The Friend Jerome Brought

"If you ever need my help, please call. I'll come running, wherever you are."

"Jinwoo-oppa! You wanna go out with me? If we dated, I'd treat you so, so well... Call me if you miss me!"

"Bin-sun, I told you to stop flirting! Do you like wine, by any chance? If you ever visit our winery..."

"That's enough! Thank you for last time. Call me anytime."

Jung Jinwoo shook hands with Koo Hyunghoo, Shin Bin-sun, Choi Ki-cheon, and Jung Hyunmoo in turn.

"Thank you. Truly. Because of all of you, a friend who means the world to me was able to have his wedding in peace. I won't forget this. I'll find a way to repay you."

"Repay us? We're the ones who ought to be doing the repaying. Call us whenever you like — no need to stand on ceremony. That's how people actually get close."

"I will."

"Still, it feels good to have actually been of some use. I'm always on the receiving end, so it sat a little strangely with me. You have to come to one of our gatherings."

He shook Lee Jinho's hand as well, then saw them off. Each of them left with an entourage in tow, splitting into two or three cars apiece and vanishing down the drive.

He had assumed they were merely sniffing around for something they could gain from him. Instead, they had been a genuine, unexpected help.

Well — maybe the first part was true too. It hardly mattered.

By the time he returned to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the banquet hall, the reception was in full swing.

"Did you... call them here?"

Bak Gyeongtae had finished making his rounds of the guests. He came up beside Jinwoo and spoke quietly.

"Beats me. Aren't they your father's connections?"

Gyeongtae had watched him see Number Five off. There was no point in a clean denial.

"I know my father's connections. They're not at this level. Anyway — thanks. I'll pay this one back properly someday."

"Just live well. That's enough."

"Thanks, you bastard. If it weren't for you... ahh, just thinking about earlier makes my skin crawl. Mom and Dad were over the moon today."

"Treat Jeong Eun right. She's a good person."

"Yeah. You should meet someone good too. Time to set that weight down."

It wasn't a throwaway line. Not once in all the years they'd known each other had Gyeongtae ever been the first to bring up Jinwoo's marriage, or the divorce that followed. There would have been nothing in that conversation but a wound.

"I should..."

The words I'm not interested had been right there, ready to leave his mouth. Something else came out instead.

"If I meet someone good, I'll introduce her to you first."

"Yeah."

In that instant, Oh Se-eun's face rose in his mind. And right behind it, the text she had sent him: You jerk!

He'd have to see her soon and smooth that hurt over.

"Jinwoo. Thank you."

Before he knew it, the bride had come up and bowed her head. She was radiant — and she wore the happiest face in the world.

"You look stunning today. Have a wonderful honeymoon."

Jinwoo smiled, warm and unhurried, at the bride and groom. Their happiness was something he wanted to protect. No matter what.

Jerome Musso had said he was coming back to Korea. Jinwoo had forgotten — and the flight was landing this afternoon.

A new friend? A friend of Jerome Musso's...

He was curious, in spite of himself. A man who stood at the very peak of the world — what kind of people did someone like that keep around him?

He finished the day's work and stopped by the mansion Jerome had named. There were easily thirty security personnel on the grounds. When Jerome had visited alone, there hadn't been nearly this many.

"Jinwoo! Whoa — it's so good to see you!"

"Good to see you too, Jerome — urk!"

The moment Jinwoo stepped inside, Jerome pulled him into a crushing hug. They had seen each other two weeks ago. He was greeting him like it had been ten years.

When the hug finally ended, a man standing beside Jerome held out his hand — as tall as Jinwoo, and strikingly handsome.

"Aziz Al-Hassan Muhammad bin Salman. Please call me Aziz."

"Jung Jinwoo. Your Korean is excellent."

"Thank you. I've always loved Korean dramas."

"Aziz studied Korean like a man possessed for two weeks just to meet you."

Excessively handsome. Aziz... Aziz...

The name was familiar. Memory stirred, slow and then all at once, and a flood of headlines poured through his mind.

"W-wait. That Prince Aziz? Second in the line of succession? The pretty-boy prince?"

"Haha. I'm honored you recognized me."

Good lord.

They say you know a man by the company he keeps. The friend Jerome had brought with him was, at this very moment, the hottest name in the Middle East and Europe. Handsome, unfathomably rich, and royal — women the world over were said to pine after him.

And that Prince Aziz was standing in front of Jung Jinwoo.

Jinwoo understood exactly how staggering that was. Whenever Korea's first- and second-richest men, or its politicians, flew to the Middle East to untangle some critical piece of business, the news made a circus of the fact that they had met Prince Aziz. And once they met him, the knottiest problems tended to dissolve on the spot.

His elder brother, Prince Saladin, sat first in the line of succession — but Aziz was a man who wielded enormous influence across the Middle East in his own right.

And he was right here.

"I'll be in your care. A friend of Jerome's is a friend of mine."

"It's an honor, Your Highness..."

"If you call me Your Highness, how are we supposed to become friends? Speak comfortably. Drop the formalities."

"Even so — I can hardly speak casually at a first meeting. You are a prince..."

Aziz was well-mannered on top of being handsome, the sort of man who inspired instant goodwill. That polite, easy way of speaking felt strangely familiar. Women adored him, they said — and Jinwoo could see why. He was charming to men as well.

"Ah, don't worry about that! I've got it all figured out. In a little while we're going to drink the Magic Green Bottle. Once we drink that, we're just friends."

Jerome said it like it was nothing. The color drained ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from Jinwoo's face.

"Y-you're going to make a Muslim drink? Jerome, that's — you can't..."

"Ordinarily, no. But a Muslim of strong faith like myself can perhaps step a little beyond the taboo."

"I already told Aziz everything! Jinwoo — let's go to that pork belly place from last time."

Jinwoo's eyes, already wide, now had his mouth hanging open to match.

"P-pork belly? That's p-pork."

What Muslim on earth drank alcohol and ate pork?

"Jerome explained it to me. He said there is food of the heavens... Allah will forgive a single transgression. And it will be a worthy trial for me as well."

Aziz said it with a hint of embarrassment. Jerome leaned in and whispered in Jinwoo's ear.

"That guy's a phony Muslim. Don't worry about it."

"Urk!"

Jinwoo's breath stopped cold.

The country was a monarchy, yes — but one that sat so close to theocracy it might as well have been governed by the will of God. And Jerome had just called the second-in-line to that throne an unbeliever.

If anyone said a thing like that in public, two countries could go to war over it.

"Jerome, I am not a heretic. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠A devout Muslim like me simply meets the world with an open heart."

Prince Aziz had apparently heard every word. He answered with a slow, easy grin.

"We have to prepare for the world after the oil runs out. But we have no technological foundation, and our people's will has grown too soft. That is why we have turned our eyes to Korea's K-content. We are divided into many nations now, but we were once part of a great empire — Persia. I want to bring Korea's K-content development into our world. You know it, yes? The Arabian Nights! We Arabs have always loved stories more than any other people, and we were a civilized place. If we can build even a little of the groundwork, the Arab world will become a land of opportunity for the content industry."

Prince Aziz was already planning the industries that would have to replace oil. What he had found was K-content.

He had grown tired of the vulgar output of Western civilization. Chinese content had nothing worth using, and China's Belt and Road Initiative made him sick to his stomach. In the middle of all that, he had found the Republic of Korea.

Strangely enough, the Arab world and Korea were similar in temperament, and they shared a history of having paid the price of imperialism. There was no instinctive rejection.

"If that's what this is about, you should be meeting the president, or the Minister of Culture. Why me...?"

"Because of JW Dive In."

Jerome's answer caught Jinwoo off guard.

"I have seen the infinite potential of JW Dive In. Once that service is live, the deep cultural content of the Arab world will spread like an explosion."

It was astonishing. Jerome and Aziz were seeing a bigger future in it than Jinwoo himself.

"Every Muslim uses Arabic. We must read the Quran in Arabic and only in Arabic, and because of that, every Muslim is fluent in the language. And as you know, Persia left behind a vast body of narrative literature. Turn those stories into webtoons. Turn them into dramas. Turn them into films, and — the end. Ending. Shimai... ah, that's Japanese. Anyway. That's it. Game over."

Oh Gong-tae had built Dive In first and foremost to take dramas and films into full virtual reality. Jerome and Aziz were looking further — at turning text itself into webtoons, into moving images.

"There is a market of one billion Muslims. Let us take that market together."

"Let's launch it in Europe too. And this isn't something you settle with talk! Come on — we toast here."

Jerome filled a glass and held it out. A water glass. Jinwoo had downed a few in a daze already, and the man just kept pouring soju into tumblers.

"Mr. Jung Jinwoo — didn't we agree to drop the formalities? I'm the same age as Jerome. Let's be friends."

"All right. Let's be friends."

They poured soju into the glasses, knocked the rims together, and threw it back in one go.

"Watch me and eat it like this. The taste is insane."

Jerome laid four slices of pork belly on a perilla leaf, dragged a clove of garlic through ssamjang, wrapped the whole thing, and shoved it into his mouth. Aziz watched — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and copied him exactly.

Why was he copying the four-slices-at-a-time thing?

Aziz sat there with his cheeks stuffed, chewing, and then his eyes flew wide. They narrowed again a moment later, savoring.

"Ahh — Allah, you are going to have to forgive this one. Why did you forbid Muslims from eating pork... this is the taste of heaven..."

"Right, right, right — another round."

Jerome was already filling the glasses again.

"Jerome. Where did you learn to drink soju out of a glass?"

"It's in the movies and the dramas. Real tough guys pour it in these and drink. I'm Tough Guy. Aziz is Macho Man. Jinwoo — you're Wild Man. That's why it's glasses."

"Jerome! I don't want Macho Man. That's too American. Make me Camel Man. A camel that endures hardship with grit and patience — that is the real thing."

"Fine. Aziz the Camel Man it is. Come on — cheers!"

They knocked the glasses together and drank the soju down in long, unapologetic gulps, the way real tough guys were supposed to.

Ten rounds, give or take? One bottle of soju filled two of those glasses. That was five bottles a man.

"Aziz... this is your first soju, isn't it? You drink well."

"I've met the nectar of the gods — wine — now and then. We have enjoyed wine and beer since the days of Mesopotamia. Distilled liquor originated with us Arabs, you know. Hahaha. Jerome! I have always wanted to say this."

They were monstrous drinkers. Jinwoo already knew Jerome could put it away — but he had not expected Aziz, on his first encounter with soju, to keep pace like this.

"Say what?"

Jerome asked. Aziz grinned, a flash of canine.

"Let's eat and die!"

Jinwoo's usual limit was three bottles of soju. He couldn't very well get up and leave his guests sitting there. He was dying.

They knocked glasses and emptied them.

"Khhhaaa... so this is the taste. Drinking like you're going to die... this... this is it..."

"Aziz!"

"Aziz!"

Jerome and Jinwoo hauled Aziz up off the floor.

"Huh! I'm fine! Drink! Let's drink! We're going! Gazua! Hahahahaha."

He was drunk. Properly, thoroughly drunk.

At least he wasn't an ugly drunk. He had gotten happily, gloriously drunk.

"Aziz. Let's get up now."

"Hmm? Why already? We should drink through the night... until one of us drops dead..."

"You already dropped."

"I-I did?"

"If we're going to Jung Jinwoo's company tomorrow, we should get up now."

"No — I can still drink..."

"No. You have to get up from here."

Prince Aziz, second in the Arab line of succession, was drunk. If this got out, it might start a war.

What kind of Muslim drank like this...?

"All right! Then round two! Round two, gazua...!"

Aziz thrust his index finger at the empty air and stabbed the sky.

He really had studied Korean too hard.