Kiril's eyes lingered on me from across the table, his smile too patient, too knowing. I tried to steady my breath, but the weight of his words pressed against my chest: "You too will become one of them very soon."
I wanted to speak, to deny him, but my tongue felt heavy, useless. Around me, the board members sat too still, their faces unreadable masks. Were they waiting for me to break? Or had I already begun to become one of them?
Suddenly, Kiril stood up and cleared his throat like a host calling for attention.
"Dear board members," he began, "some of you might be wondering about the reason for this sudden call."
He moved away from his seat, walking toward the far edge of the table.
"Today we have assembled here to discuss two things," he continued, pacing slowly. "One of them is significant, and the other is insignificant."
With a sarcastic pat on my shoulder, he let the word insignificant drip from his lips.
"Which one would you like to hear first, Mr. Anderson?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Let's go with the significant one, sir," I replied with a fake smile.
Hearing my answer, he smirked and said, "As you wish, Milord." He clapped once more. Suddenly, a peon arrived carrying something on a plate, hidden beneath a cloth.
We couldn't even guess what it was — the covering was flawless. As the mysterious object arrived, a wave of whispers flooded the room.
"Silence!" Kiril shouted, hammering the table with his palm. "I know you're curious, but this is not something you should insult me over with such noise."
"Then please, cut the crap and lift the curtain," I said firmly.
"Sure, why not?" He turned toward the peon and ordered, "Lift the cloth." His voice was majestic, commanding.
The peon obeyed, and the cloth was removed.
Not a single person in the room could believe their eyes; the air itself seemed to recoil, heavy with the impossible sight before us.
It was so unexpected that I nearly laughed. On the plate sat a simple coffee cup — the same ordinary coffee available in our cafeteria.
Everyone was stunned. The room fell into silence again, a false silence. Kiril cleared his throat once more.
"I know you might be shocked after seeing this," he said, settling back into his chair. "You might think of it as ordinary coffee — and it is."
His eyes widened.
"But we are not ordinary people. We are visionaries, decision makers, the jewels of this company. We deserve something far better than this." His expression was deadly serious.
I could hardly believe my ears. His words sounded more like wild imagination than reason. In the middle of it all, someone was even taking notes.
I pinched myself to confirm whether it was a dream or reality. Sadly, it was real — and the pinch hurt.
"I think we should upgrade ourselves to premium brands. They aren't just coffees…" He went on for several minutes without pause.
Then suddenly, he stopped and looked at the clock, as if waiting for someone. It was lunchtime.
"Alright, I guess we should take a break. Enjoy your meal," he announced.
The members erupted in applause, as if he had just ended a war. Yet he rushed toward the gate. It was sudden, and suspicious.
Upon Kiril's departure, everyone else walked out of the room like birds freed from a cage. I followed them.
The meeting room, once suffocating with his presence, now felt abandoned, though the air still carried the echo of his voice.
The board members exchanged nervous laughs, pretending it was normal, though each secretly wondered if premium brands were just a cover for something else.
They were only wondering — but I was sure. The second half of the meeting meant no good, at least for me.
I sighed.
"That was one heavy sigh," Ryan said. "May I know the reason?"
"Nothing special, just work stress." Ryan was the first and only friend in the office I trusted enough to share things with.
"Nothing special? You don't sigh like that for nothing. Something's bothering you — and it's not just deadlines," Ryan pressed.
"Stop interrogating me. I'm not the culprit." We both broke into laughter.
"I've got news to share," Ryan said excitedly.
"Judging by your excitement, it must be good."
"It is. You'll know in an hour." Ryan smiled and ordered our lunch.
After Lunch
Everyone reassembled in the meeting room, each taking their seat, wondering about the so‑called insignificant issue.
They whispered among themselves, debating whether premium coffee brands deserved such solemn attention. Pens clicked, papers shuffled, and yet the atmosphere was as grave as if they were deciding the fate of nations.
Kiril finally entered in his usual majestic way, two peons following him like soldiers. He stood before his chair, waiting until the room was silent.
"Welcome back. Now we are here to discuss the insignificant topic," he said, his eyes locking on me.
The board leaned forward, expecting something unpredictable, something absurd enough to cross the line.
"I think many of you failed to understand the importance of coffee," he said. "But you will, once this discussion is over."
Kiril raised his hands with deliberate grace. The room held its breath.
Then came the third clap — heavy, final, reverberating through the chamber.
Ryan stepped inside. My friend. My only confidant in this office. His face was pale, eyes wide, as if he had been dragged into a play he never auditioned for.
Kiril's smile widened into a predator's grin. He pointed toward Ryan, drawing everyone's attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Kiril announced, his voice unnaturally calm, "the task I entrusted to Aiden — finding a loophole in the contract — has been accomplished… not by Aiden, but by Ryan."
The board leaned forward even further, pens frozen mid‑air, as though the absurdity had finally crossed into danger.
My heart lurched. Ryan's eyes met mine, and in that instant, I knew he was as shocked as I was.
The announcement burned me. It was like a stain on my record. Never — never, like never before — had such a thing happened until this day.
Fury rose in me. I wanted to throw that ordinary coffee right in Kiril's face, let it drip down his perfect suit, and follow it with a punch that would finally make this meeting worth attending.
The absurdity of it all made me laugh. But the worst thing was that Kiril noticed.
"What's so funny, Mr. Anderson?" Kiril asked in a firm voice.
"The absurdity of this situation."
Kiril tilted his head, eyes narrowing, his smirk stretching the silence until it became unbearable.
"And what, exactly, do you find so absurd?"
"Everything," I said, forcing my voice steady. "The way we sit here debating coffee as if it were destiny itself."
The board shifted uneasily, some nodding, others glaring. A wave of whispers flooded the room again — louder, heavier than before.
"Oh, that coffee thing still owes me a clarification," he said slyly. "How can you judge the meeting so early?"
"Then please. Because I think we too deserve a clarification from you," I said firmly, pressing my hands against the table.
Kiril straightened, his eyes gleaming. He raised his voice just enough to silence the whispers.
"Coffee," he began, pausing for effect, "is not merely a drink. It is clarity. It is focus. It is the fuel that separates the ordinary from the extraordinary."
The board exchanged uneasy glances, some rolling their pens nervously, others leaning forward as if hypnotized.
He turned toward Ryan, his tone sharpening.
"Do you know how Ryan uncovered the loophole in the contract? Not through luck. Not through chance. But through the sharpened mind that comes only from the right coffee." He paused, then continued.
"Each sip carved away the fog. Each cup pushed him closer to brilliance. Without it, the loophole would still be buried."
Ryan shifted uncomfortably, caught between pride and shock. His eyes flicked toward me, silently pleading — he hadn't known this was coming.
Kiril spread his arms wide, addressing the board like a judge delivering a verdict.
"Therefore, from this day forward, we shall upgrade our coffee. No longer the ordinary blend that dulls the senses. We will drink what Ryan drinks — the brew that breeds insight, the taste of victory."
The board erupted again in whispers, louder than before, the absurdity swelling into something almost ritualistic. Pens scratched furiously, as if recording a new law.
Kiril's gaze locked on me once more, his smile thin and knowing. "Now, Mr. Anderson… do you still find this meeting absurd?"
I snickered. "So, you mean Ryan's efforts mean nothing? That the whole credit goes to a coffee brand? Really?"
"So, according to you it isn't the coffee at all, but Ryan — his effort, his struggle — am I right?" Kiril's words slithered into the silence, pressing the air tighter around me.
"Right" I said firmly.
" So, he didn`t use any supplement-for this achievement, correct?" he asked again.
But my answer remained same," correct".
"Then, why weren`t you able to do that? Why didn`t you put the efforts needed?"
The room grew quiet. My own answers boxed me in. Each "correct" I had spoken now felt like a trap.
I tried to reply, but the words stuck. "I… I—" Nothing came out.