Chapter 5: Culinary Warfare and Truths in the Wine
Min-ho's penthouse on the 40th floor was a monument to minimalism—a chilly composition of white marble, charcoal glass, and designer pieces that looked so uncomfortable one hardly dared to sit down. There were no family photos, no stray magazines, only expensive art and a sofa large enough for an entire soccer team. It was the house of a man who possessed success, but no home.
"Sir, this exhaust hood... does it have its own IP address?" Mr. Kim whispered, reverently stroking the smooth stainless steel front of the kitchen. It was the first time he had been allowed to enter his boss's sacred halls. "It's a smart system, Kim!" Min-ho snapped, desperately scrolling on his smartphone. "It detects the humidity of the ingredients!" In truth, Min-ho didn't even know how to turn on the light in the pantry. He wanted to play the perfect host, the worldly gourmet, but as the doorbell rang, he felt the sweat prickle at the back of his neck.
Clara and Lukas entered. Lukas looked as if he hadn't slept in days, but his melancholy gave him an aura that immediately commanded the room. Clara wore a cozy knit sweater—a stark contrast to the cool marble surroundings.
The kitchen disaster began immediately. Min-ho tried to massacre an onion with a high-end knife to project an image of authority. But Lukas stepped beside him with a deep, world-weary sigh. "Let me do that, Schätzchen," Lukas said in German to Clara, pushing Min-ho aside gently but firmly with his hip. "Before this man amputates a finger. He holds that knife like a letter opener."
Min-ho stood like an extra in his own home while Lukas wielded the knife with an elegance that was almost hypnotic. Within minutes, the sterile apartment smelled of garlic, fresh herbs, and real life. "He's a magician," Clara whispered, tenderly brushing Lukas's back as she passed. Lukas reciprocated by brushing a lock of hair from her forehead and briefly stroking her cheek with the back of his hand.
Min-ho watched every touch as if they were knife wounds. The physical contact between them was so natural, so constant, that he nearly lost his mind. He had to admit it: this Lukas was perfect. He was beautiful, he could cook, and he shared a language with Clara that sounded like a coded message to Min-ho. He hated him with every fiber of his being.
"I have a 1982 Château Margaux here," Min-ho announced in a voice meant to sound authoritative. He uncorked the bottle as if presenting a holy relic. "A bouquet of black currants and cedarwood..." Before he could finish, Clara had already emptied her glass as if it were cold lemonade. "Good wine, Min-ho!" she said refreshed. "Very drinkable."
Min-ho stared at the empty glass. Drinkable? This was a liquid work of art worth as much as a small car! Lukas, who had polished off a second bottle almost entirely by himself, suddenly stared with glassy eyes at Clara's shoes. "Clara... your shoes," he suddenly sobbed. "This leather... it reminds me exactly of the color of the pots Tiffany stood in when I first saw her at the flower shop! We were made for each other!" He buried his face in his hands and started crying again.
As the evening wore on, Lukas's carefully maintained facade crumbled further. He was now sitting cross-legged on the sofa, clutching Clara's hand. "D'you... d'you guys even know..." Lukas slurred, waving his wine glass dangerously close to Min-ho's white carpet. Mr. Kim lunged forward, sliding a marble coaster underneath just in time.
"My beauuuutiful friend Clara... she's... she's a genius!" Lukas mumbled. "She writes the bescht stories... 'cause she alwaysss writes about real life. All real! And she has the bescht ideas... like back at uni..." He giggled so hard wine nearly came out of his nose. "When we swapped clothes while drunk! Clara looked so much better in my suit than I did in her dress. She was the most handsome guy at the party!"
Min-ho felt his brain temporarily short-circuit. He imagined Clara in a man's suit—strong, provocative, breathtaking. "And d'you know what else?" Lukas continued. "She's got a thing. She alwaysss sleeps with that ugly plushie! A bunny! Can't do anything without the bunny. But I love you anyway, Clara... give me your shoees now... I love the shoees too..."
Clara rolled her eyes, her cheeks now a distinct shade of pink. "He's talking nonsense, Min-ho. He's probably confusing me with his cousin. When he's drunk, all women blur into one person for him." Min-ho snorted. "A bunny? How... fascinating." He was so busy mentally labeling Lukas an immature man-child that the comment about writing stories faded into the background.
"Mr. Kim!" Min-ho finally barked. "Take Mr... Schätzchen... to the guest room. Before he tries to marry my carpet." Mr. Kim supported Lukas admiringly. "Come along, Mr. Lukas. Let's find a bed for you. Far away from Hans-Werner."
Lukas muttered something about "clay pots" before his voice faded down the hallway. Suddenly, the penthouse fell silent. Only the faint hum of the air conditioning could be heard. Clara and Min-ho stood alone, facing each other. The air between them was so charged you could almost hear it crackle.