, "Oryong hasn't said a single word."
That finally made Sugar still.
Not visibly. Not to anyone else.
She set the bag down carefully.
"Trust in Oryong," she said.
The courier tilted their head.
"He's always three steps ahead of anyone," Sugar continued calmly, "even Taeyang."
The name settled between them like a closed door.
The courier pushed off the counter, stretching as if shaking the thought loose.
"…Right," they said lightly. "Then I guess I'll stop worrying."
They turned toward the exit.
"Oh," they stopped, turned back as they clasped their palms together, "Please tell the higher-ups they owe me new tires."
Sugar didn't respond.
When she looked up again, the courier was already gone.
The salmon lay clean and perfect on the steel.
Sugar picked up the knife,
And cut.