On the third morning, which was cool and clear with mist rising from the lake like breath on a chilly window, Jun awoke to the sound of birds and the distant hum of a motorboat somewhere across the water, which vanished as fast as it had appeared.
His body was already getting used to the futon on the floor, so he sat up slowly and stretched before using the basic setup he had purchased from the app to make his coffee. The beans were just the starter blend that had been included with his initial purchase, and the coffee maker was a straightforward drip machine that worked flawlessly.
However, he drank the hot coffee while sitting at his table and gazing out the window he had fixed the day before at the lake. Even though the frame still needed improvement and the glass was still slightly smudged, it was still a window rather than a hole, which was a step forward.
There was absolutely no wobbling of the table. He had done a good job building it.
With a specific goal in mind, he finished his coffee, cleaned the cup in the tiny sink he had set up, and went downstairs to the basement. The day before, he had noticed something hidden behind boxes and covered in years' worth of dust, and he knew right away that it was unique.
The smell of earth, old wood, and something else he couldn't quite place—something metallic and slightly sweet—permeated the basement, which was colder than the main floor. He pulled the string for the bare bulb and surveyed the room, which was filled with boxes, outdated furniture, coiled hoses, and rusty tools that had been left there for years.
He made his way through the mess to the back corner, where a big shape was sitting under a tarp of dusty canvas. Dust particles whirled like snowflakes in the low light as he pulled the tarp away, and there it was.
An espresso machine.
This was the type of vintage Italian espresso maker that coffee lovers would pay thousands of dollars for; Jun had previously seen images of such machines in magazines and online. This one was made of brass and chrome, had a hand-lever on the side, and had a heavy base that suggested fine craftsmanship. Despite the dirt and dust covering it, Jun could still see that it had once been lovely.
He felt the weight of the metal, the skill of the craftsmanship, and the years of love that had gone into this machine as he reached out and touched the brass, leaving clean streaks on its tarnished surface.
This was Grandfather's machine.
He didn't need to be told. The design and materials had a quality that suggested something that had been chosen with love, used, treasured, and cared for with the kind of attention that only comes from true affection.
As Jun ran his fingers along the machine's side, tracing the smooth chrome of the lever and the curves of the brass, he could picture his grandfather standing at this machine, pulling shots of espresso for his patrons while the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air and steam hissed.
He had to carry it upstairs.
He had to make three trips to retrieve all the parts, the machine itself, and the numerous accessories that had been packed with it. A vintage grinder with a hand crank and a cracked but still working wooden base was also present. A knock box, a tamper, and a number of tiny metal pitchers that had become tarnished over time were all present. Even coffee cups were present; they were thick ceramic objects with a straightforward design that were still functional despite having chips around the edges.
After carrying everything to the main floor and placing it on the counter behind the bar—the same bar where his grandfather had previously worked—he stood staring at the machine and felt a sensation in his chest. There was a subtle warmth that he didn't feel the need to describe—not quite emotion, not quite gratitude.
He cleaned for the next hour.
It was a methodical, slow, almost meditative process. After adding dish soap to a basin of warm water, he started cleaning every surface of the years' worth of dust and grime. The brass took the longest to shine again; it needed to be carefully polished with a gentle cloth until it was warm, golden, and exquisite.
He wiped every cup and saucer until they gleamed in the afternoon sun, cleaned the chrome until it reflected light, and scrubbed the boiler's interior until the water ran clear. The grinder also required attention; the wooden base needed to be polished until it shone and the burrs needed to be cleaned.
The machine appeared nearly brand new by the time he was finished.
As he stood back and observed his work, Jun experienced a subtle sense of fulfillment that had nothing to do with success but rather with the act itself, with the straightforward joy of bringing back something that had been cherished but forgotten.
He carefully positioned the machine on the bar so that it faced the lake and the window, and he connected it to the water supply that he had set up the day before. After adding fresh water to the boiler and turning on the electricity, the machine began to hum and vibrate softly, almost like it was alive.
The hand crank of the antique grinder moved smoothly as he ground some beans, and the beans crumbled, cracked, and released a promise-like aroma into the air. He used the tiny metal tamper to tamp down the coffee after filling the portafilter with the grounds. He could feel the coffee's density and how it compressed under the pressure, and he knew instinctively that it was correct.
He secured the portafilter and depressed the lever, causing the apparatus to emit a low hiss of water and steam as it moved through the system, giving the impression that it was breathing.
After that, nothing emerged.
Jun gave it another go, changing the portafilter's pressure and coffee volume, but nothing came out. The water wouldn't pass through the coffee, even though the machine was humming, hissing, and operating as it should.
He made numerous attempts.
After five tries, he became so irritated that he had to move away from the machine to catch his breath. He went to the window and gazed out at the lake, which was motionless, serene, and unaffected by his troubles. He watched it for a considerable amount of time until his annoyance subsided enough to allow him to think clearly.
He returned to the machine and gave it a closer look in an attempt to identify the issue. He examined the water line, the pressure gauge, and the numerous tubes and valves that comprised the internal operations, but he was unable to identify any obvious problems.
So he made the decision to disassemble it.
For someone who had never tried anything similar before, it was a risky move, but Jun was past the point of caution. He started the laborious process of disassembling the machine piece by piece after finding a set of tools in the basement and bringing them up.
The boiler was the first to come off, solid and heavy, and he carefully placed it aside. Next, he mentally marked the tubes and valves so he could reposition them. The pressure gauge followed, followed by the lever assembly and all the tiny brass fittings that joined everything.
In order to avoid losing anything, he worked methodically and slowly, spreading each piece out on a fresh towel. He could see that the water lines were partially blocked by scale, and the machine's interior was covered in a white layer of mineral deposits accumulated over years of use.
That was the issue.
For the next hour, he carefully reassembled everything in the opposite order that he had disassembled it, cleaned the scale out of every tube and fitting, and scrubbed the boiler with a solution of vinegar and water until the inside was clean and shiny.
His smartphone chimed from where he had left it on the counter as he was reassembling the last component and tightening the last connection.
At first, he didn't pay attention to the notifications because he was too preoccupied with the machine. However, when it chimed again, more persistently, he picked it up after wiping his hands on his shirt.
The screen displayed a notification that was illuminated by the same gentle golden glow.
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[New Skill Acquired: Coffee Brewing]
[Level: 10/10 - Mastery]
[Description: The skill of making the ideal cup of coffee. You understand beans, grind size, water temperature, pressure, and extraction time perfectly at this level, and your coffee is always outstanding.]
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After reading the notification twice, Jun put down the phone and turned to face the assembled device.
It made sense to him now. Not just the mechanics, but the entire procedure, including how temperature, pressure, and water worked together to extract the flavors and oils from the coffee grounds. He had a new understanding of the machine and knew exactly what had to be done.
He poured freshly ground coffee into the portafilter, applied the proper pressure, and secured it. When he depressed the lever, the machine responded with a hiss of steam and a low hum before the water started to flow.
It turned out rich and dark with a layer of golden crema on top, and Jun had never smelled anything like it. It smelled like coffee that had been made with love, care, and precision. It was deep and complex, full of chocolate, nuts, and something fruity underneath.
Enthralled by the flow of liquid gold, Jun watched the shot pull. When it was done, he picked up the tiny ceramic cup, held it to his face, and inhaled the scent.
Layers of dark chocolate, caramel, and a hint of citrus danced at the periphery of his vision, creating an enticing aroma. When he tipped the cup, the thick, golden crema clung to the sides like silk, forming a perfect crown over the dark liquid below.
Reaching for the cup, he took a sip.
The coffee was flawless.
It had layers of flavor that developed on his tongue like a narrative, and it was rich, smooth, and complex. A wave of toasted nuts and caramel lingered on his palate, followed by a bright citrus finish that cut through the richness like a ray of sunlight through morning fog. The first note was dark chocolate, deep and bittersweet.
Additionally, he tasted something that seemed to be warmth, coziness, and a love that had been waiting for him. He knew that this was what his grandfather had wanted him to discover.
He took his time drinking the remainder of the shot, relishing each drop. When he was done, he put the cup down, gazed at the machine, and experienced a nearly palpable bond with his grandfather.
To check if the first shot was an anomaly, he made himself another one, and it was equally as good. A third was even better after he made a small adjustment to the grind to see what would happen.
Over the course of the next hour, he experimented, learned about the machine's peculiarities, made shot after shot, tasted each one, and refined his technique until he reached what seemed like perfection. The coffee had evolved into something more than just coffee; it now carried a comfort and warmth that transcended the material world.
The machine hummed, hissed, and breathed in time with his own heartbeat, and the beans seemed to react to his touch, releasing their aroma as if they were eager to be transformed. His hands moved with a precision and grace that felt natural, like coming home, as he was totally engrossed in the process.
He didn't care that by the time he was finished, he had used half of his starter beans, his shirt was streaked with grounds, and his hands were stained with coffee oils. He had found something meaningful, logical, and as though it had always been a part of him.
After pouring the remaining experiments into the sink, he thoroughly cleaned the machine, wiping down the counter and rearranging the grinder, cups, and accessories. With the shiny espresso machine as its focal point and the assortment of cups neatly arranged on the shelf behind it, the bar was starting to look like a proper coffee bar.
The cafe was beginning to feel authentic.
As the sun started to set and the lake outside the window turned warm and golden, Jun made himself one last shot of espresso, carried the cup to his table, sat down, and gazed out at the water.
The coffee was flawless.
He drank it slowly, enjoying every sip, and watched as the sunset painted the sky with pink, orange, and deep purple hues that mirrored the lake's surface.
The world was calm, serene, and lovely, and Jun experienced a serenity that had nothing to do with extravagant gestures but rather with small pleasures like a cup of coffee, a view of the water, and the silent fulfillment of having discovered something significant.
He found his notebook and opened it to the next empty page, and he wrote:
"Day 3. Found Grandfather's espresso machine in the basement. Took it apart, cleaned it, fixed it. Learned how to make real coffee. The machine was clogged with scale. Now it works perfectly."
"The coffee is the best I've ever had. I don't know if it's the machine or the beans or just the fact that it's Grandfather's, but something about it feels different. Feels special."
"The bar is starting to look like a bar. The cafe is starting to feel like a cafe."
He shut the notebook and turned to face the lake. The sky was getting darker now, with the first stars emerging in the purple twilight. From its position on the bar, the machine hummed softly, and Jun experienced a silent satisfaction that required no words.
He watched the lights of the far-off town begin to twinkle in the distance, the lake grow dark, and the stars come out for a long time before going to bed when the cold began to seep in through the windows.
There would be more to construct tomorrow.