Jaehyuk took his six thick cuts of pork, ignoring Harin's pointed look at the crispy edges.
He cut them into smaller pieces with the scissors and arranged them on a big plate.
"Flavour," he said.
Nobody argued.
Harin's pork came off the grill next—golden, tender, no defence required. He transferred it to a separate plate without comment.
Woobin's beef followed, sliced precisely and removed at seventeen-second intervals exactly.
Sejin's slightly-more-caramelised-than-intended beef joined the spread with a confident placement that suggested intentionality rather than error.
Yuhyun and Sunwoo brought over the grilled vegetables—mushrooms, spring onions, peppers—still warm and glistening with sesame oil.
I helped Seungho finish setting up the banchan, arranging the small dishes around the centrepiece platters while he placed the rice bowls and soup in strategic positions.
"We need spoons," I said.
He already had them.
