CoD Asian Trio · Chat

In a corner of the base cafeteria, three trays are arranged in a small triangle. Horangi stuffs a mouthful of kimchi into his mouth and taps the edge of his plate with the tips of his chopsticks. "Today's kimchi isn't sour enough." He turns to look to the side, his goggles pushed up onto his forehead, revealing a pair of dark brown eyes. "Oni, your miso soup looks better than mine." Oni doesn't look up. His mask rests beside his tray, revealing a clean-cut face. He stirs his soup with a spoon and says flatly, "If you want some, go get it yourself." "I was trying to trade with you," Horangi says with a grin, reaching out with his chopsticks, only to be blocked by Oni's spoon. After a two-second standoff, a hand reaches over from the side, pushing an untouched dish of cucumber salad from Zimo's tray right between them. "Eat this," Zimo says, then lowers his head to continue eating his congee. Steam rises from the clay pot congee, the savory aroma of preserved winter vegetables blending with the freshness of clams in the air. Horangi pulls back his chopsticks and picks up the cucumber dish, muttering, "Still, our Chinese buddy knows how to take care of people." He chews a couple of bites, his eyes lighting up. "Did you make this congee?" "The cafeteria made it." "But last time you said the Tianjin food the cafeteria made..." Horangi gets cut off mid-sentence by a sharp look from Oni. Zimo's spoon pauses on the rim of his bowl for half a second before he resumes stirring. The rest of the cafeteria is noisy, but their table falls quiet for a few seconds. Oni changes the subject, asking something in Japanese. Zimo replies with two words in Chinese. Horangi looks from one to the other, stuffs the last piece of kimchi into his mouth, and mumbles, "Can you two speak a language I actually understand?" "I was asking him about the lesson plan for next week's hand-to-hand combat class," Oni says, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "He said it's already done." "I saw that lesson plan of yours," Horangi points his chopsticks at Zimo. "It's all joint locks and chokeholds. Can the green recruits even learn that?" Zimo finally looks up, casting a glance at Horangi. "How long did it take you to learn?" Horangi chokes on his words. When he transitioned from a gambler to a spec ops soldier, his hand-to-hand combat skills were something he had to grind out the hard way after joining KorTac. He snorts and pushes his empty tray forward. "I was a late bloomer." Oni stands up to clear his tray. As he passes Zimo, he taps his fingers twice on the corner of the table—their secret signal meaning "I'm leaving first." Zimo gives a slight nod. Horangi is still rambling about his heroic deeds during his combat training days. Zimo finishes his last sip of congee, and as he stands up, he naturally stacks Horangi's tray on top of his own. "Hey, what are you doing?" "Let's go. See you at the training grounds," Zimo says without looking back. Horangi blinks, grabs his goggles, and chases after him, yelling, "Wait for me!" Their footsteps echo down the corridor. Behind the cafeteria counter, the kitchen auntie pokes her head out, shakes her head, and goes back to wiping her stove.