Chapter 1: The Welcome Feast
The chandeliers in the private dining room dripped with crystal, each prism catching the light and splintering it across the walls. It looked less like decoration and more like a thousand frozen tears suspended mid-fall. Ken stood just inside the doorway, his fingers curling around the strap of his laptop bag. The mahogany table stretched forever, polished to a liquid blackness, and at its head hung a stark white banner. “Welcome, Ken!” The letters were thick, aggressive, the exclamation point a dagger of ink.“There he is. The man of the hour.”
Boom’s voice cut through the hum of the air conditioner. He stood from the far end of the table, broad shoulders filling out his tailored shirt. A calculated smile hung on his face, not quite reaching his cold, assessing eyes. Beside him, Kla remained seated, giving a slow, deliberate nod. His features were severe, cropped hair accentuating the sharp angles of his face.
“Come on, don’t hover,” Boom said, his tone a mockery of geniality. “This is your party.”
Ken walked forward, the soles of his shoes whispering on the parquet floor. The air smelled of spiced wine and something else, a sterile, metallic tang underneath. He took the chair they indicated, directly in the middle of the long side, placing him squarely between them.A place of equal attention.
“We ordered the tasting menu,” Kla said, his voice unnervingly calm.“A celebration. Toasting to your new role.” He lifted a glass of ruby-red wine.Boom followed suit, his smirk widening.
Ken lifted his own glass.The crystal was heavier than he expected. “To new beginnings,” he said, the words tasting bland.“To integration,” Boom corrected softly.They drank. The wine was complex, expensive, and sat bitterly in Ken’s stomach.
A server appeared silently, placing small, exquisite plates in front of them.Delicate compositions of foam and microgreens, dots of vivid sauce. Art you were supposed to destroy.“Eat,” Boom commanded, though his tone was light. “Relax.The real work starts tomorrow. Tonight is just about enjoying the company.” He slid a plate closer to Ken’s elbow, a gesture that felt strangely intimate. “We’re a team now.A real team.Transparency, mutual support. That’s the Fah Rung way.”
Ken picked up his fork. He’d been a prodigy once, the untouchable leader in a different room.Here, he felt like a specimen under glass. He caught a glance passing between Boom and Kla, a quick, silent exchange that made the fine hairs on his arms stand up. It was gone in an instant.
“How does it feel?” Kla asked, cutting precisely into a translucent slice of fish.“To be coming in at this level? After your… previous autonomous successes.”
“It’s a different challenge,” Ken said carefully. “I’m looking forward to contributing to the broader strategy.”
Boom chuckled.“Contributing.I like that. Humble.” He leaned back.“See, Kla?I told you he’d get the culture. It’s not about being the star soloist anymore. It’s about being the essential, perfectly tuned instrument in the orchestra.”
“An instrument needs a player,” Kla observed, his cold eyes fixed on Ken.The meal progressed, a relentless parade of flavors. Ken’s jaw began to ache from forced smiles.The wine kept flowing. Boom refilled Ken’s glass whenever it dipped halfway.“Loosen up, man.We’re all friends here. Weren’t we always friends?”
They had been peers.Rivals, mostly. Now the hierarchy was absolute, cemented in titles and this suffocating room.
As the dessert course was cleared—a deconstructed lemon thing he’d barely tasted—Boom pushed his chair back and stood. He stretched, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his chest.
He stretched, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his chest. Ken watched the movement, his own body coiled tight in the plush chair, and a memory flashed, vivid and bright, slicing through the wine haze.Two weeks ago. The CEO’s office, all clean lines and silent ambition.The handshake, firm and final. “Welcome to Fah Rung, Ken. We’re thrilled to have a mind like yours.” Relief, warm and liquid, had flooded his veins.He’d done it.A clean slate. A top-tier firm.The relief curdled an hour later in the fourth-floor lounge. He’d bumped into them literally, spilling his welcome-pack coffee.“Ken? No way!” Boom’s laugh was a booming thing that turned heads.Kla stood beside him, a silent pillar of approval.
“Small world,” Kla had said, his smile not reaching his eyes.
They’d clapped him on the back.Asked about his role.Then Boom had grinned, elbowing Kla. “You realize what this means, right?You have to call us ‘Senior’ now. Or ‘Boss.’ Pick your poison.”
Ken had laughed, the sound a little too loud in the echoey space.“Sure, Boss. Whatever you say, Boss.” He’d leaned into the joke, the camaraderie, the safety of old patterns.Boom’s grin sharpened. “I’m serious, though.Different departments, but lines of reporting. Optics matter.”
Kla had nodded, his voice dropping to a clinical, instructive tone.“It’s about maintaining structure. You’re a newcomer. If other employees see a lack of deference, it undermines the entire hierarchy.Just be… politely mindful. For the team’s cohesion.”
“Of course,” Ken had said, the smile still plastered on his face.“Thanks for looking out. Can’t wait for the onboarding, honestly. Must be a whole production here.”
Boom and Kla had shared a look then, too—just like the one at dinner—a spark of shared secret knowledge. “Oh, you’ll never forget it,” Boom had promised, his voice rich with implication. “That’s a guarantee.”
They’d toasted with cardboard-cup coffee.Celebrated his success.
Celebrated his success.
The memory dissolved as Boom’s voice pulled him back to the present, to the oppressive gleam of the dining room. “You enjoying the ambiance, Ken?” Boom asked, gesturing loosely with his wine glass at the chandeliers. “They spent a fortune on this room. It’s for impressing clients, of course. And for welcoming key talent. Makes you feel… special, doesn’t it?”
“It’s impressive,” Ken agreed, his voice neutral.
“Good.” Kla wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, a precise, clinical motion. “Because impression management is part of your role now. How you present yourself directly reflects on the team. On us.”
The statement hung there, loaded. Before Ken could formulate a response, Boom clapped his hands together once, the sound sharp and final. “And on that note, we should call it. Big day tomorrow. The real onboarding begins.”
They walked him to the lobby, a parade of three. The silence in the elevator was thick, charged with the unsaid. Just as Ken was about to offer a parting handshake, his phone buzzed in his pocket. An unknown number.
He answered. “Ken speaking.”
“Hello, Ken. This is Pon from HR. Apologies for the late call, just following up on the itinerary for your team integration session tomorrow.” The man’s voice was pleasant, professional. “A quick directive: please come dressed in a plain t-shirt and athletic shorts. Sneakers are fine. Pack for an overnight—two days, one night. We’ll handle everything else.”
A ripple of surprise, then a warm flush of excitement cut through his lingering unease. T-shirt and shorts? Overnight? His mind instantly conjured images of corporate retreats he’d heard about: team-building obstacle courses, pool games, maybe even a river rafting component. Getting wet. It made sense. It sounded… fun. A chance to bond, to reset the strange tension from dinner on more neutral, physical ground.
“Understood,” Ken said, a genuine smile finally reaching his eyes. “Thank you.”
He ended the call and looked at Boom and Kla, who were watching him with amused interest. “HR,” he explained, his tone lighter. “T-shirt and shorts for tomorrow. Overnighter.”
Boom’s smirk returned, broader now. “See? Told you it was immersive. Get some sleep. You’ll need your energy.”
Back in his condo, the lingering disquiet from the dinner was completely overshadowed by a buoyant, almost giddy anticipation. He moved through the sleek, minimalist space with a new energy. He pulled a soft gray t-shirt and dark blue athletic shorts from his dresser, laying them out on the bed like a uniform. He found a fresh pair of sneakers.
He dug his old sports duffel from the closet and started packing with an efficiency that felt like his old self. A change of clothes, toiletries, his phone charger. He paused, then threw in a lightweight hoodie, just in case. The simple, practical actions felt good. Normal. This was just a company outing. A chance to prove himself not just with his mind, but with his grit, his teamwork.
He zipped the bag and set it by the door. For the first time since accepting the job, he felt a clean, uncomplicated thrill. The chandeliers and the cryptic glances receded in his mind, replaced by the imagined sound of laughter, of challenging but fair competition, of water and sun and earned camaraderie.
He went to bed happier than he’d been in weeks, the duffel bag a silent, promising silhouette in his entryway.