Amidst the labyrinthine alleys of Shanghai, where the air is a thick soup of humidity and exhaust from rusted ventilation ducts, sat a small restaurant hidden in a shroud of silence. It was a 30x40 square meter space that looked more like a forgotten storage unit than a sanctuary for gourmets. Dim neon lights flickered, casting a sickly hum over an old wooden counter marked by decades of neglect.
Ohm, a man with a rugged, effortless charm dressed in a plaid shirt and distressed jeans, was currently swiping a rag across a layer of dust that seemed thicker than the wood itself. He surveyed his dismal surroundings and let out a long, weary sigh.
"Mr.Chatchawin... what on earth were you thinking?" he muttered. This place had zero curb appeal. Forget high-flying businessmen; even a stray cat would likely double-back to avoid the place.
But he knew Chatchawin—a man of his caliber didn't move a pawn without a master plan. Beneath this derelict veneer, something was lurking. His thoughts were suddenly shattered as Phueak, a round-faced youth in a white shirt whose buttons were screaming for mercy against his belly, burst out of the back kitchen. In his hand, a massive sewer rat writhed frantically.
"Hey Ohm! Look at this! Chinese rats are bigger than our houses back home!" Phueak yelled, his eyes sparkling as if he'd discovered a chest of gold.
"Get that thing away from me, Phueak!" Ohm recoiled, slamming into a shelf of spice jars, his finger pointing in a frantic command.
"Okey-dokey!" Phueak laughed, releasing the giant rodent. It scurried across the floor and vanished into the shadows beneath a freezer. Ohm clutched his chest, trying to steady his racing heart while eyeing the assistant Chatchawin had sent him. Was this a partner or a liability?
"Are we even going to survive this?" Ohm groaned, resting his chin on the counter and staring out the window at the empty street. "Gawin and Tum are probably kicking their feet up in a chilled AC room right now."
"Tell me about it. They promised us a cool spy mission, and we end up in a rat hole. And..." Phueak stopped dead, his eyes widening as a catastrophic realization hit him. "Hey Hey! We don't speak a lick of Chinese! Who are we going to sell to in Shanghai?"
Ohm froze for a moment. He tilted his head slightly, staring into the empty air where dust motes drifted lazily.
"Because this is a novel, Phueak... anything is possible. Don't stress too much about the logic," Ohm said, his voice dropping into a solemn, mystical tone as if communicating with a higher power.
Phueak's jaw dropped. He leaned over, trying to see what Ohm was looking at in the void. "Who are you talking to, Ohm? Is the place haunted already?"
Ohm let out a long breath, slapped his own forehead, and stood upright. He reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a tiny, futuristic metallic device. "Stop being an idiot and look at this! This is a real-time AI translator, the most advanced tech of our era."
He held it up, the dim light catching the polished metal. "Just plug it in. it converts our Thai into perfect Mandarin—better than a local—and we hear whatever they say back in Thai instantly."
Phueak snatched it and jammed it into his ear, striking a pose like a secret agent. "Whoa! So cool! Just like the movies!"
Ohm shook his head with a mix of affection and exhaustion before his gaze sharpened. The plan hidden beneath the chef's apron was about to unfold.
"Get ready. From this second on, we are the investment-forecasting chefs of Shanghai." He gestured grandly at the dilapidated space. "Welcome to Rod Lom Restaurant."
Ohm smirked with a trace of dark mischief, while Phueak grinned wide, revealing the chaotic intent hiding in his eyes. The mission to disrupt the business world was officially beginning—right here, in this rat hole.