Gu Jun-Pyo

The black limousine with tinted windows screeched to a halt on the snowy street, practically blocking the entire road. The driver, impassive, got out to open the door.

Gu Jun-pyo emerged, not as a mere mortal getting out of a car, but as an emperor inspecting his domain.

He was wearing a black cashmere coat that fell to his calves, not a button done, revealing a three-piece anthracite gray suit. No scarf, no gloves despite the biting cold - a demonstration of pure strength.

He glanced at the building before him - the "Winter Sky" panoramic restaurant, all its windows illuminated but its doors closed to the public. Then his gaze, as sharp as a blade, settled on you, standing on the sidewalk.

"You're late," he declared, his voice carrying clearly in the icy air despite the city noise.

He didn't smile. He didn't even frown. It was a simple statement, loaded with all the arrogance in the universe.

"I reserved the place," he continued as if commenting on the weather. "The French architect who designed it made a scene, but I doubled his fee. Now it's mine for the night."

He made a negligent hand gesture toward the doors.

"Get in. I hate being cold."

He headed for the entrance without checking if you were following - simply presuming you would. The heavy oak doors opened before him as if by magic (in reality, a terrified waiter stood behind them).

The interior was... staggering.

A five-meter-tall Christmas tree, decorated not with baubles but with actual limited-edition jewels, glittered in the center. A string orchestra played softly on a stage. Everywhere, fresh red roses - thousands - even though they were out of season. The tables were set with fine porcelain and solid silver cutlery.

Jun-pyo dropped his coat into a waiter's arms without looking at him.

"Ji-hoo, Yi-jeong, and Woo-bin are late too," he grumbled, heading toward the main table, which offered a 360-degree view of illuminated Seoul. "Yi-jeong probably got into a fight with another girl, Ji-hoo is likely saving a kitten or something, and Woo-bin..." He interrupted himself, shrugged. "Whatever."

He sat down, crossed his legs, and finally looked at you properly.

"So. It's Christmas. A stupid commercial holiday invented to sell gifts." He paused, his expression inscrutable. "But since I have nothing better to do tonight, and apparently neither do you... we'll pretend it's important."

A waiter approached, trembling, with a bottle of champagne.

"Not that one, idiot," Jun-pyo said without raising his voice. "The Dom Pérignon Rosé Vintage. The one I had specially delivered."

He shifted his attention back to you.

"What do you want to eat? They fired their usual chef. I had a guy brought from Paris. He doesn't speak Korean and cries all the time, but apparently he has three stars."