Chapter 6: The Date

Their friendship was ... unorthodox, to say the least.

If a stranger overheard their regular beer-and-pork-belly banter, they’d probably think they were part of some experimental therapy group—where an ex-government assassin and a full-time prostitute helped each other reintegrate into society one grilled pork strip at a time.

Sang Mi would often regale Hana with detailed reviews of her “client of the day.”

“Today’s was a sweaty banker who kept calling me ‘Noona.’ I told him he was too old to pull that off. He cried after. I gave him a mint and a pat on the back.”

Hana would just nod and sip her beer like it was classified intelligence.

“You were kind to him,” she’d say, completely deadpan.

Then it was Sang Mi’s turn.

“Okay, your turn. Tell me your most gruesome kill. The juiciest one. Come on. Gimme something real John Wick.”

Hana shrugged. “In Algeria. Metal pipe. Three men. One room. The fourth guy bled out because he tripped on the body pile and landed neck-first on a broken glass.”

Sang Mi blinked. “I swear you cannot keep making this stuff up with such a straight face.”

“I’m not.”

“God, I love your humor. So dark. So weird. So specific.”

Hana didn’t correct her. Let her think it was a joke. That was easier.

Then one evening, just as they were leaving the gym, Sang Mi tilted her head and asked, “Hey. Can I visit your place sometime?”