Beautiful Paradise, Beautiful Ugly / We Meet Again / Dawn District
< Nico Restaurant – Kitchen >
12:45 PM
The kitchen of Nico Restaurant was not designed for comfort.
It was designed for survival.
Metal counters reflected harsh white fluorescent lights. The air was thick with steam, frying oil, and the constant metallic clatter of knives hitting chopping boards. Industrial fans rotated above, but they did little to push away the heat trapped between ovens, boiling pots, and human bodies moving too quickly for the space they occupied.
Orders were shouted in clipped voices.
"Table 6—grill!"
"Soup is burning!"
"Rice, hurry up!"
It was a controlled chaos—one mistake away from disaster.
Jennifer stood at her station without rush.
Her movements were precise, almost mechanical in their calmness. The knife in her hand tapped against the wooden board in a steady rhythm—tap, slice, tap, slice. Vegetables fell into uniform pieces, as if measured rather than cut.
Her expression did not change.
Not even when sweat gathered at her temple.
Not even when the heat soaked through her uniform.
She simply existed in the work.
Beside her, Jessica leaned against a stainless steel counter, fanning herself with a plastic menu.
"I'm dying in this heat," Jessica complained, dragging her voice. "How are you not melting?"
Jennifer didn't look up.
"No."
That was all she said.
Jessica frowned.
"You always say 'no' like you're not human."
Jennifer lifted a steaming pot lid.
A wave of heat burst upward, fogging the air between them. She didn't react. Just stirred the contents slowly, watching bubbles rise and collapse.
"You don't need to hide your scars," Jessica said more softly now.
For a moment, Jennifer paused.
The kitchen noise filled the silence she didn't respond to.
Then, without emotion, she rolled up her sleeve.
The burn marks stretched along her forearm—uneven, pale, and rough like melted skin that had forgotten how to heal properly.
A few kitchen workers glanced.
Then quickly looked away.
Jennifer continued stirring.
As if the scars belonged to someone else.
"So what's the plan?" Jessica asked after a while.
Jennifer's hand stopped for half a second.
Then resumed.
"I don't know yet."
Her voice was low.
"But pushing him that far… wasn't smart."
Jessica's brow tightened.
"That wasn't our choice. What else were we supposed to do?"
Jennifer's eyes sharpened slightly.
Not anger.
Calculation.
"Still," she said. "We acted emotionally."
She placed the lid back on the pot.
Steam hissed violently around her wrist.
"I'll handle him," she added quietly. "Just don't interfere again."
Jessica looked at her for a long moment.
There was something unsettling about Jennifer when she spoke like that—calm, but absolute.
Like a decision already sealed.
"I don't like the sound of that," Jessica muttered.
Jennifer finally glanced at her.
A faint, almost unreadable smile touched her lips.
"You're not meant to."
A voice suddenly snapped from behind them.
"If you two keep chatting, you'll ruin the entire station!"
The assistant chopping vegetables froze mid-motion.
Jennifer turned her head slightly.
"You're shaking," she said to him calmly.
He stiffened.
"I—I'm fine!"
"You'll cut yourself," she said flatly.
Then she looked away again.
Like the matter no longer existed.
The kitchen timer rang sharply.
Orders slowed.
The rush was ending.
Jennifer wiped her hands, removed her gloves, and loosened her apron.
"I'm leaving."
Jessica blinked.
"So early?"
"The last table is served. I'm done."
A dishwasher looked up in shock.
"But the manager hasn't closed—"
Jennifer didn't wait for permission.
"If he wants me to work overtime, he should include my bonus."
Her tone was casual.
But final.
Something in it made no one argue further.
Jessica sighed.
"You're impossible."
Jennifer didn't answer.
She walked out.
< Nico Restaurant – Aftermath >
The shift in atmosphere was immediate.
The kitchen was no longer chaotic—just messy.
Police lights now flickered outside the restaurant windows, painting the walls in blue and red pulses.
Voices overlapped outside.
Cameras clicked.
People whispered.
Inside, Jennifer sat on a bench near the back corridor, a white cloth loosely wrapped around her neck and shoulder where a blade had grazed her earlier.
Her statement was being taken calmly.
No panic.
No trembling.
Just facts.
Jessica stood nearby, arms crossed tightly over her chest, watching Jennifer like she was trying not to break.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Jessica asked again.
"I'm fine," Jennifer replied.
Her tone did not change.
"Just a skin cut."
Across the room, the restaurant manager stood with a flushed face, sweating—not from heat this time, but from fear and humiliation. Officers moved around him, collecting documents, questioning staff, sealing evidence.
Jessica leaned closer.
"They found illegal records," she whispered.
Jennifer nodded once.
She already knew.
"This place is finished," Jessica added.
Jennifer looked at the manager.
Not with hatred.
Not with satisfaction.
Just understanding.
"That was expected."
Jessica swallowed.
"You could press charges."
"I won't."
Jessica turned sharply.
"What?"
Jennifer adjusted the bandage around her neck.
"I wasn't seriously injured. And they'll still pay compensation. No need to escalate it."
Jessica stared at her like she didn't recognize her.
"You're… too calm."
Jennifer smiled faintly.
"I've had worse things than knives."
Her voice dropped slightly.
"Fear is just noise."
Jessica's eyes reddened.
"You say that like it doesn't matter."
"It doesn't control me."
A pause.
"I survived things that should have ended me."
Jessica exhaled shakily.
"I just… don't want you to disappear one day."
Jennifer didn't respond immediately.
Then, quietly:
"I won't."
< Dawn District Neighborhood – Bus Incident >
Hours later, the city had cooled slightly.
The bus rattled through narrow roads of Dawn District, its windows half-open, letting in dusty wind mixed with exhaust fumes and street food smells.
Inside, passengers were packed too close together—shoulder brushing shoulder, bags pressing into legs, someone's plastic bag rustling constantly.
Jennifer sat near the window.
Her cheek still stung faintly from earlier.
Her sleeve covered the scarred arm again.
Outside, buildings blurred past—small shops, fading billboards, street vendors packing up, children running barefoot near gutters.
"Miss!"
A voice cut through the noise.
Jennifer slowly turned her head.
A teenage girl stood holding onto a pole, her school uniform slightly wrinkled, her face anxious.
"My grandmother is tired… can you please stand?"
The bus shifted sharply as it turned.
Everyone swayed.
Jennifer did not.
She looked at the empty space beside her.
Then at the crowd.
"No."
The answer was immediate.
Flat.
Final.
A murmur spread.
The girl blinked.
"Please… just for a moment."
An elderly woman nearby adjusted herself, breathing heavily.
"It's alright," the old woman said gently. "I'll manage."
Jennifer watched her.
Then spoke again.
"Others can stand if they want to."
The bus grew quieter.
Uncomfortable silence.
A man behind them frowned.
"That's disrespectful."
The girl stepped closer.
Jennifer sighed faintly.
Then slowly rolled up her sleeve.
The scars were visible again.
The reaction was instant.
Gasps.
Whispers.
The girl froze.
"I just came from the hospital," Jennifer said calmly, loud enough for everyone.
"I cannot stand."
The mood shifted.
Guilt replaced judgment.
The girl stammered apologies repeatedly.
The bus stopped soon after.
Jennifer stood, paid, and stepped out without looking back.
The air outside was colder.
Less suffocating.
She exhaled slowly.
< Dawn District Neighborhood – Prosopagnosia & Memory >
She walked alone down a quieter street.
Faces passed her constantly.
But none stayed.
None registered.
People were just moving shapes.
Voices mattered more.
Footsteps mattered more.
Her condition had long stopped feeling like a limitation.
It had become adaptation.
Prosopagnosia.
Face blindness.
She had learned to survive without recognition.
Three years in prison had stripped away even memory of familiar faces.
Even family.
Even herself sometimes.
A voice called out.
"Jennifer!"
She stopped.
Turned slowly.
"Who?"
The girl approached.
Excited.
Familiar in tone.
Not in face.
"You don't remember me?"
Jennifer narrowed her eyes.
"No."
A laugh.
"I'm Bella."
The name hit like a slow alarm.
Jennifer's body tightened slightly.
Bella stepped closer, red dress catching dim streetlight, lips curved like she had already won something.
"I helped you four years ago," she said lightly.
Jennifer's mind shifted instantly.
Prison memory.
Cold walls.
Violence disguised as routine.
And Bella.
The one inmate everyone avoided.
The one who smiled too much.
The one who poisoned people and called it curiosity.
Jennifer's eyes sharpened.
Of all people…
Bella tilted her head.
"You haven't changed."
Jennifer's shoulders stiffened.
"I could say the same."
Wind moved between them.
Cold.
Unfriendly.
Bella smiled wider.
"Let's talk somewhere quieter," she said. "The street is too exposed."
Jennifer didn't move.
Her mind calculated distance.
Escape routes.
Risk level.
Threat probability.
Everything.
Then she answered calmly:
"Why?"
Bella's smile deepened.
"Because I missed you."
And for the first time that day…
Jennifer felt something close to warning.
Not fear.
Recognition.
♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁