His hands are already moving, selecting ingredients from the wall of jars behind him. "You can eat while it's hot," Zero said, "Please, enjoy. I have a great chef, so I can guarantee the quality."
The beastman paused, his spoon hovering over the bowl. "You're not the one who made it?"
"Oh, no," Zero replied with an easy smile, not looking up from his work. "I'm okay with cooking, but Soma... Soma is one of the best chefs you will ever encounter."
The beastman's golden eyes glanced toward the empty kitchen. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod and finally dipped his spoon into the congee.
The moment it touched his tongue, his entire body went rigid. It was as if his tongue, which for his entire life had only known the simple, coarse flavors of roasted meat and trail rations, had been asleep and in an instant decided to wake up. A wave of complex, layered tastes washed over him—the deep, comforting savoriness of the rice, the rich creaminess of the egg yolk, the sharp, clean bite of the scallions. It was a flavor profile so perfectly balanced and utterly new that it felt borderline magical. He stared into the bowl, then back at Zero.
"Is your chef a mage?" he asked, his voice losing some of its gruffness, replaced by genuine bewilderment.
Zero, who was carefully grinding a dark, resinous bark with a mortar and pestle, smiled without looking up. A soft chuckle escaped him. "No, he's not," he said proudly. "He's just that good."
The beastman said nothing more. He simply ate, each spoonful a new discovery. He ate quickly, efficiently, but with a reverence he had never before afforded a meal. By the time he had scraped the bowl clean, a profound sense of satisfaction had settled deep in his bones.
As he set the spoon down with a soft click, Zero slid a heavy, dark ceramic mug across the counter toward him. "And now, your drink."
The liquid inside was a deep, opaque black, with steam rising from the surface in slow, deliberate curls. The beastman leaned forward, inhaling the aroma. It was uncanny. The dominant scent was the sharp, clean bitterness of something like burnt wood, but woven through it was the unmistakable, earthy fragrance of a pine forest just after a heavy rain. It was the exact smell of his memories.
He lifted the heavy mug, its warmth seeping into his hands, and took a cautious sip.
The taste was a perfect echo of the aroma. A powerful, bitter wave washed over his palate first—the taste of smoked ironwood and dark-roasted herbs. But it didn't linger. It was immediately followed by a smooth, clean finish that left behind the subtle, refreshing aftertaste of pine and damp earth. It was everything he had described, but translated into a language of flavor he never knew existed. It wasn't just a drink; it was a memory distilled, a moment of quiet solitude by a campfire captured in a cup.
He closed his eyes, the gruff lines on his face softening for just a fraction of a second. He took another, longer drink, letting the warmth spread through his chest. After a long, profound silence, he finally lowered the mug and looked at Zero. His gaze was no longer just intense; it was filled with a deep, grudging respect.
"You listen well," the beastman rumbled. He pushed the empty congee bowl forward slightly. "How much for the meal?"
Zero let out a small, awkward laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Well," he began, his professional demeanor cracking for the first time, "we're kind of new. As in, this is our first day opening. And I'm not from around here." He met the beastman's intense gaze with frank honesty. "It might sound strange, but I don't have any references for what the price should be."
The beastman was silent for a long moment, his golden eyes searching Zero's face, trying to discern if this was a trick. When he saw only earnest uncertainty, his gruff expression shattered. A deep, rumbling laugh erupted from his chest, a sound like stones tumbling downhill that filled the entire café.
"Hahahaha! I knew you were new," he boomed, "but this is truly fascinating! You open a business with no prices!"
Zero chuckled as well, the tension breaking. "You can see my problem, then. How about this? You can give us what you think the meal and the drink were worth."
The beastman's laughter subsided, and he looked down at the empty bowl and the half-empty mug. His expression turned serious once more. "You gave me the taste of comfort and a memory I thought was long gone," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I'm no rich merchant, but I know that's worth more than any fancy meal served in a royal court." He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, worn leather pouch. "So, I'm sorry to give you this, but it's all I can offer you today."
He placed several coins on the counter. They weren't the heavy silver Soles the dwarfs had left, but smaller, copper coins. It wasn't a large sum, but it was offered with a gravity that made it feel priceless.
"Thank you," Zero said, his voice soft with sincerity. "It's more than enough."
"Alright then, Mister...?" the beastman asked, pushing himself up from the chair.
"Zero," he replied. "Zero Ashworth. And you?"
The beastman paused, his hand on the strap of his coat. "I'm nothing but a mere, forgotten sailor," he said, his gaze distant. "But I'll be back. I'm curious about tomorrow's menu."
"I'll look forward to it," Zero said with a genuine smile. "Have a good day then... Captain."
The beastman stopped dead, his hand frozen halfway to the door. He turned his head just slightly, his golden eyes locking onto Zero's for a fraction of a second. He didn't smile, but the hard lines of his face seemed to soften. He gave a single, sharp nod, then turned and pushed the door open.
Ding.
The bell chimed as the door swung shut, leaving Zero alone in the quiet café with the warm scent of woodsmoke and the copper coins from his first, true customer.
Zero reached out and gathered the copper coins from the counter. They were warm from the beastman's pouch, worn smooth around the edges from years of circulation. He turned one over in his palm. On one side was a simple crest of a balanced scale, and on the other, the clear marking "1 Sol."
"I guess copper is 1 Sol and silver is 10 Sol," he muttered to himself, the kingdom's currency system slowly taking shape in his mind. "Do they have gold coins for 100 Sol, I wonder?"
He carefully counted the payment the Captain had left behind. Sixteen copper coins. Sixteen Sol.
A wide, heartfelt smile spread across Zero's face. He clutched the coins in his hand as if they were a treasure. In a way, they were. This was different from the dwarfs' payment. Linda and Henry were his neighbors; their patronage was an act of kindness, an obligation. But the Captain... he was a stranger, a true customer won over by their craft. This money felt earned.
With a renewed sense of purpose, he walked over to the cash register and dropped the sixteen coins into the slot. Just like before, they didn't clatter into a drawer but vanished in a soft shimmer of light. A moment later, the register's screen glowed.
[+16 Gacha Points Added]
[Current Balance: 46]
Zero looked at the new total, a determined glint in his eye. He had a long way to go, but now he had a path. A clear, tangible goal for him and Soma to work toward.
"Alright," he said to the empty café, his voice full of quiet resolve. "954 more for the next 11 gacha then."
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows down the alley, the flow of customers trickled to a stop. Zero had served several more people throughout the afternoon. Most were quiet, awkward transactions. A human student who nursed a single coffee for two hours, eyes glued to a textbook. A pair of dwarves who grumbled about the lack of ale but drank their tea without complaint. A few refused his offer of a personalized drink, their desire to minimize interaction with a "Taintedkind" clear. Zero could see why, but he didn't mind. The fact that they stayed, paid, and left without incident was a small victory in itself.
He was wiping down the counter, wondering when Soma would return, when the bell above the door finally chimed.
Soma stepped inside, a tired but triumphant smile on his face. He hung his work jacket on a nearby stand and stretched. "Hey boss," he said cheerfully. "How was the business?"
Zero gestured toward the front door with his cleaning rag. "Flip that sign, will you? It's almost dark. I don't think we'll be getting any more customers."
"Done." Soma flipped the sign to 'CLOSED'. "So, how did the congee do?"
"Good thing you didn't make a huge pot," Zero said, moving into the kitchen area to start on the growing pile of dishes. "Because there are leftovers."
"Damn," Soma muttered, his shoulders slumping. "I already made less than I wanted to, and it still didn't sell out."
"Calm down, it was our first day," Zero said patiently, turning on the enchanted tap.
Soma came into the kitchen to help, then immediately stopped. He pointed at the stack of clean, drying bowls Zero had just washed. "Hey, that's not where those go. The deep bowls go on the lower shelf, it's better for airflow."
"Shut up," Zero retorted without turning around. "I know what I'm doing."
"Clearly, you don't," Soma insisted, barging into the cramped kitchen space. He began moving the dishes Zero had just placed, rearranging them to his own exacting standards. As they both moved around the tiny, narrow kitchen—Zero washing, Soma drying and putting away—they kept bumping into each other. An elbow here, a hip check there.
"Ow, watch it," Zero grumbled.
"Maybe if you put things in the right place, I wouldn't have to be in your space," Soma shot back, reaching over him for a towel.
As Zero turned from the sink and Soma moved to put the last bowl away, they misjudged the space entirely and bumped squarely into each other, foreheads connecting with a solid thwack.
In that single instant, the world dissolved.
For Zero, it was a dizzying, overwhelming flood. The awe of the grand library, the weight of the history book in his hands, the disorienting shock of seeing the ghost of America on a map, the quiet, intelligent voice of Director Belkas—all of Soma's experiences poured into his mind not as a story, but as a memory he had lived himself.
For Soma, the transfer was just as violent. He felt the sting of a dozen customers' disgust, the quiet pride of serving the white tiger beastman, the feel of the warm copper coins, the awkwardness of explaining he had no prices. He lived Zero's entire day in a single, heart-stopping second.
They both stumbled back, clutching their heads, eyes wide with shock. They stared at each other for a silent, disbelieving moment, processing the torrent of shared experience.
Then, at the exact same time, they both yelled.
"You didn't put fixed prices on the meals and drinks?!" Soma shouted, aghast at the sheer business insanity.
"You became chummy with the director of the Royal Library?!" Zero roared, bewildered by his clone's impossible social success.
**A/N**
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**A/N**