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Unlike Emma, Morgan came back to the States almost every winter break, sometimes even during summer. And the first thing she did every single time? Round up Alex, Danny, and Jake for an all-night reunion.
This year was no exception.
"I need the spicy crawfish from that place in Williamsburg. Need it," Morgan announced in the group chat. She was jet-lagged as hell, had just woken up at 2 PM, and her voice was still raspy with sleep.
"Done. That place it is. See you tonight," Alex replied.
"I'll make the reservation. I know the owner—we won't have to wait," Danny added. In New York's restaurant scene, Danny's network was unmatched.
"I'll handle the after-party. Bar crawl?" Jake asked.
"Does a bear shit in the woods? Obviously bar crawl," Morgan shot back.
"Perfect. Oh, and my girl group's first public showcase is tomorrow night. You guys HAVE to come support."
"Didn't that sell out?" Jake asked.
"You three get super ultra mega VIP seats. Obviously."
"Then we're definitely there."
Danny's idol group project was actually doing pretty well. He'd recruited a second wave of trainees—girls ranging from early teens to barely twenty, all coming from across the country with dreams of fame and fortune.
The first group had built a solid fanbase through StreamCast—live streams, video content, fan interactions, meet-and-greets, those promotional "idol for a day" store events. Ticket sales for the showcase had been surprisingly strong.
StreamCast itself was thriving after Alex's acquisition and capital injection. His guidance on development strategy was paying off—the platform's popularity was exploding among Gen Z users and college students.
That Evening – Williamsburg, Brooklyn
The New York skyline glowed in the fading sunset, glass facades of distant skyscrapers catching the light like mirrors. Traffic streamed through the streets in rivers of red taillights, painting elegant lines through the urban landscape.
Alex, Danny, Jake, and Morgan arrived together at the crawfish spot Danny had reserved. This wasn't some upscale restaurant—it was a casual neighborhood joint with moderate prices and absolutely legendary crawfish. The flavor was so good that lines formed every single day, sometimes wrapping around the block.
They brought in fresh crawfish daily and served until they ran out, which meant even after waiting in line for an hour, you might not get any.
No private dining rooms either. Best you could get were basic booth partitions. Most seating was open-plan, the dining room loud and chaotic with overlapping conversations and laughter.
But that was exactly what made it authentic. That was what overseas students like Morgan missed the most—that feeling of home.
"Mr. Reeves, right this way," the manager said respectfully, leading them to a corner booth. The owner had personally briefed him about these VIP guests. "I'll send a server right over."
"Tonight I'm eating two full pounds of crawfish by myself," Morgan declared, grabbing the paper menu. "One order garlic butter, one order Cajun spicy. Nobody touches my crawfish. I will fight you."
Morgan wasn't conventionally beautiful, but with some makeup she was striking. She kept her hair short, favored athletic wear, and had this cool androgynous vibe. Her personality was direct, almost aggressive—she talked and acted like one of the guys.
"They're all yours. We're in charge of drinking. Let's start with two cases of beer," Danny said.
"Save room for the second location though," Jake added.
After ordering, the four caught up. Despite Morgan being abroad, they had an active group chat and talked constantly, so everyone was already up to speed on each other's lives.
The crawfish arrived fast, and Morgan immediately snapped on plastic gloves and started demolishing them with practiced efficiency.
"Oh my god, THIS. This is what I've been dreaming about for months." She looked genuinely blissful, peeling and eating with single-minded focus.
"Alright, toast first!" Jake raised his beer.
Morgan sucked sauce off her fingers, yanked off her gloves, and grabbed her glass. "Cheers!"
"Alex, say something profound," Danny teased.
"How about: drink up." Alex grinned.
"I'll do it," Morgan said, standing slightly. "To the reunion of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse!"
They'd called themselves that ironically in high school after some teacher had compared their disruptive energy to biblical catastrophe.
"Cheers!" They clinked glasses and drained their beers.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Four Horseshit of the Apocalypse."
The sneering voice made all four of them tense immediately. They knew that voice way too well.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Jake muttered.
"Did we step in dog shit on the way in? That would explain the smell," Danny added coldly.
Dale Sterling had just finished dinner and was heading out with three of his equally obnoxious friends—all trust fund brats from Dale's social circle, none of them easy to deal with.
Alex and his friends kept their faces neutral, deliberately ignoring Dale. No point letting this asshole ruin their night.
But Dale, being Dale, couldn't take a hint. He walked right over, his three buddies following. All of them were second-generation rich kids, part of the Sterling family's social orbit.
Seeing that Alex's group was ignoring him, Dale sneered harder. "Four Horsemen back together, huh? Very cute. You guys busking on the subway later? I'll throw you some change. You can perform right here if you want—I'll even applaud."
SPLASH.
Jake casually threw his full beer in Dale's face. Before Dale could even process what happened, Jake launched himself forward and kicked him square in the stomach.
Dale folded like a lawn chair, hitting the ground hard on his back, legs flailing.
"That's for running your fucking mouth," Jake said flatly.
"MOTHERFUCKER!" Dale roared, scrambling up and lunging at Jake.
His three friends moved to jump in. Alex and Danny immediately smashed their beer bottles into two of their faces—not hard enough to cause serious damage, just enough to make a point—then started swinging.
Dale was completely outmatched against Jake, who'd been doing MMA for years. Jake tackled him to the ground and started slapping him across the face repeatedly, deliberately targeting his mouth.
Alex, who'd trained in hand-to-hand combat and grappling, easily handled two opponents. Danny was holding his own wrestling with the third guy.
Morgan calmly finished peeling the crawfish she'd been working on, popped it in her mouth, then pulled off her gloves. She grabbed a chair and smashed it across the back of one of the guys fighting Alex. Then she started delivering rapid-fire kicks to Dale's face while Jake held him down.
"This! Is! For! Being! An! Asshole!" Each word punctuated by a kick.
The restaurant erupted in chaos. Customers were shouting, pulling out phones. The manager and servers rushed over trying to separate everyone but couldn't get close enough without risking getting hit.
Someone called 911.
By the time the cops arrived three minutes later, Dale and his friends were thoroughly beaten, bleeding from various facial injuries. The officers pulled everyone apart, cuffed the whole group, and loaded them into cruisers.
"Seriously?" Morgan complained as they were being led out. "I didn't even finish my crawfish."
"You can finish it at the station," the cop said dryly. "We'll bag it up for you."
Alex caught Danny's eye and they both started laughing despite the situation. Jake was grinning too, his knuckles already swelling.