My hairs stand on end as Bach stares daggers at me while I tie on my apron.

  Kathy and I just got back from what I hope was a date. Of course, we paid for our own meals. But next time... maybe I’ll cover it. Only if it's an official date.

  "How was lunch?" Bach asks, looking at Kathy.

  "I had some curry rice. It was meh. What about you, Dad?" Kathy replies.

  "I brought my lunch," he says before disappearing into that godforsaken lab.

  I wait—just long enough to be sure the bastard has fully resumed his mad scientist activities—before turning to Kathy.

  "Hey, what’s Professor Bach doing back there?" I ask.

  "Oh, that? Dad's just working on making new coffee brews and recipes. He experiments with different methods, trying to add more items to the menu," she explains, her voice carrying a hint of pride.

  Yeah, just as I suspected.

  I just hope he accidentally releases some toxic gas, inhales it, and dies. I really hope so.

  "Oh, cool," I reply, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

  I glance around the café, scanning for anything that needs to be done. Maybe I should start the dishwasher.

  I open it—empty. Bach probably already took care of it. Damn.

  "Is this your first time as a waiter?" Kathy asks, tilting her head curiously.

  Am I that bad at this?

  "Well, yeah. In fact, this is my first part-time job ever," I admit.

  Before she can respond, the café door swings open with a soft chime.

  A couple steps inside.

  The guy, wearing an oversized black sweatshirt and jeans, has his black hair loosely tied into a ponytail. He talks animatedly to the girl beside him, clearly in the middle of an argument.

  The girl, pale as fresh snow, is draped in a black leather jacket and matching utility cargo pants. Everything about her—her outfit, her posture, the way she barely acknowledges the guy beside her—radiates pure, unbothered goth energy.

  As this raven-like duo approaches the counter, Kathy greets them with her usual cheer. "Welcome to Boure's! Please have a seat and let us know when you're ready to order."

  I catch a glimpse of their eyes—cold, mechanical, built purely for function with no trace of emotion. Yet, what those eyes lacked, their expressions, their movements, and their voices more than made up for.

  The goth girl meets Kathy's gaze and nods, offering a small smile before heading to a table.

  I watch as they scan the menu, waiting for the right moment to approach.

  After a few seconds, the girl glances in my direction. That’s my cue. I step forward.

  "Hello. May I take your order?" I ask politely.

  "Yes, I’d like a normal espresso, please," she says, tucking her dark wolf-cut bangs behind her ear.

  Man, what I’d do for her to spit in my mouth.

  "And for you, sir?" I ask the guy, who looks about my age.

  "Why are there so many options?" He hums in thought, dragging a finger down the menu. "Hmmm… I’ll have a caffe latte."

  "Alright. One espresso and one caffe latte," I confirm before heading back to the counter.

  Kathy nods and immediately gets to work, maneuvering through an array of equipment I’ve never seen before.

  I watch her move—effortless, precise. The kind of confidence that only years of experience can forge.

  After a moment, she hands me a tray with their drinks. I carefully bring it to the couple’s table, placing their cups down gently.

  "Let me know if you need anything," I say before returning to my station.

  The café is nearly empty now. I don’t get why Kathy keeps running this place. Sentimental value, probably.

  I glance up just in time to see a customer getting up to leave. I walk over and check the small digital display at the edge of his table. A green glow confirms his payment.

  I grab my towel and start wiping down the table.

  While wiping the table, I hear the entrance door open. I look over my shoulder and see a funny sight.

  I can only describe the guy as an otaku. A weeb. His oily face ridden with acne scars is covered in sweat, his greasy black hair sticking to his head and his glasses barely covering his eyes. He looks like a pig that escaped from slaughter. He tries to step inside, but his huge backpack gets stuck in the doorway. After some struggling, he somehow manages to squeeze through. He approaches the counter, carrying his comically large backpack.

  "Welcome to Boure's! Please have a seat and let us know when you're ready to order," Kathy says with a welcoming smile.

  How can anybody smile at such a face?

  "Buhii, such a cutie! Are you this shop's owner?" the piggy asks.

  Kathy looks a bit confused at his question, "My dad owns this place. How may I help you?" she asks.

  He brings his ugly face close to Kathy's, and she slightly snaps her head back. Probably due to his smelly odor.

  "Well, miss, I want to know two things: your number and details about this shop. Like, when was this building constructed, what was here before it, et cetera," the porkman says.

  Kathy frowns. "One, I can't give you my number. Two, why do you want all that information? You look kind of suspicious..." she says.

  Should I go to the counter and support her? I mean, I should, right?

  "Buhihi, I like that resistance. I'll get your number later, some way or the other. But for now, I want to know why you built this shop here, right on top of a major ley line," he oinks.

  Fucking ley lines again. He’s probably been reading too many conspiracy forums. Is this guy visiting every damn building on the ley line? This bastard is crazy...

  Kathy crosses her arms. “What's a ley line? If you aren’t ordering anything, I suggest you leave.”

  I think I should go to the counter… Oh wait, there’s a small stain on the table. Can’t have that.

  I turn back to the nearly invisible stain, rubbing at it like my life depends on it. My ears, though? Wide open.

  “Miss, you haven’t heard of ley lines? They’re the key to predicting the NTA format! I’ve spent the last month mapping District-9, following their flow. Did you know this district has the highest ley line density in the country?” His voice picks up speed, excitement pouring out of him. “A ley line is an energy conduit connecting high-energy locations—hidden pathways of power crisscrossing the world! And I believe the NTA is held at the points where major ley lines intersect!”

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  Still doesn’t explain shit. What even is this ‘energy’ he’s talking about? Doesn’t everything have energy? Power plants, phones, humans—everything.

  Kathy exhales sharply. “Pseudoscience. What form of energy are you even referring to? Energy isn’t some mystical force that travels in invisible veins. It follows measurable principles—thermodynamics, electromagnetism, quantum mechanics, etcetera. No credible study has ever found anything resembling what you’re describing.”

  She sighs, waving him off. “Unless you can back up your claims with actual scientific data, I suggest you either order something or leave.”

  "Buhihihi, you're so ignorant, miss. I can explain the details to you tonight. I’m sure you’ll be very satisfied, hehehe. But before that, I need information about your shop," he says.

  Man, what a fucking creep. If only this barely visible stain would just disappear, I’d go over there and whoop his ass.

  “This place was built by my grandpa about ninety years ago. And before that? I don’t know. Happy? Now leave, or I’ll have to call the police,” she says curtly.

  "Hey, don't be like that. I'm going to clear the NTA this year, you know? And after that, I want you to join my harem, hehehe," the piggy says.

  Stay out of my territory, fatso. She's mine.

  "Cut that out, man."

  Huh?

  I peek over and see Mister Ponytail walking toward the counter.

  “Can’t you see I’m busy? It’s bad manners to interrupt a conversation,” the piggy complains, scowling.

  “Just leave, man. Can’t you see she’s uncomfortable?” Ponytail tries to reason, standing next to Porky.

  "You don’t get it! She’s just acting like that, but actually, she wants me so bad. It's a trick girls use, you know?" the creep explains, smug as hell.

  Suddenly, he grabs Kathy’s wrist.

  "Hey! Wha—"

  Before she can even cry out, his hands go limp at his sides.

  Oh fuck.

  I didn’t even see it happen. One second, he was running his mouth, and the next, Ponytail was behind him, locking in a rear naked choke. The piggy goes out cold, slumping down like a sack of garbage.

  "Excuse me," Ponytail says to Kathy before dragging the fatty out the door—like taking out the trash.

  Finally, the stain is gone. I grab the cup from the table and head back to the counter.

  "Man, what a creep," I say, dropping the cup into the dishwasher tray. "You okay?"

  "Yeah. That could've gotten ugly if that customer hadn't stepped in," she says.

  Man, Ponytail was just a second faster than me. It’s not like I was purposely wiping a clean table just to avoid conflict. Not at all. I was engaged in a noble battle against a deadly stain hiding in plain sight—one that could have repulsed customers and tanked store sales.

  "...Yeah."

  ********

  Kathy pulls down the shutter, sealing the shop for the night. The midsummer sun blazes overhead, as if squeezing out the last drops of sweat before setting.

  She locks the shutter, gives it a quick check, then steps back. Bach crouches down, double-checking it like an overcautious watchdog.

  I glance around. The sidewalk is packed with office workers and students heading home, the street alive with honking cars and neon signs flickering to life. No sign of the otaku. He probably woke up and slithered off after getting thrown out.

  "Okay then. See you tomorrow, Kevin!" Kathy says.

  "Yeah. Bye, Kathy. Bye, Professor," I reply.

  Kathy smiles before turning away. What an angel.

  I catch Bach staring at me. I quickly turn toward my bicycle.

  I've struck gold—getting paid to do almost nothing, plus spending time with a cute girl. The only downside is Bach, but he won’t be here on weekdays. He’s got classes to teach.

  I weave through the crowd, heading toward the streetlamp where I locked my bike.

  When I reach it, I place my thumb on the scanner to unlock it.

  Ping!

  Ping!

  Ping!

  Ping!

  Ping!

  .

  .

  .

  Phone notifications ring out all around me. A thousand alerts chime at once, like birds screeching omens of disaster.

  I pull my phone from my pocket.

  You have 1 new message.

  I tap the screen.

  Government Notice

  To all non-NTA applicants:

  You are required to evacuate District-9 within 24 hours.

  Failure to comply will result in immediate imprisonment and substantial fines for obstruction of government operations.

  Evacuation will proceed in phases (see attachment 1).

  Temporary lodging is provided free of charge in designated districts until the assessment concludes (see attachment 2).

  For assistance, contact your local authorities or government-issued service robots.

  "What the fuck is this?!"

  "This has to be a joke!"

  "Oh god..."

  "I think I'll just move to District-10 after all."

  "At least they're providing lodging..."

  "Bah! I bet it's some of those dodgy motels!"

  "I should've voted for the opposition party!"

  A cacophony of groans, shouts, and frustrated sighs rippled through the streets, no doubt echoing across the entire country.

  I stood frozen, my mind struggling to process the announcement.

  The government seriously expects over 500 million people to evacuate in 24 hours? Is that even physically possible?

  I click on the first attachment, and a pdf pops open.

  Evacuation will start from 21:00 today.

  21:00 - 23:00 : Newstein Ward

  23:30 - 2:30 : Lapier Ward

  3:00 - 6:00 : Galler Ward

  6:30 - 9:30 : Schrauss Ward

  10:00 - 13:00 : Arujan Ward

  13:30 - 16:30 : Voltere Ward

  17:00 - 20:00 : Farawell Ward

  20:30 - 23:30 : Tesler Ward

  Note: All public transport is free of charge during the evacuation. The Aerial Road will remain toll-free for the evacuation.

  Tesler Ward's the last...

  I click on the other attachment.

  You can forego your accommodation if you have a place to stay. If so, please send an SMS to this number.

  Your accommodation - N/A

  You have not been assigned accommodation since you are an NTA applicant. Please wait in your home or lodging till the evacuation is completed.

  Makes sense...

  I slip my phone back into my pocket as the crowd erupts into chaos. People shove past each other, voices overlapping in a frenzy of panic and frustration. The streets churn like a turbulent river, swept up in the current of urgency and dread.

  I exhale sharply.

  I’d better get moving too.

  ********

  "For the first time since the NTA’s incep–".

  "What does the Governor have to say?! This is outrageous! Yo—"

  "We are here with the opposition party's representative, Mrs. Ar—"

  "Why is Newstein Ward receiving priority? What about the common pe—"

  I sigh, flipping through the channels. Same news, different faces.

  A quick glance at the clock—10:17 p.m.

  Leaving the TV on, I head to my room and collapse onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.

  Just when I got a new part-time job... and met a cute girl.

  But why evacuate an entire district? What kind of theme needs that much space?

  I pull out my phone and open the file I got from the ABBy at the metro station. Probably my millionth time reading it.

  Probable themes for NTA 2025:

  King of the Hill - 26%

  Capture the flag - 19%

  Tag - 16%

  Treasure Hunt - 15.5%

  Hide-and-seek - 13.4%

  Other - 10.1%

  All outdoor games. All requiring massive space. The evacuation orders line up with these predictions. Maybe the ABBies already knew.

  Not that it really concerns me.

  "Kevvy, I talked to Grandma. She said we can stay with her," Mom says, stepping into my room.

  "Oh, nice," I mumble, closing the file.

  "Put that phone away and come eat, dear," she adds before leaving.

  I stare at the dark screen of my phone. My own reflection stares back—mocking me.

  I sigh, set it aside, and head to the dinner table.

  Mom places a steaming plate of noodles in front of me and sits across with her own.

  "Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" she says before taking a bite.

  I nod and eat. Delicious, as always.

  I glance at her.

  When will you tell me?

  Do you think I’m still a kid?

  We eat in silence, the TV droning in the background.

  Then, finally—

  "I'm changing jobs," she says.

  Took you long enough.

  "Huh? What?" I feign surprise.

  She sighs. "The principal and I had... differences. So, I’m moving to Klose."

  Klose College of Business. That’s in Galler Ward, if I remember right.

  "Wait, what? Damn. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?"

  She gives me an apologetic look. "I didn’t want to distract you. Besides, Klose pays better."

  I sigh. "Okay..."

  The news report shifts.

  "We’re live from the streets of Lapier Ward, District-9. As you can see, chaos is everywhere."

  Mom and I watch as a reporter approaches a woman pushing through the crowd.

  "Excuse me, ma’am! What are your thoughts on the evacuation?"

  The woman barely spares a glance. "Honestly, it’s not that bad, considering they’re providing free accommodation. If this were anywhere else, it’d be a nightmare. But with the transport system here, it’s pretty feasible."

  "Thank you, ma’am!"

  The woman hurries off.

  "Kevvy, pack whatever you need tonight. A week’s worth of clothes should be fine," Mom says.

  "Okay," I reply, slurping my noodles.

  .

  .

  .

  After dinner, I help her with the dishes as usual, then head to my room.

  I lie on my bed, scrolling through my phone like a zombie.

  Mom peeks her head in. "Good night, Kevvy."

  "Good night, Mom," I reply.

  I watch the lights outside my room flicker off.

  A moment later, I snap my fingers twice, and my room plunges into darkness.

  Hello darkness, my old friend.

  I lay silently, for what seems like an eternity, waiting to make sure my mom falls asleep.

  I slowly switch tabs, opening a very familiar website.

  Familiar faces greet me—some new, some old.

  We’ll get to know each other soon enough.

  I scroll through the mass of videos, stopping at one.

  It’s different from my usual.

  A petite woman with long black hair looks at me—inviting, expectant.

  I stare at her—a fitting substitute.

  I slowly pull down my pants and grab hold of a restless snake.

  I should stop.

  I really should.

  The woman in the video moans as a man moves over her.

  I stroke the snake, trying to calm it down.

  My eyes see her. My mind superimposes a café, a conversation, a girl who wasn’t mine.

  This is wrong.

  But there is no one to oppose me.

  Here, I am king.

  1 day left for the commencement of the NTA.