After their final goodbye to the Captain, Zero flipped the sign on the door to 'CLOSED' and slid the heavy bolt into place with a satisfying thunk. The café, which had been a storm of noise and activity just an hour ago, was now profoundly, beautifully silent.
"That was exhausting," Zero sighed, slumping against the door. "I don't know if I can do that every day for the next week."
Soma, already at the sink tackling the last of their dinner dishes, didn't seem to share the sentiment. "I don't know," he said, a strange energy still buzzing in his voice as he scrubbed a plate with vigor. "That was a challenge. I loved it."
Zero looked up, surprised. "Whoa, what happened to you? Yesterday, you were bummed about the leftover congee. Why are you so eager to compete all of a sudden?"
"Oh, wait... yeah," Soma said, pausing his washing. He looked down at his hands as if they belonged to someone else. "Now that I think about it, I did feel... something. During the festival. It's just... somehow, I can't imagine myself losing when it comes to cooking."
Something in Zero's head clicked. The unshakeable confidence, the thrill of competition, the absolute refusal to accept defeat in the kitchen... it wasn't just Soma's personality. It was a core component of the character he was based on.
"It was your trait," Zero realized aloud.
Soma looked over his shoulder, confused. "My what?"
"Your trait," Zero repeated, walking over to the cash register and running a hand over its cool, metallic surface. "It's a kind of behavior that comes with the card. A piece of the original character's personality."
The idea settled on Soma, and for a moment, he looked thoughtful. Am I just a clone? he wondered. Or am I something else now, with this... added trait?
His existential thoughts were abruptly cut short by a loud shout from Zero.
"HOLY SHIT!"
Soma jumped, nearly dropping the plate he was holding. "What happened?!"
He looked over and saw Zero staring at the register's screen, his eyes wide and teary with disbelief. "The Gacha points," Zero whispered, his voice trembling with excitement. "It's... it's almost at a thousand."
"What? Are you sure?" Soma said, quickly wiping his wet hands on his apron and rushing over.
Zero nodded happily, his face illuminated by the screen's soft glow. "Look! It's at 659!"
Soma stared. The number pulsed gently on the screen. All the stress, all the chaos, all the hard work of the day had paid off in a way they hadn't dared to imagine. "Whoa," he breathed. "That was... fast."
A massive, giddy grin broke across Zero's face. He grabbed Soma's hands, pulling him away from the register and into another wild, celebratory dance on the café floor.
"Let's gooo!" Zero shouted, spinning them both in a joyous circle. "We are etching our name into this world, baby!!"
The morning sun streamed into the loft, painting the wooden floor in stripes of gold. The air was still and quiet, filled only with the promise of a new day. For the first time in a long time—perhaps ever—Zero woke up feeling not just rested, but genuinely cheerful.
He found Soma already in the kitchen, humming to himself as he looked over their stock of ingredients.
"What's on the menu for today, Chef?" Zero asked, his voice bright.
Soma turned, a focused glint in his eye. "Alright, listen up. For breakfast, we're going to hit them with something they've never seen: fluffy, jiggly Soufflé Pancakes with a berry compote and fresh cream. For the lunch rush, something fast, hearty, and comforting: Oyakodon—a chicken and egg rice bowl. And for dinner," he grinned, "we'll blow them away with a rich, deep Tonkotsu Ramen that's been simmering for hours."
Zero whistled, impressed. "Ambitious. Do you think that would work with coffee or tea?"
Soma waved a hand dismissively. "You handle the drinks, I trust you. You're the mysterious drink wizard, after all."
Zero chuckled. "You better trust me. You are me." They shared a laugh, the easy camaraderie filling the quiet morning.
They took turns getting ready, the simple domesticity of it—showering, dressing, preparing for a day of work together—feeling both strange and wonderfully normal. As Soma came out of the bedroom, dressed in his usual practical attire, he saw Zero donning the flowing blue robes and the wide-brimmed hat with its obscuring black veil.
"Why are you still wearing shit like that?" Soma asked, his voice softer than usual.
Zero paused, his hands adjusting the veil. "They're more comfortable with me like this," he said quietly, "than they are with my horns out."
Soma's expression softened. "You don't know that for sure."
A sad, knowing smile touched Zero's lips, though it was hidden by the gauze. "Come on, you don't need to lie to me. You were there," he said, referencing their shared memories. "You saw their faces before. They all left the café. The only reason yesterday was a success was because the new customers didn't know I was a demon."
"Are you going to hide forever, then?" Soma pressed gently. "The Captain didn't mind, you know."
"The Captain is one person," Zero countered, his voice laced with a deep, weary longing. "I just... I just want to be treated like a normal person for a while. Is that so much to ask?"
Soma sighed, the fight going out of him. He understood. He was him, after all. "Okay," he conceded. "But you make sure that veil of yours doesn't get a single thread anywhere near my food, or I'll make you wash dishes for a month."
Zero's cheerful demeanor returned in an instant. "Yes, Chef!" he chirped, giving a mock salute.
Café LeBlanc was no longer a secret. It was a sensation.
Within a day of the Grey Tide Festival, the quiet alleyway had transformed into the most exclusive waiting room in the entire city. A line of people, diverse and ever-growing, snaked from the café's unassuming wooden door all the way to the main thoroughfare. Wealthy merchants in fine silks stood patiently behind rugged-looking city guards, and curious university students whispered excitedly next to stoic elves who looked as though they'd never waited for anything in their lives. The air, once smelling of little more than damp cobblestone, was now permanently perfumed with the heavenly aromas wafting from Soma's kitchen.
The allure wasn't just the food, though the Master Chef rank dishes were the primary draw. It was the entire, bizarre, wonderful experience. It was the thrill of entering a tiny, quaint café that looked like it had been forgotten by time, only to be served a meal that could make angels weep. It was the dynamic of the two "brothers" who ran the place: the fiery, red-haired genius who cooked with a passion that was a spectacle in itself, and the silent, enigmatic owner who moved behind the bar like a shadow.
The mysterious veiled man became a legend in his own right. People would watch, fascinated, as he prepared drinks with a silent, focused grace, his movements precise and mesmerizing. Whispers and theories abounded. Was he a disgraced noble hiding his face in shame? A powerful mage whose features were too dangerous to behold? The mystery only deepened their fascination.
While they waited, customers would inevitably turn their attention to the single piece of art in the café: the painting by the door. The beautiful, melancholic woman in the red dress, her gaze downcast beneath a canopy of blossoms. "Sayuri," the painting was titled. She became the silent patron saint of their wait, another layer of the café's burgeoning lore.
For five straight days, the rhythm was the same. A frantic, exhilarating rush from dawn until dusk. Soufflé Pancakes that vanished like sweet clouds in the morning, rich Oyakodon that sold out by noon, and deep, soul-warming Tonkotsu Ramen that had people sighing with pleasure in the evening. Their Gacha points soared, quickly surpassing the thousand-point mark and continuing to climb.
Late one night, after the last customer had finally, reluctantly, departed, Soma leaned against the counter, watching Zero count their earnings. "We have more than enough now," Soma said, a hungry, competitive glint in his eye. "Let's do the 11-pull. I want to see what we get."
Zero finished stacking the coins and looked at the glowing number on the register. It was well over two thousand. He could feel the power thrumming within the machine, the siren's call of another Gacha pull. But he hesitated. "Let's... let's hold off for a bit," he said quietly.
Soma frowned. "Why? We hit the goal. We crushed it."
"I know," Zero said, a faint, superstitious tremor in his voice. "It's just... this is the first time in my life—in either life—that things have gone this well. I just want to... collect a little more of this good luck before we spend it. Just to be sure."
Soma looked at him, at the genuine, deep-seated fear of a lifetime of misfortune that still lingered behind his eyes. He, of all people, understood. He chuckled softly. "Alright, boss. We'll hoard our luck for a little while longer."
But their sudden, meteoric success did not just bring them a line of eager customers and a hoard of Gacha points. Their little café, once invisible, was now a bright, shining beacon on the city's map. And such a light, they were beginning to realize, did not just attract moths. It also attracted unwanted, and far more dangerous, attention.
One evening, dinner service was winding down. The frantic rush had subsided into a comfortable, steady hum of quiet conversation and the clinking of cutlery. The line was gone, replaced by a handful of regulars who savored the café's peaceful atmosphere. Their favorite, the Captain, had yet to arrive. Zero and Soma had learned his habits; the proud beastman preferred the quiet of the late evening, never showing himself when the café was crowded. Zero found himself glancing at the windows, watching the sky outside deepen from bruised purple to inky black, anticipating the familiar ding of the bell that would announce their first customer's arrival.
Ding.
The bell chimed, sharp and sudden. Zero and Soma turned from their tasks, a synchronized, welcoming smile on their faces. "Welcome!" they said in unison.
The smiles froze.
The men who stepped inside were not regulars. They were predators. One was a tall, wiry elf, the other a stout, smirking human. Both were dressed in identical, garish striped suits sharp enough to cut glass, their dark hair slicked back with an oiliness that had nothing to do with style. A lit cigarette dangled from each of their mouths, thin plumes of smoke curling into the warm, coffee-scented air.
The human strode forward, his eyes scanning the room with an unnerving, proprietary arrogance. "Well, well," he said, his voice a lazy drawl that didn't match the predatory glint in his eyes. "Who do we have here?"
Zero, a bit taken aback by the man's aggressive tone, maintained his composure. "What can I get for you, sir?" he asked, his voice polite and even from behind his veil.
The human ignored the question. He swaggered over to the bar and slid onto a stool next to a scrawny man who was quietly finishing his meal. He threw a heavy arm over the scrawny man's shoulders, making him flinch. "Look at this," the thug said to his captive audience of one. "The mysterious man. He doesn't even know who I am."
"I apologize if I don't recognize you, sir," Zero said calmly. "I'm new to the city."
The man let out a short, manic laugh. He reached slowly into the breast pocket of his striped suit. The remaining customers tensed. With a flourish, he pulled out a heavy, rune-etched revolver.
BANG!
The gunshot was deafening in the small café. The scrawny man screamed. Zero didn't flinch, but he felt the air whip past his ear as the bullet slammed into the wall behind him, shattering a large glass jar of dark-roast coffee beans. The comforting aroma of coffee was instantly tainted by the acrid smell of spent magic.
By the door, the elf had drawn his own pistol, holding a finger to his lips in a universal "shush" gesture to the terrified customers.
Zero stood perfectly still. So did Soma, who had frozen in the kitchen doorway, his eyes burning with a dangerous light.
The human thug laughed again, enjoying the fear he had created. With a flick of his wrist, he slapped Zero's veiled hat away. It flew off the counter, revealing Zero's dark, elegant horns to the entire room.
"Well, look at that," the man sneered, the slur dripping from his lips like poison. "Turns out the mysterious man is just another Taintedfuck."
The terror on the remaining customers' faces didn't vanish, but it was joined by something else, something uglier: a familiar, cold disgust. Zero had expected it. He had dreaded it. And here it was.
"What do you want from m—"
Zero's words were cut off as the man's hand shot out, yanking one of his horns with a wrenching twist that sent a bolt of pure agony through his skull. With the same motion, the thug slammed Zero's face down onto the hard wood of the bar table.
A woman screamed. Soma, who had been frozen, tensed, every muscle in his body coiling like a spring. A low, guttural growl started in his chest, and his hand instinctively reached for the heavy cleaver on the prep block. But through the pain, Zero lifted one hand just slightly, a clear gesture: Stay down.
"Alright, ladies and gents," the elf by the door said calmly. "Today's meal will be on the house. So you can all clear the area now. Right, Taintedfuck?"
Zero didn't say anything, his cheek pressed against the wood. The human grabbed his hair and slammed his face into the counter again, harder this time. "Answer him, Tainted," he shouted.
Zero gulped, the taste of blood in his mouth. "Yes," he managed to choke out. "It's... on the house."
One by one, not meeting his eyes, the customers fled the café, leaving Zero and Soma alone with their new, unwanted business partners.
**A/N**
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**A/N**