"So when you said you'd 'make sure I got there in time,' you meant having fried rice with you?"
Barry put down his chopsticks and stared at Yang Ming, who was leisurely sipping tea across from him. He felt like a college student who had been conned into joining a pyramid scheme.
Yang Ming swallowed his last bite of sweet-and-sour ribs and wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin, his movements as elegant as if he were performing surgery. "Eating replenishes your energy."
He set down the napkin and adjusted his glasses, his eyes calm behind the lenses.
"And your training began the moment you stepped into this restaurant."
Barry froze. "What?"
"When you came in, you looked at the menu first instead of checking whether anyone was following you." Yang Ming held up one finger.
"When you sat down, you chose a seat near the door. That was your subconscious choosing an escape route. But you didn't notice the glass window behind you. Snipers love that."
He raised a second finger. "It's been fifteen minutes and twenty-three seconds since we sat down. You've checked your phone seven times and your watch twice. That tells me you're anxious and unfocused."
"And most importantly..." Yang Ming leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. "You actually used the Speed Force to grab that piece of beef."
Barry's face flushed scarlet, and he nearly dropped his chopsticks. "I... I just didn't want you to take it!"
"A rookie who can't even control his powers while eating." Yang Ming leaned back in his chair, his tone openly mocking. "How do you expect to face enemies stronger and more devious than you?"
Barry opened his mouth, but couldn't muster a single word in his defense.
Yang Ming's words were like a precise scalpel,