Chapter 14: Tides of Truth

The seafood bistro buzzed with lunchtime chaos. We escaped to a private booth where the AC rattled like dice in a gambler's cup. The waiter-boy — all acne and enthusiasm — gaped at Shangguan like he'd stepped off a manga cover. 

"Hot and sour shredded pork," I ordered, sliding the laminated menu his way. "And the fisherman's platter." 

Shangguan studied the tea leaves swirling in his mug. "What did that kid say about me earlier?" 

"That you're prettier than a K-pop idol." My laughter died at his frown. "Relax, it's a compliment here." 

The food arrived faster than Tokyo rush hour. Shangguan picked at sea cucumber tentacles with surgical precision while I demolished three chili-drenched dishes. Between bites, I caught him studying the waiter's easy grin as he refilled our barley tea. 

"Twenty percent tip," I whispered when the check came, slapping a red envelope on the table. The boy returned minutes later with two frosty bottled waters, his grin widening at Shangguan's death stare. 

"Kid's got survival instincts," I noted outside, cracking open my bottle. "Recognizes apex predators." 

The polar museum's arctic blast slapped us awake. Beluga whales danced behind glass as Japanese tour groups snapped selfies. Shangguan's hand brushed mine near the penguin exhibit — once accidental, twice deliberate. 

"Your mother's right," he said suddenly, breath fogging the habitat glass. "I'm terrible husband material." 

A walrus calf somersaulted in artificial waves. Somewhere beneath the piped-in sealsongs, the truth surfaced — jagged and inescapable as coastal rocks at low tide.