The café was still. Sunlight filtered through the front windows, catching dust motes as they swirled slowly in the air like dream fragments. Zero stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, a soft grin lingering on his face. He turned in a slow circle, taking it all in again. The warm wood. The copper accents. The faint scent of roasted beans. His café. His.
Then he spotted the cash register. Or rather—what looked like one. It was a classic shape, with levers and metallic keys, but where numbers should have been printed, there was a small glowing screen inset into the top. Zero leaned closer. The screen lit up as if recognizing him.
===
CARD GACHA SYSTEM — ACTIVE
Balance: 1,000 Points
[Single Draw — 100 pts]
[11x Draw — 1,000 pts]
===
Zero blinked. Then laughed under his breath. "Well. Can't say the interface isn't intuitive." He rested one hand on his chin and muttered, "Obviously 11-pull is more cost-effective. First rule of all gacha games. Let's test our luck, shall we?"
He tapped the 11x Draw button. A soft ding! echoed from the register. Then the drawer slid open with a mechanical hiss—And out slid a pack of cards. Not just any cards. The foil shimmered like a prism, and on the front was a cartoonishly peace-signing Cecil, winking with one eye closed, tongue sticking out slightly, with a sparkly background behind him.
Zero stared. Then snorted. "He really is way more aloof than what I expected from gods." He held the pack carefully. It was exactly like a booster pack of Pokémon cards—same glossy texture, same crinkle of foil. And with it came a familiar emotion from another life: childhood anticipation. "I swear, if I pull 11 fire energy cards again, I'm flipping this register."
He tore it open. Inside, eleven slender cards shimmered with light. Each was roughly the size and shape of a tarot card—ornate borders, detailed illustrations, and runes glowing at the edges. He pulled the first one.
+10 Magical Energy
The card blinked once—then vanished in a puff of gentle light. Zero looked down at his hands. He didn't feel any different. "Huh," he muttered. "No fanfare. Classic." Another card.
+10 Magical Energy
Gone.
Another.
+10 Magical Energy
He raised an eyebrow. "Alright. This is starting to feel suspiciously familiar." Card after card flickered and vanished. Energy boosts. Stat augment tokens. Useless in the moment, useful eventually. By the time he reached the final card, he held it up between thumb and forefinger and muttered, "Come on. Just give me one actual character. Something to test this clone thing."
The card shimmered. Its face revealed an illustration of a boy—wild red hair, cocky smile, wearing an apron and holding a ladle like a sword.
Sōma Yukihira
Character Origin: Anime
Zero stared blankly. "Who?" He flipped the card and read the description.
===
An energetic and daring culinary prodigy from the anime "Shokugeki no Sōma." Possesses enhanced cooking intuition, battle-kitchen instincts, and the ability to improvise under pressure. Known for overconfident grin and innovative dishes. Warning: Extremely competitive in cook-offs.
===
Zero blinked again. "...Okay. That means nothing to me." He scratched his head. "Must've been released after I died." He turned the card in his fingers. It shimmered with that same tarot glow. "Guess we're in post-2010 anime territory. Great." He looked toward the quiet café. "Well, no rush, right? I can only do one clone for now anyway."
He tucked the Sōma card into his inner pocket. "I'll save it. Maybe pull someone better. Like Liu Mao Xing from Cooking Master Boy. Now that's a proper chef." He leaned back against the counter, arms folded, eyes scanning the quiet room. "Still," he muttered, "I really just gacha'd an anime protagonist inside a haunted register. What even is my life anymore?"
Zero ascended the creaking staircase behind the counter, hand gliding along the polished banister. The steps were narrow, but each one was solid—well built. At the top, a small wooden landing opened into a doorless threshold. He stepped through—And stopped.
The loft above the café was nothing short of surreal. It was massive. Far more spacious than the compact cafe below could possibly allow. A wide living room stretched before him, lit by softly floating light-orbs in frosted sconces. The floor was dark pine, polished smooth. Plush rugs in deep reds and greys sprawled beneath a low table surrounded by overstuffed cushions.
To the left, a dining area held a full oak table with enough chairs for a small gathering. Beyond it was a kitchen—complete, modern, and polished. Brass fixtures, stone counters, cabinets already stocked. Everything glowed with magical runes that hummed in passive silence.
Zero glanced up. The ceiling arched with old beams, like the bones of a cathedral. "This… is way too big," he muttered.
He walked further in, eyes still flicking over the details—paintings of serene landscapes, shelves lined with old books, a teapot already set on the counter as if waiting for him. "But I'm not complaining."
He moved to the back and opened a door into the bedroom—a calm, elegant space with a wide bed, a desk by the window, and an entire closet already filled with folded clothing. Most of it looked practical—shirts, vests, jackets, boots. But there were a few formal outfits too, robes and coats with intricate embroidery.
Zero grinned. "Cecil. You really thought of everything."
He pulled on a soft grey tunic and dark cotton trousers—simple, casual, comfortable. After brushing his hair quickly with a comb he found on the nightstand, he patted his stomach. "Alright. Coffee time."
He headed back downstairs, descending the steps with quiet anticipation for his first self-made cup in this strange new world.
Then the bell above the café door chimed. Two elves stepped inside. They were tall, lean, and sharply dressed. One had silver hair slicked back, the other wore a monocle like it gave him moral authority. Both looked around the café like they'd just stepped into a cellar.
Zero reached the bottom step and offered a bright, practiced smile. "Welcome!"
The elves froze mid-step. One narrowed his eyes. "Where's the owner, boy?"
The second sniffed. "Why is the help greeting customers? Shouldn't the proprietor be present?"
Zero stepped forward behind the counter, still smiling, still warm. "I am the owner, sir."
A beat passed. Then—Disgust. Visible. Like someone had dropped sour milk into their wine. "I see," the first elf said curtly, already turning. "I think we're good," the other muttered. "Come on." The bell chimed again as they exited.
Zero raised his hand and waved casually. "See you again. We've got great coffee."
No answer. He sighed lightly and shook his head. "Yeah. That tracks."
But there was no bitterness in his voice. Only tired acceptance. "Racism's a slow fix," he muttered. "One cup at a time." With that, he turned, rolled up his sleeves, and moved into the kitchen.
He ground the beans by hand—dark roast, nutty aroma—and poured hot water into the press. The steam rose gently as he prepared eggs, toast, and grilled tomatoes on a small pan over enchanted flame.
The smell filled the café. Zero poured his coffee into a ceramic mug and leaned against the counter, sipping quietly. His eyes closed. His shoulders dropped. It was the best cup he'd ever had.
…
Zero leaned back in his chair, hands cradling a nearly empty coffee mug. The morning sun filtered through the café windows, landing in soft squares on the wooden floor. His breakfast was gone—crumbs on the plate, warmth still lingering in his chest.
New day. New self. New world waiting outside the door. He stood, stretched, and gave a small sigh. "Alright. Time to make some friends." He brought his dishes to the sink and rinsed them clean with a practiced rhythm. The café's enchanted plumbing helped—water always warm, always clean, always flowing with a whisper rather than a roar.
Once done, he rolled up his sleeves with a grin. "Let's bake." His feet padded across the wooden floor as he made his way toward the backroom, the door tucked just behind the kitchen's main prep area. He opened it. And stared. It was massive.
Cold storage cabinets hummed quietly along the far wall, while long wooden racks displayed row upon row of ingredients: cured meats, cuts of beef, chicken, fish so fresh they looked ready to blink. Baskets of fruit gleamed under gentle preservation glyphs. Sacks of flour. Jars of exotic spices. Herbs in small bundles. Cheeses in wax paper. Even fresh butter, sitting on stone shelves kept magically chilled.
Zero blinked. Then laughed. "This is… Sanji's dream." He stepped inside, hands on his hips, turning slowly. "Cecil, you really went all out," he muttered. "If I ever pull Sanji's card, I think he might cry just walking in here." His fingers grazed the tops of spice jars as he selected ingredients. "For now, let's just keep it simple. Butter cookies. Friendly and classic." He returned to the kitchen and began working.
Flour, sugar, eggs, butter. He mixed the dough by hand, relishing the texture. It was easy. Familiar. Even joyful. The kind of quiet labor he always loved, even back in his old life. Kaelan never had much, but he'd always loved to cook. To bake. It made people smile.
Maybe this time around, it would lead to something more. A connection. A friend. A lover, even. Though fate… hadn't exactly been generous before. "Still," he muttered, rolling dough into neat balls on the tray, "you never know."
He moved like a man in harmony with his space. Cookies went into the oven. Timer set. Buttered parchment laid out for cooling. By the time he was finished, the café smelled like a childhood memory. He wore a black apron now—flour smudged along the side, a tiny streak on his cheek—but he was smiling. Softly. Without even realizing it.
The sun had climbed higher. He blinked at the clock. "Almost noon, huh?" He began packing the cookies into small bundles—three per bag, tied off with twine. Neat. Humble. Sincere. He gathered the first batch, slipped out from behind the counter, and opened the café's front door.
The street was alive with the noonday crowd. Vendors barked, enchanted carriages hissed to stops, and the smell of grilled meat mingled with city wind.
He stepped outside. First stop: the locksmith, tucked just to the left of his café. A shop older than the rest, with a faded sign and dusty window. Then to the right: the closed bookstore, its window shaded but its door creaked slightly ajar. Two neighbors. Two small gestures. Zero smiled. "Let's see who first."
The bell above the old locksmith's door jingled with a creaky lilt as Zero pushed it open.
The shop was dim and full of brass—wall after wall of keys, cogs, and half-disassembled lockboxes. The scent of oil and steel hung in the air like memory. Behind the counter sat an elderly dwarf couple: the wife standing behind a tall stool, the husband hunched over some stubborn piece of mechanism, peering through a magnifier strapped to his eye.
"Welcome," the dwarf woman called, her voice raspy but warm.
Zero smiled. "Hi. I'm the new owner of the café next door."
The man didn't look up. The woman leaned forward slightly, squinting. "Oh yeah, the one with the fancy window—Le-something?"
"LeBlanc," Zero said, holding up two little tied bundles of cookies. "I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself. Hopefully the café doesn't bother you—just figured I'd bring a little something."
The woman's eyes lit up as she reached for the cookies. "Why, thank you kindly, young man. You didn't have to."
"Ha!" the old dwarf man snorted without lifting his eyes. "Not like it's gonna be busy enough to bother anyone."
His wife turned, hand moving faster than expected for her age—SMACK. "Henry, stop being so harsh to the young man!"
"Ow! Dammit, Linda—"
Zero chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "It's fine."
Linda turned back with a tight but sincere smile. "Pardon my husband. He's been grumpy since the War of Creaking Knees."
Zero gave a short bow. "Nice to meet you both. I'm Zero. Zero Ashworth. The place is called Café LeBlanc. I'd love to have you drop by sometime—great coffee, cozy chairs. No lock-picking required."
Linda laughed. "We just might take you up on that. Blackstone Locksmith's been here since before that bookstore even opened. You're the first new neighbor we've had in years."
"Well," Zero said, taking a step back toward the door, "hope I didn't intrude. Thanks for the time."
"Of course. Bye now."
"Bye," he echoed.
As he stepped out into the street, sunlight warming the front of the café again, Zero allowed himself a small grin. 'Well, that wasn't bad at all.'
Then he turned toward the neighboring door—the bookstore. Its windows were shuttered and shaded, the old paint chipping slightly on the sign above. He approached slowly, holding the last cookie packet in one hand, and knocked. Once. Twice. A long silence.
Then, a faint sound: rustling inside. The creak of wood. Someone was there. The door cracked open slightly, just an inch. A shadowed face—impossible to make out clearly—peered at him through the narrow gap.
Zero smiled gently. "Hello. I'm your new neighbor. I just opened Café LeBlanc next door. I brought—"
SLAM.
The door shook on its hinges. From behind it, a voice barked. "Get out of this block, Taintedkind."
Zero stood still for a moment. Then sighed. "...Right." He looked down at the unopened cookie bag in his hands. After a beat, he smiled again. Not bitterly. Not with anger. Just with quiet resolve. "I guess it's not going to be a breeze, huh?"
He turned from the door and walked back onto the street. The city moved around him—loud, alive, indifferent. But Zero didn't waver. There was still a whole block left. He faced the street with shoulders squared and chin lifted, cookie bags in hand, and said to himself. "Let's see who's next."
**A/N**
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**A/N**