As soon as we finish untying the gear from the bike, we watch Sam set up his individual cot tent in the blink of an eye. Then he tosses a backpack inside and sits down next to it. That’s it? That’s all?

  “Need help?” he asks when he notices me staring.

  “What about the other backpack?” I was expecting him to set up some massive, high-tech, sophisticated tent, full of fancy gear. But this? What a disappointment.

  “I’m not using it now. It’ll be dark soon. I only need this one. Dinner’s in that box, right, Wally?” He points to the supplies, gets up, and starts setting up what looks like our dining area.

  Once we finish assembling the intricate 3D puzzle that is our tent, Wally takes the opportunity to show off his cooking skills. The moment Sam realizes Wally actually knows what he’s doing, he steps aside and lets him take over dinner.

  The sound of the fire crackling, the wind rustling through the leaves, and the running water blend with Ella’s and my voices as we chat about the day, the latest news, and gossip — her filling me in or asking if I’ve seen any of it firsthand.

  Wally walks over, improvises a table, and serves us, a massive tray of grilled meat and vegetables.

  As he steps back, Ella raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you eating? And what about Sam and Zoe?”

  “I’m eating while I cook. And don’t worry, they won’t starve. You two were the ones who almost missed dinner.”

  He nods toward Sam and Zoe, who are sitting on what looks like a tree stump, having the time of their lives making Furioso do tricks. Then Sam picks up a piece of fat from his own plate and drops it into the dog’s bowl. Furioso waits anxiously until he gets permission to eat.

  Sam then casually reaches over to Wally’s cooking station, helping himself to more food — for both him and Zoe, who’s absolutely covered in sauce.

  The two of them are stuffing themselves straight from the source, having strategically positioned themselves right at Wally’s feet, ready to devour anything he prepares while sneaking scraps to the eager animals. Clever little opportunists.

  Zoe, eating with her eyes half-closed, suddenly giggles when Felina tries to steal food straight from her hand. Sam stops the cat just in time, distracting it with a treat on the other side, closer to him.

  “What an adorable little laugh,” Ella says, resisting the urge to pinch her daughter’s cheeks.

  Drawn by her mother’s voice, Zoe turns in our direction and rubs her eyes. “Did… you see… Mommy?” she mumbles, struggling to keep them open.

  Ella stands up and heads toward her daughter, who grabs another bite, stubbornly refusing to let sleep win. Her head keeps drooping, but every time it falls, she wakes up just enough to keep chewing.

  “Zoe, you’re exhausted. Let’s get you to bed.” Ella smiles, holding her daughter’s head steady before it can fall for the third time.

  “Goodnight, Zoe,” Sam says as Wally picks her up.

  Zoe mumbles something unintelligible in response. Sam keeps eating, unfazed, and the rest of us follow suit.

  “Do you want me to light another citronella coil?” Ella asks, noticing Sam slapping another mosquito off his leg.

  “Mind if I retreat to my tent? I can leave just the mosquito net closed and still talk.”

  “Of course, go ahead. It looks like mosquitoes love you,” Ella comments. “You put on plenty of repellent, and they’re still after you. Just like Zoe. Maybe you both have sweet blood or something.”

  Sam chuckles at Ella’s joke. “An inconvenience for the way I live, but nothing a mosquito net can’t fix.” He stands up and moves to his tent, turning on a lantern hanging at the entrance. “Furioso.”

  The dog immediately steps to his side, and Sam grabs a container, washing the dog’s paws. What a well-trained dog.

  Only when the paws are clean does Furioso step inside, pushing through the magnetic mosquito net.

  “He’s really well-trained,” Ella voices exactly what I was thinking.

  “Honestly, I didn’t teach him many tricks. I just made sure he learned this one. I don’t like feeling like I’m sleeping with a pig that rolled around in the mud all day.”

  Sam shrugs. “The rest, I can’t take much credit for. When I adopted him, he already had some training. But they decided he was too gentle to serve in the military.”

  “Was he a military dog?”

  “Almost. I adopted him when he was just eight months old.”

  “How did you end up with a dog like that?”

  “Johan asked me to design a project focused on military convoys for support purposes.”

  Ella’s curiosity sparks. “Have you ever designed tanks or bulletproof cars? You know, the ones with guns mounted on the roof?”

  “I’ve designed a few — just out of curiosity and as a personal challenge. But I never sold or shared those projects. I don’t like the idea of them actually being used as weapons. I’d feel like the deaths would be partly my fault.”

  “A pacifist against weapons?”

  “No. I see their purpose — not just to harm, but to protect and… to negotiate.

  Because, in the end, if your enemy has a weapon, he’s much more likely to think twice and listen to you before trying to kill you if you also have a weapon to level the playing field — knowing that both sides could get hurt.”

  “Then why don’t you sell these designs?”

  “Because I’m neutral. I wouldn’t be able to control how they’re used.”

  “Have you ever considered carrying a gun for protection on your travels?”

  “I have, but the paperwork makes it harder to travel. Still, that’s not my biggest concern. A weapon can easily be turned against you if you don’t know how to use it properly — and I don’t.”

  “You don’t have military training?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “I thought all Koreans had to —”

  He cuts me off. “I didn’t have to do military service.”

  “You were exempt? Even with that level of physical conditioning?”

  “You really think I’d make a good soldier with my history of running away?” He raises an eyebrow.

  “That kind of rebellious streak in the army would either get beaten out of you or get you kicked out,” Wally comments as he returns and sits beside Ella.

  “Sam started working with Johan early on, in his first year of college. Did you forget?” Ella says. “Johan wouldn’t have let them take Sam while he still wanted him working.”

  “Is that what he told you? That he met me in my first year of college?” Sam smirks, leaning back into his tent with Furioso.

  “Yeah… wasn’t it like that?” She tilts her head, confused.

  “No. I got into college, did a year, hated it, dropped out, and started working as a mechanic. I picked up a few tricks on the job, and the rest I pretty much taught myself.”

  Sam picks up the cat stretching toward him and starts cleaning it. “But Johan likes to say I’m an engineer and that he met me when I was still a freshman.”

  The cat licks itself as soon as Sam lets it go inside the tent.

  Then he shrugs, looking at us. “The truth is, I’m just a mechanic. The rest was Johan buying me a diploma — after they gave me a test without telling me it was a test.”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone graduating like that,” Ella says, eyes wide in surprise.

  “Me neither.” Sam chuckles to himself, then tilts his head, thoughtful. “Though, honestly, that’s not the craziest thing I’ve heard about college. People study for years, only to never work in their field. Isn’t that insane? And yet, those same people think I’m crazy for dropping out.” He laughs. “What do they even do with the diploma? Wipe their ass with it? All that effort for that?”

  “A degree helps you get a job. The better the degree, the better the job,” Ella explains.

  “What’s the point of a degree in a field you don’t even work in?” He raises an eyebrow, amused by what he clearly considers a joke.

  “I graduated in a field I don’t work in,” I admit, but contrary to what he might think, that actually makes me smarter, not the other way around.

  “Why? A hobby?”

  “It’s good to have a degree, even if just as a safety net, in case I ever need to look for a job.”

  “That actually happens?” Sam’s jaw drops in surprise.

  “It’s already hard to get a good job with a degree. Without one, it’s almost impossible,” Ella chimes in, backing me up.

  “I guess for someone who’s afraid of taking risks and needs job security, it makes sense… maybe for the sake of their family and livelihood,” he nods thoughtfully. “That makes sense,” he shrugs. “I never worried about that. I always knew I’d at least have enough to maintain my lifestyle, and I don’t have a family to answer to.

  My dad didn’t care when I dropped out of college to spend more time with him before he passed away. Honestly, he was happy about it. What else matters?”

  “Didn’t you have any friends who went to college with you? Friends from boarding school?”

  Someone should have explained that to him.

  “No. My only friend got married and did several degrees to help him manage… his considerable inheritance. But most of those degrees were online. He couldn’t spend too much time away from his responsibilities.”

  His friend must be filthy rich. And I have a strong suspicion that Sam is too — not just because he crossed paths with Johan.

  I glance at Ella, who seems to be making the same calculations as I am, trying to figure out just how rich this weird guy might be.

  He’s slowly shifting from a weird guy with a considerable amount of money to something more like… eccentric millionaire. That changes the way people see him.

  Money really does change things. I bet Jess would agree with me on this one. In her eyes, he’d instantly transform from ‘that strange guy you should probably avoid’ into ‘an intriguing, peculiar man worth getting to know’. Amazing how a few zeros in a bank account can do that.

  “Do you still talk to that friend?” Wally gestures for me to pass him the beer bottle, completely oblivious to all the mental dollar signs Ella and I are calculating in our heads.

  Sam catches the bottle Wally tosses him and takes a swig before answering. “Yeah, a few times a year, for what he considers special occasions. But I don’t see him much anymore — he has three daughters and a young son now.”

  “Wow, four kids? That must be tough,” Wally strokes his chin. “That’s got to take a lot of time and effort.”

  Wally, I seriously doubt it. The billionaire probably barely even sees his kids.

  “Not really,” Sam shrugs. “He has plenty of staff… and two wives.”

  Wally spits out his drink.

  “The second wife is an airhead, and his son is completely spoiled,” Sam continues, rolling his eyes, completely unaware that he’s lost Wally’s attention at two wives.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Why do you say his son is spoiled?” I raise an eyebrow at Sam. “And what do you mean by airhead?” I lean forward, genuinely curious about who this out-of-touch guy thinks is out-of-touch.

  “Having money doesn’t excuse being an insufferable brat all the time.”

  Oh, the irony. He is an insufferable brat all the time.

  “And his mother is basically Marie Antoinette.”

  “Seriously? What did she do?” I cover my mouth to keep from laughing. Sam already feels like Marie Antoinette.

  “She was outraged that people were protesting about being hungry in front of a supermarket. She said poor people are just ignorant — because, obviously, they could just go inside and buy food. Like it had never crossed their minds.” Sam puts a hand to his forehead as if the sheer stupidity physically pains him.

  “Did you try explaining to her that the food was too expensive for them?”

  “When I did, she was shocked, checked the prices, and declared it was nothing. I tried to explain that it wasn’t cheap for them, but some people… there’s just no point arguing with them. They refuse to listen because they’re so convinced they’re right.”

  “And you’re not like that?” I say. “Didn’t you argue with the other workers because you were stubbornly clinging to an impossible idea?”

  “It’s not impossible,” he snaps, irritated. “I was trying to have a productive discussion — to find ways to make what they said was impossible into a reality. But the moment they decided it couldn’t be done, they shut down. They didn’t even try to come up with ideas — they just gave up. That’s what’s frustrating.” He exhales, clearly exhausted.

  “Isn’t that exactly what happened with JJ? He convinced himself that —”

  I cut Ella off. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Do you think making the documentary, like Johan said, would have been impossible?” Ella asks, looking at Sam.

  “No. Not impossible,” he admits.

  “Of course not — it’s just a matter of doing it. But it wouldn’t have been a success,” I state the obvious.

  “Do you think it would be impossible for it to be a success?” Ella asks Sam, deliberately ignoring me.

  “If Johan thinks it has a strong chance of being a big success, then I believe him. He has a knack for these things — whether in the automotive industry or entertainment. He’s been involved in a lot of events and media productions,” Sam replies.

  “Then why don’t you help Johan convince JJ? Why do you think he’s going to give up?” Ella leans forward in her chair, eager for an answer.

  “Because I don’t believe it will be a success if JJ himself isn’t convinced.”

  He says it so naturally. He’s called me JJ before, and I hadn’t even noticed. It doesn’t matter — lots of people call me that. I’ve probably called him Sam anyway. That’s how he introduced himself from the start.

  Sam shrugs. “And besides, I’m not trying to convince him because, honestly, Johan is going to insist on putting him on my team, and I don’t want to deal with a thorn in my side while I’m focusing on the competition. Imagine having to put up with him and his fans.” He rolls his eyes, idly running his fingers through the dirt.

  “You’d throw away a great opportunity just for the sake of your own comfort?” I emphasize the sheer absurdity of it.

  “Yep, no doubt about it. After all, it’s not my great opportunity.”

  “So you’re saying you’d ruin a great opportunity for me?”

  “No. I’m saying it’s not a great opportunity for you.”

  “But you just said —”

  “It’s a terrible opportunity.”

  “You’re only saying that because it’s more convenient for you.”

  “That too. But, you don’t think you’re going to succeed, so you’ve already lost. How can you accomplish something if you don’t even really try, convinced you’ve already failed? That’s losing by default. So when I say it’s not a great opportunity for you, I’m not lying or trying to talk you out of it.”

  He pulls something out of his backpack, flops onto his stomach inside his tent, and starts fiddling with his device — clearly signaling that, as far as he’s concerned, the conversation is over.

  He’s not entirely wrong, but either way, this wouldn’t be a good project for me. Too risky.

  “Then don’t lie,” Ella calls him out. “If he were convinced it was possible, could he pull off the documentary?”

  “Nothing is impossible.” Sam shrugs without looking up from his device.

  “Even with the lack of skills you’ve seen from me?” I add.

  “If someone’s not a natural at something, they can still learn with the right effort. It’s all about dedication.

  I believe that anyone can learn to ride a bike — some people fall just a few times before getting it, and others fall a lot more. Everyone has to accept that they’ll fall, but some just have to get up more times than others.”

  “I don’t drive that badly. Actually, I drive pretty well, for your information. I did most of my own stunts in my scenes. I even took a defensive driving course, and my instructor said I was skilled.”

  “That explains the aggressive driving. In off-road situations, try not to be like that — it’ll just mess up your alignment.

  You know, pressing the turtle button instead of the rabbit when you hit rough terrain should’ve clued you in that slow and steady is the way to go. Like in the fable — The Tortoise and the Hare. Slow and steady, no sudden acceleration, braking, or jerking the wheel like a lunatic.”

  “I don’t drive like a lunatic.”

  “You’re just… aggressive behind the wheel,” he injects sarcasm into his words, his smug expression making it worse.

  “But in a competition, don’t you have to be aggressive?” Ella asks.

  “Only at the right moments.”

  “What matters is that, in the end, Sam — the expert — thinks you’re capable. It’s just up to you to decide if you’ll do the documentary or not,” Ella concludes.

  “He just said anyone is capable,” I point out. “He didn’t say anything specifically about me.”

  “But Johan chose you.” Ella makes it sound more important than it really is.

  “Just because I’m famous.”

  “No. If that were the case, he could have picked anyone. He knows a lot of famous people. But he found you... charismatic,” Sam says monotonously, still reading his tablet.

  “He said that?” I ask.

  “Yeah. He thinks people would enjoy the documentary more with you in it.”

  “Either way, they’re going to have cameras in your car. They’ll make a documentary about you during the competition.”

  “No, of course not. The cameras are just to record the vehicles and the landscapes.”

  “You don’t explain anything or talk on camera?”

  “No. I already told Johan that if they try to film me, I’ll deliver the most mind-numbing monologue he could ever imagine — filled with excruciatingly detailed information that would make the editors want to jump off a cliff rather than sit through the footage.”

  “That’s… quite the threat. Why go that far?” Ella asks.

  “Because people annoy me. External cameras and the remote pilot system are tolerable.”

  “And JJ? And the media producers?”

  “Hell. But at least I could make sure they suffer just as much as I do.” Sam finishes with a devilish grin.

  “I don’t doubt that,” I say, taking another sip of beer, already dreading the disaster ahead.

  If, in the last few days, he hadn’t even been trying to mess with me and I was already going through humiliation after humiliation, imagine what would happen if he actually believed he had a reason.

  Ella stands up, steps past the mosquito net, and sits close to him. “I don’t think it would be that bad. Like right now.”

  Then she smiles when she realizes he doesn’t object to her being close. “What are you reading?”

  If it were me in Ella's place, so close to him, he would have already kicked me out.

  “Nothing, actually. I finished a book yesterday. Now I’m looking for the next one.”

  “Can I see?”

  “Here. The good thing about this device is that it works perfectly without the internet, and the battery lasts forever. Ideal for camping entertainment.”

  “I turned my phone off today to save battery,” Ella says.

  “Do you want to keep this for the night? I have another one.”

  Ella eyes him suspiciously, raising an eyebrow.

  “With different options. This one is stocked with classics and… educationally constructive subjects. The other one… is just… fun.”

  “The other one sounds more interesting.”

  “The other one is personal.”

  Ella’s curiosity peaks.

  “Personal? Every book collection is personal. But there’s only one kind that’s that personal.”

  “If you know that, then you know why it’s personal.”

  What are they even talking about? It’s just books.

  “I also have a collection of… personal books. I’ll let you see mine when you come over.”

  “You have what at home?” Wally suddenly joins the conversation.

  “Books! We’re talking about books!” Sam emphasizes, making me even more curious.

  “Why so much secrecy about these books?” I ask, standing up.

  “Here, you can check this one out. It’s really interesting — seems to have all the greatest classics. Why don’t you sit over there and read?” Ella pushes the device toward me, don’t let me see the other. “Now, let me see the list on the other one.” She whispers to Sam, engaging in a subtle tug-of-war.

  I accept, sitting down next to Wally as we both discreetly pay attention to their conversation.

  “This series is really good, isn’t it?”

  “I couldn’t stop reading until I finished it.”

  “And when it was over, I was sad there wasn’t more,” Ella adds, making Sam laugh in agreement.

  “Wait… what’s this?”

  “I got it from one of Johan’s granddaughters — she likes it too. It won’t be published for another two months.”

  “No way! I already pre-ordered it — I was so excited!”

  “That’s the one I finished last night. It’s incredible. Do you want to read it?”

  “Really? Yes, please!” Ella jumps up with a huge smile, dashes over to me, snatches the device from my hands, hands it back to Sam, and bolts into our tent.

  I stare at Sam, who gives a subtle smile, clearly amused by Ella’s enthusiasm, then simply returns to the device they just stole from me. The cat, for some reason, decides to lie down next to him as if it, too, were about to read.

  “Ahem. That must be the books with explicit sex scenes,” Wally concludes. I turn to him. “Romance novels with some pornographic parts,” he explains.

  From inside the tent, Ella practically shouts, “But it’s not just about those parts! It wouldn’t have the same impact without a good story behind it.”

  “I have to admit, some scenes are written really well, even the pornographic parts. ” Wally says.

  “Wait… you read porn?” I question the strange man next to me.

  Sam narrows his eyes at me. “That judgment of yours only makes me think you’re more superficial than I assumed.”

  “Just because I don’t read porn?”

  “No. Because it makes me think you didn’t even consider the content itself. You just assumed it’s weird because it doesn’t have pictures. Am I wrong?”

  I stare at him, then at Wally, who shrugs, not sure how to defend me from that.

  “That didn’t even cross my mind.”

  But now that he’s said it, I do think about it — and it actually makes a lot of sense. Porn without images? How does that even work? It’s like some script to make a scene?

  Sam covers his mouth as if he just uttered the worst blasphemy, but then, being the unpredictable lunatic he is, just shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I think it’s kind of appropriate for us to be discussing porn. Especially not with Zoe sleeping.” He narrows his eyes at me as if this were somehow my fault.

  “I wasn’t the one who started this conversation.”

  Now that I think about it, I bet this nerd never had friends to talk about this kind of stuff with. He just said he only has one friend — so it must be weird for him to discuss these things with other people.

  “We’re not discussing personal details or anything... and we’re grown men. I just pointed out what they were probably talking about,” Wally says, then turns to me. “Ella reads it. Do you think it would be taboo?”

  “No.”

  Why is he justifying himself to me? Sam is the one who acted like it was inappropriate.

  “I’ve read a few. Some are interesting and almost innocent, but then there are others where the protagonist should be arrested before the book even starts—and it only gets worse from there,” Wally continues.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “The protagonist commits one crime after another.”

  “And most of those crimes are because he’s obsessed with the woman. He does terrible things, even to the person he supposedly loves. In other words, they’re completely insane, but they usually have some kind of tragic backstory to justify it. Still, it’s pure madness.” Sam explains, clearly getting into it.

  “You read that kind of thing?” I question Sam.

  “Can’t I?”

  “It’s just… not really your style.”

  “Thanks. I also don’t think I’m a lunatic who would use it as inspiration.” He smirks knowingly.

  “That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you seem… cold and distant. Those books sound complex and… passionate.”

  He laughs, amused.

  “I think that’s the difference between how I interact with real-life protagonists versus fictional ones. Reality is too real — it ruins the fantasy.”

  “Are you saying you prefer book characters over real people?”

  “Obviously.”

  Certified virgin nerd, I think, though something about that assessment doesn't quite fit with the rest of what I know about him.

  “Why?” I ask, genuinely curious now despite my initial judgment. His answer might give me some insight into what makes this guy tick.

  “Because in books, they have conflicts and struggles — that’s what makes them interesting. You feel empathy, sometimes even like you’re experiencing it yourself.

  But if you need a break, you just close the book. If you want to relive it, you just read it again. Real life doesn’t work like that. And, honestly, passion, confidence, and chivalry are dead.” Sam explains, a sudden animation in his voice that I hadn’t heard before.

  “Well, at least we know chivalry isn’t dead. You’re proof of that, just like Wally and me… in certain situations.”

  “Yeah, Wally is loyal and protective. And intense — on both fronts.”

  “So am I.”

  “Sure, Prince Charming.” His tone is blatantly condescending.

  “I am chivalrous. You’ve seen how I am with Jess and Ella, even with my fans. I’m polite, I open car doors — ”

  “You’re your girlfriend’s lapdog.”

  “Exactly,” I retort, trying to keep my composure and not look embarrassed.

  “I don’t know what your girlfriend is like, but I think women want to feel heard, to have their opinions and choices respected.

  But they also want to feel like they can rely on you — that you make decisions or at least give your opinion rather than just blindly following orders.

  Hearing ‘I’m handling it, don’t worry’ might sound authoritarian to some, but when done right, it’s reassuring. And if you actually explain what you intend to do, it’s even better — almost perfection.

  But what do I know? I don’t have, nor do I want a relationship. My longest and deepest relationships are fictional.”

  He laughs, playing the fool, as if pretending he’s crazy will make us forget everything he just said — or how much he said.

  What the hell just happened? Did he swallow a parrot that spits out Oprah-style advice? One minute he’s the distant loner, the next he’s philosophizing about relationships like he’s got it all figured out.

  “I… I do give my opinion too.” I say, hearing the defensive weakness in my own voice.

  “Congratulations?” He abruptly ends the conversation by turning his back to us and focusing on his device.

  Sam slowly curls up, his back facing us. He looks uncomfortable — was it because of the topic, or because of how much he spoke? For someone who claims to prefer fictional characters, he certainly had a lot to say about real relationships. There’s something raw beneath that calculated exterior, something I can’t quite place.

  The crackling fire fills the silence between us now. Wally shoots me a look that says “what was that about?” but I just shrug. Who knows with this guy? The more I get to know him, the more he feels like an enigma — a walking contradiction wrapped in expensive gear and inexplicable knowledge. And somehow, despite my better judgment, I find myself wanting to solve the puzzle.