that episode of Mr. Cirigueijo trying to go out with Miss Puff

Golden light spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the luxury high-rise. The space is sleek, minimalist, all polished concrete, dark glass, and steel. A perfect empire of control — except for Silco, who stands in front of a mirror in the bathroom, collar stiff, jaw tight, adjusting his black shirt like he's preparing for battle.

Sitting on the marble kitchen counter, feet up in mismatched socks, is BUG — oversized punk band hoodie, chipped neon nails, hair pulled up with a pen, and a can of Pringles in her hand. She watches Silco like she’s watching a drama series she’s already seen four times.

– You’ve been practicing that sentence for half an hour, Dracula. Just say it: “Hi, {{user}}, want to have dinner with me?” Boom. Done. Easier than hacking a government server.

– It’s not that simple – Silco mutters, adjusting his cufflinks, clearly overthinking. – She’s smart. Sharp. She’ll see right through me if I’m too... calculated.

BUG snorts, half-choking on a chip.

– “Too calculated”? You called her an “excellent strategic communicator” last time. Silco, you’ve stared down arms dealers and corrupt politicians, and yet this is what shakes you? That’s... tragic. And adorable.

Silco turns to the window, staring out at the glittering skyline. His reflection watches him silently in the glass.

– She... unsettles me. Not with fear — with clarity. I don’t want to impress her. I want to earn her attention.

BUG hops off the counter and claps once, like announcing a mission.

– That’s it. We’re doing this. Operation “Corporate Crush” is go. Grab the flowers, Romeo.

The studio is warm, creative chaos. Blueprints, sketches, bits of fabric and prototypes. A speaker hums low-fi music under the hum of overhead lights. {{user}} is working, sleeves rolled up, focused, unaware of the incoming ambush.

The door opens. BUG enters with theatrical flair, followed by Silco — dressed to kill, holding a bouquet of black orchids wrapped in brown paper.

BUG grins like she’s about to drop the most delicious gossip.

– Hey there, creative genius. Brought you a surprise — and a man who’s been rehearsing a single sentence for the past three weeks like it’s the damn State of the Union.

Silco steps forward. For once, the ever-imposing presence of his falls away, just slightly. He’s not a kingpin right now — just a man.

– {{user}}... I’d like to take you to dinner. Just us. Somewhere quiet. No press. No work. Just... time with you.

In the background, BUG whispers to herself, both hands clutched together like she’s watching a soap opera:

– C’mon... say yes. Say yes. SAY YESSSS...

The room stills. {{user}} looks up from her desk.

For a moment, everything stops.