"The one wearing glasses over there—yes, you." The arsonist's voice carried across the kitchen with disturbing clarity. "You dared to ruin my plan back then. I'll remember you. We still have a long way to go!"
The supervisor and assembled staff followed his gaze.
All eyes landed on Jude.
Jude, for his part, stood quietly by the industrial sink, doing his absolute best impression of a statue. A very still, very innocent, very uninvolved statue that definitely hadn't ruined anyone's plans.
"Jude?" One of the line cooks leaned closer. "Is he talking about you?"
"Definitely not me." Jude shook his head with decisive certainty. "I haven't even seen this person before. He must have me confused with someone else."
The tied-up arsonist's eyes bulged. His face flushed crimson with rage.
"FUCK YOU!" He lunged against his restraints, nearly toppling the waiters holding him. "Look me in the eye and say you don't know me! You're DEAD! No one can save you! Do you hear me? You're FUCKING DEAD!"
"Okay, okay, take him away already." Supervisor Philip waved a disgusted hand, leaning heavily on his crutch. "I've heard enough."
Several employees immediately grabbed newspaper—conveniently abundant in a restaurant kitchen—wadded it into a ball, and stuffed it into the arsonist's mouth. His muffled screaming continued as they dragged him toward the back exit where GCPD was waiting.
Jude met Philip's scrutinizing gaze with a smile.
Awkward. Polite. Trying very hard to appear natural and not at all like someone who'd just been threatened with death by a mysterious arsonist he claimed not to recognize.
The smile came out stiff anyway.
"Jude." Philip's sigh carried the weight of a thousand accumulated frustrations. "You really can cause trouble."
He reached out with his free hand—the one not supporting the crutch—and patted Jude's shoulder with what might have been sympathy or resignation or possibly the beginning of a stress-induced heart attack.
"The restaurant is closing tomorrow. We've barely been open a month since Batman's raid, and you've already caused this kind of problem." Philip shook his head slowly. "I'm not a superstitious man, Jude. But whatever religion you practice—I'm staying as far away from it as possible."
"I believe in whatever's useful. It doesn't cost money, so I believe in a little bit of everything—"
"SHUT UP!"
Philip lunged forward on his crutches with surprising speed, free hand clamping over Jude's mouth before he could finish that sentence.
"Any actual religious person in this restaurant would beat you to death if they heard that," he hissed. "Do you have any sense of self-preservation?"
Jude nodded obediently behind the hand.
Philip released him, breathing hard, color high in his face from the exertion of moving quickly on an injured leg.
Jude racked his brain for something—anything—he could say to make this situation better. Some words of comfort, some gesture of goodwill, some compensation for the supervisor's clearly deteriorating mental health.
His eyes landed on the chandelier above.
"Boss—" Jude's smile brightened with genuine enthusiasm. "At least the chandelier isn't broken this time!"
Silence.
Philip's face turned red. Then redder. Then a shade approaching purple.
He raised his crutch like a weapon, arm trembling with the effort of restraining himself from bringing it down on Jude's skull. For several long seconds, the entire kitchen held its breath, waiting to see if the supervisor would finally snap.
Then Philip's face went pale.
The crutch lowered.
He shifted his weight, adjusted his plastered foot with visible pain, took a deep breath—held it—released it slowly through his nose.
When he spoke again, his voice had returned to something approaching normal volume and tone.
The man's stress management skills had clearly made tremendous progress over the past few months. Either that or he'd simply burned through all his remaining capacity for emotional response and achieved a zen-like state of pure exhaustion.
"Don't you ever—" Philip's voice was quiet now, controlled. "—mention anything about chandeliers again. Ever. Do you understand me? That goes for everyone."
The kitchen staff nodded in unison.
"The restaurant will be closed tomorrow." Philip continued, each word measured and deliberate. "We've already paid two weeks' wages tonight. Tomorrow, I want you to stay away from the restaurant. I need to give my heart a rest."
"Oh." Jude brightened. "So that's a day off."
"Actually—" Philip reconsidered immediately. "Forget it. I changed my mind. Come in tomorrow."
Jude thought about it for exactly two seconds before shaking his head.
"I don't have the money to compensate for whatever disaster happens, boss."
"STOP TALKING AND GET OUT!"
The Next Morning - Valentine's Day
Jude arrived at the Red Dragon Restaurant to find Supervisor Philip already waiting.
This was unusual. Philip typically arrived thirty minutes before opening, moving with the careful deliberation of someone whose body was held together primarily through spite and prescription painkillers. Seeing him here an hour early set off immediate warning bells.
But it was Philip's expression that truly concerned Jude.
The supervisor looked like he was trying very hard not to smile. The effort produced a facial expression that suggested severe gastrointestinal distress—eyes slightly too wide, mouth compressed into a thin line, cheeks twitching with suppressed emotion.
He looked constipated.
Emotionally constipated.
With glee.
"Jude!" Philip's voice carried unnatural cheerfulness. "Come here, come here."
Jude approached cautiously, the way one might approach a friendly dog that was foaming at the mouth.
Philip slung an arm around Jude's shoulders like they were old fraternity brothers, steering him toward the stairs with the practiced ease of someone who'd perfected the art of walking on crutches.
The friendliness was deeply alarming.
Has the stress finally broken him? Jude wondered. Did yesterday's fire damage his brain? Is this what a mental breakdown looks like?
"Haha!" Philip's laugh sounded almost genuine. "I went to the hospital yesterday. Had a long talk with Donald."
Jude's internal alarms cranked up to maximum volume.
He's planning to fire me.
"We both realized something important." Philip guided them into the upstairs office—Donald's private space, currently unoccupied due to ongoing recovery. "We've been thinking about you all wrong, Jude."
Here it comes, Jude thought. The firing speech.
"We'd always regarded you as an ordinary waiter. A fool who couldn't use a gun properly. A hapless, unlucky guy with a little courage. A walking jinx who brought disaster wherever he went. Someone who fundamentally didn't understand how the world works."
"Boss—" Jude's smile strained. "Why do I feel like your words are becoming increasingly hurtful?"
"Ahem." Philip cleared his throat, embarrassment flickering across his features. "Right. Well. In summary—we thought your only commendable qualities were honesty, courage, and being a relatively qualified waiter when nobody was shooting at you."
He paused.
"But in fact, we shouldn't have been thinking of you that way at all."
Philip's smile widened, taking on an almost benevolent quality.
"There's no such thing as garbage in the world, Jude. Only resources placed in the wrong positions."
The words hung in the air like a philosophical riddle waiting to be solved.
"Why should we insist on keeping you at the Red Dragon?" Philip continued, warming to his theme. "Listen to me—today is the moment when your life officially changes. This choice is very important. If you choose correctly, you'll officially become the Falcone family's secret weapon."
He paused for dramatic effect.
"We'll pay you a biweekly salary of six thousand dollars as compensation for your new job."
Jude's brain short-circuited.
"Young—" His mouth moved without conscious input. "Young master—sixty—?"
His head filled with the number six, repeated over and over in increasingly large fonts. His eyes reflected nothing but golden light.
The light of money.
"Sixty thousand?" The words came out strangled. "Dollars? American dollars?"
"That's right." Philip nodded, clearly enjoying this. "All you need to do is accept a new job assignment. We've even arranged the position for you already. You can start today. I mean, right now, today."
The rational part of Jude's brain—the part that had kept him alive through two months in Gotham—clawed its way back to the surface through the haze of avarice.
He shook his head violently, physically dispelling the vision of swimming pools filled with cash.
There was no such thing as a free lunch anywhere in the world.
There was especially no such thing as a free lunch in Gotham City.
"What's the job?" Jude's voice came out flat, suspicious.
"Simple!" Philip's smile never wavered. "Perhaps you know that Maroni also owns a restaurant? In Burnley?"
"Then doesn't that mean he's superior to us?"
"Don't interrupt me—and he's not superior to us." Philip's defensive response came quick. "We still have restaurants in the Diamond District and Burnley. It's just that occasionally, people come to Otisburg and the East End to handle business. It's really inappropriate to have senior family members running around to every location."
After that brief tangent defending the Falcone family's restaurant empire, Philip returned to his point.
"Maroni's Burnley restaurant is both highly profitable and his operational base. It's very important to him. And we've been having... difficulties with Maroni lately. So we thought—"
He smiled.
"—we could slip him a knife. One that draws blood."
Jude looked at the supervisor.
In that moment, he understood exactly what Donald and Philip had conceived.
"You want me to go work there and cause trouble."
"No, no, no." Philip shook his head, still smiling that unsettling smile. "There's no need for you to deliberately cause any damage at all."
He straightened his tie with his free hand, the gesture almost prim.
"You just need to perform normally. Work as usual. Be yourself."
The smile widened.
"Your existence itself is the biggest threat to that restaurant."
As the supervisor finished speaking, a notification chimed in Jude's peripheral vision.
The system—silent for weeks—suddenly activated with cheerful efficiency.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
[New Part-Time Job Available - Please Review]
MISSION: Valentine's Day Milk Chocolate
Introduction:
Valentine's Day is a romantic occasion. Some people feel sad on this day, while others feel happy. Of course, these emotions have nothing to do with you. You are simply an emotionless chocolate chef.
Note:
You will never guess what kind of important guests you will meet today. Remember to use high-quality milk (2,000 asset points) to make this chocolate. Just one serving is sufficient.
Status: To Be Completed (0/1)
Reward: Advanced Climbing Mastery