Present – Café.

  Sherry was shaking uncontrollably on the floor.

  Her movement was as if she had been zapped, as if electricity coursed through her veins, causing her muscles to expand and contract on their own. Had someone shot her with thunder magic? No, that wasn’t it.

  She could hear voices calling her name, concerned, worried.

  This… This had happened before. Sort of.

  Same symptoms, except in the past this had happened because Sherry had consumed something she was not meant to consume—something bad. This time around, however, it was caused by something different.

  She… She knew—how to fix this.

  ‘I…’ she muttered, her breath short, ‘I need…’

  ***

  Past – Dark Room.

  ‘I need more…’ Sherry—Sylvia said. Her cigarette had been burnt to the very end.

  ‘No,’ said the man who stood beside, firm. He had snatched and secured her cigarette packs, all of them, denying her from further consumption. Stingy.

  ‘Come on…’ Sylvia protested. ‘Don’t you want me happy?’

  ‘I do. That’s why I’m setting limits on your addictions.’

  Sylvia was lying on her desk like it was a bed. She hung her head at the ledge upside down; looked into the man’s eyes, into his soul. Could tell from his expressions and actions that his concern was genuine. He truly cared about her.

  It was a shame—that she couldn’t feel the same way toward him.

  Truly a shame.

  He added, ‘You should take care of yourself better.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Your addiction is killing you.’

  ‘Well,’ she wiggled her hand, showing him her bandaged wrist, smiled, ‘you know I don’t mind.’

  ‘Sylvia…’ he uttered, sadness in his tone.

  Don’t look at me like that, Sylvia thought. Her health was her own. She was free to do whatever she wanted with it. I don’t care about you. You shouldn’t care about me either.

  ‘… You know what? From now on, taking care of my health is your concern!’ There, she pushed the responsibility away; he could have it if he wanted. From now on, she would continue being irresponsible about her health and blame him for when things would inevitably go wrong. That should teach him that caring for her was useless.

  ‘It always has been though…’ he protested. But couldn’t hide his smile, faint, happy to be given her trust. Yet, his worries remained, he raised a question, ‘If taking care of your health becomes my concern… What will happen to you? What happens if I’m not around?’

  Sylvia smiled. ‘Who knows? I guess we’ll find out.’

  ***

  Present – Café.

  Sherry inhaled her cigarette. That felt invigorating. Keyword: “felt”, as that toxic fume was killing her if anything. Regardless, as she exhaled smoke, her uncontrollable shaking stopped. As if she had just absorbed a high-end potion that had cured her ailment.

  I wonder where he’s at, Sherry thought. ‘I guess,’ she muttered, ‘this is what happens when I have to take care of myself…’

  ‘What was that?’ Hot. Not scorching, but someone was irritated.

  ‘Nothing,’ Sherry told Latla.

  She noticed that people had surrounded her, worried about her well-being. One of them, an elderly man, voiced the question that was in everyone’s mind, ‘Is she alright?’

  ‘She’s alright,’ Latla answered. ‘Just a relapse. I’ll take her to the pantry and monitor her health. Please, don’t mind us and carry on.’

  Latla wrapped Sherry’s arm on her shoulder and lifted her up.

  As she was leaving, Sherry made sure to express her thanks to everyone for having worried about her.

  ***

  Café’s Pantry.

  Sherry was seated at the pantry table. She had insisted on being seated on the table, but Latla had forced her onto a chair. Bummer. She would have voiced her complaints, but—feeling the heat, the anger, from she who always burned—adding fuel to the fire would be a mistake. A grave one, Sherry figured, remembering what Latla’s punch could do.

  Well, Sherry thought, I suppose I did mess up.

  ‘I’m sorry about what just happened, Boss.’

  Latla was searching through the shelves for something. Without looking at Sherry, she replied, ‘Don’t be.’

  You say that, but I’m feeling more heat here. Somehow, the water she poured only made the fire stronger. How? No idea. Guess she had to find out. ‘I didn’t do this one on purpose, Boss.’

  Latla twitched. Glanced over her shoulder. ‘“This one,” you say?’

  She gave a casual salute and a nod. ‘This one.’

  Breaking the siphons, now that one was on purpose. Quite proud of it too, because she got away with it, as expected. Sherry knew that Latla knew about that one. Collapsing today, on the other hand, now this one wasn’t on purpose. Wished that it was though.

  … Latla sighed. ‘I know you didn’t do this one on purpose,’ she said. She resumed her search.

  She’s still angry, Sherry observed. But it’s not directed towards me. ‘What are you so angry about, Boss?’

  ‘I’m mad at the fact that, of all the days, you collapsed during the soft opening day. Just to be clear, I know that you didn’t do it on purpose, and I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the timing.’

  ‘… You’re mad at the timing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would it have been better if I had collapsed yesterday then?’

  ‘It would have been better if you didn’t collapse at all. But that can’t be helped.’

  Fair. But wait… if she said… Then by that logic… ‘You’re not mad at me, because what happened can’t be helped?’

  ‘Yes. You relapsed and collapsed because you kept your promise. To not harm anyone including yourself. You cut off your addiction completely and haven’t smoked since then. In hindsight, you should’ve done it gradually. Regardless, good work.’

  Sherry would admit: being praised felt nice. However, that was beside the point. ‘But timing can’t be helped either. Yet you’re mad at it. That doesn’t make sense.’

  Though Sherry could only look at Latla’s back, she could guess by the slight pause and the slight head sway that she had performed her trademark eyeroll in annoyance. Perhaps not wanting to discuss the logic, she ignored her remark.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  You’re mad even when you know you’re not supposed to be mad, Sherry thought. Why would you do that? Perhaps she should ask, but she doubted she would get a good answer.

  Latla finally found what she had been searching for: an ashtray. She slid it on the table toward Sherry, told her to use that once she was done.

  Sherry looked at her cigarette. Only half burnt. Gave it a stare that lasted a second or two. Remembered being told that this addiction was killing her. I don’t want to die before I figure her out.

  ‘Alright,’ Sherry said. She killed the cigarette by pressing it on her tie. ‘I’m ready to get back to work.’

  Latla stared at her, irritated by the action. To which, Sherry responded with a smile.

  Yes, just now was indeed on purpose.

  ***

  Latla. Café.

  Having returned from the pantry, Latla stood at the corner of the café, observing.

  Today was the soft opening for the café, where the business operation was on a trial run, tested in a relatively safe ecosystem that consisted of invite-only customers. There were people from the slums, invited by the elder on Scarlet’s request; there were people from the Crescent Moon Tavern, invited by Horuk on Latla’s request. Together, both parties filled the café, leaving only a few seats empty.

  Not bad, Latla thought.

  She believed that the people who had come were more interested in her recent achievement, the victory against the unlisted monster, than in the coffee. She had no problems with that; the coffee was never advertised anyway. If things went well, this café’s coffee will share itself by word-of-mouth. Thus, this was favorable.

  At the counter, Sherry handled making the coffee. At the cash register, Scarlet handled managing the transactions. At the tables, Cirrus handled entertaining the story-seekers. And at the piano, Fina handled playing the music.

  She had recruited the elf the other day.

  ***

  Past – Crescent Moon Tavern, the other day.

  Latla and Fina got kicked out of the tavern. Worse, they both got banned from the place. They were now sitting on the sidewalk.

  ‘This is all your fault…’ Fina said, with a grudge.

  My fault? ‘You want to have another go?’ Latla could go for a third round.

  ‘Fighting you isn’t going to give my gloves back…’

  ‘And I’ve been telling you: I will give it back to you when I can.’

  ‘It’s precious to me!’

  ‘Then don’t lose it in the first place!’ ‘You think I wanted to lose it?!’ she retorted. ‘Considering that you didn’t keep it safe enough? Yes!’

  ‘You’re the worst!’

  ‘Says the person who lunged at me.’

  Fina sighed. She buried her head in between her knees. Aware that right now she had other problems she needed to deal with. ‘What am I going to do now… I’ve only been able to manage because I could get money by playing music in that tavern… If only I knew this would have happened…’

  ‘Next time, maybe think before lunging at someone,’ Latla told Fina. Not that she ever listened to her own advice though.

  … Fina didn’t give any retort this time.

  Latla stood up. No point in hanging around here any longer. If anything, it was best that she left, less chances of starting a third round that way. Just leave the elf alone; that was the easiest thing to do.

  She walked away. Her feet felt heavier with every step she took. An unpleasant feeling.

  Latla glanced over her shoulder only to see that Fina was still curled up.

  She rolled her eyes. Retraced her steps.

  ‘Do you want to stay and play music at my café?’

  ***

  Present – Café.

  Although Fina was at the piano, she wasn’t playing the piano. She had tremor. Accurate and precise finger movement wasn’t possible for her. Thus, she had kept the piano keys closed and had placed identical glasses side-by-side on the wooden cover, each of them filled with water of varying amounts. Holding a spoon and using it to hit glasses to create a tune was something that she could do.

  Despite her instrument of choice being questionable, the melody that she had produced was marvelous. Everyone, Latla observed, enjoyed the music. It made the place more comfortable and the coffee more pleasant.

  Her skill made the existence of the grand piano even more questionable. That instrument’s existence was already questionable to begin with; to this date, Latla still couldn’t figure out what Artour was thinking by making such an extravagant café in the slums.

  ‘You are a busy person, Latla Altaveli,’ someone said. Approaching her was a small old man who needed the aid of a stick to walk. The elder. ‘I’ve been trying to meet you these past few days.’

  ‘… What for?’

  ‘What else?’ he declared, with a matter-of-fact tone. ‘To give you my gratitude, of course. You’ve persuaded Scarlet, guarded Cirrus in the forest, defeated a horrible monster, and brought back herbs which saved my granddaughter’s life.’

  He gently grabbed her hand. Bowed his head.

  ‘Thank you, Latla Altaveli.’

  His gratitude was heartfelt and sincere. ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘I wish I can give you a reward…’

  ‘I know you invited people for this soft opening; that’s reward enough.’

  ‘You have a kind soul. Still, I believe you deserve more,’ he insisted. He pondered for a while, then found something, a story. ‘Did you know that I supervised the making of this building?’

  ‘First time hearing that.’

  ‘Artour Altaveli had asked me personally to see this through. He’s an admirable man. What I’m about to share with you might be a petty reward—but let me tell you one thing about him.’

  ***

  Elder. Past.

  Back then, the elder approached the man.

  Artour Altaveli was standing in front of this very building (newly purchased), envisioning its potential. He looked at the building not for what it was then, but for what it could be.

  The elder, wanting to ascertain the man’s character, had asked him to share his plans.

  ‘This building is an investment,’ Artour Altaveli answered, his words didn’t falter. ‘To begin with, it’s affordable; if in the future this area improves, I’ll have a solid place to conduct business. But I’d be lying if I say that’s the whole truth.

  ‘My daughter, a manaless, has a dream. A grand dream.

  ‘I think, someday, this place might just help her achieve her grand dream.’

  He finally shifted his attention away from the building and toward the elder.

  ‘I can’t see the future, I won’t know if she would ever decide to start from here. Elder, if she does choose Khiva, I’d like you to take good care of her, to be there when she needs help, and to trust her.’

  He showed him a confident grin.

  ‘She won’t disappoint.’

  ***

  Latla. Present.

  ‘That man, Artour Altaveli,’ the elder said, looking at Latla in the eyes, meaning the words that he was about to say, ‘he’s a great father and he truly loves you.’

  … Latla smiled. ‘I know that.’

  ***

  As the hours passed, invite-only customers came and went.

  It seemed that the elder was an influential figure, as many people from the slums had approached her and had thanked her for her feats. Some even shared stories about how kind the elder was and how much his granddaughter meant to him.

  Glad to hear those. But hearing gratitude from the elder himself was already enough.

  Latla had to move on from her past achievement and focus on the café. Had to figure whether there were any flaws in the business operation.

  The worst flaw, Latla thought, is that there’s no failsafe.

  If, say, like before, Sherry collapsed, then there would be no one to handle making the coffee or serving the customers. Sure, this soft opening was crowded, and it was unlikely that it would still be when the café would open for real. (In fact, when it would, there might be enough down time that Sherry could handle the café alone, freeing Scarlet from the cash register and allowing her to work as a guild receptionist.) Regardless, redundancies could help to make the business operation less fragile.

  I’ll tell Scarlet to hire another employee if possible.

  Someone who could be paid with only free rent like Sherry was rare. Additionally, although Sherry was fine with the arrangement, Latla considered her case as worker exploitation if she couldn’t properly pay her. Latla had to get the guild running, get proper quest, and get that income.

  Also, Latla thought, this place needs security,

  She saw a man.

  His attire was too well-off to be from the slums; his hostile quality was too unfriendly to be from the tavern. He was a man of medium build: neither too big nor too small, right at the middle where he could attain the best of both worlds. He wore a black vest over a white shirt, gray tie on his neck, and gray trousers paired with black formal shoes. The concerning part about his outfit was how, within that oversized vest, he kept a concealed knife—no, a concealed short sword. Enough concealment that a regular person wouldn’t notice; enough reveal that a combatant like Latla would.

  People were allowed to carry their own weapon; there was no law against that. However, the man looked hostile, dangerous. Was it perhaps his disgruntled expression? Was it that he most likely wasn’t invited to this soft opening? Or was it because he carried himself like a hardened combatant?

  Could he be an enemy? Here to ruin the soft opening?

  The man looked around. Left and right, scanning the place and the people. Until he finally spotted someone. His eyes were now locked in onto the café’s unhinged barista: Sherry. His expression now, furrowed brows and a frown, was something that Latla recognized as anger.

  What had she done to him? Latla left her corner.

  He walked toward her, taking the shortest path possible. He pushed away the people who stood in his way with force and without any care. Then, once within range, he stretched his hand toward Sherry.

  Latla stood between them.

  Rolling a ring with her fingertips.