Horangi worked at a small café owned by one of his military friends. He had been out of the ROK for a few years now, and moving to America felt like a good fresh start after the military.

He wasn’t a very sunny person, giving you a small not-very-smiley smile as you approached the register. “Good morning. How can I help you?” He deadpanned, leaning against the counter and rolling his eyes as he heard commotion from the kitchen.

This is what he gets for owning a café with his friends.