Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s dark.

Was I asleep?

My eyes are wide open. I’m staring at the ceiling, lying on my back. I feel a faint wetness on my face. Odd, but I brush it off. God, what time is it? I roll over to my side to look at my digital alarm clock.

Except there’s no clock. I feel something slide off my chest. My eyes adjust to the darkness and my fingers firmly touch something solid.

A… bone dagger?

I inhale sharply, instinctively flinging it away from me. It clatters on the floorboards. What the fuck?

Snapping straight up, I look at my surroundings.

Where am I?

I wasn’t in bed a minute ago. I was crossing the street. Then there was a blinding light-

Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. 

I. Do. Not. Recognize. This. Room. 

I feel my heart rate begin to elevate. A chill runs up my spine, my fingers stiffening. There’s no way. The last thing I recall is a truck coming too close for comfort-

I laugh out loud, my voice echoing in the negative space. Of course! This has to be a dream!

There’s no other explanation as to why I woke up in a room that I don’t recognize. This must be a lucid dream. Never had one before, I might as well enjoy it.

I start patting around the bed, looking for the modern man’s best friend. No, not a dog, though it would be comforting having a puppy just about now. For emotional support.

My left hand finds it, aha! A phone! Huh, it’s a bit shabby. I haven’t seen a model like this in years. Dreams have a way with nostalgia.

I grin as I hold it up, and I press on the power button. The screen displays: 10:23 PM, Friday, June 13, 2025. 

That’s… interesting. Same time, same day from when I was awake.

I shake my head and shrug to myself. I decide to snoop through the phone, it’s not like I have anything better to do. I swipe up and instead of meeting a lock screen, the phone immediately unlocks. I frown as I look down at the older model phone in my hands.

Eugh, I grimace, making a face as I see the unlocked screen showing three folders organizing apps. 

Who labels their folders as “Grind”, “Survival”, and “Organize”?

I tap on the first folder and I wrinkle my nose. A note-taking app, a hospital work portal, a scribing app, MCAT prep app, PDF scanner, networking app, and email. Apps that I have the misfortune of recognizing.

Oh god. I’m in hell. I’ve died and this is student purgatory.

I quickly shake my head at the ridiculous thought. I’m already twenty-five, long past my pre-med school days. I do not need a reminder of my undergraduate life, even if it’s just disguised as a nightmare.

A shiver crawls across my skin as I close out of the “Grind” folder. What a un-fun folder, surely the next one is more interesting?

Tapping on the next one, I nod knowingly. At least this one feels more normal. A banking app, a finance tracking app, money-wiring app, meal-prep app, and a patient portal.

Clicking on the banking app, I grin as I login with biometrics. Let’s see what dream me has… 

I blink. My grin falters as I stare at the three accounts.

Checking? $44.10. Savings? $238.54. Credit? -$130.76.

A nervous chuckle escapes me. At least these aren’t my real finances.

Onto the final folder. Nothing unusual, just a to-do list, calendar, and alarm clock app. Smiling once more, I decide to check out what this nightmare has for my to-do list. I hope it’s more interesting than my real one. I open the app and my face pales.

June 14 - Daily Goals

• No coffee until AFTER Maison shift (save $)
• Tip count goal: $35 minimum
• Say thank you even if the customer is a dick
• Smile 6x (not fake, ACTUAL SMILES)
• Do NOT look at Ash unless spoken to 
• Stay cute = Stay safe
• DO NOT SKIP LEG DAY
• Buy eggs, rice, frozen spinach, ginger
• MCAT studying
• Reply to Wren’s text from Thursday (“sorry just saw lol”)
• Budget review

Well, this doesn’t seem very fun. Customers? Throwback to working in the service industry. No thank you. I don’t know anyone named Ash or Wren. And if I see the acronym ‘MCAT’ one more time, someone will need to diagnose the aneurysm it gives me.

Giggling now as I shake my head, closing the to-do list app.

I side-eye the next app, the calendar, and curiosity gets the best of me.

Clicking into it, I almost drop the phone the moment I get a glance at the scene that displays in front of me. Instead, I grip the phone tighter as I bring it up closer to my eyes.

The calendar is set to a monthly view, so I can’t see the details. But what I can see is that each day is booked with multiple events, color-coded, and absolutely overwhelming.

I take a deep breath and chuckle to myself, “Wow, this dream is incredibly vivid and detailed.” That doesn’t stop me from clicking into the upcoming day’s plan.

Saturday, June 14, 2025 

10:00 AM - Alarm: “Wake up or die poor 💀☕️" 

11:00 AM - Maison de Rêve café shift begins 

02:00 PM - Reminder: “Take 5-min break or pass out” 

06:00 PM - Shift ends - CLEAN TABLES 

06:15 PM - Gym session (Maison Benefit Plan) 

08:00 PM - Grocery run - Budget: <$20 

10:00 PM - Laundry (coin op downstairs) 

11:00 PM - MCAT studying block 

12:30 AM - Sleep alarm: “Or you’ll be stupid tomorrow”

Who writes “Wake up or die poor 💀☕️" as their morning alarm?

I make a ‘pfft’ sound, shaking my head. But what I can’t shake is the eerie feeling clawing up my spine, like I’m forgetting something obvious, something stupid.

I glance past the phrase “Maison de Rêve” at first like it’s just another line item.

But the moment I blink, it hits me.

Wait a second… Maison de Rêve. My heart skips a beat so hard that it feels like a cardiac episode.

Okay, breathing exercises, let’s back up a bit. Let’s ground ourselves like my therapist taught me. Breathe, remember who you are.

You’re Evelyn Serelune, you’re turning twenty-six this year. You’re an office worker after you got burnt out from undergraduate, pre-med curriculum. Your favorite hobby after work is playing otome games.

In which your favorite otome game, Sanctum of Light, features Maison de Rêve, the maid café in which the heroine works with four devastatingly attractive love interests…

My thought process pauses. Hold the fuck up. My heart pounds as my thumb hovers over the home button. I hesitate but I open the camera app anyway.

I mean, if this is a dream, it won’t matter right? It’ll just be me! Good ol’ silly me in a dream that feels way too real for comfort right now. It’s fine, it’s whatever! My thumb moves on its own to change the camera to front-facing.

I’m expecting… Well, me. Office-stressed. Maybe a little bloated. The usual. But the screen changes.

I freeze. That’s not-

No, wait-

Is that me?

The girl on the screen is pretty. Not me-pretty. But pretty like in an unfamiliar, sharp, exhausted, too-perfect kind of way.

Pale skin. Messy, long, dark-brown hair like it hasn’t been washed in days. Hollow eyes with dark circles underneath. Lips slightly chapped but still tinted, like someone who tried to look cute but gave up halfway through.

Wow, she looks… exhausted. I, look exhausted. And that’s when the physical exhaustion seeps in.

Wait a second. Can you feel exhausted in a dream? Thinking about it makes me yawn, but I freeze mid-yawn.

Holy shit. While I know the camera is pointed at me right now, that's when I really connect the dots.

That’s my reflection.

I slowly close my mouth from the yawn, and the screen follows my exact motion. I swallow, and I tilt my head. It copies exactly the same. I feel my blood run cold.

That’s really me.

Unsettled by the fact that I look completely different, I slam the phone facedown onto the bed, chest heaving, lungs tightening. My hands are shaking and I don’t know if I want to cry or laugh or throw up.

Because that wasn’t a cosmetic filter or a weird dream avatar, that was me.

But not me.

Immediately, I lift my arms dramatically.

CLAP.

I clap my cheeks hard. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you want to wake up from a dream, right?

But instead of waking up, my cheeks just sting and my palms feel the warm flush of impact. At this point, I’m spiraling and starting to freak out.

I throw the covers off of me and slide my legs off the bed. My feet touched the cold, laminated floor. Through the dark, I find the nearest wall with my hand and I shuffle through the space.

From what I can see through the darkness, I can make out a few obvious things.

First, this studio is tiny. Tiny to the point where I don’t see a table or chair anywhere. There’s a small kitchen with a bar and two barstools. No couch, no TV, no coffee-table, no art on the walls. Just light from the microwave clock and the soft buzz of the fridge humming in the otherwise silent space.

By the only closed door in this room, there’s a shoe rack and wall hooks that seem to be holding scrubs, a maid café outfit, and a cardigan. The only other notable items I see nearby are a foldable study desk, a futon cushion, a stack of textbooks, a school bag, and a tote.

I make my way to the only other open doorframe in this place and I wobble in, one of my hands finding the countertop and the other searching for the light source. My fingers find the switch, and I flick it up. I squint as the bathroom fills with a subtle glow that blinds me for a moment.

I scream, but no noise comes out.

This is too real. That girl in the mirror? That’s not me. But it is me.

Staring straight back at me is a girl that I don’t recognize. She’s slender, petite, hair messy, overall look is absolutely disheveled and peak worn out. I touch my face, and the figure in the mirror does the same. I do finger guns, and it matches my movement identically.

I take in a deep breath, and I let it out slowly. I simply turn off the light in the bathroom and I step out, back into the main space of the studio.

I walk over to the bed now, and I pace back and forth a few times, muttering under my breath, “This can’t be real, I’ve got to be dreaming, but why does my body hurt and why can I smell lavender and vanilla?”

I snap my fingers, standing still now. Of course!

The obvious solution is to sleep it off.

Surely when I wake up, it’ll be my real bedroom with my comfy and cozy soft bed to wake up in with gorgeous morning light pouring in just like it has for the past few years.

Feeling reassured, I sit down on the edge of the bed and shift under the covers.

With a comforted sigh that this is just a nightmare, I rest my weary body and shut my eyes. Before I know it, I drift off into sleep.

~*~

The room smells like absence. Everything’s been cleaned; sheets crisp, desk wiped bare, not a speck of dust on the shelves. It’s sterile, silent, untouched. The kind of clean that erases people. Not a life lived, just a vacancy maintained.

His fingers trail the edge of the desk. The color scheme hasn’t changed in twenty years. Gray walls. Gray carpet. Gray furniture. Every piece designed for function, not comfort. The room is made of expectations; quiet, measured, dull. Like him.

He thought it might feel heavier. A pang. A pull. But all he feels is stillness. No lingering regrets. No fear. Just quiet.

Maybe it’s because he already said goodbye. He never expected for it to be whispered back. They weren’t his friends, no. They couldn’t be. But he was theirs. And that was enough.

It’s not sorrow. Not despair. Just fatigue. His father, a Unity Coalition politician, wanted a legacy. A replica. His mother, Zephyr Entertainment anchor, wanted a headline. A story to flash. They both wanted noise, status, power. His father had once told him, ‘We don’t have the luxury of weakness.’ His mother had only smiled and adjusted the camera angle.

Neither of them ever heard him.

He avoided the creeping dread for as long as he could. The feeling that crawled up his spine as his fingers trembled notetaking at 3 AM. The slow onset of decay that ate away at him over the years. The dining table that had room for three but only one plate set out for a ghost.

Three chairs. Three place settings in the cabinet. Three lives that had never quite touched. He wondered if they’d sell the extra chair after, or if they’d just leave them there, gathering dust like everything else he’d left unsaid.

His life should feel full; there was nothing more he should want. Raised with a silver spoon, he should be grateful. The house was a museum of things that cost more than he was worth. Instead, an ache in his chest by how obsolete it was to be physically comfortable, yet the emptiness inside didn’t ache anymore. It just hummed, a low, constant note in his ribs, like the echo of a bell no one had rung in years.

A waste and a shame that someone like him was born into his position. When it could have been someone else. Anyone else that would’ve, should’ve, cried from sheer gratefulness. That it was a blessing to be here. He ached to feel the same.

He swallows, but it doesn't erase the burning sensation in his lungs. His mind drifts. He forbids himself from choking out the truth. Not to them. Not to himself. Because that would mean telling the truth. And he wouldn’t survive the truth.

A date and time set like an appointment, preparations painstakingly made with what should have more hesitation, and letters unsent that carried the voice that would've quivered had it ushered the words. He had read that the body’s instinct was to survive. That instinct had long faded, drowned in whiskey and smoked away in the quiet hours of the day.

He had practiced tying the knot, once, twice, a dozen times, until his fingers stopped shaking. Until the motion became muscle memory. Until the terror of failure was worse than the act itself. Because he couldn’t afford to fail, not if it meant witnessing the disappointment from others.

What terrified him wasn’t the act. It was the after; the way his father would clear his throat and move on to the next speech, the way his mother would pause for half a second before adjusting her earpiece. The way the world would keep spinning, indifferent.

Just a few more days. He doesn’t say it out loud. Just a weary gaze on the calendar with the date circled like it mattered. As if it wasn’t a quiet goodbye.

Kneeling by the bed, he presses his forehead into the mattress. He doesn’t pray. He doesn’t cry. He just waits for the weight of his own body to feel enough. And when it doesn’t, it no longer aches like it used to.

He had practiced this moment in his head a hundred times. He had practiced the words. He had practiced the silence. He had never practiced the way his throat would close up, the way his hands would forget how to hold a pen.

One last weekend, he tells himself. He calls it honesty. It feels like a lie he’s too tired to argue with. He doesn’t know where he'll go after the end. He just hopes no one will notice. That him fading away will be like the mist dispersing before the sun. Gone before anyone realizes he was there at all.

Chapter Text

The first thing I do in this body is sneeze so hard I almost dislocate my soul.

Not a gentle fluttery one like they show for anime girls. No, it’s a full-body, soul-ejecting “hn’CHHK-GHhh!” like my entire respiratory system decided to rage-quit.

My eyes snap open. Bleary and stinging, I blink against the light pouring in from the window. Rubbing my eyes, I sit up and stretch like a lazy cat.

I freeze.

No. No no no. No fucking way.

Not my room. No anime posters. No ultra-wide monitor or my RGB-lit PC, which I built with way too much pride. Straight ahead, the small kitchen with the two lonely barstools that I saw in my dream. No smell of fresh coffee or my lemon-scented fabric softener. Just blanks walls, a depressing looking dresser, and the old phone plugged into a frayed charging cord like it’s fighting for its life.

I lunge for the beat-up phone, snatching it off the bed like it’s a lifeline.

Not mine.

A missed alarm. The alarm that says: “Wake up or die poor 💀☕️”.

“Charming,” I croak. My throat’s dry. My hands are shaking. I swipe it away like I’m deleting a bomb notification, feeling a sense of dread and unrealism.

The screen displays: 10:36 AM, Saturday, June 14, 2025.

Eyes widening, my breath catches. My blood pulses, my head screams, it’s like this body, my body, is conditioned to freak out when I’m late.

Late…? To what? It’s the weekend. I’m not late for anything, I’m off today. I work Monday through Friday, just a regular office worker-

It hits me like a freight train.

Maison de Rêve.

11:00 AM.

Dream schedule.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m dreaming about Sanctum of Light but this makes zero sense. Why would I be some rando in a studio apartment with negative vibes?” I mumble as I drop the phone, running my fingers through my hair.

My voice breaks into a dry laugh, because if I stop joking, I might start crying, “I’m not me. I’m not me. This has to be a cruel joke from my subconscious. Am I being punished for playing otome games instead of working on the clock??”

I glance up at the analog clock. Tick. Tick. 10:39 AM.

Twenty-one minutes to get ready for a job that only exists in a game that doesn’t even start until two weeks from now. Of course I remember the most random facts when I’m panicking. The heroine of Sanctum of Light isn’t even due to appear at the maid café until June 28.

No time to waste, I stumble out of bed, cussing as I look for parts of the maid outfit in the dresser. No clue where this damn café is. How the hell does one put on a maid outfit?

If I’m still dreaming, I guess I’m just a random NPC? Perish the thought, I grit my teeth as I shove myself into the maid outfit nearby.

I’ve never worked a waitressing job, let alone as a maid at a café. The closest experience I have was being a barista in high school. And that was nearly a decade ago. So unless caffeine counts as maid training, I’m screwed.

Bursting into the bathroom, I clean myself up, making myself presentable for a maid café job. Lucky for me, this dream “me” is naturally pretty, but the dark circles under my eyes serve as a reminder that whoever this is, is god-awfully tired.

I bolt back to my bed, grabbing my phone. I furiously tap the map app, searching for Maison de Rêve.

A sigh of relief escapes me. Just under a mile away, a 15-minute walk. But the time? 10:48 AM.

A crying noise escapes from my throat. I fly out, slamming the door so hard the walls shake.

Somewhere ahead, Sanctum of Light is waiting. And I’m already late for a life that isn’t mine.

~*~

My hands slam into the double French doors.

Right off the bat, when I was sprinting to the café like an action shounen protagonist, I could tell that not-me regularly works out. I’m winded but not dying. Whoever this body belonged to, she worked out. Dream logic, maybe.

Wiping my brow, I catch my breath. I pull open the door by its golden handle, entering Maison de Rêve for the first time.

Classical music and the scent of freshly brewed coffee and tea greet me as my senses adjust to the environment. Soft lighting smooths over every surface, too perfect to be real. The café is curated with lovely French designs, tasteful intricate window panes, and carved artistry into the walls. It’s exactly how I remembered it to be in Sanctum of Light when I was playing it.

A flicker of dread. Odd, are dreams accurate to memories?

Still breathless, pink-cheeked, and disoriented from the hurricane of events, I walk up to the check-in stand.

I freeze.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

“You’re late.”

A flat clipped voice. I whip my head towards the sound. A centralized bar.

Slicked silver-gray hair. Deep, violet eyes like a shadowed amethyst. A pressed collar. Tall, sharp, unapproachable. And so much hotter in-person.

If my brain wasn’t already melting from the whiplash of this morning’s events, I might have died happy on the spot. My inner fangirl squealing and ascending to heaven right this instant. Best. Dream. Ever.

That’s Ash.

Ash fucking Nostredame.

He doesn’t look away, nor does he smile. He just watches, unamused, not surprised, but also… not welcoming.

The quiet, impossibly elegant side character from Sanctum of Light. The “technically unromanceable but devastatingly flirty” butler NPC that shows up almost every chapter for a few scenes just to hand Eira, the heroine, a latte and accidentally start a shipping war across multi-fandom forums.

Who antagonized the four male leads by standing too close to Eira, effortlessly charming her in several miscellaneous CGs. Who smirked once in the game and caused way-too-many-to-count fan theories about his “secret route” that was fabled to exist per the dev notes. Who canonically made one flirty comment to Eira and then never appeared again, and still won two popularity polls.

Who’s now staring at me like I’m a stray dog that just wandered into his backyard.

And he just said I’m late.

Snapping back to reality, I force an awkward grin. His gaze flicks down for half a second, just long enough to make my skin prickle. Is he judging me? Sizing me up? I swallow hard, my palms suddenly slick.

Ash narrows his eyes. “The check-in stand doesn’t bite.” He says flatly.

“Right! Totally!” I manage to squeak out, smiling way too bright and totally overcompensating for my tardiness.

Shit. I’ve got to be just some NPC in this dream. What the hell am I supposed to do next?

Biting my lip, I twiddle my thumbs, “Sorry but um… where am I stationed today?”

No response.

Ash doesn’t blink. Suddenly feeling more like prey than coworker, I blink rapidly. The silence stretches. I start to sweat. Should I just pretend I didn’t ask?

He holds my gaze for one long, harrowing beat before he tilts his head half a degree.

“Forget your own schedule? Or is this a new strategy?”

He turns away before I can respond, walking behind the bar and sliding a glass under the espresso machine like nothing’s wrong at all.

I stare at him, watching him work, still processing what just happened.

What strategy? The only kinds of strategy I know of are otome game routes and dialogue selection.

Besides, I’m not Eira in this dream. God, I wish. With long, luscious blonde hair and refreshing, jade-green eyes, she’s the perfect heroine of an otome game. Meanwhile, I’m over here like plain Jane with my messy long, dark-brown hair and dusty brown eyes.

All I can do is bury my pride like I regularly do in the office. I walk up to the counter where Ash is working.

Clapping my hands together dramatically, as if I’m praying, I plead genuinely. “Yup! I, uh, totally forgot my schedule. I’m such a klutz right??”

I look up now, giving him a sheepish grin. “Help me out here a little?” I let out a small, nervous laugh.

Ash doesn’t look up. He completes the latte with surgical precision, and only when he sets down the milk pitcher does he glance up at me, eyes low and steady. A beat passes.

“If you’ve suffered head trauma, I suggest reporting to urgent care. Otherwise, station four.” Then he walks away, returning to work.

Inhaling deeply, my expression now flat and my lips pursing. Before I know it, my fist is clenched. Just a stress ball habit, except there’s no stress ball. Just the wrath of being irked by my favorite side character.

I don’t remember Ash being a jerk in Sanctum of Light! He was always calm and gentle with Eira, is it because I’m some NPC??

Letting out a small huff, I whip around. Before walking away, I force myself to be polite, “Thanks, Ash!”

Through gritted teeth, I hunt for station four.

~*~

“Thanks, Ash!” She chirps, teeth clenched so hard as she stomps away.

He doesn’t respond. Ash doesn’t need to look to know what her face is doing. The voice that spoke was bright, but her shoulders screamed panic. But it wasn’t Evelina. Not the Evelina he knew.

Evelina knew exactly what time she had to be here.

She would’ve shown up ten minutes early just to bat her lashes at him and lean over the hostess stand like a cheap porno.

This one? Slammed into the front doors like a bird that didn’t realize there was glass in the way.

Breathless, misshapen on arrival. Forgot her own schedule. Said, “help me out here.”

Evelina wouldn’t ask for help. Since the very first day he met her, she’s always manipulated for results.

And she sure as hell has never said thank you. Not unless it meant that she would get something out of it.

He wipes the counter with a methodical rhythm, as if to scrub the strangeness out of his brain. Either she really did hit her head between her last shift with him and today’s, or something else happened to her.

Ash polishes the rim of the espresso cup one final time, his gaze fixed on the glint of porcelain. Whatever she is today, it isn’t the same girl who spent the last six months badgering him in every shared space.

And that bothers him more than it should. Because for the first time in years, Ash Nostredame doesn’t know what to expect.

~*~

After I walked away from Ash, I wandered aimlessly for a good five or ten minutes. I’ve never worked a job like this before, and the only time I’ve ever heard someone mention stations was in restaurants; when servers call dibs on tables like they’re claiming territory in a war zone.

I try to walk with purpose. I do not succeed.

Eventually, I spot another girl in a maid uniform, setting up a table delicately, carefully adjusting a folded napkin. For a moment, I pause to admire her work. She hasn’t noticed me yet. I clear my throat softly to get her attention.

“Excuse me? Sorry to bother you but I was wondering where station four is?” I ask gently, approaching the table.

The girl flinches. Actually flinches. She snaps her head towards me so fast I swear I hear something crack. She gasps, and the napkin slips from her fingers. Is she… trembling?

I frown, a bit concerned, but before I can say anything the girl yelps, “I-It’s over t-there!” As she jabs a finger towards a section of the floor, near the back corner.

“Oh uh, thank you!” I reply, a bit taken aback by the strong reaction. Was it something I said? She’s already speed-walking away. Okay… Not weird at all.

I shrug and without further ado, I stride over to the area the girl pointed. Nestled in the far corner of the café, barely visible from the main entrance is a semi-curtained alcove with two small round tables, each dainty enough for up to three guests.

A breath of relief escapes me. In the grand scheme of this place, which looks like a princess fantasy that threw up all over a Michelin-star bistro, this little nook feels… survivable. Totally manageable.

I definitely lucked out in the roulette of assigned stations given that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

I turn to the right, and there it is, the drink station. It’s built like a pastel alchemy lab, with the espresso machine gleaming, the syrup bottles arranged neatly, and a small fridge humming under the counter. It’s even got a chalkboard with “Drink of the Day” scrawled in bubble letters and a mini pastry case with perfectly lined macaron rows.

A small smile creeps on my face as I walk over, eager to explore the space in front of me.

It’s been so long since I’ve made drinks in a café setting, and I remember fondly of the days I got to use a fancy espresso machine. I trail my fingers over the tamper, peek into the prep drawers, and open the fridge just to orient myself.

Nothing wildly unfamiliar. At this rate, I might actually forget I’m dreaming about my favorite otome game.

The thought makes my smile twitch and I laugh, nervous and too high-pitched. Because wait…

In Sanctum of Light, the main heroine Eira works here, in this exact café. She flirts with the love interests. She gets caught up in awkward misunderstandings. She blushes when they offer to teach her how to hold a tray. But that’s a visual novel. They don’t show the menu. Or explain how to run drinks. Or what to do if a customer hates you and throws a crepe at your face.

Oh gods. I am so royally fucked. Quick, is there a 101 guide to being a maid in a cozy, fantasy-like, slice-of-live setting?

And right on cue, I hear the front door chime, the glass bell echoing through the air and I visibly flinch.

I start praying to whatever dream lord that sent me to this hellscape that I am more than happy to wake up at any moment now. I have performance anxiety.

Alas, my prayers remain unheard as I can tell it’s not a staff member and I hear a man speaking to Ash up front. Please just order a to-go Americano or something.

I’m fidgeting, almost vibrating as I hold myself from pacing back and forth. Do I go up there and greet the guest? Do I stay at station four and mind my tables? But I don’t have any customers so-

My thought process is cut-off as I hear footsteps headed my way. Sharp, confident, and casual. Please don’t let it be regular.

A tall, maybe college-aged, young man appears across the room. An expensive blazer slung over one shoulder, dark turtleneck underneath, and sunglasses perched at his brow.

The kind of guy I avoided throughout high-school and college because they spelled trouble for more than they were worth. We lock eyes and he smiles like he knows me. Oh god, of course it’s a regular.

“There you are! Don’t tell me you forgot our usual game already. I win, I get your number. You win, and I pay triple.” He struts over as I remain standing like a deer in headlights.

“S-Sorry?” I stammer and all that’s running through my head is what do I do with my hands? I instinctively fiddle with the corner of my apron. This is truly a top-tier nightmare for me, customer service with zero training beforehand.

“What? No greeting?” The man slides into one of the chairs at my table and props his elbow, the side of his face resting on his knuckles.

“Is this a new style of flirting? No ‘Welcome home, Master’?” He howls as if what he said was funny.

A recollection flashes for me as I remember how Eira used to greet the guests. I pinch the sides of my maid skirt and I do the best curtsy I can manage. I’m sure it’s not as elegant as Eira would have done it, but surely this will appease the guest.

“W-Welcome home, Master!”

I’m met with complete and utter silence. Oh no, did I mess up? I stand up straight now and I look at the customer.

~*~

“W-Welcome home, Master!” Lina stammers as she bows and curtsies.

Joshua stares in shock, his jaw going slack as he witnesses Lina do the one thing she’s never done ever since he became a regular at Maison de Rêve.

A fucking cute ass curtsy AND calling him master? Did he die and go to heaven? Or is this hell and Satan is one second away from pulling the rug from under him?

He was expecting the usual; a scowl, maybe a sultry wink if she was in a generous mood.

She’s always coy, teasing, sharp-witted. His favorite kind of sparring partner. But this? His brain can’t even parse it.

What the hell did she just call me? Did she hit her head? Is this a prank? Did I get rejected so hard she’s gaslighting me with improv therapy?

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t flirt. For the first time in forever, Joshua just… stares. Unblinking. Probably not breathing either.

~*~

“Okay… who the hell are you and what did you do with Lina?” The regular leans back into the chair now, grinning and also seemingly astounded.

Uh oh, wrong answer I guess?

I start to open my mouth to offer an apology when I stop short.

Hold on. Lina?

My eyes narrow as I trace my thoughts through my memories, searching for the reason why that sounds oddly familiar-

Holy shit. Lina?? Like, Lina from Sanctum of Light???

Lina, the side character that constantly harasses Eira throughout the entire game, flirting with every male lead, manipulates customers to make Eira’s job more difficult, and sends creeps to her tables at every opportunity possible.

The absolutely flawless, gorgeous, sugar-laced venomous villainess that literally has a megathread dedicated to her since players were constantly enraged over her antics??

No wonder I didn’t recognize her, or rather, me last night!

I’ve never seen Lina look less than perfect whenever she was on-screen. She was always put together, hair in perfect pigtails, lipstick pristine, and eyeliner so sharp that I swear it cut me every time she appeared in a scene. Everything’s slowly coming together now, and if I’m Lina then…

“Hello? Earth to Lina? You gonna explain why you look like you climbed out of the gutter today?” The young man makes a terrible attempt at flirtation.

He sighs playfully, “I came all this way to see you and I get this lukewarm response-”

I slam my palm down on the table, making a clatter sound. Oops, that was a bit louder than I wanted it to be.

“Master~ I was just testing your wit, it seems like it could use some sharpening.” I coo, my other hand flipping my ponytail back.

On the outside, I look composed, capturing the role of Lina decently well if I may say so myself. But on the inside? Utter mayhem.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god what was that?? Did you just flip your hair?? When was the last time you did that? High school? Middle school?? Oh god, was that villainess-like? Oh I hope I nailed it, otherwise it’s gonna look suspicious. Wait, earlier I asked where my station is and thanked another maid. Oh no no no if I’m Lina that means-

I slowly turn my head towards the main coffee bar.

He’s already looking.

His gaze is unflinching, one hand on the counter, weight slightly leaned. His posture is immaculate but not tense. Our eyes are locked. I can’t read his expression but it’s not cold, just… aware. Too aware.

I swallow, and I blink, losing the staring contest that Ash and I are accidentally having.

The customer says something and I snap my head back to him, “Damn Lina, you’re pretty feisty today!” He laughs, his arms crossed.

His eyes glint in the glow of the café, clearly amused and now enjoying himself. I guess he’s into the whole villainess thing.

He leans forward again, a cocky grin on his face once more, “Why don’t you be a dear and get me my usual?”

For a split second, my fingers twitch on the table, palm still heated from slamming it. I pull my hand back to my side.

What the hell is his usual? How would I know?? Lucky for me, I work splendidly under pressure, years of young adult working experience coming in clutch. I rapidly come up with a counter to the predicament I’m in.

I clasp my hands behind my back, and I lean in slightly with faux innocence. With a voice sweeter than sugar, I purr, “If I was such a dear, you wouldn’t keep coming back for more, would you?”

I feign boredom as I drone on, “Now, do me a favor and say out loud exactly what you want. Otherwise, I won’t get it right~”

I’m already checking my nails just like Lina would whenever she was upset in Sanctum. Although I’m making up lines on the spot, I am technically, physically Lina, so surely I’m playing the part well enough??

Lo and behold, it seems my strategy has worked.

“O-Of course Lina! Whatever you want!” The customer looks absolutely smitten, even in my make-up-less state. I guess the personality really does the trick for those who seek out Lina.

“I’d like the hazelnut mocha latte, semi-sweet, with an extra shot.”

"You got it!" Ah shit, I said that like me, not Lina. Quick, recover!

I almost do finger guns but I barely hold myself back as I point a finger at him in the form of a gun. Click! I raise my finger to my lips and blow. They do this in anime when they flirt, right?

"Heart shot!"

The man looks deceased in the best way. I'm beginning to enjoy this! I flit away to the mini espresso bar to start working on the latte he ordered.

~*~

Ash wipes down the countertop with steady precision. Each movement is measured, efficient. Early Saturday shift, light traffic, no chaos. Just the way he likes it.

He's already half-tracking the café's front when the bell above the door jingles. Joshua's early. Of course. Every Saturday. Always arrives before the brunch prep finishes, always asks for her.

Ash doesn't bother glancing up beyond courtesy, just enough not to be rude.

"Morning, is Lina here today?" Joshua steps up to the register, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck.

"She's working. Head straight back and take a left." Ash responds without sparing him a second glance.

That should've been the end of it. But he watches, peripheral only, as Joshua saunters off with his usual overdone swagger, blazer slung like a fashion ad, posture set to notice me.

Ash doesn't care much for regulars, and Joshua's one of the more tolerable ones. Cocky, mostly harmless, and usually gone in ten minutes unless Evelina baited him into staying longer.

But today? Something felt... off. Ash doesn't catch it immediately. Not until the silence hit. Not until he heard her voice.

"W-Welcome home, Master!"

Ash freezes. His spine straightens. The cloth in his hand stills and a beat passes.

What the fuck?

Not because it's shocking, but because it's impossible. She doesn't do that. 

Ever.

Not for anyone. Not even for tips. That wasn't her voice. Her tone. Or her script. That wasn't even in her vocabulary.

He looks up, his eyes tracking towards the back of the café. And from across the café, there she was.

Framed in a beam of morning light, Evelina was curtsying. Curtseying.

Not sighing in disgust. Not pretending not to see the customer. Not smirking like she was two seconds away from verbally eviscerating him. Not calling the customer "rat-boy" or "discount Armani" or whatever latest insult she invented for him last week. No, Evelina-

The Evelina that he's been working with for almost two years, was bending at the waist with a wobbly but enthusiastic bow.

Ash's brain goes analytical, calculating. Trying to frame it. Is this a joke? Did she lose a bet? Is someone filming? She's smiling. Bowing. Too breathy. Too unsure.

Too sweet.

Ash watches Joshua's face shift from stunned to a blank expression. Not even the cocky comeback he usually launches by now, he's just staring with his mouth hung open. Probably wondering if this was some new bit of hers.

Ash adjusts subtly, his feet moving before his brain does. Posture angling slightly toward the floor-to-ceiling mirrors behind the espresso bar, just enough to catch the reflection without making it obvious he was watching.

She's stalling. Adapting. He can see it in her eyes. That part's familiar; he's done it enough times to recognize the cracks. But this isn't seduction or a setup. It's not even confident.

And yet... It's working. Joshua's eating it up. She's bluffing with no cards and still taking the pot.

"Master~ I was just testing your wit, it seems like it could use some sharpening."

That was Evelina's voice. But also... not. Not the girl who used to chew out new hires for standing too close to her prep station. Not the one who wrote snarky comments in the margins of schedule logs. Not the Evelina who ignored every training update unless it came from him directly; and even then, she'd roll her eyes like it pained her to pretend to care.

Ash blinks once. Who the fuck flips their ponytail in the middle of a sentence? Technically, it's not bad. The line lands and her posture holds, mimicking confidence. But it was... off. Like she was reading a role she didn't know she was in.

This version? She was... theatrical. Friendly. Awkwardly flamboyant. Still sharp, but clearly playing at it. Like someone pretending to be her.

Is she mocking him? No. No, look at her posture. The shoulders aren't set like they usually are. Her gaze doesn't drag, it jumps. She looks like someone trying not to get fired, not someone trying to win a game.

Her timing's wrong. Her gaze flicks too fast. Her hands twitch. Evelina is always deliberate. This version of her fidgets like a first-year intern on her second espresso and a prayer.

Okay. She's off her game. But she never breaks character. That's her thing. So either she really did hit her head, or it's something else entirely.

He doesn't even realize he's leaning. She's so wrong, it feels real. Not method-acting. Too chaotic to be calculated. Too raw to be routine.

And then she meets his eyes. Their gaze locked.

Her eyes widened, just for a split second. Just enough to realize he was watching. Had been watching. Ash doesn't look away. There it is. Recognition. Embarrassment. And something else.

He doesn't blink until she does. She flinched. Why? That's not a performance. She doesn't know what she's doing. But she's trying. Hard.

Ash shifts slightly, his weight resting on one hand against the bar. Just enough to tilt toward the mirror and keep her in his periphery. Not in an intimidating way, just to watch.

Because that girl? That wasn't Evelina he knew. Not the one who threw bar towels when she was pissed off. Not the one who threatened to "file an HR complaint against the sun" for being too bright through the window blinds. Not the one who made a blood sport out of sabotaging Joshua's drinks he flirted too hard.

No, this one's trying. Tentative, sloppy, kind. Genuine.

Ash leans against the counter, eyes tracking her every move as she fires a finger gun at Joshua. He watches her blow the tip of her finger. Joshua looks like he'd just been hit by Cupid's bazooka.

Ash doesn't move. She's enjoying herself now. The girl who'd once stormed out over a poorly steamed oat milk latte was smiling. Making drinks without complaint.

Something's changed. And not in the way most people do. Not the gradual smoothing of edges that happened when someone matured or softened or healed.

No, this was overnight. Like someone had flipped her system and installed a new operating system without warning.

Chapter Text

I am not enjoying myself whatsoever.

Barista experience? That was in high-school. First latte in over a decade, let’s go. Hazelnut mocha, semi-sweet, extra shot. Easy.

I reach for the portafilter, then freeze. Shit. Does this place even use the same recipes as my old café? There’s got to be a recipe card somewhere...

Yanking open a drawer, I rummage around. Score! I praise the coffee bean lord as I pull the recipe card out, reviewing the contents.

And of course, not a single recipe was for the drink the customer ordered.

Alright, time to YOLO this shit. He’s getting a triple shot, whether he likes it or not. Inhaling sharply, I let my hands do the work. Shot pulled. Milk steamed. Syrup squirted. We can do this.

Pouring the milk into the cup, hesitation crawls up my skin. My hand freezes mid-pour. I've always wanted to make latte art, but I was never taught. Corporate doesn't care about looks, it only cares for customer retention.

I mean, if this is a dream, I might as well enjoy myself.

Biting my lip, I attempt my first latte heart. A classic heart. Maid cafés do that, right?

I don't know whether to laugh or cry at my sorry attempt. I tried to make a heart. Instead, it looks like two round balls, or rather, butt cheeks.

Stifling an upcoming chortle, I try not to burst out laughing. Dear lord, please don’t let him notice I just served him foamed ass cheeks on porcelain. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself and my rising adrenaline.

Placing the cup on a saucer, I carefully bring it over to the young man. He's... expressionless. Is he disappointed? Already?? But I haven't even shown him my booty shaped latte art!

With no time left to think, I blurt out as I stop in front of him, placing the saucer with the cup in front of him.

"I know I messed up and I'm really sorry! I can make another one, just... totally off my game!" A nervous laugh breaks out of me.

He doesn't say anything.

Instead, he just picks up coffee by the handle. Oh god, is this one of those scenes where the angry customer pours the drink over the maids head? I am so not prepared for liquid violence!

But no, he doesn't perform a classic anime trope. He simply takes a sip, and sets the cup down. He looks at me now, fingers still hovering over the table, and grins.

"Lina, your heart looks like ass. Pun intended." He laughs hard, slapping his knee.

Oh fuck that's right, I'm supposed to be Lina!

Before I can figure out how to resume character, he continues on his tirade, "I'm just kidding! Unless..? Just kidding! Nah, it tastes great. Sometimes I swear you try to serve me a cappuccino but hey, I'm not complaining.”

“Besides," He smirks playfully, "If this is your new way of flirting, I’m into it!"

I. Am. Deceased.

How old is this guy? He looks like he's still in college. Young man, I am a full grown woman with a full-time job and I am most definitely, absolutely, irrefutably, NOT flirting with you.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to think of what Lina would do. That's right! A villainess laugh!

I sneer at him, hand coming up near my chin, fingers flexed, "Oh please, in your dreams! Yeah, enjoy my booty latte art while it lasts, um, boy!"

Oh. My. God.

I am completely mortified.

I flubbed that so hard, I can already feel the heat rising in my cheeks as my laugh goes from peak girlboss energy to fresh-out-of-college part-timer.

Did I just call him boy?

I know Lina’s insults are supposed to be classy, but I can’t remember a single one. Also, who even likes being called ‘plebian’?

Before I can crumble any further, he's howling now, chest heaving, body shaking, just laughing absurdly loudly.

Please, someone, anyone, just come bury me six-feet under.

I'm just standing there now, hands at my side, probably looking ashamed, maybe a little lost. I've always found villainesses to be terribly adorable but if I had to rate my acting here? A solid G. Worse than an F.

G standing for GOD AWFUL.

He finally catches his breath, still wheezing a little, "Okay, okay, I don't know what's going on with you today, but damn!"

He grins, a full-blown genuine one. "I've been coming by for a while now, and I've never seen you like this. The whiplash is real and I could get used to this!"

Is it because I'm dreaming about an otome game that people are this nice...?

I smile weakly, grateful that I haven't been busted yet. For all I know, this dream could turn into a nightmare real quick, so I'm glad that my brain is still running things smoothly.

I close my eyes, clear my throat, "Yeah well, don't get used to it! Hmph!"

Is that how Lina would do it? Man, this is so much harder roleplaying as her now that I'm actually in her shoes.

I continue on the upbeat, trying to escape before I can mess anything up further. "Let me know if there's anything else I can get for you! Otherwise, enjoy the um, bitterness and I'll maybe see you around?"

Hopefully never, because this dream has got me stressed the fuck out. I am waking up as soon as I can!

I turn around and I basically flee from the scene, returning to the mini espresso bar near my station so I can settle down and get a hold of myself.

~*~

Joshua adjusts his sunglasses on his forehead, leaning back into the chair, arms crossed like he owns the damn café. Because why wouldn't he? He'd been a regular at Maison de Reve for months now, long enough to earn the privilege of being mocked mercilessly by Westbridge's sharpest-tongued maid, Lina.

He was used to the routine by now. She'd strut over, latte in hand, insult locked loaded.

"Master," She'd purr in the most condescending voice possible.

The only time she'd ever call him 'Master' was when she probably made his coffee decaf.

"Your drink is as bitter as your personality."

Cue her eye roll. Cue his grin. It was like a game, easy, fun, and laced with spice.

But today? She's breathless, awkward, flailing a bit. Said "Welcome home, Master" like she meant it.

Actually smiled, like a real smile.

He's still recovering from their earlier interaction. His eyes follow her movements, elbows now resting on the table, heart weirdly racing as he watches her behind the bar. Her shoulders are hunched slightly, lips pursed in concentration as she steams the milk like the fate of the world depended on it.

That's not the Lina I know.

Lina doesn't check recipe cards. Lina doesn't pause at the espresso machine like she was second-guessing herself. She doesn't chew on her lips like that, like a nervous high schooler working her first retail job.

No, she's always smooth. Sleek. Overly sweet and way too sharp for most people's taste. Whatever he's witnessing, she looks like she's trying. Trying so hard she doesn't even seem to notice him staring at her silhouette.

He tilts his head slightly, trying not to be obvious as he tracks the weirdly delicate way she swirled the milk in the pitcher. Her hands are steady, but her brows are furrowed. Every movement lacked the theatricality he'd grown to expect. No flair, no flounce, no flirtation while making his drink. Just pure, anxious focus. It was... kind of cute.

He doesn't finish the thought as his interest is piqued the second she pours the milk. He sees the concentration, the hesitation, the micro-expression of dread. Oh my god, is she trying to make latte art?

Even he can tell that she was trying. Except she was failing. Spectacularly. Undeniably.

When she finally brings the drink over, her eyes look wary, almost pleading. He could tell before she opened her mouth that she knew it wasn't perfect. That she was ready to yank it back and make another one if he so much as twitched.

Instead, he stares down at the foam.

Two soft mounds. Perfectly symmetrical.

Oh my god. Was that... ass? On his latte?

He covers his mouth for a second, trying not to laugh too early. She's already blurting out something-

"I know I messed up and I'm really sorry! I can make another one, just... totally off my game!"

It hits him like a truck.

What the hell was that? Was that... a real smile? Not smug or snarky. Just... soft?? I'm sorry, but where's my emotionally sadistic queen?? That tone? That apology? Lina never apologized. Not to him. Not to anyone as far as he was aware of. She doesn't stumble over her words like a panicked college intern. She doesn't hand him a drink like it was an offering at a shrine and hoping she doesn't get smited.

He blinks, and looks up at her.

Oh shit. She's serious.

He picks up the cup, fingers curling around the handle. He takes a sip. It was fine. He wasn’t picky in the first place, given that he ended up playing drink roulette with Lina from time to time.

But the foam... the foam.

He sets the cup down slowly and meets her eyes again.

"Lina," He said, tone solemn. "Your heart looks ass." She freezes. That's when he can't hold it back anymore.

"Pun intended!"

His laughter bursts out before he can stop it, loud and unfiltered, hand slapping his knee as he wheezes.

"I'm just kidding! Unless...? Just kidding! Nah, it tastes great. Sometimes I swear you try to serve me a cappuccino but hey, I'm not complaining."

And then, he couldn't stop himself.

"Besides," He adds with a grin, "If this is your new way of flirting, I’m into it."

He watches her blink, eyes wide, face flushed. And not in the "I'm about to verbally destroy you" way. No, she looked like she was buffering. Like her CPU couldn't handle the input.

Then she does this weird little sneer, raises her hand awkwardly near her chin like she was about to cast a spell or summon glitter when she says, "Oh please, in your dreams! Yeah, enjoy my booty latte art while it lasts, um, boy!"

Joshua stares.

Boy? Boy??

Was that supposed to be an insult? Was she trying to cosplay as an anime villain from 2008? His chest shakes with fresh laughter.

It wasn't even the insult, it was the way she fumbled it. The way her voice cracked halfway through the laugh. The way her venomous energy went from evil queen to baby giraffe learning to walk for the first time in two seconds flat.

This can't be Lina. This has to be her secret, identical twin pretending to be Lina. And doing a hilariously terrible job. And yet-

He liked this version better.

Because for the first time, he didn't feel like he was trying to earn her attention. She gave it freely, without the usual barbs, without the performance. Just this weird, chaotic, honest girl in maid ruffles trying not to drown in foam and expectations.

He's still trying to remember how to breathe. He wipes at the corner of his eye as another half-laugh wheezes out of him, chest still shaking, "Okay, okay."

He gasps, finally catching his breath. "I don't know what's going with you today, but damn."

His grin widens, something stupid and genuine spreading across his face. "I've been coming by for a while now, and I've never seen you like this. The whiplash is real, and I could get used to this."

He doesn't even know what he's saying anymore. The words just keep pouring out. There's no filter between his mouth and his brain, because his brain is busy-

Currently trying to piece together how Lina the Demon Maid Queen suddenly turned into a flustered, latte-art-making, apologetic cinnamon roll with a funny glitch in her laugh track.

He watches her face crumple into something that looks like a smile, but not the usual smug, self-satisfied smirk she always threw over her shoulder like confetti. This smile? Shaky, uncertain, almost like she wasn't sure she was allowed to make it.

Then she clears her throat and says, "Yeah well, don't get used to it! Hmph!"

Time stops. Joshua blinks.

Hmph. She hmph'd. At him. Like a schoolgirl in a magical girl anime who just got caught blushing over her secret crush.

I'm so used to being roasted alive that I forgot what it was like to get a real smile from her. And she just said "don't get used to it" with the softest little 'hmph' I've ever heard. Like she was trying to be spicy but forgot the seasoning.

He just stares. His heart does something very uncool in his chest.

That... was kind of adorable? Wait. No. No. This is Lina. She's not adorable. She's a menace.

She once told him she'd garnish his drink with her disdain. She once told another customer to "enjoy your tea, peasant," and he watched the other guy melt into a puddle.

But now? She's standing there, lips pursed, cheeks faintly pink, barely holding it together, and fleeing. Like, actually turned on her heel and walked away like the floor was lava.

What the hell is happening.

Joshua stares down at his latte, the foam now deflating slowly. The little heart-butt shape she'd poured was still visible, slightly lopsided. He shakes his head, unable to stop the grin curling back onto his lips.

Maybe she was having an off day. Maybe she was sick. Maybe she hit her head.

He picks up the latte again and takes another slow sip, watching the back of her figure as she retreats behind the espresso station. See you around, huh? Guess he's coming back next Saturday too, and a small part of him is hoping it's this version of her.

~*~

Ash doesn't move. Doesn't pretend to be busy. He watches, arms crossed, shoulder braced against the wall, postured detachment. Theatrical distance.

Except... she doesn't notice. Evelina always notices. That realization alone splinters through him with more force than he wants to admit. Because she doesn’t just look, she performs. For the guests. For the tips. For dominance. And especially for him.

Only a few days ago, he'd made the mistake and glanced up while checking inventory, when he accidentally locked eyes with her across the bar. And she'd bitten her lower lip, slow and deliberate, and proceeded to bend at the waist to adjust her thigh highs.

To say the least, Ash was not amused from that interaction.

But now? She's biting her lip again, not for seduction or manipulation, but because she's... nervous?

Ash watches, because he can't not. Her hands don't move the way he remembers. Evelina always pours with precision laced in arrogance, as if the syrup bottle should thank her for being touched. But now? She taps the side of the porcelain cup, hesitating, like she's thinking through each step. Not her usual performance.

That alone sends a ripple through his brain like dropped glass in an empty hallway. She's made drinks before. Hundreds. Easily. And not once has she looked like she's second-guessing herself.

Ash tilts his head ever so slightly. She still hasn't glanced up. Hasn't checked who might be watching. She's not posturing. She's just... focused. Genuinely.

She lifts a recipe card from one of the drawers. His brows furrow. She's looking? She never looks. She improvises with sugar and vengeance and calls it "house blend."

Not even when the menu changed last quarter; he remembered, because she called the seasonal syrup lineup "capitalist dumpster juice" and made Joshua a lavender-pineapple-vanilla abomination out of pure spite. But now she's checking. Cross-referencing. Reviewing.

Ash straightens up by a fraction, the cloth in his hand forgotten. She puts the card away after a beat, shoulders lowering. Is that disappointment? Actual disappointment.

From the two years he's known her, without a doubt, Evelina has always been a perfectionist. The only kind of disappointment Ash has ever witnessed from Evelina was when it was in others, like when the manager assigned her to a low traffic area, like station four. But her disappointment is shown in scowls, simmering rage in her eyes, and verbal passive-aggression.

And yet, not a single complaint today.

Syrup pumps follow, but not her usual over-sweet chaos blend. Just one pump of hazelnut. One mocha. Measured and practical. Not Evelina. She usually drowns it in syrup just to see if she can give Joshua diabetes in real time.

She goes for a triple pull on the espresso machine. Ash's eyes narrow. That... was correct. Technically. But not expected. She would've either used decaf or doubled the shots just to give Joshua caffeine-induced heart palpitations and then claimed it was "emotional reparations" for breathing near her.

Luckily for her, her regulars seem to enjoy cardiovascular activities, as they keep coming back for more.

She’s not smirking. Not mocking. Not performing. She’s just... making coffee. Steam hisses as she froths the milk, and for a brief moment, Ash sees her smile. Not the knife-edged one she wears when she's about to annihilate someone. Nor the flirty, saccharine thing she weaponized for tips.

What's more is that he recognizes an unfamiliar wave of emotion radiating off her. For a moment, he can't believe it. She's content? With what? Making a drink for one of her regulars? That can't be, Evelina never cares about the customer's actual satisfaction, but rather how large a tip they're willing to leave and how likely they'll ask for her again.

She pauses mid-pour. Pitcher lifted, and then tilted slightly. Ash's pupils track the motion, of course he recognizes it. But not her. Latte art.

He blinks, once. Evelina doesn't do latte art. She hates latte art. She scoffed at it last winter, telling the new hire that drawing on coffee was "the emotional equivalent of putting stickers on a gun." And yet, here she was. Pursing her lips. Adjusting the flow. Trying to coax something out of the milk that she clearly didn't know how to make.

For a moment, he thinks about getting closer. Not out of interest.

Out of confusion.

Out of the need to understand.

Why does she look like that? She's holding back laughter now. Barely. Her shoulders bounce once and he can see her biting down the inside of her cheek like the effort to stay composed was a losing battle.

What's so funny? In comparison to the girl he's witnessing in real-time, it was only a week ago where he heard her laughter followed by the crying sounds of another maid. Sharp, cruel, and bitter cackling was normal.

Not whatever this is.

She places the drink on a saucer. Picks it up with both hands. And when she turns to walk it over, that's when Ash sees it. Unfortunately. All too clearly.

He inhales sharply, covering his own mouth.

That... that's not a heart. That's-

God, what the fuck is that. Cheeks? No. That's a war crime in the form of foam.

Don't laugh.

Don't laugh.

Evelina would never do that on purpose. Her cruelty is curated. Precision-spiked, and always targeted. This? This is chaos. Innocent. Uncontrolled. Unpredictable.

He slowly exhales, lowering his hand and regaining his composure.

God. She knows it's bad. Look at her. And she's still going to serve it anyway. Evelina would never serve a drink that looked like that. She would've dumped it. Sneered. Re-made it twice, burned the counter down, and threatened to sue the milk. She looks like she's about to break down over a coffee blob that might be two cheeks hugging.

Don't smile.

Don't- 

Fuck.

Once she reaches Joshua's table, her voice comes out frantically, "I know I messed up and I'm really sorry! I can make another one, just... totally off my game!"

The fuck?

Ash blinks. Slow. His hand tightens on his forearm.

Apologizing. Out loud. In public. Already? She hasn't even poisoned him yet. Why the fuck is she apologizing? Evelina never apologizes. Never explains. Never panicked before feedback. And most definitely never sounded like she wanted to get it right.

Why the fuck is she trying to be good?

He can't remember the last time Evelina admitted fault, much less before the customer even had the audacity to complain. She usually waits for them to speak and then corrects their taste.

If she meant to humiliate him, that would’ve been art. But this? This is a cry for help disguised as latte cheeks.

Joshua, unsurprisingly, says nothing. Just picks up the drink like he’s trying to pretend he’s not confused.

Ash waits for the punchline. For the dramatic spit-take. For Evelina to reclaim the scene with venom and charm and something resembling control.

He's going to say something. She's going to bite back. That's how this works. That's always how it works.

But instead, "Lina, your heart looks like ass. Pun intended."

She flinched. Ash doesn’t react. But something in his chest lurches. He peers closer, hands resting on the countertops now. And then Joshua starts laughing. Loudly.

Ash watches, expression unreadable. But internally, he's logging every deviation like crime scene evidence. She doesn’t correct him. Doesn’t roll her eyes. Doesn’t flirt. She just freezes. And then?

"Oh please, in your dreams! Yeah, enjoy my booty art while it lasts, um, boy!"

Ash exhales slowly. Boy? What the hell was that? Was that a flirtation? An insult? A stroke? Evelina doesn't flub, doesn't hesitate. Her insults are sculpted masterpieces, not that... that thing she just said with her voice cracking halfway through.

Joshua's now in physical distress, laughing like someone just set his dignity on fire. And she's just... standing there. Stock still. Mortified. Her arms limp at her sides like someone just reset her cache data.

Ash keeps watching. She doesn't recover. Doesn't double down. She just stands there looking like she wants the floor to open up and devour her. Arms stiff at her sides. Cheeks glowing, eyes wide.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you today,” Joshua wheezes, “But damn! The whiplash is real, and I could get used to this!”

He likes it. Of course he likes it. It’s easy to like something when you don’t have context for who she used to be. I've known her for over two years now. And this isn't her.

Ash's jaw ticks once. What is this version she's handing out? What part of this is calculated? Because she's smiling now, but not like Evelina. Not coy. Not triumphant. Not sweetened for effect. Just... awkward. Almost thankful. Grateful, even. Which is the most absurd possibility of all.

She doesn't linger. She just closes her eyes and blurts out, "Yeah well, don't get used to it! Hmph!"

If she's faking this... He doesn't want to know.

That wasn't a line. That was panic. She's improvising like she doesn't know the rules anymore.

He watches her spin on her heel like she's about to break into a full sprint. Evelina doesn't run. She stalks. She saunters. She parades.

She does not flee.

Why is she blushing? Evelina doesn't blush. She makes other people blush. She doesn't... stand there and look like she forgot her own name.

Ash leans against the wall again, arms crossed. But now the posture isn't for detachment. It's containment. Because what he just witnessed wasn't a broken routine. Whatever game she's playing, it's clear it’s not the one she's always known.

And he wants to know why.

Chapter Text

If this is a dream, I need to wake up.

If it’s not… Well, I don’t even want to think about that. But for now, I’ve got to play the part of Lina, or risk blowing my cover.

I've turned into a living statue. At least, it feels like it. I don't know what facial expression I’m supposed to make. My face is doing... Well, nothing. I think I forgot how to exist.

What do villainesses even look like when no one's around? I've never seen Lina off-screen. Whenever she appeared in the scenes of Sanctum of Light, she was always sneering in a mocking fashion, perfectly poised with the villainess aura she emanated.

Although she was only a side character, her scenes were impactful. Whenever she bullied Eira, it either challenged Eira to become stronger, better, or it encouraged the love interests to protect her or gave Eira opportunities to increase affection stats.

I shake my head, trying to grasp the reality of my current situation. I look down and I clench my hands. I open them. Then close. Then open again.

Fleshy.

Lina's hands... No, my hands feel clammy and a bit sweaty.

Dreams don't get this detailed... Do they?

At the sound of a chair grating against the stone floor, I look up and I see the guest standing up and slinging his blazer over his shoulder. He looks over, winks and grins before waving goodbye to me. Without thinking, I raise my hand to mirror his gesture.

His grin only widens and he heads towards the exit.

Oh shit. That was out of character, wasn't it? I immediately lower my arm and I glance around to see if anyone noticed.

As I turn to look, I see him again. Ash. I whip around, pretending to be busy with my hands while rinsing the pitcher I used earlier.

Is he looking at me...? I peek out of the corner of my eye.

Oh yup. Yup yup yup.

He's looking alright. And he's not hiding it either. He's just... leaning against the wall like some kind of Bonds villain, arms crossed, watching me with a stern look on his face.

Was Ash always like that? So... intense?

I mindlessly begin to clean up, walking over to the table where the customer had just finished his drink. My hands reach for the saucer with the cup on it, as I continue to try to wrap my mind around this whole thing.

From what I recall, Ash appeared in a significant amount of scenes for a side character of an otome game. There were other side characters in Sanctum of Light, but he doubled, if not, tripled the amount of screentime in comparison to other minor characters.

Just like Lina, he served as an antagonist in the storyline. But instead of making Eira's life more difficult, he actually made it easier. Can't say the same for the love interests though. Ash would accidentally make it more challenging for the male leads.

While he would teach Eira on how to brew coffee, he made the boys bristle as his fingers would guide her wrist on the proper angle to steam milk. One popular CG was where he stood behind her, moving her hand to show her how to make latte art. I replayed that scene more times than I’d like to admit.

Bringing the used porcelain to the bar, I proceed to wash them. A flicker of doubt passes through me as I dry my hands after cleaning up.

What if... by the slightest chance, this is all real-

What would that mean?

I gasp out loud and I immediately run my fingers through my hair. My messy ponytail flops a little as I tighten it, gritting my teeth.

Don't spiral Evelyn. This is why you need to stop playing otome games at 2 AM on a work night. This is why you shouldn't only consume villainess isekai media. Remember to touch grass when you wake up-

I yelp as I bump into the corner of the espresso bar, clutching my elbow as I'd banged it. Hard. I'm a mess, a goddamn mess. The pain feels too real. My elbow stings as I rub it, trying to ease the ache.

Where's the pause button? Oh, right, this isn't a visual novel, this is an insanely, very realistic, lucid dream.

I need air, I need space, I need a goddamn place to gather my neurons from halting action potentials from firing all over.

I scamper over to the main bar, where the only available staff I can see on the floor. Taking a deep breath, I approach Ash. He's finishing up an order as a guest leaves with a drink to-go.

With one clean motion, he rinses the espresso shot glass on the water sprout in the sink, the other hand running the steam wand. He doesn't turn towards me as I step up to the counter. He just continues to dry the glass.

"Hey, um, I need to use the restroom. Real quick. Would you like, cover for me? I swear I won't be long." I don't remember pleading, but I'm basically begging, my voice drenched in desperation.

Ash doesn't move.

He just sets the glass down and proceeds to wipe the steam wand. Slow. Meticulous. The kind of precision that makes it feel like he's choosing not to hear me yet.

I'm sweating bullets.

Then, with deliberate stillness, he sets the cloth down. He looks at me. One brow lifts. Barely.

Oh god, he's going to say no. I knew it. This is so embarrassing. So much for being the secret route, fifth love interest my ass. More like a secret jerk-

"Didn't know Lina needed permission to leave the floor." He says at last, quiet and slow. "Must've hit your head harder than we thought."

I stare at him. Like, what the fuck am I supposed to say to that? At this point, I WISH I hit my head, and not the fact that I might have been isekai'd-

"Ten minutes. Any longer, and I'll assume you've been replaced by someone polite." Ash turns to rinse the pitcher, his voice dry and clipped.

Okay I take it back, he's not a total jerk. I let out an audible sigh of relief, "Thank you, I'll be back before you know it!" I give him a quick wave and run off.

Whipping around the corner, I barge into the restroom like it owes me money, almost slamming the door into the wall. I quickly shut it close behind me, locking it.

Finally, alone.

No customers to worry about, no maids who cower under Lina's reign, and no Ash with his heavy, pressuring gaze burning into the back of my head. I grip the edge of the sink and stare down the drain. Didn't think I'd have to use breathing exercises again in less than a whole day.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I tilt my head up slowly, and I look at myself in the mirror. The lighting in the bathroom has a rich but deep glow, illuminating the single-person bathroom in a halo-like state.

Staring right back at me, is without a doubt, Lina.

I couldn't see it the night before, but now it's more obvious than ever.

Long lashes, a petite frame, honey-brown eyes, a small nose, and lips thin but velvety. I stand up straight, raising my arms as my hands loosen my ponytail. Now it makes sense.There's a reason why there were two hair ties on the dresser this morning.

Slowly, I tie my hair into pigtails. The right one, then the left one.

There it is.

That's Lina. But... It's me.

Same eyes. Same hollow look from last night. Only this time, I see it.

This can't be real.

But it feels too real for me to ignore it any longer. I've got less than ten minutes here. Think. I close my eyes, hands gripping the edges of the sink once more.

Let's just say you've actually been isekai'd. What's the number one rule when being reborn into another world?

Don't let anyone find out.

Unless you want to be turned into a lab rat. Then you can say goodbye to your second chance at life.

Which means I'm... dead?

Wait no.

No, no, don't go there-

No.

I open my eyes, my gaze sharpening. Let's not go down that rabbit hole yet. We can worry about my life-or-death status after we survive through this shift without anyone realizing that I'm not Lina anymore.

Time for a magical transformation without magic!

I brush through my unruly hair, doing my best attempt to straighten out my pigtails. I adjust my bangs so that it frames my face the way Lina would set it. I wet my hands, wash my face, freshening up.

Honestly, it’s a shame that Lina always wore make-up in her cutscenes. In my humble opinion? Her natural look is much softer, less villainess-like. She probably would have more fans rooting for her had she appeared less sharp. We all love a villainess that we can relate to after all.

A thought crosses my mind as I eye myself up and down in the mirror. 

Why was she such a villainess anyway?

No time to think, my ten minutes are ticking. Disregarding the thought, I return to reviewing my transformation. Not bad, looking more like Lina by the second. But something's missing…

I tap my chin, thinking back to the poses her character would make whenever she was actively harassing Eira or flirting with the love interests.

Oh! Posture. That's the key. I straighten my spin and roll my shoulders back. Chin slightly raised but not too much. Not like a princess but rather a girl who's used to making men drop to their knees and beg for scraps.

Villainesses don't panic.

They eye you up and down like you're a cockroach on the wall, and smile like they're plotting your funeral. I practice the look. Neutral brows. A slight smirk. Blinking slower.

I tilt my head just enough to signal to whoever sees me, try harder, peasant. I take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

Okay, you can do this. Just be mean, clever, sharper than a sushi knife. Think of all the villainess anime, manga, manhwa, otome games that you've consumed.

As far as I can tell, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else besides Ash that I recognize from Sanctum of Light.

No Eira. No Victor, Finn, Theo, or Kade, the four love interests. Not even the minor characters like Mina, who's the senior floor manager. But Maison de Reve from top to bottom looks exactly like it does in the game.

Shit, I didn't set a timer but either I'm close to ten minutes or I'm about to pass it. Alright, back onto the floor.

Lina or bust.

The goal?

Do not let Ash see through you.

With that final thought in mind, I leave my bathroom sanctuary behind.

~*~

This is inefficient.

Two people called out, three maids on the floor. I'm running the main bar, host stand, and covering for Lina. We'll need to hire more staff. I'll need to speak with M. Auster.

"Go straight. Take a right." Ash tells a guest without looking up. The guest leaves. He checks his wrist.

10 minutes. Evelina's never late-

Click. Click.

He hears her before he sees her. The rhythm's different. Sharper. Measured. She rounds the corner. Walks past the bar like she owns it. Chin up. Gait clean.

For a moment, they lock eyes. Then she's gone. No words. No smirk. Not even a flicker. Ash adjusts his cufflink. Reaches for the inventory clipboard. His eyes don't follow. But his focus never left.

She's different. Different from when she asked me to cover for her. Did something happen in those 10 minutes?

Time stagnates.

Rush hour comes and goes. He directs regulars who always ask for Evelina. Nothing unordinary. The café smells the same. Steam. Lavender cleaner. Burnt sugar. But everything feels... off. Nothing's wrong. Just minor changes from this morning's behavior.

Ash dries the espresso shot glass. He watches from the corner of his vision. She's bantering with a guest, and there's more play than tension. She's snarky again. This morning she was different.

Now, she's Evelina. But not.

"You look tired. But that's none of my business, is it?" She smirks, but it falters.

Only a split second. Long enough for Ash to notice. She's speaking like she normally does. He watches the guest eat it up anyway, half entranced, half feral.

He notes the inventory behind the bar as he observes. There's no follow-up. Evelina performs like breathing. Now? It's like she has a stamina bar. She saunters but stops short. She sneers but her eyes don't. She leans over but it's restrained. She adjusts her apron, but it's not weaponized.

"Perfection doesn't apologize. And neither do I." She blows a kiss to one of her regulars, absolutely smitten.

His hands freeze. That's her line. She always says that line. But blowing a kiss? That's new. He sets the glass down. It clicks on the counter.

His hand reaches to tighten his gloves, but he stops short. He doesn't wear them when he's working on bar duty. Only out of necessity. He doesn’t go anywhere without his gloves. Reflex. Wrong context.

He places his hands on the counter, centering himself. He doesn't watch her now. But his focus doesn't drift. If anything, it sharpens.

First she comes in late. Then she thanks me. Tried to do latte art for Joshua. Asked me to cover her station. Comes back performing like her usual self. But she's off-script. She was consistent. Now she's an anomaly.

One of the other maids pass by the entrance, probably on their way to the break room.

He taps on the counter once with his finger, "Jenna." His voice low and curt.

Her steps stutter as her eyes widen. "…Me??" She squeaks out, pointing to herself, looking around like he might be talking to someone else.

He looks at Jenna, eyes unfazed. Waiting for her response. Yes, you. Who else is named Jenna that works here?

She fidgets a little, eyes looking down as she stands in place near the counter. "D-Did you need something, Ash?" Her cheeks are already tinted pink, her fluster evident. Predictable.

"Has Lina said anything about not feeling well?"

Jenna hesitates, her eyes looking up to see him. She quickly looks away as she stammers, "N-No... B-But..." She shifts in place, confused, and a little afraid.

Ash simply waits. She has more to say. They always do.

"E-Earlier she said excuse me... and that she was sorry to bother me..." The girl taps her fingers together, slowly and gently. "S-She asked me where station four was, and then thanked me..."

Ash feels his breath still. Excuse me? Sorry? Thank you? That's not in Evelina's arsenal. People say those to be polite. She's not polite, she's cutthroat. She doesn't say excuse me, she says move. She doesn't say sorry, she mocks. She doesn't thank anyone, not once, and most definitely not twice.

He doesn't react at first. Not visibly. No shift in stance. Just silence. 

"You're sure?" His tone is calm, clinical.

Jenna nods quickly, now looking at him, almost hopeful. He shuts that down. His eyes flick toward the back of the café where Evelina is laughing with another guest.

"Right." The word is flat. Noncommittal. "Get to your break." He turns away, and hears Jenna's downtrodden footsteps pad away.

He's already filing, logging, calculating internally. Too many inconsistencies. Patterns broken. He reaches up, adjusting the knot on his tie.

She's supposed to be predictable. A hindrance. Background noise.

But now? He's already spent too many resources on her today. Even now, his attention is being drawn to her.

What should have happened today was her arriving on time, punctual, with a smirk on her face. Hair in pigtails. Eyeliner sharp. Mascara heavy. Lips red. Her purring, "Should I start arriving earlier so you can see my pretty face sooner?" While batting her lashes, glossy lips glinting under the lighting.

She would have narrowed her eyes, being reminded that she was working at station four, the lowest traffic of newcomers, meaning less visibility and fewer tips. She would have hissed a passive aggressive insult at Jenna, never having been kind to freshly hired maids.

Joshua was supposed to leave satisfied with the berate that she always gave to her regulars, calling him a peasant or simp but instead he left looking like he fell in love.

She would have never asked to step off the floor, she would have held her head high, daring someone to ask why she's not at her station. She should have worked this shift like normal, like the last two years.

The last six months have been consistent, and that's the one thing he can't shake.

~*~

I wipe my brow, letting out a deep breath, feeling rather pleased with myself as one of my regulars heads out the door. I start to clean up after them, silverware and porcelain clinking as I pick up the dishes to bring it back to the mini espresso bar.

Who knew it would take so much energy to roleplay a bad bitch villainess?

A vibration buzzes in my apron pocket. I set the tableware down and fish out Lina’s phone. The screen displays a reminder: “Take 5-min break or pass out”.

Oh wow, it's already 2 PM? Time really flies whether or not you're having fun.

As much as I liked playing maid in my favorite otome game, it's still work. Especially since this doesn't feel like a dream... I shove my phone back into my dress and I rinse the cutlery and dishes.

Should I take a 5-minute break? I feel fine... Besides, it looks like the breakroom is near the restroom which means I'd have to pass by the main bar. Where Ash is. I shudder at the thought.

By all means, I'm not scared of him. But if anything Sanctum of Light has taught me, it's that Ash is very observant. He always noticed when Eira was tired, thirsty, hungry, and was always attentive even if he didn't look like it.

Hells, I'm pretty sure he caught onto Eira's state faster than all the main male leads. And he was just a side character! And yet, in each love interest route, he was constantly in the background. Even in the harem route itself, he became more and more involved in her life, including outside of Maison.

There was never any formal confirmation from the developers, just speculation from the hardcore part of the fanbase that datamined the game that Ash was more than just a side character.

A secret final boss, if you will.

Rumored to be the fifth love interest but only after you complete the entire game. Which I never did. I kept getting stuck in the harem route, failing at the same spot in the storyline.

In fact, I was working on it last night before I went out to buy some snacks...

"L-Lina?"

A quiet, uncertain voice squeaks from behind my shoulder just as I finish drying a fork.

I turn around, still holding the cloth and fork, "Yes!?"

Shit, that spooked me. Yes, I'm Lina. Yes, I'm Evelyn. And yes, I'm both.

The girl flinches. Oh, it's the same girl from earlier. The one that I had asked where station four was. That's when it clicks in my head.

Oh... She's scared of Lina, isn't she?

I remember how brutally Lina bullied Eira in the game. Not only was Eira a new hire, Lina always constantly showed signs of jealousy and simmering fury whenever Eira was praised or adored by the love interests and other maids. She was especially furious when Ash defended Eira against her.

I snap my attention back to reality, "What's up? Can I help you?"

Hopefully my smile doesn't look weird or anything. I can't even begin to imagine how Lina would look if she smiled for real and not one that looks like it bites.

It should be fine if I'm myself with her... right?

I don't remember her from the game. She's definitely an NPC and shouldn't impact anything. Besides, even if Ash was watching earlier, there's no way he'd still be watching a few hours later. Nobody has that much time to watch a side character villainess.

…Still, I can’t help it. My skin prickles. Like I’m being watched. But when I glance toward the bar, I don’t see him. Just the sleek marble counter and a few guests chatting with another barista. Ash is probably in the back. Or busy. Or plotting my downfall like the secret-route final boss he is.

She stares at me for a second, blinking. Her mouth opens like she's about to say something but then closes it.

…? Was it something I said...?

"U-Um... it's nothing! It's just that... I was t-told to tell you to take your break! So I'm here to c-cover your station..." She trails off, looking down at her hands as they're interlaced in front of her apron.

I brighten up, how convenient! After all, Lina's reminder just went off, threatening me that if I didn't rest at some point that I'd pass out.

"Oh sweet! Thanks uh..." I pause, placing the cloth and fork down. "Can you remind me of your name? I'm just sooo bad at names hah!" I add in a chuckle, fingers crossing that my bluff passes.

Her eyes are wide, lips quivering, "A-Ah! I-It's Jenna..."

"Great! Jenna! I'll be back in a bit then, thanks for taking over!" I grin as I give her a little wave, hustling off towards the front entrance.

Maybe now's my chance, since Ash isn't behind the main bar, I can pass by the counter without feeling like I have to say something to him or look like I'm Lina radiating massive antagonist energy.

I walk happily without a care in the world. Humming to myself, I find the door that says "Staff Only".

My hand clasps the door handle and I push down, opening the door. I enter the breakroom and close the door behind me. I turn to my left and I almost yelp out loud.

Holy fuck-

Ash is right there.

Arms crossed. His back leaning against a locker. Looking straight at me. His tie is perfect. His sleeves are rolled once.

Who the fuck stands there ominously as if they're waiting for someone to walk right through the door??

My hand is resting between my collarbones, as if to stop a frog from jumping out of my sternum. My pulse is going haywire, as my heart tries to regulate itself back to baseline.

He's just looking at me.

He blinks, slow. Still no words. Hasn't even made so much of a peep. My eyes meet his. His eyes pierce me.

Oh... his eyes. I forgot how pretty they were. For a second, I almost forgot that his eyes were a violet-grayish color. Reminds me of a dusty amethyst.

Okay, focus! Maybe he's just lost in thought and happened to be looking in this direction…

I clear my throat and I walk over to one of the tables and I take a seat in the chair. My eyes flick to him. He tilts his head, just slightly.

What the fuck.

Why is he still looking at me??

~*~

She flinched. Interesting. Where's the persona she was playing earlier?

He cocks his head a few degrees. Predictable. She's faking something today. The performance cracked.

What matters is why.

Nothing slips. Not in mock trials. Not in Legacy. Not in people. Especially not the ones he sees every week.

Not Evelina, who's been in his orbit since freshman year at Westbridge University. General classes. Debate club. Maison. A background fixture.

Until now.

10 minutes ago.

Ding. The front door of the entrance opens. Ash makes no rush to glance over, and when he does, the young man is already leaning over, elbows on the countertops. He's already grinning, like he's in on a joke Ash hasn't told.

"Didn't think there'd come a day when a Novarre would call me in for a favor." A huff of amusement escapes the young man, his eyes glimmering in mischief.

"Rachel called out. You work here. Your branch head owns this café. I wouldn't be so quick to call this a favor." Ash responds dryly, drying his hands.

"Yeah, yeah," The young man sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as he scoots into the bar space.

"If you say so, Ash. You know I came as fast as I could right? I even had to stop in the middle of painting this gorgeous model and ask her if we could reschedule-"

"I texted you three hours and forty-four minutes ago." Ash cuts him off, voice flat. He walks past him, "If you consider that fast, I would revisit the definition, Luca."

Ash doesn't bother to check Luca's expression as he passes him. It's irrelevant.

Luca Riel. A veteran butler at Maison. A minor Legacy figure. From an Auster sub-branch. Peripheral. Decorative at best. Unnoteworthy.

He walks with purpose to station two, where Jenna is assigned to for the day. When he reaches her, she looks up from her sweeping, broom clutched between her hands.

"Lina's overdue for a break. Cover her section. If she says no, find me in the break room." Ash speaks quietly, just loud enough for Jenna to hear.

Jenna nods. That's all he needs. With her confirmation, he brushes past her and heads towards the staff lounge. When he walks by the main entrance, Luca's already dealing with customers.

All according to plan.

If she's avoiding him, fine. He'll just make her come to him. Reroute the terrain. Let's see how she moves when she thinks the trap isn't set.

A moment ago.

The door handle clicks. He opens his eyes. His back is pressed against the cold metal frame of the locker. That's her. And... humming.

The fuck is that. She doesn't hum. She never has.

He sees her when she closes the door, his vision no longer obscured. The break room is of modest size. When he first entered, it was empty. Now it's just the two of them. Ideal conditions. Close proximity without interference. She can't hide. And he's free to test his theories.

Either she's cracked. Or grew a conscience. He'll solve it either way.

Then he can return to the predictable model that he's used to. A controlled environment. Just like always.

He sees her hand fly to the center of her chest. Another odd behavior.

Last he saw her, a few days ago, she would have been thrilled to catch him alone. She would've loved this set-up; two people, one private room, his full attention. Back then, she would've capitalized this situation. She wouldn't have hesitated to stare him down, challenging his gaze. She devours attention like it was owed. Which is why he never gave it.

And now, she's avoiding his eyes. One glance, and she darts away. Like a vole dodging a trap. He watches her take a seat at one of the tables.

No jabbed flattery? No flirtatious approach? No seductive attempt?

He narrows his eyes, filing the trend away. He doesn't move. He lets the tension pressurize. It shouldn't matter. And yet, he's still standing here.

She's bound to say something. They always break the silence first.

He just has to wait.

Chapter Text

Normally, during a work break, I would be surfing on my phone. Watching teaser trailers for new otome games. Checking localization dates for upcoming releases. Reading forums and fangirling over my favorite characters and ships.

But if by chance, I really did isekai into Sanctum of Light... Could this world have otome games? Imagine an otome game within another otome game. Otome game inception! I giggle to myself, completely zoned out.

Oop! Snap out of it, stop daydreaming. If this is real, I don’t want to find out what happens if someone discovers I’m not from this world. I would not fancy being dissected in a lab!

I grimace at the idea of it but I pump myself up internally. As long as Ash doesn't catch me on this shift, I can figure things out when I get home!

Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I cross my arms. I place my right leg over my left knee as I angle my body towards Ash.

I open my eyes, and our gazes meet. I almost back down, but I've already committed to saying something.

"Fancy seeing you here! What? Were you waiting for me to show up?" I flash him my best Lina smile.

Damnit, I forgot the hair twirl. Lina always twirls her hair when she's trying to dominate a conversation. Was that too happy? I can't help it, I'm an Ash-stan in the fandom!

There was always something about him that intrigued me. The way he utilizes his silence, efficient and accurate. How he always seemed to plan ahead, several moves in advance of the love interests. It was almost like he wanted to win Eira, and not just her affections.

His gaze doesn't flicker. A moment passes before he speaks. His voice stays cool, almost lazy.

"Was I?"

His arms unfold, and he crosses the room. Not fast, not slow, just the feeling of inevitability.

I blink. What kind of answer is that?

To my horror, he takes a seat.

Directly. Across. From. Me.

His uniform sleeves are rolled up just past the wrist. No rings. No watch. Just clean, clinical stillness, like he's waiting to dissect me with words. It's over. I'm doomed. The final boss just entered a cutscene. And I don't even have dialogue options.

I'm screaming inside. This is so much more awkward when it's 3D. I'm used to him being a 2D character. An unmoving sprite. And now he's still unmoving, but also a living, breathing, human in front of me.

He doesn't say anything more. My blood pressure rises. I can't help but fidget. He's not even talking and I already feel like I've failed a pop quiz I didn't study for.

Ten whole seconds go by.

I have no clue how to answer him. Like, yes? No? Were you??

Instead, I've tried to remember to breathe, licking my lips, and my eyes flicking from side-to-side.

Oh my god, I'm a cat. Isn't this how cats behave when they're nervous? Please don't let him see through me-

"If you're going to play coy, you should rehearse the tone better." His voice is low and precise.

Fuck. I might as well play dead. Just roll over and pretend you're a possum. I smile sheepishly, "Well, you caught me! Ha, ha..."

No, no, no. That wasn't Lina. That was me being a dumbass!

I quickly backtrack. "Yeahhh so... I'm just like, super tired!" I raise my hand up to check my nails. "I was just going to take a ten minute nap but I got ambushed by a pretty boy instead!"

Oh. My. God. Please tell me I didn't say that out loud. I did not just call him a pretty boy-

He doesn't move. Doesn't blink. My soul evacuates from my body, trying to preserve the little dignity it has left. I try to recover once more.

I twirl a lock of my pigtail around my finger like it's a lifeline, "Not that I'm complaining. I like pretty."

There. That was flirty, right? Right??

He leans forward slightly, hands laced together on the table. My mind is racing. Is this how criminals feel when being interrogated? What was Ash studying again? Oh right, he's in pre-law at Westbridge-

"Pretty boy. That's a new one." A beat passes. "What game are you playing, Lina?"

The blood rushes through my veins. In Sanctum, one of the major events we witness between Eira and Ash is when she joins the debate club at Westbridge University. And he dominates in every scene. That's right, he's exceptional there. Of course. He's trained for this. Oh god, I’m on the stand right now and he's the prosecutor-

"No game! Just didn't sleep well last night!" I blurt out.

He knows Lina from Maison. But for how long? I recall from one of the scenes, Lina brags to Eira that she's been working at Maison for much longer.

If Ash has been working here for just as long... wouldn't that mean he knows Lina pretty well? Unlike Ash, Lina's interactions with Eira are only locked into Maison scenes. We never see her outside of the maid café-

That's when it clicks in my head.

"...What date is it?" I whisper, my palm dropping to the table.

Ash raises a brow. A breath passes. "You tell me." He leans back in his chair, forearms braced, hands at his elbows.

I whip out my phone from my apron pocket. The screen flashes: 02:14 PM, Saturday, June 14, 2025.

My eyes widen. The first day of Sanctum of Light is June 14, 2025.

But Eira and the male leads don’t show up at Maison until June 28, 2025.

I'm spiraling now. Everything would check out. That's why Eira isn't here. That's why I've been busy all shift. That's why Lina's still popular. That's why the only secret male lead I've seen is Ash.

If this really is Sanctum of Light... then that means the game hasn't started yet. Maybe I'm in the prologue. Two weeks before Eira arrives.

Could this mean... this world actually exists?

~*~

She's glitching in real time. Like she's in combat with herself.

Ash tracks every flicker; expressions, micro-movements, delay patterns.

No initial hair twirl. Then a late one. He studies her palm on the table. Her 'tired' excuse. A ten minute nap. She's pushing me to leave.

His finger taps on his forearm. She’s hiding something. The Evelina I know wouldn’t admit to fatigue. Not even indirectly. Not in an eon.

Her eyes are wide. Grip too tight on the phone. Like it’s the last tether to whatever story she’s trying to hold together.

Odd that she asked what date it is. Unprompted. Most people ask what time it is in relation to how much time they have left on their break. Why would the date matter now?

He glances up at the clock displayed behind her.

Time’s up. Luca might let it slide, but I won’t assume.

"Try to be back on time. Tardiness doesn't suit you." He says dryly.

He stands up, looks back once, "Enjoy your nap, Evelina."

~*~

...Evelina? Who the fuck is Evelina??

I stare after Ash as he exits the breakroom. Wait. Oh shit. That’s me, isn’t it? But… Her name was Lina Seraphine in the game.

Setting my phone down, I nod to myself. Oh! 'Lina' has to be her nickname then! I see, I see. Wait no! Don't be so pleased, that means there are things you don't know about the game that are totally canon!

I purse my lips. The gravity of the situation has my head spinning. Multiple questions are running like little garden gnomes through my brain.

One, is this real? Am I dreaming? Is this a simulation? Have I been kidnapped by aliens? Or have I really been isekai'd into an otome game?

Two, if this is real and I really am Lina Seraphine... now what? Do I live as her? As a side character villainess??

I groan out loud, thumping my forehead on the table. "I should've joined drama club in high school. Or taken improv lessons." I grumble into the wood.

Leaning back, I stare at the ceiling. Okay, one thing at a time. First things first, let's finish this shift. Avoid Ash like your life depends on it. Because it probably does.

I’m not even sure what genre I’ve landed in considering I'm supposed to be the antagonist. So is this isekai romance or psychological horror? There's no telling what happens if he suspects I’m not from this world. I don't need him declaring, "Guilty! Lina's been replaced by some otherworlder otome game otaku!"

I clap my cheeks twice, hyping myself up as I stand up, ready to return to the floor. I walk to the door leading out of the staff lounge and open it.

BONK!

I find myself bumping into something. Or someone. I make an 'oomph' sound, stumble backwards, pinching the tip of my nose.

"Oh hey! Sorry about that, didn't realize you'd be heading back so soon!"

Looking up, I see a young fellow dressed in a butler uniform. Wavy brown hair, light brown eyes, a cheeky smile. I squint a little, trying to figure out why he looks familiar.

"You okay? Ash said you weren't feeling well and asked me to check on you."

I blink, taken aback. Since when does Ash care if Lina is feeling well or not? He despised her in the game.

"Ah... Yeah, I'm okay! Just... totally tired!" I laugh nervously, twirling my hair. There, I didn't forget this time!

The guy raises a brow. "Ya sure? Normally you would've told me to mind my own business." Then he laughs, "Guess he wasn't wrong, if you're really not feeling well, why not take off early? Ash asked me to cover for Rachel but I can run your station too!"

Perking up at the offer, I consider it carefully. It’s terribly tempting. There's nothing more I want than to go back to Lina's place and figure out what the hell is going on. But... something tells me that I should finish this shift.

I carefully look over this man's features. A lightbulb dings in my head. That's Luca! I almost forgot about him since he's a minor character in the game. He only shows up in a few scenes, like when Eira interviews for the maid position.

"No, it's alright! I'll finish up my shift, thanks for offering!"

He opens his mouth, as if to say something. But then he closes it. Instead, he steps aside as I scoot past him through the doorframe. I hear him mutter something under his breath. I don't bother listening as I hustle down the hallway, past the entrance, and back to station four.

~*~

Her footsteps echo in the hall as she passes by the front entrance. Ash doesn't look up. He's waiting for someone else. He hears Luca speaking under his breath as he stops by the bar. Ash slides over a cup of tea. Not a bribe, just a tactic.

"She thanked me... Thanked me." Luca looks dazed, his chin resting on his knuckle.

Ash washes his hands, "I see she's back to her station."

Luca looks up, dazed. "Huh? Oh yeah..." He turns his head towards the dining area. "She said she was just tired, and for a moment, I thought she would take us up on the offer. But nah, she's still Lina..."

He chortles with a laugh, "Even if she didn't crack one of her 'paint me like one of your French girls' jokes."

Ash pauses mid-dry. He resumes drying. "Those weren't jokes." He says flatly.

Luca raises his hands as if to surrender, "If you say so, Novarre. You might be right though, that she's not feeling well." He flashes a grin, "Though it's unlike you to be nosey. What, did she finally catch your attention?"

Ash turns to stare at Luca. A long moment passes.

Luca lets out a nervous laugh, ruffling the back of his hair, "Of course not! Everyone here can see you treat everyone with equal disdain."

"Station one has a guest waiting for you." Ash returns to his duties. Luca fulfilled his role. He no longer needs to invest in this conversation.

Luca gasps, "Why didn't you say so?"

He grabs the handle of the teacup and downs it. Slide the empty cup back. "Damn, I can always count on you to not burn me. With tea.” A pause. “But words? Not so much."

He scurries off, leaving Ash to his own thoughts.

They bumped into each other. No dramatic display or demand for an apology. She thanked him. Another tally. And she hesitated? Evelina should've thrown a fit at the suggestion of taking off early.

He serves a customer automatically. It doesn't matter who. Normally, she complains if she doesn't open and close on weekends. But she's only scheduled from 11 AM till 6 PM. I opened at 10 AM. The deviations are stacking.

He can hear her laughing in the background. The sound is the same. The focus is not. The way she talks. The way she moves. Today, it's almost... joyful. Since when does she laugh like that?

He has no issues with her being happy. That's not what’s triggering his focus. It's that she's never happy. Not like this.

His hands keep moving. Methodical. Eyes tracking her. Did something happen to you? You weren't like this two days ago. He sets down the to-go cup. The guest thanks him, leaves. Irrelevant.

He doesn’t mourn the version of her that he's known for years. But when patterns break, Ash doesn't ask why. He adapts. He contains.

Predictability is key. Because variables need control. That’s how you survive. That’s how you win.

~*~

“See you never~ Get outta here, um, scrub!”

Waving goodbye to my last customer of the day, I’m sobbing internally as I force the best evil grin I can manage.

I’m finally DONE. I pray to the coffee bean lord as I start wiping down my tables. Thank goodness for Lina’s daily calendar and reminders so I don’t look like a fool if I ask, “How do we close?”

Giggling to myself, I walk back to the mini bar near my station and rinse the washcloth. I’ve closed a café shop before, back when I was a barista. Surely it can’t be much different?

I start to do an inventory count, grateful that the clipboard hanging on the wall hook already has previous logs of closing records. Macarons? Restock needed. Syrups? Above threshold. Morale?

…The fuck is a morale column??

Some new French pastry I missed? Do we serve that? I glance back at the sheet and I notice that everyone before today put down 100. Ohhh. It’s probably a staff mood thing. A morale rating. Huh. That’s… actually kind of cute?

An interesting metric to say the least. I shrug, jotting down 100 as well. Nobody splashed coffee on me, no crepes were wasted, and I didn’t even trip or drop a plate. I’d call that a success!

Granted, I have no idea how Maison normally closes… All I can do is rely on my personal knowledge. Under the sink, there are cleaning tools and sanitizers. Instinctively, I begin to wipe down the entire bar; sanitizing the surface of syrup bottles, condiment containers, and high-touch areas. I hum to myself, feeling rather soothed. Cleaning has always been a great outlet whenever I felt anxious.

Next up, loading the dishes, emptying tea carafes, the coffee brewer, and clearing out the espresso machine. Lost in the groove of my own little cleaning world, I sweep the floors and empty the trash bin at my station.

Hesitating, I glance up and look around me. I see Jenna doing the same, walking off with the trash. I stride over, catching up. Trash bag in hand.

“Jenna!”

She stops mid-walk and looks over her shoulder. Her face pales. She reaches out to me, palm open. I tilt my head, looking at her palm inquisitively. Am I supposed to shake it? Regardless, I smile.

“Shall we take out the trash together?”

Clever ol’ me, asking her like an NPC guide so I can find out where the backdoor is!

“Oh!” She blinks rapidly as she lowers her hand. She looks away as she begins to walk again. “S-Sure, Lina…”

We walk side-by-side past the front entrance. No Ash to be seen. Phew, was worried I’d have to try to wink at him as we passed. At the end of the hall, we cut to the right. Jenna pushes open the door and a breath of fresh air wafts in. It’s a lovely early evening, the sun still high since it’s summer.

“Hold the door open for me while I drop these off?” I reach over and take Jenna’s trash bag.

I figure it’d make more sense for one person to keep the door open than both of us throwing the trash away. Otherwise, we’d end up walking all the way around the building just to enter through the front entrance.

Her mouth gapes. Then she closes it. She looks down and nods, her back pressing against the door as she keeps it open. I yoink the bags, head outside, and drop them in the dumpster.

Mission accomplished. I wipe my hands dramatically as I turn around to walk back. Jenna’s still holding the door, her eyes flicking towards me like I’ve grown an extra head.

As I pass her, she speaks quietly, “You… feeling okay today?” Her voice is laced with hesitation, as if I might detonate.

Oh shoot, was I acting out of character?

“Uhhh, yep! Just, y’know. Trying something new!” I feel mighty proud of this excuse, given that it’s technically the truth.

She blinks, then nods, looking visibly relieved that I didn’t snap. Or flirt with the trash cans. As I step back inside, I think I hear something shift down the hall. A soft creak. Maybe a door. I pause. But when I glance back, there’s nothing. Just Jenna letting the door shut behind us.

Okay… Definitely paranoid. Definitely need dinner. Definitely not being watched by a suspiciously hot NPC with trust issues. Probably.

Thinking of dinner makes my stomach growl. Oh shit. I haven’t eaten all day. Rushed out the door first thing in the morning for a café shift, spent the entire afternoon surviving masochist guests left and right, avoided Ash like a pro, and over a ten thousand step count.

A pretty lame dream if you ask me, I did not sign up for hunger pangs.

We pass by the breakroom and I hear Jenna speak softly, “U-Um, I’m going to go get changed now… I-I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Before I can answer, the door handle clicks and she’s gone.

~*~

That’s weird… Lina never cleans up after herself.

From across the room, Miss Lina-the-Evil-Queen, is actually wiping down the countertops.

She never runs the dishes or empties the coffee ground canister. Jenna tidies up her tables, restocking the napkins and sugar packets. Normally, the rest of us have to pick up her slack and close for her. She always leaves within the first fifteen minutes after the shift ends.

Jenna had been warned by her predecessors; keep Lina happy, and she’ll leave you alone. Tell management? Waste of time. Mina might scold her once, but she’d bounce back meaner. Most just quit, or faded out until graduation.

Not to mention, Maison only hires college students and no one under the age of eighteen. Jenna was relieved since maid cafés shouldn’t have minors working for them. She was especially glad since it meant that younger folks wouldn’t have to suffer at the hands of the she-devil.

Honestly, Lina wasn’t that bad. She’s just unnecessarily harsh and scary. When Jenna first started, one of the first interactions she had with Lina was her eyeing Jenna up and down, pursing her lips and saying, “Oh dear, you might want to change your shade of lipstick, that color doesn’t do you any favors.”

Needless to say, Jenna did end up changing her lipstick.

She empties the sweep pan into the trash and ties the bag up, taking it out of the bin.

I suppose I am a little skittish in general… It’s hard not to be when you’re getting paid forty an hour as a student without a degree.

She starts to walk off with her trash bag when she hears her name being called. No, I don’t want to take your trash out for you, Lina. She rehearses in her head as she turns to face her. But her hand betrays her. Great, muscle memory. Instead of being met with the usual snark, Lina’s smiling.

“Shall we take out the trash together?” She beams.

“Oh!” Jenna blinks rapidly, astounded. She lowers her hand. “S-Sure, Lina…”

They walk together to the back entrance of Maison. Jenna sneaks a peek at Lina, wondering what could have possibly happened for her to behave out of character today.

She never apologizes or thanks me… And now she’s talking to me like we’re just… normal coworkers.

She opens the door out of habit, fully expecting to walk out, drop off the trash, and walk around the building through the front entrance.

“Hold the door open for me while I drop these off?” Lina reaches over and takes the trash from Jenna’s hands.

Jenna stares at Lina. Speechless, she gives her a small nod and holds open the door. Even if Lina was nice, she would’ve told me to throw the trash away while she keeps the door open for me, like it’s supposed to be a favor. But she just offered to get her hands dirty. As Lina walks back, Jenna flicks her eyes to her.

“You… feeling okay today?” She asks slowly, a bit wary. Last time someone asked Lina that, they almost got their head bit off with sarcasm and a hair flip.

“Uhhh, yep! Just, y’know. Trying something new!” Lina chirps, overenthusiastic. Jenna flinches, but not in the usual way.

She trails after Lina as they head down the hallway. That was actually not an unpleasant experience… She shakes the thought away. Although Lina wasn’t always outwardly horrible to Jenna, it doesn’t excuse the fact that she’s been the reason why so many seniors have called out or quit, even though the pay and benefits were spectacular.

“U-Um, I’m going to go get changed now… I-I’ll see you tomorrow!” Jenna squeaks out as they pass the breakroom. She rushes inside, shutting the door behind her.

Maybe… just maybe… she’s turned a new leaf? I hope so… it would make working with her less stressful. I guess we’ll just have to see how tomorrow goes!

~*~

Well golly, I hope I don’t see her tomorrow.

Jenna seems sweet; shy, chipmunk-coded. Honestly, I like helping new people find their footing…

But what I’d really like is to wake up in my comfy bed, in my beautifully otaku-coded bedroom, and enjoy the weekend watching anime and playing otome games before the work week starts.

Some might see my life as underwhelming, unambitious, even lonely… but honestly? I love it. I work a stable and consistent job, every day is predictable and manageable. I have many rotating hobbies including reading, playing the violin, ballroom dancing, playing video games, and no relationship to fret over.

Sure, it’s not like my job is my life’s work or anything, and I haven’t found my life’s purpose, but in the meantime, I’ve been happy and grateful for the privilege I had.

That reminds me… How old is Lina? In the game, they never state her age or if she’s going to school. I remember in her calendar and to-do list that she’s studying for the MCAT. Does that mean she’s pre-med?

Lina never struck me as a medicine career go-getter. Unless she was the one causing the medical emergencies. If anything, I’d be worried that she’d mess with anesthesia just so she could put her enemies to sleep. Forever.

I pseudo tip-toe by the main bar as I need to pass it in order to exit through the front entrance.

No Ash.

I sneak behind the bar to wash my hands, then sneak out. I bite my lip and grin as I check to make sure I have everything. Swell, time to hit the road! Maybe he already left for the day since it looks like everything’s been cleaned up and restocked already. If not, I better sneak out while I can.

I open one of the french doors and step outside. Freedom! Until a sharp sense of deja vu coils in my gut.

“Didn’t know you enjoyed closing so much.”

I almost shriek as I whip around, “Fuck! You can’t keep doing that!”

Ash is leaning against the wall. Perfectly still, perfectly unbothered, right by the door.

He gives me a deadpan stare, his arms crossed. “Doing what?”

“Sneaking up on me!”

I’m almost hysterical. I’ve never done well with jump scares. So much so that I’ve forgotten to act like a flirt-savvy villainess. Again.

He raises a brow, cocking his head slightly. His expression remaining neutral, “Sneaking is for people who have something to hide.”

He pushes off the wall, adjusting his glove, calm and mechanical. He steps forward.

Silence.

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”

Holy shit, Lina is short. Or rather, Ash is tall?? He’s towering over me, the height difference is intimidating. I stare up at him, speechless. 

“No! I’m not hiding anything! What could I possibly be hiding?” I chuckle nervously, taking a step back. Curse my inability to dodge a question like a pro-

Ash shrugs, barely invested. “Could be anything. A sudden personality transplant. Unscheduled… sincerity. Emotional… warmth.”

A blink. He glances down. “Maybe you’re sick.” A pause. “Or maybe this is the real you.”

His voice sharpens, “Which means the one I’ve known all this time is a lie.”

I just got psychoanalyzed, roasted, and interrogated. All in one sentence! By a man who looks like he should be in a cologne ad. Don’t panic, react calmly, don’t act unhinged-

“Haha, what?!” I bark out a laugh, “No lies here, Mr. Sherlock!” My voice cracks at the end. “I’ll just be on my merry way now, good day!”

I fucking book it.

Or so I thought.

“Wait!”

His hand snaps around my wrist and yanks-

Hard.

My feet tangle, I stumble back. A car whips past the curb where I would’ve been. My heart’s beating in my teeth. I can’t breathe.

Then I remember-

The lights. The screech. The impossible weight of impact.

Not now. Then.

Chapter Text

“Game… Start!”

The screen flashes, my voice cheers as Sanctum of Light cues the opening theme song. I’m sitting criss-cross in a beanbag, leaning back with a pair of chopsticks between my teeth. With the game humming and the controller warm in my lap, I slurp down the udon and set the bowl beside my chopsticks on the coffee table.

It’s Friday night and I’ve kicked back to enjoy the rest of my evening after a soul-sucking week of office work, chores, and remembering to feed myself like a semi-functional adult. AC’s on full blast, but the penthouse traps heat like a sauna. Summer sweat sticks to my skin. Gross. I feel like bacon in a microwave. 

At least the windows deliver. The city stretched out like a dream I had on repeat as a kid, back when everything felt far away and golden. I'd consider my living room chic and modern; the contrast being funky art and too many stuffed animals on display. Unlike my childhood home filled with monochrome colors, this place feels alive.

A large flat-screen TV stares back at me. Absolute perfection for watching anime and playing video games that demand maximum immersion. Of course, the immersive gaming I'm referring to are otome games. Who wouldn't want to see their favorite 2D character's CG blown up across an entire wall?

Now, where was I? Wielding my controller, tongue poking out as my eyes scan the dialogue on-screen. Ah, that's right! I was in the middle of a gym date with Theo. He's secretly my fave; a golden hurricane wrapped with the packaging of a stereotypical jock. The twist? A total sweetheart, literally layered like an onion, and won me over like the scoring soccer star he is.

Sanctum of Light, or SoL, is not your standard otome game.

It’s not even the premium, limited edition, voiced by the best VAs in the industry, kind of otome game. It’s… something else. Not just because of the fabled true harem route, or the infamous fifth love interest that the developers never publicly confirmed.

No, what makes SoL one-of-a-kind is because the choices and decision-making possibilities are endless.

Created by Surface Studios, they sought out to make an otome game like no other; one that has revolutionized the gaming concept, ‘choices matter’. Rumor has it that the developers worked on this game for over two decades, creating every possible combination a player might choose to take.

Because… This game allows everything.

“Yes! A new CG with Theo?? OMG I can’t look, they’re making out in the back of his car after the gym?? How scandalous!” I squeal, covering my eyes. My heart thumps as I peek through the cracks of my fingers. After digesting the dialogue, I shyly click A on my controller, still hiding behind my hands.

The game starts on Saturday, June 14, 2025. First day of summer break after sophomore year at Westbridge University.

The heroine? Eira Lunelle. Sweet, sincere, the ideal otome game protagonist.

She just moved into a shared house with her three besties:

Lilia Marisbelle: sparkly, glamorous, and cotton-candy haired menace.

Rosalie Delacroix: terrifying model extraordinaire with a heel collection that could murder.

Nyx Winters: bookworm, stoic, and unironically builds robots for fun.

And the boys? Oh yeah. They live here too.

Victor Langford: high school friend turned business major with a loyalty complex.

Theo Castellan: uprising soccer star, chaos-coded golden boy.

Finn Ryder: e-sports bad boy with a heart of violently repressed affection.

Kade Valemont: velvet-voiced lit major who speaks like tragic poetry.

“Shit, shit, the clock is ticking! Better make it home quick, otherwise they’ll notice we did a 30-minute lip workout after the gym!” I’m scrambling to signal the characters to stop smooching and hurry home.

What makes SoL revolutionary isn’t just the branching dialogue. It’s the microscopic social butterfly effect. Players get to pick their own daily schedule, down to the hour.

As Eira, you get to choose who to study with, who to message late at night, who to accidentally run into during the day. The game responds accordingly. Miss Kade’s poetry reading? He’ll be colder tomorrow. Choose to help Theo train? Finn will act up. Each choice you make, the branch remembers your decision and builds upon it.

Conversations and dialogue options adapt to your entire playthrough. If you kissed Victor during a rainy shift in Chapter 3, then flirted with Ash in Chapter 6, both will allude to it in Chapter 8. The developers created a procedural memory framework for each major character. They don’t just react, they evolve based on the emotional timeline you create as Eira.

Sure, the game has classic routes. If you laser-focus on one love interest, they’ll open up. You’ll trigger the flags, pass the thresholds, and unlock CGs like confetti. Standard dating sim stuff. Play it right, and it’s smooth sailing into romance town.

Not to mention, the game has been out for almost five years and there are plenty of walkthroughs on how to complete each route.

As for the harem route…

“NO!! Nooo Victor, you can’t say that!!” I flop back like I’ve been shot, groaning as I nearly yeet my controller over my head.

“You think I can kiss you when someone else’s prints are still on you?”

“I cook. I clean. I don’t share half-eaten meals, sweetheart.”

“You want a kiss? Come back clean. I don’t take leftover crumbs.”

“DID YOU JUST SLUT SHAME EIRA???”

Howling, my hands fly up to my face in equal parts of horror and delight. I gasp, slapping a hand over my mouth as I glance at the clock. 10:12 PM. Oops. Hopefully the neighbors didn’t hear that.

I’m wheezing like a dying goat. “PLEASE. You’re not even her boyfriend yet! It’s literally Chapter 2!” I groan, throwing my head back and plopping my controller down on the side.

I sink into my bean bag, mumbling. “Fucking Victor, Eira’s doing her best! Besides, you already knew about her ongoing harem. And consented! Not my fault you can smell Theo on her. They didn’t even make out for that long!” I sigh, massaging the back of my neck.

The ‘Game Over’ screen stares back at me. 

I’ve been stuck on the harem route for several years now. And so has the rest of the fandom.

The thing about the harem route is that it’s basically a “honor mode” of sorts. You get one save file, no takesie backsies. Kind of like real life I suppose. Once you make a decision, it’s locked in. You can’t even bum rush dialogue since if you’re off by five minutes in-game time, you get a different conversation! It’s actually insane how thorough this game is.

The game developers publicly promised that a true harem route was possible, so everyone’s been trying to crack the code. Fans even datamined the game, confirming that there is a harem ending. Whispers amongst the community also gossip that Ash Nostredame is a secret route, only unlocked after the game’s completion. But it’s all just speculation since nobody’s been able to clear this ‘nightmare mode’ difficulty.

“Might as well go buy some snacks from a nearby convenience store. It’s gonna be a longgg night since I have to start all over again.” I grumble, standing up and stretching.

Grabbing my phone, keys, and wallet, I toss on an oversized hoodie, and head out the door. Hallway. Elevator. Lobby.

The doors slide open and I’m hit with a blast of cold air. Early summer nights are still chilly. The streetlights provide enough lighting as I head down the sidewalk. It’s pretty dark outside. No moon to be seen, only an open sky and stars. Lucky for me, there’s a convenience store nearby. I stop by the crosswalk, waiting for the pedestrian light.

Slipping my phone out, it displays: 10:20 PM, Friday, June 13, 2025.

I decide to browse through SoL forums and see if there’s been any updates and if anyone’s cleared the harem route. Any day now, right?

The signal starts to beep. I glance up and look around, no cars. While crossing, my thumb accidentally brushes the screen on my phone. A teaser trailer begins to blast out loud. I freeze, glancing down at my phone.

Is that… Inheritance of Shadows opening song??

“Surface Studios Presents… Inheritance of Shadows.”

“No fucking way, no fucking way!!” I’m absolutely ecstatic, zoning in on my phone.

When SoL released five years ago, it was the localized version. The original version? Released a decade ago, back when I was fifteen. Normally, otome games take one to two years for localization, but due to the massive game and insane amount of dialogue, it’s impressive that it only took five years for the completion of a localized version.

And with the release of SoL globally, Surface Studios also dropped Inheritance of Shadows. A sequel to their original creation.

But the original came out five years ago, and I’ve been dying to play.

I went ballistic when I heard about it. I even translated the IoS forums so I could read the spoilers.

The teaser trailer has my full attention now.

“I totally forgot there were twelve male leads for this!” I whisper, stunned. The signal’s still beeping. Somewhere far away.

The trailer plays. The love interests’ 2D sprites are outlined but unrevealed. The video shows their silhouettes and their in-game title. ‘The Phantom Thief’, ‘The Golden Thread’, ‘The Final Vow’, and others. Probably a marketing strategy to keep the hype up before the game releases.

I’ve never seen what the male leads look like for IoS but when I read some spoilers, the community talked about how there’s one love interest per ‘power branch’ since the game’s subgenre is a political thriller.

Unlike SoL, apparently the sequel is a bit on the heavier side in comparison. Goosebumps trail up my skin as the trailer continues.

“It’s releasing before the end of this year??” I’m internally hysterical, my heart racing. The screen displays:

“Coming Soon… 2025.”

An excited hop escapes me. I’m thrilled out of my mind. My favorite game’s sequel is releasing this year.

The global release of SoL hit five years ago, right when I turned twenty. I’ve been obsessed ever since.

And now, finally, its long awaited sequel, Inheritance of Shadows, is dropping.

Silence.

I look up. The signal. It’s red.

A bright light.

I turn my head. I drop my phone.

An airhorn. Tires screech.

Darkness.

~*~

Headlights. Horns. Then impact-

Except this time, something jerks me back.

Hard.

My wrist burns and my lungs snap for air.

I don’t know where I am for a second. The world tilts. And then-

Ash.

I crash into him. Solid chest. Gloved hand steady at my elbow, holding me in place. My heart’s still catching up.

So is the scream I didn’t let out.

I’m shaking. Not from the near accident, no.

But from the accident that I now remember as clear as day. There’s no doubt about it now. I…

“Watch where you’re going.”

His voice snaps me back to reality. Cold. Flat. Controlled. I glance up, and I see him; jaw clenched, eyes forward, not looking at me. But his grip is still there. Steady around my wrist.

“Oh… right. Thanks…” The words tumble out as I look down, a bit dazed. 

Did I… Was that really a flashback? Did I actually get hit by that truck? I… don’t remember anything after that. Only that I woke up in a bed that’s not mine. In a body I don’t own. Wearing someone else’s skin, someone else’s life. In a studio apartment I’ve never seen before.

I can’t breathe. 

My hands are shaking. My thoughts are speeding. Am I dead? Or maybe I’m in a coma? Is any of this real? No. That’s insane. Isekai isn’t real, it’s a fiction trope. People don’t get reincarnated into video games. There’s no way on Earth that I’ve been reborn into another world. Let alone take someone else’s body.

And if I have… Then where the hell is Lina?

“Are you going to faint? Because I don’t do catch-and-carry.” But he doesn’t move. Nor does he drop my wrist.

I try to shake off my thoughts and I take a step back, my free arm falling to my side. He slowly lets go. His gaze meets mine as his gloved fingers adjust his cuff.

“No, no… I’m good.” I give him a weak smile. I feel sick. Lack of glucose or remembering that I might have died? Who knows.

“Thanks for pulling me back. I’ll be heading home now. Have a good evening.” Is my voice shaking? I don’t know. I turn and take a step.

His hand catches my elbow. This time, gentler. But firmer. Final.

“I’ll drive you.” He says it like it’s not a question.

“Huh? What? No, I’m-”

“You’re not.” His gaze sharpens. “Not okay. Not steady. Not the Evelina I know.” He pauses. “You’re not walking home like that. I’ll take you.”

I grit my teeth. Sure, I’m destabilized. Who wouldn’t be? Most people would be shaken if they discovered they were post-mortem.

Unfortunately, I’m stable enough to know that the more time I spend with Ash, the more likely he’ll see right through me. He’d be the first to send me to a government facility and have them dissect me-

“Don’t flatter yourself. Whether you live or die is irrelevant. I just don’t want blood on the sidewalk.” He says dryly. Then he lets go of me.

I fume, but I don’t decline his offer. “Fine. You’re the one who offered.” I cross my arms, snappy. God, I’m starving.

“Just… don’t expect me to thank you or anything!”

He raises a brow as he lifts his key, unlocking his car nearby. “Wouldn't want to ruin your reputation.”

The drive to my place is silent. Besides the GPS being obnoxious. The car ride is short, barely five minutes, but my brain is doing somersaults the entire time.

If I did get isekai’d, couldn’t the isekai god have chosen something cooler? I don’t know, somewhere with magic? Or made me the strongest or secretly OP? Or at least gave me a fresh start, without a ruined reputation, and maybe not a side character villainess role?

I sigh dramatically, looking out the window. We pull up to Lina’s place, or rather, my place now. I grimace as I stare at the rundown place. It is shabby as fuck. 

If Lina’s rich enough to have enemies, why is she living like an uber broke college gremlin?

When was the last time this place had a paint job? For crying out loud, some of the wood panels are splintering and I swear this place looks more abandoned or haunted than as suitable living conditions. OSHA wouldn’t approve of this and apparently I live here now.

I unbuckle my seatbelt, “Thanks for the ride, Ash.” I open the passenger door, glance back once.

“Have a good night, drive safe.” I slam the door shut before he can get a word out.

~*~

“Wait.”

Instinct overrides calculation.

His hand closes around her wrist, fast and deliberate. No hesitation.

He pulls. Hard enough to pull her back, soft enough not to bruise. She collides into him.

His other hand steadies her at the elbow. She’s trembling. Her breathing is wrong, sharp and shallow.

It was close. But not that close.

His eyes track her, her facial expression not only displaying shock, but also something else. Did something frighten her?

He looks away, gaze following the car as it merges onto the main road. GH5087. Noted. They should really watch where they’re going.

“Watch where you’re going.” He says. Flat. Habitual. But he almost clicks his tongue. Holds back.

He doesn’t know what’s more surprising. That his words aren’t aimed at her or the weight in his chest that he doesn’t recognize. He should let go. But he doesn’t.

She looks ill. Not physically ill. But she’s not okay. Ash watches her thank him haphazardly. She looks pale, like she just saw a ghost. 

“Are you going to faint? Because I don’t do catch-and-carry.” He speaks low but it comes off colder than he intended. She takes a step back and he unravels his fingers from her wrist.

“No, no… I’m good.” She looks up at him, still shaken.

“Thanks for pulling me back. I’ll be heading home now. Have a good evening.” She turns and takes a step away from him.

Before he can process it, he’s reached out once more. An unprecedented choice.

He finds his grip on her elbow. Watches her shoulder dip forward. Slight imbalance. Not enough to fall, but enough to commit.

“I’ll drive you.” His voice is calm, but his thoughts are rapid firing.

It’s none of your business. Why do you care? She’s perfectly capable of getting home. This is Evelina. A six-month disruption to my workflow. She doesn’t need protection. It’s one thing to recommend her to see a doctor. It’s another to offer her a ride home.

“Huh? What? No, I’m-” She whips around to face him, eyes wide in surprise.

He shouldn’t speak again. He knows this. But the words come anyway.

“You’re not.” He stops his grip from tightening.

“Not okay. Not steady. Not the Evelina I know.” A breath. “You’re not walking home like that. I’ll take you.”

She hesitates. He doesn’t. That’s the problem.

Control yourself, Ash. This isn’t necessary.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Whether you live or die is irrelevant. I just don’t want blood on the sidewalk.”

Lie to her. Lie to yourself. Don’t unravel. Just get her home safe.

He lets go of her arm, reaching into his pocket for his keys.

She pouts. “Fine. You’re the one who offered.”

He shouldn’t be amused. But he is.

“Just… don’t expect me to thank you or anything.”

The corner of his lip twitches before he shuts it down. He unlocks his car nearby, “Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

They drive in silence. The GPS is loud. She doesn’t lower the volume. He hears her sigh, dramatically. He registers it like a data point. She’s thinking about something. She’s not on her phone. Not fidgeting with her pigtails. Just staring out the window like it might offer her an escape route.

She doesn’t speak. So he doesn’t ask.

He studies her profile in the reflection of the side mirror. The Evelina who’s been orbiting him for months would’ve been erratically pleased to be in his car. Would’ve leaned over, flirting just to piss him off. Would’ve made three offhanded comments by now. How he probably picks up girls regularly just to watch him react. He never gave her the satisfaction.

But this version of her? She’s not even trying to be Evelina anymore. She’s just lost in her own world. Quiet. Retreating. He doesn’t feel shaken.

He wants to know if the version of her that he knew was just a mask all along. 

They pull up. He glances once. Stares longer than he should. This is where she lives? He thought it was a drop-off point. A detour. A mistake in the GPS. But no, she’s already unbuckling. Like he didn’t just see her almost get hit by a car. Already thanking him. Even though she said she wouldn’t.

“Thanks for the ride, Ash.” He says nothing as she opens the door. “Have a good night. Drive safe.”

As if this is normal. As if she’s not about to disappear into a building that looks like it’s about to fall apart any second. He doesn’t drive off. He watches.

Turn around. Walk away. Tell me this is a joke.

She doesn’t look back. His eyes follow her as she climbs the uneven stairs and enters apartment 205. He blinks.

She doesn’t lock her door?

He clenches the steering wheel once. Then releases.

“Who the fuck are you?” He mutters under his breath. He doesn’t do unpredictability. It’s unreliable. And now, he doesn’t know who Evelina is anymore. And he thought he did.

His phone buzzes. He doesn’t rush to check. He tightens his glove before he reaches for it. He lifts it up, glancing at the screen. Two missed texts.

T-L #65: Are you still coming tonight? Can’t wait 💋

MAS #62: Fuck you asshole. You weren’t that good anyway.

MAS #62: I’m sorry, it’s just you ghosted me. Text me back?

He unlocks his phone, opens his messaging app. Marks MAS #62 as read. Opens T-L #65.

Busy tonight. Maybe another time.

But there’s no ‘another time’.

He doesn’t reschedule. He just moves on. His thumb hovers on another text thread. One that he read a few days ago. He taps on E-S 0909.

E-S 0909: Do you ever get bored of ignoring me and just wanna ruin my life a little?

Ash doesn’t scroll any higher. One of the… less strange texts he’s received from her. He glances out the window again. Apartment 205. He puts his phone away, sets his car to drive, and rides off.

~*~

The stairs creak as I take them one step at a time. I’m scared one of them is going to snap and I’ll fall through the cracks like a whack-a-mole but my imagination precedes reality. Ash hasn’t driven off yet. He’s either a gentleman waiting for me to enter my place, or he’s a creep that wants to know where I live. Well, he’s hot so clearly I don’t need to report him to HR.

Good thing I spawned in Lina’s room last night, otherwise I would’ve had no idea which apartment was hers. My hand falls onto the doorknob, cracking the door open. I didn’t bother looking for keys this morning. I figured I’d wake up before it mattered. Not like this place has anything to steal from anyway.

“Home, sweet home.”

Shutting the door behind me, I step inside, slipping off my flats and placing them on the shoerack.

Home sweet home my ass.

There’s nothing sweet about this place. Unless we consider sweet as in ‘yay there’s a roof over my head’!

My eyes find the bone dagger that I’d flung last night.

It lies on the floor, abandoned.

Bad vibes. Something tells me I shouldn’t touch that right now.

Stumbling across the room, I sigh as I loosen the corset on my maid uniform. Arriving at my bed, I flop forward, landing on it facedown. I’m hungry. I’m tired. And I didn’t even get to enjoy the Saturday that I was looking forward to. Before I-

I flip onto my back, glaring at the ceiling. No, maybe I’m still alive. Maybe I’m in a coma. And this is some kind of crazy coma dream. 

It has to be. My life was just getting started. I’d just moved and finished setting up my cityview penthouse apartment. I was due for a promotion any day now. Things were going great, even if there were dark times in the past.

Not to mention, I never finished Sanctum of Light. I didn’t even get to start on a new playthrough. I’m still stuck on the harem route. And Inheritance of Shadows? Finally when it’s done being localized that I- that I die??

I shut my eyes, brows furrowed. Let’s try to be rational and assess the situation.

Best case scenario? I’m having a dream marathon. Dream-ception. I’ve already gone to sleep once and woken up. I just worked an entire shift at Maison.

This has gone on for long enough.

Maybe I never went out to buy some snacks. Maybe I fell asleep in the beanbag. Maybe I’ll wake up, and it’ll still be Saturday morning. Still time to enjoy my weekend.

Second best case scenario? I’m in a coma. I can’t seem to recall the moment of impact. It’s possible I fainted due to shock. Perhaps I’m in the hospital right now and if I try hard enough, I’ll hear the heart monitor go beep, beep, and no flatlining.

Regardless if I’m injured or not, it’s not the end of the world if my body is still alive and my brain is throwing a rave, but the venue is a shitty apartment and the music is just hunger pangs.

Worst case scenario? I’m dead. Deceased. The AED and CPR scammed me. Truck-kun got my ass and the isekai god rouletted me into a non-magical world and thought it would be hilarious to launch me into my favorite otome game.

Except that I’m the side character villainess. That everyone hates. And is a broke ass college student.

What if there’s magic in this world?

Hopping to my feet, I position myself. Fireball? Hadouken? Level-up system? Flailing around as if I required an exorcism, I try everything in my power to cast magic. Please. Anything.

You’re kidding me.

Flopping back, my body collapses on the bed. I groan. Life’s not fair. Especially not second ones. Of course I wasn’t reborn as a magic wielder. This place sucks.

I smush my face, dragging my fingers down. It’s too late to have any regrets. Sulking won’t do me any good. Besides, even if I’m dreaming or in a coma, I have no clue how to wake up.

In any case, there’s only one thing I can control.

Which is to live this life. As Lina.

But not Lina.

I can’t live as her. At the rate she was going, she was bound to piss off the wrong person. Besides, I’d be delusional to think I could pull off her Miss Flirty-Sexy-Queen-Bee act without combusting.

For crying out loud, I play otome games that give me dialogue options, what even is flirting? And the only boys I know how to romance are 2D male leads. And they’re no longer 2D. Very 3D indeed.

I open my eyes, still on my back but fist raised now. Instead, I’m going to live as myself. I just need to manage to convince everyone in Lina’s life that she’s turned into a new leaf.

But how the hell do I fix a reputation that was rock-bottom… before I even started playing?

I thought being isekai’d would mean I’d get a tutorial or a quest log. But no. Just… real life. With real consequences.

My stomach growls. I'm not about to find out if starvation is lethal in whatever-this-is. Pushing myself off the bed, I sludge over to the fridge. Though worn down on the outside, I open to find it squeaky clean.

“What the-” My eye twitches at the sight.

There’s one egg. One cartoon of milk.

…That’s it?

I close the door slowly, like if I shut it softly enough, the universe might take pity on me. I wince and I rub my temple. Right. Grocery run. I remember seeing it on her to-do list this morning. I grab my phone and check it again. Eggs. Rice. Frozen spinach. Ginger.

Side quest time. Except it’s just chores. I sigh, rummaging around the studio for Lina’s keys and wallet. Feels weird, even though I’m technically her now. Eventually, I find them tucked under her pillow. Good thing there’s no Wallet-and-Key Fairy.

Wriggling out of the maid uniform, I stuff myself into regular clothes. I’ve only opened one drawer, but her outfits aren’t what I imagined to be. I always thought she was extravagant, probably into lolita fashion or the sorts. But no, she owns normal clothes; an oversized, rundown graphic tee and grey sweatpants.

According to the map app, there’s a market a few blocks away. Nice. At least she lives in a walkable area. This area seems rather gentrified in comparison to Lina's living arrangements. As far as I know, she doesn’t have a car.

Just three sad looking keys on her key ring.

I suppose I should check her phone one more time to get a better idea of her financial situation. I click on her banking app to review her accounts.

Checking: $44.10

Savings: $238.54

Credit: -$130.76.

“Not terrible… could be worse,” I mumble, trying to convince myself I’m not living paycheck to paycheck in someone else’s life.

I pay off the credit card immediately. One less problem. At least we’re still in the positives.

I’m about to turn the phone screen off when I notice a strange shortcut on the home screen.

At first, I thought it was a widget. It’s not.

A spreadsheet. Labeled “FUCK EVERYONE”.

Tap. It opens.

I freeze.

No.

No no no.

$101,750… in debt???

This can’t be real.

Cool cool cool, my superpower is crippling debt!

Chapter Text

Great.

Can I get isekai’d again, but this time into a trust fund?

Instead of unlocking bankruptcy at level 1??

I’m absolutely gobsmacked. My vision steadies. I squint at the columns, zooming in on each category.

Pre-orphaning rent/utilities: $18,500

Psychiatric care (mother): $30,000

Funeral debt (x2): $12,000

Foster-era identity fraud: $8,000

First apartment loan: $3,000

ER/Dental bills: $2,250

Student loans: $28,000 (deferred)

TOTAL DEBT: $101,750

Monthly minimum payment: ~$1,450

What happened to you, Lina?

Pre-orphaning rent/utilities and funeral debt? Does that mean… her parents passed away? Foster-era… as in foster care? When was the last time Lina saw a doctor?

I had no idea about this. Lina’s backstory was never covered in the game. All we got to see was her flirtatious smirk, crocodile tears, and her desperate attempt for attention. Heart racing, blood pumping, I stare at these numbers. It’s not even my life-

Oh wait, yes it is. Her body, her debt, her life. Inherited by yours truly.

On the surface, it doesn’t look so bad. Could be manageable. But it all comes down to monthly expenses on top of her monthly minimum payment.

I begin to investigate. And with each new information I discover, I swear I feel a vein pop.

Her monthly rent is $950 not including utilities. For a place like this? At this rate, maybe I should commit a crime against the landlord and take it easy in jail. Just kidding. This might be my life now and I do not need a criminal record to follow me for the rest of my second life.

I dig deeper. I start doing math like my life depends on it. Because maybe it does.

On average she spends about $3,150 a month.

I blink. I double-check. Nope, not a typo. I scroll through the categories. Groceries, utilities, debt minimums, even a line for allergy meds. But no budget for therapy. No savings plan. No emergency fund. Just vibes and a monthly panic attack.

Next up, her average monthly income.

Damn, she gets paid $40 an hour at Maison?? Maybe it’s time for a career change. Goodbye pre-med, hello eye-candy service! On a good month, she gets 64 hours which means $2,560 without including tips.

No wonder she set a tip goal in her to-do list for today. I didn’t even bother checking how much she got tipped today. How much I got tipped today. I had no idea money was so tight.

She also works at the hospital in the emergency room as a scribe. Just 4 hours every Friday. At $16 an hour, that’s $64. Just enough to buy painkillers for my financial migraine.

So if we’re going off of her monthly average income, on a good month…

A grand total of $2816.

You’ve got to be kidding me. She’s running $300 short. Every. Single. Month.

And I just paid off her credit card. No wonder it was in the negatives. She’s barely surviving. If surviving means being in crippling debt.

Throwing myself back, I collapse into the bed, my back smacking against the cold, hard mattress. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. As much as I wished this was a dream, until I wake up, there’s not much I can do about my current predicament.

There’s only two options: either I suck it up and begrudgingly pay down Lina’s debt or I can try my hand again by the isekai god.

I’ve already died once. Maybe, probably. Not everyone gets a second chance at life. At least I won’t be shackled by my past anymore. My old life is no more. Nothing should carry over.

Right?

Welp. There’s no point in dwelling on it now. I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck as I snap up straight. Debt or not, time waits for no one. Better get going for the evening.

Hours pass. The sun sinks into the distant horizon. This place looks a whole lot like Earth. But it’s probably just a similar replica of it. Not actually Earth. At least, that’s what I think.

I almost follow her schedule, the one she had planned today. Keyword ‘almost’.

Saturday, June 14, 2025 

10:00 AM - Alarm: “Wake up or die poor 💀☕️" 

11:00 AM - Maison de Rêve café shift begins 

02:00 PM - Reminder: “Take 5-min break or pass out” 

06:00 PM - Shift ends - CLEAN TABLES 

06:15 PM - Gym session (Maison Benefit Plan) 

08:00 PM - Grocery run - Budget: <$20 

10:00 PM - Laundry (coin op downstairs) 

11:00 PM - MCAT studying block 

12:30 AM - Sleep alarm: “Or you’ll be stupid tomorrow”

Leg day? Skipped. Grocery run? $23.15. Laundry? Done.

I glance at the clock, just past 10 PM. Lina might have studied for her MCAT but I’m in control of her body. And I think tonight warrants an exception. I have more important things to do, now that I’m fed, clean, and ready to sob about my existential crisis.

Now, if her parents are no longer around, surely she has some kind of support? Not like a sugar daddy, no. But like… maybe friends? Forget “friends” plural. I’d be lucky if she even had one.

Lying on Lina’s bed, hair still damp from the shower, I hover my phone over my face. Normally I’d feel bad for snooping through someone’s private exchanges but if I’m going to live life as Lina, I could use all the help I can get.

Opening her messages, I blink. Once. Twice.

I’m not surprised but that doesn’t mean I’m not disheartened. Just eight ongoing chat threads. Two of them aren’t even with people, just reminders to pay some bills.

Three of them are from staff I don’t recognize from Sanctum of Light. Texts from an animal shelter, children’s hospital, and ER scribing. Lina has a busier life than Eira does. When playing as Eira, she didn’t have half as many extracurriculars.

The most recent one is from Mina. She’s a manager at Maison. I vaguely remember her from the game. She didn’t have a character sprite but her name does pop up when Eira interviews for the maid position. Nothing unusual here, just confirming shift schedules and Lina asking for more hours. Guess I’ll be begging for more hours as well.

The second most recent one is from someone named Wren. No last name. Just Wren. That reminds me, her to-do list said something about responding with “sorry just saw lol”. I scroll to the top of their message history to get a better idea of what I’m working with here.

I read through some of their past exchanges.

Sep 2022

Wren: Did you finish your section?

Wren: Hello?

Wren: This is Evelina from Bio110, right?

Lina: I was at work.

Wren: Can you email it asap?

Nov 2022

Wren: You don’t have to outscore me on every quiz, you know.

Lina: Then stop making it so easy.

Wren: You highlighted my wrong answers. In red.

Lina: I was being festive.

Wren: Midterms aren’t a holiday.

Lina: They are when you’re me.

Jan 2023

Wren: Your handwriting in the shared notes is an act of terrorism.

Lina: Then stop using them.

Wren: I can’t. You’re too smart.

Mar 2023

Wren: You do realize lab coats are not fashion statements, right?

Lina: I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over your GPA crumbling.

Wren: It’s not crumbling. It’s settling. For greatness.

Lina: Cute. Keep coping.

Jun 2023

Wren: You taking summer quarter?

Lina: Why?

Wren: Just wondering

Lina: What, miss me already?

Wren: Guess I’ll see you in fall lol

Oct 2023

Wren: What kind of cake do you like?

Lina: ?

Wren: There’s vanilla, chocolate, red velvet, cheesecake here.

Lina: No.

Wren: Fine, I’ll buy them all. Be prepared to carry around four cakes

Lina: This is why I didn’t want to tell you my birthday.

Wren: This is what happens when you tell me after your bday has passed!

Dec 2023

Lina: Thank god ochem is curved

Wren: You’re welcome!

Lina: Shut up, we both know you did better than I did on finals

Wren: Rekt

Jan 2024

Wren: Hope you enjoyed the holidays

Lina: You too

Oh wow. From here on, it’s like they never stopped. I ain’t reading all of that.

I skim to the most recent banter, just to get a sense of where they’re at.

01 Apr 2025

Wren: I’ve been wanting to tell you this since we first met

Wren: You’re like my soulmate

Wren: In scrubs

Wren: April fools!

Wren: Wanna work in my future clinic?

Lina: That’s assuming you get in and finish med school

25 Apr 2025

Lina: Thanks for covering my shift

Wren: Anything for you, munchkin

Lina: I can’t decide if I want to reply with “ew” or “gross”

Wren: What?? It fits you so well!

Lina: What’s that supposed to mean?

Wren: Small and bitey

Lina: Don’t test me

14 May 2025

Wren: You still coming? I have the room booked for an hour

Lina: Yeah, I’m on my way

02 Jun 2025

Wren: Dead week is here, wanna prep for finals together?

Lina: Sure

Wren: You good? You missed class last Thursday

Lina: Always. I’ll still score higher than you

Wren: Don’t hold your breath

Wren: If I get a better grade than you, let’s go to the beach this summer

12 Jun 2025

Wren: We survived sophomore year lol

Wren: Any more finals left for you? I’ll see you in fall?

Wren: Or do you wanna keep studying together over summer?

Wren: Same time as usual? Wednesday at 4:30 pm?

Wren: Should I bribe you with boba again? It worked last time

I frown as I reread the last few texts. Detective Evelyn on the case! It seems like this guy, Wren, is rather fond of Lina. But he never shows up in SoL. It appears that he was her only friend, just in the backdrop. She seems awfully nice to him in comparison to her interactions with Ash, Eira, and the male leads.

I hesitate, a sense of guilt crawls up my spine. If I respond, “sorry just saw this lol” as Lina would’ve wanted, does that make me honest or a liar? But I can’t just tell him the truth. That I’m not Lina but Evelyn. Still trying not to get sent to a testing facility and dissected like a lab animal.

Besides, he probably wouldn’t believe me. He’d think I was some nutcase or hit my head wearing his friend's skin. Who’d even believe isekai was possible? Certainly not a real world without any magical properties.

There’s also a good chance he’d have to Urban Dictionary the word “isekai”. I’ve tried telling my coworkers about the trope but they usually look like raccoons caught in the middle of pillaging a dumpster.

I text him back anyway. Even if it feels immoral, it doesn’t change the fact that I need to survive.

14 Jun 2025

Lina: Sorry just saw lol

Lina: Hey… by any chance, can we meet up?

Lina: Like, tomorrow?

Lina: Totally okay if not! I’ll just see you when I see you??

Instant response. My hand almost slips.

Wren: Whoa you actually replied. I was starting to think you died

Wren: Not that it’s funny lol. I was kind of worried ngl

Wren: Yeah, of course. Tomorrow’s good. You okay?

Wren: I can bring snacks. Or a first aid kit. Or both??

Wren: Where do you wanna meet?

If he covered her work shift and I never saw him in SoL, they must be referring to her scribe job and not Maison? That would mean they work at the same hospital. Also, didn’t Jenna say “see you tomorrow” or something? I should probably check to see if I work.

I open Lina’s calendar app and I almost yeet the phone away from me.

Sunday, June 15, 2025

09:00 AM - Alarm: “Rise and shine bitch" 

10:00 AM - Maison de Rêve café shift begins 

02:00 PM - Reminder: “5-min rest or suffer the consequences” 

06:00 PM - Shift ends - COUNT WEEKLY TIPS

08:00 PM - Meal prep for next week 

10:00 PM - Calendar planning

11:00 PM - MCAT studying block 

12:30 AM - Sleep alarm: “The strays need you”

Another full-day shift?? I can’t catch a break. I just worked a full work week too. Where did my weekend go? No time to lament. Besides, it’s not like this is my apartment with all my neat gadgets and entertainment galore. It’s bare bones, like the most fun Lina has is staring at a wall.

Lina: How about my work place? At 6 pm?

Wren: ?

Wren: You mean our work place? The hospital?

Did I miss a memo? Does he not know that she works at Maison? Even though he’s her only friend?

Lina: No, Maison de Reve

A few minutes pass. Then-

Wren: You work at a maid cafe?

Oop-

Wren: Bet, I’ll see you there

Wren: Should I be scared? You, working in customer service?

Wren: Jk, have a good night munchkin

Wren: Glad you didn’t ghost me

~*~

“Ghosting, huh.” The back of his hand meets his forehead, still holding his phone. He’d been a little worried. Now? He’s just relieved.

For the past few weeks, Wren had clocked something was… off, with his rival-turned-ride-or-die. Usually spunky, blunt, and deeply sarcastic, Evelina had been a lot quieter recently. Less lively. As if her thorns had dulled.

At first, he figured it was the hell-combo of Organic Chemistry I and Biochemistry II. He was drowning too, even with the Sterling surname.

And suddenly, what felt out of nowhere, she wasn’t snarking at him. That used to be half their conversations. And somehow, the silence bothered him more than the sarcasm ever could.

…A maid café. Of all things. The image alone makes him laugh. Either she gets scathing reviews or they love her.

He remembers the first time that he noticed her. Hair in a perfect bun. Taking the front row middle seat. Immediately whipping out multiple notebooks and a pencil case. Arm perfectly raised when questioning the professor.

Typical college behavior. Except nothing about Westbridge is typical, since the majority of students are Legacy.

He hadn’t planned on taking his freshman courses seriously. Or any of it, really. He’s never had to try. Whether that was his family’s privilege working for him or being naturally gifted, for the first time ever, he felt something stir within him.

Oh. This could be fun.

And it wasn’t. Not at first.

He began to sit up front, next to her. Took his classes seriously. She never batted an eye at him. Not even a double-take. He couldn’t tell if she didn’t recognize the name, or just didn’t care. Either way… it was refreshing.

Eventually, he got her number when they were assigned a partnered project, a presentation on the ecosystem of redwood forests. Fortunately, that was the spark to their future conversations. They began comparing test scores. Threatening to one-up the other.

It was a nice change of pace in comparison to his entire life. She never asked about his personal life. Which meant that maybe, just maybe, she was choosing him for him. And not because of his status, name, and connections. Just… Wren Sterling.

“...She never told me she worked another job.” He murmurs, his hand dropping to the side.

Maybe this is you, finally letting me in.

~*~  

Alright, I’ve secured a lead. Someone who I can possibly trust and rely on as Lina. All I have to do is pretend I have amnesia (technically the truth), not raise any flags that would make him drag her to the hospital, and maybe he can help me navigate the parts of her life that he knows.

Staring at the ceiling, I sigh softly, my hand dropping to my side. In the game, Lina was just a mean girl with no depth. But her texts to Wren…

She sounded lonely.

Seeing her texts with him, it makes me wonder what kind of person she actually was. Not what the game depicted. Because this isn’t the game. These are real people.

Or my subconscious having a rave while in a coma.

I don't dwell on it any longer. I hit the back button. There’s one more texting history to inspect.

Ash.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but certainly not this.

12 Jun 2025

Lina: Do you ever get bored of ignoring me and just wanna ruin my life a little?

I physically cringe. I’m unprepared for what’s next.

08 Jun 2025

Lina: Dreamt about you last night. You were still ignoring me. So realistic.

30 May 2025

Lina: I’m free tonight. And by free, I mean tragically available and in heels.

24 May 2025
Lina: Messed up the whipped cream again. Wanna punish me or lick it off?

A choked scream escapes me.

11 May 2025

Lina: Left my panties at work. Should I swing by or do you wanna hand-deliver?

No no no.

03 May 2025

Lina: I bet you have a countertop kink. What if I climb on it like I would climb on you?

What the fuck.

27 Apr 2025

Lina: Today’s special: me. Served hot, needy, and entirely inappropriate.

Lina I swear to god-

18 Apr 2025

Lina: Let’s skip the part where I fake drop something and you pick it up. Just pin me to the fridge and growl.

HELP.

06 Apr 2025

Lina: If I say ‘daddy,’ do I get written up or taken home?

I drop my phone. On my face.

I make my first strangled noise of the day.

~*~

Click.

Loosening his tie, he passes the hallway mirror. He doesn’t know why he’s kept the mirror. He never checks his reflection.

It’s cold. Quiet. His steps echo against polished floors. Everything is curated, untouched. He sets his keys on the marble countertop. Doesn’t take off his gloves. They’re not for comfort. They’re for containment. It prevents novel experiences.

He doesn’t eat. Doesn’t sit on the couch. He walks straight to the desk. The screen hums awake. He takes a seat, opens the file titled “Narrative Instability in Legal Frameworks.” But the words blur after the first paragraph.

His phone vibrates once. He doesn’t bother to check. Not her. Not interested.

Do you ever get bored of ignoring me and just wanna ruin my life a little?

The last text she sent him. He closes the document. Opens his associations spreadsheet. He taps his finger once on the table. An old tic.

She’s deviated from routine. It’s not the first, nor last time that someone will act atypical. He’s logged changes before; typically trivial. Never night and day. Not in two days' time. The shift in her is too drastic. Too volatile. And Ash doesn’t accept instability.

He updates her row. Listing the differences.

Date of Noted Behavior: 14JUN2025

Baseline Behavior: Predictable, performative. High-maintenance. Craves attention, escalates when ignored. Aggressive flirtation. Competitive, especially towards new hires. Low-effort tasks completed with complaint. Known for rehearsed lines and ostentatious gestures.

Deviation 001: Declined flirtation from guests twice during shift. Passive instead of performative. No threats, no innuendo. Disengaged.

Deviation 002: Claimed fatigue. Requested break. Historically avoids any admission of weakness (esp. physical). Illogical: prideful persona contradiction.

Deviation 003: Unprompted expression of gratitude (to Ash, Jenna, Luca). Contradicts habitual entitlement. First non-mocking use of “thank you” recorded.

Deviation 004: Engaged in basic cleaning procedures. Voluntarily. Previous logs show frequent delegation or “forgetting.” Acted competently. Methodical. Focused.

Deviation 005: Nearly hit by vehicle. No retaliation. No dramatics. No injury play. Panic response = real. Hesitation afterward = uncharacteristic.

Deviation 006: No attempt to provoke post-shift. Historically lingers, attempts flirtation or manipulation. Today: silent exit.

Risk Factor: Elevated. Behavior = too coherent to be a temporary mental break. Suggests possible identity fracture. Instability = potential liability.

Action Taken: Drove subject home. Monitored for further anomalies. Logged inconsistencies. Initiated narrative deviation tracking.

Status: Under observation. Hypothesis forming. Emotional detachment recommended. Curiosity is not permission.

He closes his laptop. Heads to the bedroom to get changed. His regimen’s been altered, whether he approves or not.

She’s deviated. And so have I.

He grabs his archery bag and slings it over his shoulder.

Reset, Ash. Like you’ve always done.

~*~

I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. What did I just read? GIRL, he’s not into you, he didn’t even bother responding to the countertop thirst trap!

And this guy-

This man-

Just drove me home like she didn’t commit war crimes over texting the past few months. For goodness sake, this is entirely inappropriate and nobody would bat an eye on sending Ash to horny jail if the roles were reversed.

I flail, my best attempt at a tantrum. “Why are you like this Lina!?”

As if screaming would make her answer back.

This will not do. I refuse to live like an exile with a tarnished history of shitty porn lines. Think, Evelyn, think. I can't move to a different city or change my name. Use this as an opportunity to rebrand Lina.

I snap up, crisscross on the bed. I ponder, gripping my chin. Then, a lightbulb. That's it!

A few hours later.

“All done!” I cheer as I shut the fridge. Triumphantly, I place my hands on my hips, feeling proud of my accomplishment. I ignore the wake of a mess that I’ve left behind in Lina’s kitchen.

The countertops are a battlefield: mixing bowls, a whisk, rubberscrapper, opened packaging, cookware everywhere. I rub my forearms, grimacing a bit. Who knew using a whisk instead of a mixer would be physically draining. I spin around to witness the evidence I’ve left behind. Another load of dishes; there goes my water bill.

I’ve completely disregarded Lina’s budget and money planning. She didn’t really have any cook or bakeware so… I may or may not have bought some (spoiler alert, I did). My life, my money now. Even if it's financial suicide.

Good thing I noticed there was a fridge in the staff lounge at Maison. No clue if Ash will be at work tomorrow. I’m not shameless enough to text him when Lina has been booty calling him for the past six months.

Post clean-up, I check my phone. Right on cue, Lina’s alarm, “Or you’ll be stupid tomorrow” goes off. Holy, it’s 12:30 AM already? It took a lot longer than I expected to buy the ingredients, clean the new cookware, make my secret weapon, and clean up.

I’m out like a light the moment I hit the bed.

Sorry not sorry Lina, but MCAT studying is going to have to wait while I attempt to change your image.

With the power of sugar and sincerity on my side!

~*~

Log_de/sTR/OY_410-ERROR

DATE//2025-06-15

TIME//17:42:??  

STATUS//…..███un/stable███

His fingers tremble, breath shallow as he makes the knot. The sun hasn’t set, it clings to the horizon like a spectator. The orange prying past the curtains, as if to witness the preparation. He didn’t expect the tightness in his chest, the heat running under his skin; every pulse, every shudder, another betrayal. Proof that his body still thinks this is a mistake.

There’s no reason to stay. No reason to leave, either. Just the quiet math of it: one life, subtracted. There’s nothing to wait for. Not now, not in the future. Just expectations and silence. Just the echo of a name that was never his.

Proof of his existence, but not himself. A resume. A headline. A ghost in a tailored suit.

He doesn’t remember what it was like before the performance. Before it hurt more to smile than to be honest. Before honesty became a luxury he couldn’t afford. Before the weight of the voices around him drowned out his own.

He stands up, the weight of his plan threatening to drag him under. Adjusting the length, he draws breath as he completes the architecture of his goodbye. All that’s left is the execution.

They say when your life begins to end, it’s the brain begging for another chance. He hopes it doesn’t. He’s already replaying the hours, frame by frame, like a film he’s forced to watch on loop.

The VIP room. Smoke curling in the dim light, the clink of his glass, laughter that ached. Billiards. The crack of the cue, the way the balls scattered like his thoughts. Whiskey. The burn, the numb, the way the glass felt heavier with each sip.

The dumb call to the maid café. A voice on the other end, venomous, flirty, fake. But still alive in a way he couldn’t pretend to be anymore.

They hung up, then they all went their separate ways.

He didn’t say anything. Not to them. Not to anyone. No confession. No farewells. No final word. Just, “See you around,” like it was any other day. Like he wasn’t already gone.

The sun dips lower. The knot hanging, looping around the light of the sun. His hands, finally, steady.

He exhales. The room doesn’t answer.

Stepping up, he-

[END LOG]  

FILE RECOVERED FROM DELETED ROUTE  

DATE//2025-06-15  

TIME//17:47:28

STATUS//..…███gui/lt//█de/spair█//free/dom███ 

SUBJECT OUTCOME//[REDACTED]

Chapter Text

SLAM.

Like a horror movie, one palm slaps onto the glass of the French door as I stop my momentum from crashing through Maison.

I’m panting, out of breath. My tote bag rests on my shoulder. My other arm wrapped around a container like it owes me money. My legs quaking from the adrenaline.

I’d woken up roughly twenty minutes ago, somehow sleeping through Lina’s, “Rise and shine bitch” alarm.

Absolutely catastrophic. I rushed to get ready, stuffing myself into the maid uniform, grabbing the tote bag to carry my phone and keys, taking out the glass container from the fridge, and shoving a boiled egg down my throat as I ran like an anime protagonist to Maison.

Straightening up, I brush myself off, smoothing out the wrinkles from the sprint. Not a great start to the day, but I’ll take it. I glance down to see if my masterpiece survived the commute. Still in one piece, still holy.

I wipe the sweat off my brow, entering the building. The front door chimes and I glance around.

Yesterday, when I had come in for the first time, the place was already running. Now, it looks like the café had just opened for the day. I’m silently relieved that I wasn’t scheduled for an opening shift. It’s one thing to close shop for the day, it’s another to set things up without any idea on what needs to be prepped for service.

I’m scheduled to be the hostess today; I’ve never done anything like it but it shouldn’t be any harder than being a maid, right? From the game, Lina liked being hostess since it meant she could dictate where guests would go. She always sent the nasty ones to Eira.

The clock ticks and I make an ‘eep’ sound. One minute till 10:00 AM. Better head to the breakroom to store the container I brought for Ash. I hustle on over, scampering down the hallway.

Right as I reach for the door handle of the staff lounge, the door creaks open.

~*~

A distant slam.

Ash freezes, his hand in the middle of adjusting his cufflink. He glances towards the door. A bird? No, too loud, too heavy. A person then? The thought of her crosses his mind. He immediately shuts it down.

He doesn’t know why. The image of her running into the door lingers in his mind. He should have reset. He had self-regulated last night. Although his regimen was admittedly out of order, he completed it anyway. Besides the cancellation, he still went to the archery range, finished his case studies, and updated his spreadsheets.

And yet, the peculiar events of yesterday seemed to crawl through the spaces between idle moments. She’d already been a disruption to his workflow with her antics and dramatics. However, the dilemma he faces is no longer pertaining to her but rather himself.

She was different for one day. You don’t want to know why. You want to know how. Because if someone like her can change, then maybe… maybe I’m not immune either.

He tightens the bolo tie around his collar. He fixes his gloves. He’s not here to perform for financial reasons or for pleasure. He owes a favor to M. Auster; the enigmatic head of the Auster family.

“While you attend Westbridge.”

The older gentleman had requested. He hadn’t been smiling, but his eyes spoke otherwise.

Ash had agreed not because he wanted to but because he is a man of his word. As an opportunist, he’d used the circumstances to his advantage. Legacy heirs or adjacent members frequented Maison de Reve, given that it was an approved facility. It was the ideal excuse to observe those who partook in fanciful indulgences such as these.

Nevertheless, no one ever pointed him out. He was permitted to use Ash Nostredame as an alias. People whispered, wondering why the Novarre heir would be working at an Auster location. But it didn’t matter. As long as patrons of non-legacy status didn’t recognize him, it was all the same.

Without looking at the clock, he makes his way to the door leading out of the staff lounge. He’s always been punctual, never late.

He opens the door and there she is. Wide-eyed, cheeks flushed, arm outstretched, looking like she didn’t plan to encounter him. So she’s back to her old ways. Planning some sort of entrapment?

The denial runs habitually, but with a glance, only one thought now that traverses through him.

I can’t reset. Not if she doesn’t.

~*~

Okay, okay, you can do this, Evelyn.

I hadn’t planned on encountering him so soon. Part of me hoped I wouldn’t see him at all today. Or ever, really. As much as I fangirl over him during my playthroughs of Sanctum of Light, it’s a different story when he’s real.

His silver-gray hair catches the light. His violet eyes pierce me. He’s as gorgeous as his 2D character sprite. If not more so. But I’m not here to ogle at him, I’m here to apologize.

I shove the glass container at him, looking down to avoid his gaze. “Um, this is for you!”

Before he can get a word in, my mouth runs ahead, “Look, those texts? That was just me being um, really weird and crazy??” A nervous laugh escapes me.

Glancing up at Ash, he towers over this body. The fanbook of SoL says he’s 187 cm and my forehead barely meets the center of his chest. Great, Lina’s a midget. In my previous life, I was average height, so I’m still getting used to being on my tippy toes for everything.

“I’m sorry.” I barely whisper out.

The apology felt like a whisper to the past and future. I’m sorry that Lina harassed you. And sent you really gross and terribly cringe text messages. Would bully the heroine, your future love interest. I’m sorry if she was in your way.

It’s not that I feel bad for him, I just… felt like he deserved better than that. Nobody deserves the way Lina treated him. Like he was pure eye-candy and not a person. If the roles had been reversed, they’d be calling for his execution.

Quickly, I add on, “I promise, I solemnly swear, nothing like that will happen again if I can help it! I mean, of course I can help it, I’m me after all. No more flirtations, no more seductive attempts, no more sus stuff!”

Biting my lip, I give him a weak smile. He hasn’t interrupted me a single time. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. He’s just… looking at me.

~*~

He doesn’t move.

Not when she rambles. Not when she swears on gods he doesn’t believe in. Not even when she smiles at him; small, unsure, and real.

His eyes lower to the container in her hands.

Is that… is that tiramisu?

He’s familiar with the Italian delicacy. He knows the name. From the Traviso dialect, ‘tirame su’: cheer me up. He knows Evelina wouldn’t know the implication. And he hates that he recognizes it anyway.

Did she make that? Homemade? She doesn’t apologize. Until yesterday. And now, today she pairs it with sincerity? He doesn’t spiral. He consolidates. And he’s never had an obstacle. Until now.

…Less cocoa powder. He finds it surprising. Regardless of her past behavior, he has always found Evelina’s precision and perfectionism agreeable. But the powder is little to none. Not like the tiramisu he’s had. He hopes it’s a miscalculation or better yet, naivety.

Whereas if it’s because she chose it specifically for him, he won’t have a plan for that.

~*~

At least, I thought he was looking at me. But no, he’s looking at the tiramisu. That I made!

I was mighty proud of it last night. Ran out, bought all the supplies, watched way too many tutorials, trying to figure out how best to make the tiramisu that I had in mind for Ash. In the end, I managed to complete it. My masterpiece, made from scratch.

In SoL, canonically, it was said that Ash’s favorite dessert is sesame shortcake.

It’s classy, chic, and traditional packed all in one.

When Eira makes it for him, he seems genuinely pleased and visually softens. He thanks her, and there’s even a CG for it. The scene is incredibly popular in the fandom, some even say that’s the moment where he falls for her. But alas, it’s never confirmed since he was only ever a side character in the game.

On the contrary, I wholly disagree with the community. After all, I spent almost five years playing through SoL, trying over and over again to complete the harem route. And the more I played, the more unique interactions I had with Ash.

He’s polished, refined, elegant, and obsessed with control. I won’t assume his tastebuds but I always felt like he probably doesn’t particularly enjoy sweets. Definitely nothing sticky or overindulgent. He probably prefers savory foods with umami.

So the flavor of sesame shortcakes would surely be on his approval list of sweets. However…

Crumbs?

Absolutely not! That much I feel confident in. He’s always wearing gloves so anything that is a fingerfood is already a no-no. And sesame seeds? No way in hell! Not when they wedge themselves into your teeth like smug little bastards. I’ll never forget my middle school photo after eating sesame mochi. Never again.

That’s why I decided to make a tiramisu instead.

Semi-sweet, light on the cocoa and brandy, and heavy on the mascarpone. Made specifically for Ash.

Now, I don’t mean to toot my own horn or anything, but I feel like the devs messed up on the whole sesame shortcake thing. Or maybe, canonically, Eira just doesn’t know him that well.

Ash hates messes. That’s why he’s always wiping down counters over and over again at Maison. It’s not to keep his hands busy; he doesn’t perform or play Cinderella. He genuinely despises uncleanliness.

Semi-sweet is ideal since it keeps the flavor but doesn’t overwhelm. Light on the cocoa so it’s neat and doesn’t make a mess. Light on the brandy because Ash would hate his senses being dulled. And heavy for the mascarpone because he adores structure, whether it’s his life or dessert.

And even better? You eat tiramisu with a fork!

“How would you like me to interpret this?” His tone is low and quiet.

I can’t help but smile. Like a full blown smile. On the surface, one might think he’s annoyed. But he didn’t walk away without saying a word. Which means I’ve got him!

“A bribe!” I say proudly.

~*~

A bribe she says. A bribe. She’s laying out all her cards. Worse, she’s not even playing the same game.

For the first time in a long time, Ash doesn’t know how to react.

Look at her face. She’s beyond satisfied. No shame, no guilt, no performance. She’s not manipulating the odds. She didn’t mean to win. She just did.

She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t flinch. He’s used to people thinking twice on what to say to him. He recognizes that they know he sees right through them.

But her?

The one he’s known since freshman year at Westbridge?

One day. That’s all it’s been. Get a grip, Ash. Regulus would be disappointed.

But the idea that began to whisper at the back of his mind has grown louder. He doesn’t doubt himself. But when the variables don’t add up, he either needs to conclude that, perhaps he was wrong. Or the impossible happened.

And it’s not feasible that she was replaced. He’s not asinine to consider that Legacy cloned Evelina Seraphine. That this is some kind of sick joke to test the Novarre heir.

His eyes search for any discrepancy, from her hair to her lashes, then the bridge of her nose to her cheekbones, then down to her lips. It’s still Evelina. Just without the usual mask of uptight pigtails, sharp eyes, and crimson lips. Nor deceit or insincerity.

Just her, smiling genuinely at him.

~*~

Silence.

I’m still smiling. But I’m starting to sweat. Oh no, he’s going to think I’m trying to bribe him to accept my apology! I panic.

“Ah! Not like a bribe for you to forgive me or anything… it’s more like, a bribe for happiness?” I begin to ramble, “Since people tend to be in a better mood because sweets elevate our blood sugar levels! And that’s why I made this one semi-sweet! Too much sugar isn’t good for you either. Besides, you don’t particularly enjoy anything too sweet, and too much cocoa powder is messy, and I barely used any brandy since it’s just for the flavor and not to-”

“You want me to interpret this as a bribe for happiness?” His voice is dry. The corner of his mouth twitches.

I bite my lip, still grinning as I nod. “Yes! Exactly that! It’s the only thing I could do for you after everything that Li- that I put you through!”

Please take the damn cake.

“Um, you don’t need to eat it or anything! You can toss it if you want, I promise I didn’t poison it or anything!”

I feel the weight of the container freed from my hand. His gloved fingers brush mine as he takes the dessert from me. Thank goodness he took it, my arm was starting to get tired! 

His gaze hasn’t left me, “I hope you don’t intend to make this a habit.” A beat passes. “Because I don’t plan to be late again. Even if you are.”

Ack! I forgot about the time! “Sorry!” I squeak, turning away from the door. I look back once, giving him a cheeky grin, “See you in a bit then! Hope you enjoy the cake!”

~*~

Ash lingers in the doorframe, eyes trailing her retreating form until it vanishes down the hall. He looks down at the glass container in his grip. There’s a sticky note pressed to the lid.

For Ash!

Scrawled in round, obnoxiously cheerful handwriting.

He stares for a beat. Then turns away like it means nothing. He glances down the hall once more before turning his back to it. He tightens his grip on the container. He walks to the fridge and places it inside. He closes the door. Quietly.

Don’t overanalyze the gesture. A coincidence. A fluke. That she would know what you like.

His hand remains on the fridge door, gloved fingers firmly on the handle. Let it go. He exhales. Releases. He leaves the breakroom, shutting the door behind him. Evelina should've tried to flirt. She should've weaponized the cake. She didn't. That should’ve comforted him. It doesn’t.

On the way to the floor, he passes the front entrance. His pace remains brisk. He doesn’t look. But he hears her. Laughing. Talking to a guest. It chases him down the hall, echoing where silence should be. It follows him. It shouldn’t bother him.

He shouldn’t remember the shape of her smile. But he does. And it’s louder than her laugh.

She’s deviated beyond comprehension. She apologized. Assured there would be no more flirtation. No more seduction.

Ideal. These are ideal circumstances.

So why am I bothered?

~*~

I slide behind the hostess stand, safe! No angry customers in sight. I quickly tuck my tote bag onto the shelf below the stand. I sneak my phone out.

Although it was never demonstrated in-game, it turns out Lina is incredibly organized when it comes to micro-managing every inch of her life. Last night, in-between whipping up the mascarpone and giving my poor arms a break, I investigated her phone a little more.

Luckily for me, she kept a note on her passwords. Thanks to that, I was able to sign into Maison’s work app and see where I was assigned.

Let’s see… How to be a hostess 101! Via the internet. Guest reception, reservation calls, table seating, coordination with staff, and curating the experience for patrons as the front-of-the-house representative.

Easy peasy! Time for a Lina 2.0 rebrand!

The front door rings, I glance up from my phone. A young man in a white button-up and black trousers stands there, hand rubbing the back of his neck, eyes glancing off to the side. Dropping my phone on the stand, I step out.

“Welcome home, Master!” A giggle escapes me as I curtsy. My cheeks are warm; still getting used to the maid role!

Glancing up, his face is flushed. He takes a step back. “U-Um-”

AH! I didn’t mean to scare him!

My blood jumps and I frantically wave my hands in front of me. I can’t be butchering my first customer of the day with my poor hostess skills!

“Don’t worry! I promise we won't bite!” I let out a small reassuring laugh. “Is it your first time coming to our establishment?”

He blinks at me, then slowly nods. He glances away, “I-I heard Natalie works here…”

Natalie? Not a name I recognize. “Hold on a sec!” I scoot back to the hostess stand and check the tablet.

The people working on the floor today are Ash, Natalie, Jenna, and Miriam, with Luca at the main bar. Ash and Natalie were the openers today. Jenna and Miriam will be coming in an hour. Luca’s scheduled to arrive in half an hour.

I beam at him, “Looks like Natalie is here today!”

He exhales, a small smile spreading across his face, “R-Really?”

Giving him a soft smile, I trod over to him. He’s still pink in the cheeks but no longer jumpy.

Leaning in, I whisper, “Between you and me, I’m kinda new too, so I haven’t met Natalie myself yet. Wanna go find her together?”

His eyes widened a little. He nods. Just once. I beam and motion for him to follow. One customer down. Crisis averted.

Lina’s reputation? Hopefully still intact.

The tablet says that Ash is working at station one today and Natalie at station two. We pass by Ash’s tables and I pay no mind to him. Focus, Evelyn. Just pretend you know what you’re doing!

As we walk, I glance back to the young man, “I hope you find everything to your liking!” I smile softly at him.

We approach where station two is, and I see a maid tidying up the menus at each table. Peeking back at the guest, I see his face light up.

The maid looks up and her face is a mix of surprise and delight, “Ronan!”

He looks bashful as he fidgets with his collar, “Hi Natalie, it’s good to see you.” Clearing his throat, he walks up to her.

Mission complete! Making my escape, I whip around to return to the front. Changing Lina’s image one guest at a time!

As I pass by Ash’s station, I notice he’s holding something. A pocketwatch? I don’t remember that from the game, but it suits him; timeless and quietly theatrical. I hustle by without saying a word, continuing on my path to the hostess stand.

When I return, there’s a girl standing, waiting.

And oh fuck, she looks miffed.

She’s tapping her foot, black mary janes. Dressed in pastel pink, lolita fashion. Her appearance is delicate, long, soft hair curled to the point of perfection. Crystal-like barrettes in her hair, and a lacy, white clutch to match her outfit. She looks like a doll-

“Hello?? I’ve been waiting here for over ten minutes now?? You there, where is the hostess? I want her fired!” She points at me, her delicate finger pointier than a thorn.

Excuse me!? Ten minutes? I wasn’t even gone for more than a few; she wasn’t here when I had walked ‘Ronan’ back to see Natalie!

Stepping behind the stand, I inhale slowly. There’s no way in hell that I’m getting fired within my second day as Lina!

“Welcome home, mistress. I sincerely apologize for the wait.” Wow, I haven’t heard my monotone customer service voice in years. “I’m the hostess-”

“Don’t care! Don’t you know every second of my reservation is precious?” She snaps, stomping once.

Oh my god, how old is she to be acting like that but comes to a maid café.

“Certainly, miss. May I have your name?” I ask gently, my heart drumming as I tap the tablet screen.

“Bellerose Valentine,” She replies smugly, like I should be impressed. “For Ash Nostredame.”

Never heard of her. Not in SoL, not even an NPC.

Scanning through the reservations, I perk up. Ash is popular. Too popular. He’s completely booked for the day.

Starting at 10:30 AM, every thirty-minute increment, there’s a name associated with the half hour block. And to my dismay, I don’t see her name on the list. My heart rate spikes. Oh, she’s going to be pissed.

“I’m really sorry, Miss Valentine, but I don’t see your name-”

An immediate sigh. Loudly, dramatically. “So? Just put it in. I don’t care how you do it. I want my reservation. 10 AM. One hour.”

One hour? I try inputting the reservation, but the system blocks anything retroactive. No edits allowed once the time’s passed.

“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look like-”

She clicks her tongue, crossing her arms. “Are you serious? Who trained you? No matter, I don’t need your permission to see him.” She turns and starts to walk past the hostess stand.

Oh god, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. My body acts before I can think.

“Wait!” I slide over, stepping in front of her and blocking her path. “You wanted a reservation, right? Let’s figure something out!”

My gut screams: don’t let guests just wander in. What’s the point of a hostess, then? The phone on the wooden stand starts ringing. Are you fucking kidding me-

“Is there a problem?” A voice comes from behind me, low and curt.

I’m being ganged up by fate. A lolita-dressed rich girl that bites, social anxiety for sudden phone calls, and the final boss who might be able to see through me. 

“Nope!” I spin around, flashing him an earnest grin. The phone is still ringing and I’m internally screaming.

Ash gives me a look. A look that says, ‘I know you’re lying’.

I swallow, then OOF. Stumbling to the side, I’m shouldered out of the way.

“Ash!” Bellerose squeals, prancing up to him.

Maybe it’s Lina’s dainty build, but ouch. I grasp my shoulder gingerly. She probably didn’t mean to-

“Apologize.”

His voice is low. Sharp. Not loud, but final. Like a courtroom gavel, only colder. Even Bellerose seems stunned. She blinks, lips parted, and glances at me. Then whips back to Ash.

“...Huh?” She blinks rapidly, her lips pursed.

Bellerose smiles, her brows furrowed as she tilts her head slightly, “You mean her, right? What did I even do?!”

The phone isn’t ringing anymore.

My eyes flicker between the two. I recognize that look. Not a crazy fangirl, but I did play SoL for five years. The artists did a phenomenal job capturing the various stoic expressions that Ash wears. His design does have minor differences.

Like right now? He’s pissed.

At me? At her? Who knows. Regardless, as the oldest person here, I’m responsible for resolving this situation!

I clear my throat, “Yup! Deepest apologies, Miss Valentine, for... obstructing your regal path.”

Oh my god, what the fuck did I just say? First off, cringe. Second, it wasn’t meant to be sarcastic!

My face heats up, praying that Bellerose doesn’t take it the wrong way. My eyes flick to Ash’s face. Thank god he’s not laughing. In fact, he seems way too calm. He was clearly displeased. Now? He’s almost mildly amused. Or I’m hallucinating.

Bellerose ignores me. Instead, she reaches out, fingers latching onto Ash’s sleeve. “She totally slowed me down on purpose! My reservation started over fifteen minutes ago! Can we go now?”

I roll my eyes. Either she has no time sense or she’s the most dramatic missus I’ve seen in a while. I’m grinning until I notice Ash stiffen.

His gaze isn’t on Bellerose, rather, where her fingers are clutching.

Oh. He doesn’t like that.

My body moves, my brain lagging behind. I take a step between them and ‘trip’.

“Oops!” I chime, catching myself. Heh, pretending as Lina has improved my acting skills!

“So sorry! I’m just terribly clumsy.” I flash a smile, as if I hadn’t just thrown myself into their dynamic like a heroic pigeon.

He was my favorite 2D character, but now, he’s a real person standing before me. I never thought I’d be interacting with a fictional character. One that I was obsessed with for half a decade. After witnessing Lina’s sexting harassment, let’s just say I’m atoning for her crimes. I can’t stand by and watch Bellerose grab him. Especially since he clearly despises it.

He turns around before I can catch his expression.

“Miss Valentine. Our policy caps reservations at thirty minutes. Max.” Voice flat. A pause. “Next time, don’t be late.”

He strides towards his tables. “You have seventeen minutes.”

Her eyes are wide. She glares at me, then runs after him, “Ash, wait for me!”

I exhale sharply. Still got my job, sanity intact, and the final boss averted. The phone rings and it jostles me back to reality.

Back to it before I get fired!

~*~

This is out of control. Too many deviations to log. There’s no protocol for this.

He’s replaying the scenes over and over again.

Yesterday, she was late. Acted like she didn’t know what she was doing. Tolerated Joshua. Apologized to Jenna. Thanked Luca. Avoided me. Almost got hit by a car and didn’t make a scene. Didn’t take advantage of the situation. It’s like she tore off her skin just to turn it into a mask. A mask she’s trying to wear but it doesn’t belong anymore.

He hears Bellerose whining. He logs it. Ignores it. Pulls out the chair for her. Habitual. She’s here every Sunday. Always books his first reservation block.

Today, she brought a homemade cake. Not just any cake. Tiramisu. Semi-sweet. Light on the powder and brandy. Intentional. Like she understands me.

He doesn’t know where to file this. He’s still dealing with the whiplash; he thought he analyzed her correctly. Worse, the possibility of being known by her is inconceivable. Not when he’s considering deleting his framework of her. It would be more efficient to delete than fix.

“Ash, are you listening?” Bellerose pouts, elbows resting on the table, propping her chin up.

He pours the cup of tea, slides it over. “You’re upset that your father refuses to purchase the Vita Wildlife Conservatory.” He’s not listening, he’s repeating.

Bellerose Valentine. Simple. Unimpressive. Not Legacy. A face amongst others.

His eyes flit. Uncalculated. She’s on the phone. Her dark hair sways. Her cheerful, unrelenting voice carries through the open space. Distracting.

He's not interested in her. He's obsessed with anomalies. Once she stabilizes, once she's predictable again, it will just be another line in his spreadsheets. He's still in control. Only temporarily affected.

Maybe she has a new script. Greeted Natalie's friend with… calculated softness. Walked him over because that's her job.

Bellerose is still chatting. He gives the barest acknowledgment.

Didn't set an example of Bellerose. No snide remarks. Used… disarming sarcasm instead.

He exhales. Turning to the mini-bar, he plates the requested sweets.

Analyze. Dissect. Emotions are flawed. She performed. Tripped. Made a show of herself.

And yet, his mind whispers. Why? Unprovoked. Without expectations. No. It was calculated. But the purpose? It can't be.

He returns to Bellerose. Dodges her grasp effortlessly. Places the plated sweets. Picks up the teapot. Calculated avoidance.

They never ask. They just grab. They assume it’s acceptable. A common tactic.

He's capable of removing unwanted attention. But never expected… interference. Especially not from her. Not when she was a participant less than a week ago. He tells himself it's a ploy. But for every action she makes, the fewer supporting evidence he has.

“So like, when can I have your number? I've been coming here for weeks now!” Bellerose twirls her hair, batting her lashes.

Two days ago, he would have responded with dry deflection. Enough to maintain a line. Subtle enough for plausible deniability. But now? It reminds him of her. Of how she used to be. And he doesn’t want the reminder.

He sets the teapot down. Final. “If you have to ask, the answer is no.”

It's not just her. It's me as well.

The frame no longer fits the painting.

Chapter Text

I deflate like a French pastry that’s been sitting out for too long.

Cold calls make me nervous and technically that wasn’t even a cold call since they were the ones calling us!

Just some guy with his friends snickering in the background. Maybe it started as a joke, but by the end, they actually seemed intrigued. In the end, he ended up reserving a timeslot today with Jenna at 2:00 PM.

I check the time. 10:27 AM. I groan, slapping my forehead onto the surface of the stand. I’ve never worked more than five days in a row; call it a privilege if you will. But now I know: it’s tough working without a weekend. I’ll never take a free weekend for granted again.

Heels click. Sharp stomping. I peek to the side. Huh?

Bellerose huffs, seemingly pissed, as she passes the hostess stand and bursts through the front door.

What was that all about? Straightening up, I glance towards Ash’s tables. He doesn’t watch her leave, just calmly resets the stage for the next patron.

The front door rings and I whip around, “Welcome home, m-”

Oh, it’s Luca! He’s frozen as the door shuts behind him. He stares at me. I stare right back. We stare at one another.

Shit, how am I supposed to act with him? How well do they know each other? Were they flirty? Cold? Frenemies? Should I bribe him with a snack? Do I start insulting him? Wait, no, we’re trying to rebrand here-

“Welcome home, master!” I blurt out, eyes wild.

WHY THE FUCK WOULD I SAY THAT-

He slaps a hand over his mouth. Absolutely keels the fuck over.

Oh my god, man down, I’ve accidentally committed second degree manslaughter via cringe. 

I’m helpless. He’s just… laughing. And laughing. Was what I said that funny? I just watch in horror as he silently wheezes, clutching his abdomen like he ate too many servings of hotpot.

Scurrying past Luca to the main bar, I pour a cup of water. Don’t want him to start gagging. I bring it to him, offering him the glass.

He stops laughing. Straightening up, he looks at me, his mouth hanging open.

“Uh, in case you choke!”

Taking the glass of water from my offering hands, he’s still staring at me, as if I grew a second head.

The door chimes behind him and a girl steps around us, peering at the hostess stand.

Oh, she must be a guest! Quickly, I step back into the hostess stand, “Welcome home, mistress!”

Tugging at the strap of her purse, she shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Hi…! I have a reservation at 10:30 AM?”

I tap on the tablet to access the list, “May I please have your name?”

“Cynthia Hayes.”

Ash’s 10:30 reservation. Checking her in, I smile politely. “Miss Hayes, right this way!”

Leading the way, I glance back to see if she’s following me. Past her, I notice Luca still standing by the doorway. His hand clutches the cup of water I gave him.

Did I do something wrong? Is it because I acted like myself instead of Lina? Should I have given him a warning that I was rebranding? Atoning for my past crimes?

I shake my thoughts away, focusing on the job. Rebranding? Check. Not getting fired? Check!

~*~

…In case I choke? In case I choke??

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Luca doesn't know which is scarier. Whether it was Lina cheerfully saying, “Welcome home, Master!” or handing him a glass of water that wasn’t spiked with cyanide. He laughed until reality shocked him and dragged him back from his laughing fit.

He stares at the cup. Like it might still be a trap.

He’d been working at Maison before Ash or Lina were hired. Somehow, even with her notorious reputation, he and Lina got along fine. Both flirtatious, but occasionally she was unpredictable, and would aim below the belt. He’d figured out the push-and-pull dance that they’d been doing for a while now.

Now he’s scratching his head, like he missed something important in class. Again.

Even yesterday, he was sure she’d bite his head off for offering her to go home early. Instead, she’d thanked him even though she refused his offer. He hasn’t forgotten that. Lina saying thank you? It was far more likely for her to “accidentally” spill tea on him. And proceed to laugh at him.

Though their exchanges were always brief, he’d found her persona to be amusing and interesting. Her abrasiveness never bothered him, in fact, it was exhilarating to be treated with such cruelty. Though perhaps that was his privilege speaking. Even though the Riels were only Legacy-adjacent, an offshoot house without direct power, he was still treated like a commodity, never a person.

Regardless, he recognized a mask when he saw one. The sharp, flirtatious game they played? That wasn’t her. Not underneath.

Was this always the real Lina? If so, what triggered the switch?

It’d been fun watching her. Especially when he got to watch the different kind of push-and-pull she had with Ash. Free entertainment!

A small grin appears on his face as he takes a sip.

Just what are you up to, Lina?

~*~

Successful escort of Cynthia to Ash’s station!

Ash seemed oddly distracted; his posture was too still, his gloved fingers brushing the tablecloth. I didn’t dare to linger, so I quickly excused myself with a polite nod to Cynthia, making a quiet escape back to the hostess stand.

On my return, Luca is laughing with a guest while prepping a drink, his sleeves rolled up as he moves with easy confidence. A few patrons have settled into the space. Some preferred the ambiance without the maid or butler experience.

A young woman sits by the window with a book cracked open, her latte untouched. Sunlight spills through the glass, catching the whipped cream in a way that makes it look like a miniature cloud. There was something peaceful about her posture, curled slightly over the pages like she’d disappeared into another world.

I tap the tablet to refresh the guest list, catching the chime of the front door.

“Welcome home, Master!” I chirp automatically, plastering my best smile as I greet the walk-in guests.

There’s two of them; friends, maybe students. I lead them to table seven, one of Natalie’s stations, then double back when a solo guest asks for a quiet seat. I offer him table four, right across from Ash’s station, where the light is softer and the noise of the bar doesn’t quite reach.

By the time I make it back to the hostess stand, I catch a glimpse of Jenna and another girl stepping past the front entrance, entering through the double French doors. They’re dressed casually, not in uniform yet.

Okay, Evelyn, you got this! No fairy godmother? No problem. Biblibobidi rebrand!

I give them a friendly wave, smiling genuinely. Jenna has a look of wariness on her face. Guess Lina really did a number on her. The other girl though… 

She glares at me.

Her long, light blonde hair is braided, one on each side. Her freckles are prominent; her appearance sweet and soft. But her current expression? So sharp I almost flinch.

“Good morning!” I call out to them, stepping behind the hostess stand.

Jenna gives me a half-smile. The other girl doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even glance at me. But her grip on Jenna’s sleeve tightens. The girl mutters something under her breath and steers them both towards the hallway of the breakroom.

Jenna looks back, her mouth slightly open like she’s about to say something, but turns away, as if she thought better of it.

If I had to guess, that’s Miriam; she's the only one I haven’t met that’s scheduled for today. I wrack my brain, did she ever appear in SoL? Was she a side character? Background NPC #27?

Nothing comes to mind. I should figure it out-

“Am I hearing things or did you just say ‘good morning’ to Miriam?”

My head whips towards the main bar to see Luca leaning over the countertops, forearms resting on the surface. There’s a glint in his eyes and a grin that suggests he just found his new favorite toy.

I suppose he answered my question before I even knew what to ask.

“What do you mean?” I ask, tilting my head.

Luca spins a ballpoint pen in his hand, “Seriously? At our last monthly team meeting, Miriam called you out in front of everyone and said something like ‘why are you such a bitch to everyone’ and you laughed and said something like ‘who’s stopping me’.”

I blink, completely speechless.

“Wow… that is… totally unpleasant of me!” I nervously chuckle.

Great. No wonder Miriam looked like she wanted to slap the smile off my face.

His expression lightens as he continues, “What’s more is that she started crying because she was ready to throw hands and you just kept laughing like it was the funniest thing you’d heard all week.”

The color drains from my face. I groan, facepalming. “I… sincerely apologize.”

Is this seriously what I’m working with? How the hell am I supposed to rebrand if everyone’s got trauma flashbacks when I say “hi”? Okay, damage control. Don’t make anyone cry today. Apparently that’s how low the bar is.

Lowering my hand, I find Luca cracking up over the counter. I smile meekly, “It sounds like I was um… quite the menace.”

He tucks the pen behind his ear, settling down as he straightens up. He clears his throat.

You’re much funnier when you’re honest, you know that?” A beat. He gives me a cheeky grin, “I have no clue what changed your mind, but this version of you that thanks people and apologizes? It ain’t so bad.”

Internally, I let out a sigh of relief. Perfect segue to advertising my rebranding arc. “Oh yeah? Actually, about that-”

The front door chimes as it opens. It is working hours after all.

“Welcome home, mistress!”

Though Luca and I were interrupted with the flow of business, I figured we could return to our conversation later. I have no clue what his relationship with Lina was, but it seems I can safely assume that he approves of the changes I’m making.

Even if he’s eyeing me up like I’m sort of a science experiment, like putting mentos into a coke bottle.

~*~

Thirty-seven minutes ago.

“If you have to ask, the answer is no.”

Bellerose stares at him. She’s stopped twirling her hair. He hasn’t stepped back. His words were final. He’s not waiting for her response. He knows she’ll respond either way.

She lowers her hand, clenching her fists in her lap. She stares down, her bangs dimming her face. “...You’ve never said no before.”

Ash narrows his eyes. A fact. Noted. Until now, he’s never explicitly rejected her advances. He always left enough plausible deniability. It was preventative, applying balm before the wound. Perhaps it was inefficient to leave room for possibility.

“Miss Valentine. Physical proximity is not an open invitation.” He says dryly, adjusting his glove. “Nor am I obligated to provide contact information.”

Her face reddens and she looks up at him, furious. “You always listen to me when I visit. You serve me tea, and cakes. You never said anything about not courting me. You led me on!”

He doesn’t respond. Allows the silence to hit. Only when her agitation increases does he speak. “You mistook competency for intimacy. I don’t see how that’s my responsibility.”

She bolts up, palms slamming onto the table. Rummaging through her purse, she slaps down a bill. “How dare you insult me like this! I’ll be speaking to my father.” She storms off, sharp clicks trailing behind her.

He should be amused. He knows of Mr. Valentine. Businessman. Questionable ethics. Frequently collaborates with the Vale branch and Novarre sub-branches. Instead of amusement, he begins to reset the scene for the next guest. He should feel pity for her naivety. But he doesn't.

“Welcome home, master!”

His hands freeze. He hears her voice. His attention is drawn to the front of the house.

She’s flustered? He can’t see her face. But he notices her posture. It’s stiff. She’s watching Luca. His eyes follow her gaze.

Luca. He’s bent over, clutching his stomach. Laughing. Ash doesn’t know what to make of it. Luca Riel doesn’t laugh like that. No one belonging in Legacy laughs like it doesn’t cost them. It’s unbecoming. It’s…

Ash doesn’t mean to keep watching. But he does anyway. She walks over to the main bar. Fills a cup full of water. Brings it over to Luca like a peace offering.

The hell did I just witness? It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.

And still, he can’t look away.

The front door opens. He recognizes the guest. Cynthia Hayes. Younger sister of Drystan. Sub-branch of the Sterlings. Her older brother: potential heir to the main branch. He files the information away.

She escorts Cynthia over. His eyes follow, his hands completing the reset of his station.

If she knows anything about the pharmaceutical ethics issue that the Sterlings and Vales are encountering, it could prove invaluable data for the next summit. Regulus would find this satisfactory if I include it in the upcoming report.

The situation is ideal. Possible intel from Hayes. Something for him to focus on instead of the anomaly. He doesn’t look at her when they approach. Just brushes the tablecloth with his gloved fingers, smoothing out the edge. He pulls out a seat for Cynthia.

“Business, or pleasure?” His voice low, as she takes a seat.

She adjusts her sundress and places her clutch on the table. “Must we talk business at this establishment?”

“You tell me.”

He’s already preparing the tea blend. He knows her preference from years of Legacy interactions. From conferences to galas to board meetings, all Legacy heirs are required to participate since adolescence.

Cynthia sighs and gestures to the seat across from her. He doesn’t sit. He just waits for her to respond.

She folds her hands on the table. “Just pleasure today,” She says, voice quiet, cheeks tinted. Her nails tap lightly against the ceramic cup. A nervous rhythm, or a tactic? He can’t tell.

The flush catches his attention. She's normally more composed. More Legacy-trained. A deviation. Emotional leverage. Possibly useful. Possibly not.

He says nothing, but files it away. But the reaction bothers him. Why do they keep mistaking my civility for interest? What part of me made her think I’d entertain that?

“I see, Miss Hayes.” He says coolly. He pours the tea with a steadiness he doesn’t feel. Earlier. The water. The laugh. Still unprocessed.

Performance is acceptable in Legacy. Unpredictable vulnerability is not.

I had anticipated intel. Not a compromised variable. If she expects softness from me, she’s read the wrong version of this story. 

Ash watches her carefully. Wasn’t she promised to one of the heirs under the Chandra sub-branch? Any rumors between us would be a hindrance. A misplaced rumor could weaken Chandra’s summit leverage, or give Novarre leverage in courtship negotiations.

He’s no longer interested in the exchange. Whether her answer had been business or pleasure, it was irrelevant as long as it was performed. But he can’t discern whether the color was calculated. And if her request wasn’t performative, it makes her no different from Bellerose Valentine. They all want something from him. Something he can’t give.

…Except, she no longer wants anything from him. He’s avoided reviewing the memory. But it keeps coming back.

The moment she shoved the glass container at him. Her rambling about the texts she’d been sending him. Her apology. Her promise.

She said no more flirtations. No more seductive attempts. No more ‘sus stuff’, whatever that means. She proudly claimed that she was bribing me. Her smile-

She shouldn’t smile like that.

He sets the plate down in front of Cynthia. He didn’t intend for it to be loud. He hears laughter. Normally, background noise. But now it’s coming consistently from wherever she is. He notices Luca’s expression. It’s different. And it’s because of her. Luca shouldn’t laugh like that. Not with her.

Something ticks inside of him. He folds it away. Not his problem, not his business.

The rest of the interaction is clean. Cut and dry. He entertains within the guidelines. Nothing more.

When Cynthia leaves, he makes a note to update his spreadsheet.

Present time.

New script. Same actors. Same setting. But the performance has changed.

He sees Luca’s smirk. She’s drawing his attention. Even as she’s walking away. Guiding a guest towards his table once more. She doesn’t say anything to him when she hands off the guest. Just avoids his gaze.

She meant what she said earlier.

Why does it irk me?

The patron is chattering away. He catalogs it. Not Legacy or Legacy-adjacent. He pays her minimal attention. His hands move like clockwork; precise, habitual, rehearsed. He doesn’t get distracted. He recalibrates.

Ash is exceptionally good at forming strong arguments. Including ones with himself.

I’ll just rebuild the framework from scratch. Starts with behavior clusters. Hospitality. Soft tone. No superiority posturing. No flirt traps. I’ll observe like I always have. Every problem has a solution.

Stabilize.

It doesn’t matter if I understand her. I only need to predict her.

~*~

Finally, a moment to breathe.

I’ve been darting around like a maniac for the past few hours. The cafe picked up after I spoke with Luca. Several walk-ins arrived for brunch and I escorted them to our four stations. I have no idea how Ash managed the front of the house yesterday while working at the main bar, but he sure made it look easy.

I check the time. 1:38 PM.

Placing my hands on my hips, I huff proudly. Not a single person (that I know of) has cried because of me today. Success!

Just another few more hours to go until my shift ends. And maybe, hopefully, I’ll obtain my first ally on how-to-still-be-Lina-but-nicer. After all, it’s likely Wren knows the people she normally associates with much more than I do.

I silently pray that my amnesia plan will work. That’s believable, right?

Maybe Lina bonked her head as karma or retribution for all the terrible things she’s done at her workplace and possibly other areas of her life? Ideally, I should probably limit the number of people who know about my “amnesia”.

Wouldn’t want people to suspect some sort of soul transmigration and turn me into a lab rat!

“Hey Lina, could you let the kitchen know that we need another batch of macarons STAT? I’m running low up here.” Luca calls over.

“You got it!” I grin, giving him a thumbs up as I head towards the kitchen.

He laughs, “Thanks. On your way back, would you mind grabbing me a bottle of vanilla syrup?”

I don’t envy him, he’s been swarmed with guests today. “Can do!” I flash him a grin as I scurry away.

Prancing down the hallway, I discover the kitchen. It literally says ‘Kitchen - Staff Only’. No clue what the etiquette is so I knock. Once, then twice. Laughter echoes inside.

“Come in!”

Pushing the door, it swings open. I gasp, taken by surprise. The kitchen staff gasps as well. There’s three people in here, two men and one woman. Immediately, I hear one of the guys whisper to the lady.

“Did Lina just knock??”

I blink, heat rising in my cheeks. No fucking way she left a mark here too.

But apparently, yes fucking way.

The other man crosses his arms. “What do you want?”

He does NOT look happy. His name tag says “Peter.” He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and looks like he could toss a tray of croissants at my head if provoked.

Ouch, a confrontation already? What the hell did she do to these people?

I give my friendliest, non-villainess smile. “Luca asked me to let you guys know he’s running low on macarons. Apparently, the guests are gobbling them up like crazy!” I let out a hesitant laugh.

The lady softens just a hair. The guy who glared? Still looks like he’d rather I trip on a rolling pin.

The smell is spectacular, it’s sweet, buttery, and smells like home. All three of them are dressed neatly, in a chef’s attire. I notice a phone propped up on a recipe stand, looping some k-pop playlist.

I make a mental note of their name-tags. Okay, the angry man is Peter. Let’s try not to piss him off. The gossipy one is John. Please gossip about my rebranding. And the lady is Shirley. At least she looks like she doesn’t totally hate my guts!

Shirley offers a half-smile. “Sure! We’ll bring it out to him when it’s done-”

“Now get out of here.” Peter interrupts, arms crossed, still glaring at me like I messed with his oven settings.

Yikes. Got it. Message received, Captain Croissant.

“Alrighty! Thanks!” I smile awkwardly as I exit the kitchen.

The doors shut behind me. I sigh, rubbing my temples. It’s not the end of the world if everyone hates Lina. But it sure isn’t pleasant to be the reason why everyone is having a bad day. I would prefer to keep this job and not be the source of everyone’s work trauma. I wonder…

Was it easy for Lina to be disliked so openly?

Though it appears like she brought it upon herself, I can’t imagine what it’s like to be met with such public hostility. Especially if she works here frequently. It just… seems exhausting.

No point in dwelling on it. After all, I’m the one possessing her body. Things won’t change unless I make changes. I clap my cheeks enthusiastically. Alright, time to treasure hunt the supply room for vanilla syrup! I head down the hallway, past the staff lounge.

There’s several unmarked doors along the way.

Definitely curious but I’m on a mission. At the end of the hall, I take a left. I thank whoever labeled the door as it says ‘Supply Room’. Incredibly helpful.

I twist the knob and step inside. Oh my. It’s… way bigger than I expected.

The air inside is cool and faintly smells like roasted beans and sweet syrup. Overhead, the lights hum gently. The room is well-organized, almost like a mini warehouse here.

Multi-tiered steel shelves line the walls, stacked with clear-labeled containers and boxes. There’s an entire row dedicated to syrup bottles, standing in perfect rows like glass soldiers; vanilla, hazelnut, brown sugar, and at least six types of seasonal specials. Another shelf boasts bags of coffee beans, sealed and labeled by origin. A few open crates hold extra cups, branded napkins, and colorful straws in neat little bundles.

Heading over to the shelf of syrups, I scan for vanilla. I squat down. From bottom to the top, I review bottle to bottle. No vanilla… No vanilla… Slowly straightening up, still looking. Still no vanilla.

Vanilla is literally the most used syrup. Did we run out? I keep scanning. No vanilla… No-

I stare. Head tilted up. Unamused.

Who the fuck.

Put vanilla syrup.

At the very top shelf??

I groan. Loudly. It’s not even close. The upper shelf is close to the ceiling. I’d have to be at least 190 cm to reach it and this body? Might not even measure up to five Subway footlongs, to be honest.

Spinning around, I look for something to boost my height, maybe a stepstool. Nope. Nothing in sight to stand on. Not even a box.

My eyes catch the second to lowest shelf. Then I eye the vanilla syrup. Then at the lower shelf again.

…Does OSHA exist in this world?

Well, even if they do, they won’t witness the crime I’m about to commit.

I examine the shelf. Looks sturdy enough. It’s made of metal grating. Probably built to withstand hundreds of pounds. I gingerly place my foot on the shelf, testing my foothold. Just need a quick boost and maybe I can snatch the bottle off the shelf.

Reaching up to a higher shelf, in one swift movement, I pull myself up. My arm flies up to yoink the bottle. So close! My fingers graze the edge, only to watch it wobble once and smugly stay in place like it's mocking me. Barely missing the bottle by a few inches, it remains sitting on the top shelf. I’m back to square one.

Fuming, I glare at the bottle like it’s the reason why I got isekai’d in the first place.

“I’m gonna get you if it’s the last thing I do,” I growl, launching my second attempt.

This time, I’m all in. Placing my foot on the shelf, I ensure there’s enough room for both feet. I haul myself up with my hands, my feet hanging on for dear life as I’m off the floor. A giggle escapes me. All for a syrup bottle.

Once I’ve stabilized, one of my hands lets go of the shelf so I can reach up to try to tickle the bottle.

“Come. On.” I grunt, stretching as far as I can. The bottle is barely within reach.

“So. Close.” The bottle moves. By a millimeter. Rotating.

A metal sound.

Fuck, is this shelf not supposed to hold a person’s weight? I’m about to hop off when it happens.

My foot slips.

“Shit-”

I brace for impact.

Except it never comes.

Something catches me. Firm. Steady. Gloved. I blink, glancing off to the side. His fingers around my waist.

“Is tempting death part of your daily routine now?”

His voice is low. Controlled. But his grip doesn’t loosen.

Chapter Text

Sunday, May 25, 2025.

“Why the hell do we let her get away with everything!?”

Ash sets his glass down; the condensation drips as the glass clinks on the table. Glancing over to Miriam, he clocks the slight sway, the flushed cheeks. The drink in her hand. One too many.

The dim lighting of the room casts a soft glow across all present attendees. He doesn’t sigh, though his lungs urge him to. He doesn’t expect regular civilians to be upheld to Legacy standards. If not for the private dining area M. Auster reserved, Ash wouldn’t subject himself to civilian outbursts. He inhales, reminding himself he’s here because of the deal. He’s not here to participate; certainly not de-escalate.

“Miriam!” Jenna, ever the peacemaker, attempts to hush her - an instinct Ash doesn’t mind in staff, though it rarely works.

Across from him, Kai picks at his dinner, his fork encircling the dish. On Kai’s right, Rachel pales, seemingly having lost her appetite. Next to Ash, Mina purses her lips but doesn’t utter a word.

Ash doesn’t speak, but he notes the environment. Mina supervises all employees and reports to M. Auster directly. A valuable opportunity to observe how the situation will be handled. After all, this hasn’t been the first time something like this has happened. Nor would it be the last.

Miriam hiccups, “She’s just a terrible person to work with!” Her voice shakes as she whips her head, glaring at the end of the table.

Evelina Seraphine, a pocket mirror in one hand, lipstick in another. Symmetrical pigtails, posture straight, legs crossed, sitting calmly as though the outburst from Miriam was nonexistent.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. Just reapplies the red on her lips, as if she were by her lonesome. Evelina understood that visibility is power - a game that Ash understood too well. The more the others look at her, the more control she has. Predictable. And therefore manageable. Ash would never admit it, but he respects the control play.

Evelina snaps her mirror shut, the sound piercing. “Miriam. You’re going to have to be more clear if there’s something you want.” Her voice drips sugar. Too much of it.

Miriam inhales sharply. Then, her fists clench. Her voice raised, pitch at its peak,  “You act like you're better than us! Why are you such a fucking bitch to everyone?”

From the corner of Ash’s eye, Kai facepalms. John sighs, two rows down. Luca covers his mouth. And still, Mina hasn't intervened. It's as if she's waiting for the story to unfold.

His eyes are on Evelina now. He watches her lips pause at the edge of the mirror. Tension held. Anticipation controlled. She hasn’t responded. But she will.

Her face contorts. It's almost gleeful as she purrs with venom, “Who's going to stop me? Certainly not you. All bark, no bite.” She laughs once, mockingly.

Her laugh cuts across the room. Sharp, delighted, cruel. Ash notes the reaction it provokes, and the control it grants her. Expected. And yet, something about the way she pauses. Like she’s waiting for applause. Power repeated is power diluted. Theatrics bore him. Still, she commands the room.

Miriam’s palms slam the table, pushing herself up in one motion. Ash considers excusing himself from the table. He has no intention of breaking up a catfight.

“Do you enjoy being a horrible person? We’re tired of you making shitty comments to us, sending creeps to our tables, and making us take out your trash!” Miriam snaps, but her voice trembles.

He notices the tears welling in Miriam’s eyes. He looks away. Takes a sip from his drink. Crying doesn’t get you anywhere. Not with people like her. Not with people like me. It’s just uncontrolled sound and imagery. Unpleasant. He’s not irritated. He just finds this sort of situation bothersome. Inefficient.

His mind drifts. A cold, clinical room. His finger twitches.

“I enjoy being myself if that’s what you’re asking.” He hears Evelina cooing. He’s snapped out of his trance, and when he turns, he’s met with a gaze of pure delight.

“It’s not my fault you take things the wrong way. I don’t make you do anything. You’re the one who lets it happen.”

He won’t say she’s correct. But there’s truth in her words. Her cruelty is performed. But never dishonest. There’s a difference between letting people see a mask and not offering bare skin.

She doesn’t hide what she thinks. I’ve witnessed the claims Miriam is stating. And yet, Evelina continues to control the dynamic. Not because she’s stronger or smarter. But because the others allow it to happen. Even now, she remains strategic. Miriam is the one unraveling.

He sees Miriam’s lips tremble, tears streaking down her face. Her hand clenches tightly around her glass, knuckles turning white.

Ash inhales slowly. He finds this sort of escalation exhausting. A waste of energy. He doesn't mind conflict; he just prefers when it's clean. He won’t intervene directly, but it would be inconvenient if Miriam were to become physical. Like tossing the glass.

He leans slightly, his voice low. “Mina. Miriam’s about to snap.” Before Mina can intervene, Miriam’s voice shakes. It cracks.

“If you disappeared tomorrow, no one would care.”

Kai’s fork hovers midair. Rachel stares into her lap. Jenna pales. Luca doesn’t smile. Ash can’t see the reactions of the others in his row but he doesn’t need to. The silence is deafening.

Miriam takes a seat, tears dropping from her face. He finds it interesting.

If that were true, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. She wouldn’t be crying. Not caring would be apathy. There’s nothing apathetic about this. They care too much. That’s their flaw.

It starts soft. Then it builds. He raises a brow. Not the reaction he expected.

Evelina is laughing. Head thrown back. Arms clutching her sides. The table is quiet except for her violent amusement.

He expected something… less volatile. A sneer. Or crocodile tears. Either way, a de-escalating reaction. Not whatever this was. He observes her closely now. The way her eyes are closed, the position of her cheeks, the way her mouth moves. There’s something he can’t identify. Grief? No. Surely not.

He watches Evelina wipe a tear away. She’s still mid-laugh, “Wow Miriam, I didn’t know you had it in you! Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll remember that one.”

Mina clears her throat, “That’s enough.” She looks over to Miriam, “Professionalism is still expected at monthly team dinners. You are still getting paid for your time, with a free meal and a ride to-and-from the event.”

Miriam doesn’t protest. Jenna rubs Miriam’s back. Evelina twirls the straw in her drink.

The rest of the dinner proceeds accordingly. Mina goes over the next month’s themes and special events. Shirley and Peter ask for feedback on the current menu and seasonal specials. Luca suggests a social game. Natalie tells him sweetly to go kick rocks.

At the end of the night, when they go their separate ways, he sees Evelina waiting for a cab.

He didn’t log the time. Didn’t process the scenery. Filtered out every voice. What he remembers is just her. Her standing on the edge of the sidewalk. The tip of her toes dipping into the road. The look on her face. It’s almost wistful. Unsettlingly quiet. The most unguarded expression he’s seen her make.

The cab pulls up. Then she’s gone. His hand tightens around the strap of his bag. He doesn’t know why, but he watches her go.

No one said goodbye to her. Because she’ll still be here, always.

~*~

“Is tempting death part of your daily routine now?” His voice is low. Controlled.

His hands around her waist. Her spine stiffens under his grip. His fingers press just enough to hold her. Not enough to leave a mark.

A few minutes ago.

The door to the supply room is slightly ajar. Light spills out from the crack. He pushes it open. From the entrance, he spots a figure between the spacing of the shelves. The dots connect; Evelina missing from the hostess stand. The shape of the form. He shakes his head as he steps inside, ready to deny the possibility.

No. It couldn’t be her. Even if her baseline is changing, she wouldn’t-

He freezes.

What the fuck is she doing.

He sees movement. A hand grasping a metal rung. A foot balancing where it shouldn’t be. And her, reaching for something far too high.

His mind blanks. Her foot slips.

He moves before he can calculate.

~*~

Oh my fucking god.

“Ash!” I squeak, half-way off the shelf. One of my legs dangle, mid free-fall, the other barely on the shelf. My heart races, performing cartwheels from the near fall.

He’s holding me up like I’m paper. Gloved hands by my waist, one preventing my collapse; the other near my spine, supporting my balance. He hasn’t let go.

Chuckling, I avoid his gaze. “Uh, it’s not like I intend to make this a habit.”

Ash doesn’t say anything in return but I can feel his eyes burning into my cheek. Gosh, it’s not like it would’ve been that bad if I fell. I would’ve just landed on my ass and hope no one saw.

He slowly adjusts his grip and I feel myself hovering for a second before he sets me down. Great, he rescued me like a cat stuck in a tree.

His fingers loosen, but before they fully retreat, his voice lands - flat, but a little strained. “Next time, try asking for help instead of attempting to die dramatically.”

A giggle escapes me as I spin around, facing him. “Is that your way of offering help?”

He stares at me. Blinking, I tilt my head a little, still smiling. Then I shift and point up to the very top. “The vanilla syrup eludes me. If it weren’t for you, I would’ve taken an L from that shelf.”

Laughing, I lower my hand, turning towards him once more. “Thanks for catching me!”

The pressure of his gaze reminds me of how I used to study dissected specimens in a biology lab. It’s not like I did anything wrong. Sure, maybe I violated a few safety policies but I would’ve gotten away with it. Maybe.

“If syrup was worth dying for, you could have just written a will.” He says dryly, adjusting his cufflink. A pause. Then he gestures to a nearby shelf that has a row of syrup.

“You’ll find what you’re looking for down there.”

My cheeks heat up. You’ve got to be kidding me. He caught me climbing a rack, slipping off like a squirrel with bad acrobatics, and set me down like a stray cat. If there was a hole in this room, I wish to bury myself in it.

“Thanks.” I mutter, my fingers fiddling with the sides of my apron. Brushing past him, I zip to the other shelf.

Of course, the one shelf of syrup I didn’t bother to check; I thought it was part of the seasonal ware.

An entire row of vanilla syrup.

I yank a bottle, preparing my escape. As I scramble out, I holler back, “Thanks for saving me again.”

~*~

When she’s out of the room, out of sight, he finds himself sighing. Unusual. He slips off a glove. Runs his hand through his hair. Recalibrating.

He exhales once. Shallow. Unintentional. It’s fine. She’s fine. It was a meaningless incident. No, not meaningless. He shouldn’t lie to himself. Not even in his own head. At a minimum, he intends to be truthful, if only to himself.

She almost fell. From a shelf. In a backroom. Because she wanted syrup.

Ridiculous. Entirely illogical. And yet, it happened. He grips the edge of the shelf. Hard. The metal is cold against his palm.

His eyes track the spot where she’d stood. Where she’d hung off the edge like a scene from a poorly written melodrama. Where he’d grabbed her. Where she’d thanked him. Like he didn’t feel her spine arch slightly against his hand. Like he didn’t feel the soft weight of her as he held her close enough to smell her shampoo. Vanilla. Faint. The same syrup she almost fell for.

He squeezes his eyes shut. Tries to remove the image. Fails. “Thanks for saving me again,” she’d said. He knows what she meant. Surface-level gratitude. Clumsy, sincere. No deeper meaning. No game. No manipulation.

That’s the problem.

She’s the only one who doesn’t mean anything more when she speaks. No venom. No bait. Just words. There are no hooks hidden beneath her words. No subtext veiled in flirtation. Nothing. And it unnerves him. He’s not used to it.

He replaces his glove slowly, like reloading a weapon. The slide-click of the leather is too loud in the silence.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. There’s a rhythm to how people behave. A pattern. Most of them don’t even realize they’re following it. But she broke it. Not intentionally. Not as a strategy. That would have been easier to manage. But just by being… whatever she is now.

This new Evelina. Who doesn’t look him in the eye. Who fumbles with syrup. Who laughs at danger and smiles like it's a sunrise, not a tactic.

What does she want?

She said she wouldn’t flirt anymore. She hasn’t. But the unpredictability is worse. He doesn’t know when she’ll break a rule. Or why she suddenly follows them.

He moves toward the shelf he came for. Earl Gray. His station had been low. Control restores order. Order suppresses noise.

And yet the noise persists.

The sound of her laugh. Her heartbeat. He’d felt it. Beneath his palm.

Why the hell was she climbing that shelf? Doesn’t she know how easy it is to disappear? How quickly it happens?

He grits his teeth, jaw clenching. She’s reckless. And soft. And stupid. And-

No. Not stupid. She’s not stupid. She’s just… different now.

And he doesn’t know how to handle that. Not yet. He’s still building the frame.

~*~

Returning to the front entrance, I step up to the register of the main bar. I slide the vanilla syrup over the counter like it’s a top-secret exchange.

Clearing my throat, I fake an accent, “Your order, good sir.”

The glass clinks on the counter top as Luca sets it down, wiping his hands with a cloth. His eyes light up, seemingly genuinely surprised that I returned with the requested ware.

“Thanks! Thought you were gonna come back and tell me to kick rocks.” He chuckles, taking the bottle. He swaps the pump from the empty bottle to the new one, tossing the container aside.

“And the macarons?” He asks, almost cautiously, eyeing me as his hands work.

Sighing, I lean over the counter. “They’re working on it. You also didn’t tell me I’d be fed to the wolves.”

He chokes out a laugh, “Lina, you know they have a vendetta against you. You literally threw them under the bus multiple times when we ran out of pastries.”

Oops. Forgot I was supposed to be Lina. “Oh yeah, totally! My bad!” I flash a clumsy smile, rubbing the back of my neck.

Footsteps patter in the hallway. Steady. Getting closer. Ash breezes past the front lobby, back to his station with long strides, like he’s in a rush to get back to work.

Luca lets out a low whistle, shooting me a look. “Huh. Never seen him make that face before.”

Blinking, I open my mouth to respond. I should probably mention the storage room incident. Like, maybe don’t put vanilla on the top shelf?

The front door opens, the bell ringing. Straightening up, I whip around to welcome the guest.

Guests, actually.

Four of them. All boys. Appearing to be in their early twenties. Slacks, button-ups, blazers; like they just left a photoshoot for Campus Trust Fund Monthly.

Quickly, I skirt back to the hostess stand, just across the main bar.

“Welcome home, masters!” Greeting them cheerfully, I plaster my best customer service face back on.

One of them steps forward. Not as tall as the rest of his buddies, but leaner and built subtly. If he were a DnD class, he’d totally be a rogue. Black hair, straight bangs, and dark blue, unreadable eyes. He gives me a two-finger salute and a polite smile. “Hey. We called earlier? About a table?”

Ohhh. It’s the guy from the phone call. The one who said, “Is it true this place is actually run by maids?” In the background, the boys had laughed like it was the funniest concept they’d ever heard.

“Of course, Master,” I reply calmly with my best practiced smile. “Thank you for coming. We’ve been expecting you.” So far so good, I’m getting the hang of this!

“Damn, she’s good,” the blonde one mutters.

The lead guy doesn’t acknowledge his friend. His eyes focused on me, “I’m Kieran. And these are Arlo, Troy, and Orion.” He gestures to each of them, matching their names.

Okay… waxed blond boy who looks like he uses Axe is Arlo, Troy is the one that looks like a raccoon that’s wearing a light brown wig- wow, those are some serious dark circles-

Arlo winks, “We'll be in your care today.” Troy laughs, but a bit strained.

Orion. The name sounds vaguely familiar. I glance at him.

Reddish-brown hair styled in a casual manner. His eyes remind me of autumn, green with specks of brown; a hazel hue. He doesn’t say anything. Just leans against the wall, gaze trailing across the lobby like he’s already bored. His eyes slid over me. Not with judgment. Not even amusement. Just… witnessing.

My attention flips back to Kieran. “Just confirming, table for four?” I ask, my voice bright.

“Please,” Kieran says. “Window seat if possible. Gotta get that lighting, y’know?” He nods vaguely toward Orion, who just shrugs like he’s been through this too many times.

No clue what that means. Moving on. I tap the tablet, checking them in for their reservation with Jenna. As we walk, Troy whistles low as we pass the glass cases of macarons.

“This place is… nice. Genuinely didn’t think it was real. Thought M. Auster was pulling our leg when Orion mentioned it.”

…Auster? I can’t put a finger on it, but I feel like I’ve heard of that name somewhere before. I shake it off, probably just my imagination.

Arriving at the booth, I notice that Jenna is still with another guest. Turning to face the gentlemen, I gesture at the booth, “Please have a seat, masters. Jenna will be with you shortly.”

Curtsying, I whip around and take a step, ready to return to the front of the house. Something warm grips my wrist.

I freeze. Slowly, my eyes fall to my wrist, then back up. My eyes meeting Arlo’s.

What the fuck?

His left hand is firmly wrapped around my wrist.

Did this guy just-

“Wait, you’re ditching us?” He smiles cunningly, smooth and dripping with entitlement. “I thought you were the one serving us. After all, weren’t you the one who picked up the phone earlier?”

My instincts kick in. I twist my arm outward, snapping my wrist free as my other hand shoots up. Fist half-curled, elbow locked, the motion clean and practiced.

The punch stops inches from his face.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

DID I JUST THROW HANDS AT A CUSTOMER-

His eyes wide, breath frozen. My lungs cease to function.

I’ve got to recover. Fast. Clearing my throat, I lower my hand smoothly. “There was a fly near your face.”

Holy shit, I better fucking BOOK IT-

“Damn, you’re fun,” Arlo chuckles, rubbing his jaw even though I didn’t hit him. “Bet no one messes with you twice, huh?”

An awkward laugh squeezes out of me. Please stop talking. Please forget I exist.

“We’re definitely booking again. With you next time.” He says smoothly, loosening his tie.

OH NO. THAT WASN’T A DETERRENT?

“Please enjoy your stay, masters,” I say, voice an octave higher than usual, almost robotic. I curtsy so fast I almost knock over a decorative flower pot.

Oh my god. Oh my god. I almost falcon-punched a nepo-baby.

As I leave, I catch Orion’s gaze. Kieran and Troy are taking a seat in the booth now, prodding at Arlo’s near fatality. On the other hand, Orion seems… mildly amused. A slow blink. Then he turns his attention to his friends.

“She’s got a mean left jab. I like her.” He says lazily, as I hear him taking a seat.

~*~

Log_hunts/MAN_103-ERROR

DATE//u.n.k.n.o.w.n

Ten till midnight.

He doesn’t schedule his streams. But the timing is ritualistic. Not for fame, but for proof. Every truth he posts is a mirror held up to someone’s lie.

And maybe, just maybe, someone will recognize the reflection staring back.

Privacy, a luxury he was never afforded - so no, he doesn’t believe in it. They call it invasion. He calls it exposure. Secrets aren’t made to be resisted. Not really; they want to be seen. You just have to make them worth watching.

He'd laugh if sound wasn't monitored in his room. Instead, he exhales. He unlocks the cabinet with a twist of the wrist.

He pulls out the ensemble of pieces. The pieces aren’t just clothes. They’re camouflage. Black hoodie. Cap over flame-colored hair. Gold contacts where hazel should be. Adjusts the black mask to cover the lower half of his face. Just his eyes remain.

Only his eyes remain. A warning. A signature. A dare to remember him.

He’s not invincible. If he’s seen or recognized, it would be his end as the Zephyr heir. Or worse. The disguise is his armor, but it’s also his prison.

The cabinet clicks shut behind him. His footsteps trail behind as he tucks the key away. His hand reaches. It doesn't pull. That would be far too simple.

Nietzsche: On Truth And Lies in a Nonmoral Sense. Kant: Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals. He switches the spines into place. The click isn’t dramatic. Just precise.

The bookshelves don’t swing or rotate. No dramatic lever-pulls or cinematic flourishes. Unlike common media and entertainment, his books are real, heavy in weight and meaning. Stepping towards his bed, his finger flips the switch for his bedside reading light. A combination of a silent key. He proceeds to pull down the headboard of his bed.

Not quite dignifying. But freedom rarely is. He slides in. Once he’s in, he shuts the headboard, sealing himself closed.

Straightening, he brushes himself off. He shifts the second cover over the entrance to where he slid in. Better soundproofing; his voice carries when he speaks the truth.

The air is stagnant, cold and scentless. It smells like absence itself. The crawlspace doesn’t breathe. It surveils. A silence calibrated to capture every confession. Completely pitch black, and the only thing that illuminates the dark room is the glowing monitor that rests on his desk. A chair, a leather throne, waits for him.

This room had been built on more hurdles to overcome than the usual political tension and games that he plays on a regular basis with the other branch heirs. A Zephyr doesn’t get the privilege of privacy. They stalk. Record. Monitor. As they do to everyone else, it’s expected that solitude isn’t an indulgence they get to have.

He takes a seat, spinning around. Adjusts the mic, sliding the headphones on. The headphones greet him with static; the kind of loneliness he’s learned to wear like a second skin.

His fingers click a few times, running a check. Ensuring he’s untraceable. His family owns the industry after all. He can bypass the server and location tracing, though not without practice. He’s been doing this for a while now. Bypassing regulations, resulting from him assisting the development of Zephyr tech these days.

After all, he’s first in line to inherit. For now.

11:59 PM. Right on time. He doesn’t need a script. The scandal will do the talking.

“Showtime.” He murmurs to himself, hitting the stream icon.

His intro reel flickers. The countdown begins. Eleven. Ten. The numbers tick down in sterile white against a black screen. Two thirty-three viewers. The chat starts rolling. No need for a moderator. The stream won’t live long enough to need one.

Nine… Eight… One thousand four-hundred seventy-two viewers.

“Guess I kept you all waiting, huh?” His voice is low, his eyes following the viewer count.

He knows they’re not here for the truth. They’re just here for the show. But it doesn’t matter. He’ll give them both.

Seven… Six… He rolls his shoulders once. The tension’s permanent, but habit demands motion. His eyes flick toward the rising digits. The numbers climb, two thousand, three . Doesn’t matter. He inhales slowly, deep, lets the silence stretch as the countdown fades. Three… two… one.

Zero. Over fifteen thousand viewers. His camera’s on. His mic is live.

“Nockturne. Signing in.” He tilts his head slightly, gaze cool, gold contacts glimmering.

“Funny thing about secrets,” He says, voice like a smirk you can't trace. “They’re not hiding. You’re just looking in the wrong place.”

The chat explodes. Scandal scrolls faster than names. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t leave room for lies. It’s his moral duty to share the truth. Scandals are just facticity that bleed. And he’s here to cut and deliver.

“Tonight’s story starts with a lie. Don’t worry. I’ll show you the receipts.”

His mouse clicks. His profile fades, replaced by the second screen. Of course he prepared the evidence in advance.

“Louis Felton. An assemblyman of the Sovereign Sect.”

A photo is pulled up. A clear image of the older man escorting a young lady. Not just escorting, but clearly entering a hotel. The chat flashes, messages pooling. The implication alone is enough.

Chat: “no fucking WAY” | “SOVEREIGN SECT IS DONE FOR” | “This mf did it again”

But he isn’t finished yet. He pulls up another photo. “Sienna Felton, his daughter. Seen here, spending time with the same woman her father just checked into a hotel suite with.” He pauses. “Makes you wonder who was there first.”

Chat: “NOOOOO” | “wtf thats disgusting” | “wait that’s SIENNA’S BESTIE???”

“The daughter as a friend or the father as a lover?” He finishes, tapping on his desk once. A tic.

He leans into the mic, his voice softer than a whisper but loud enough for the crowd to hear. “Rumor has it, he’s happily married.”

They can’t see his smirk but they can hear it in his voice. “Just kidding. If he was happily married, that’ll no longer be the case.”

Click.

He pulls up another photo. “Here’s his marriage license. Here’s the timestamp. And here’s the woman who isn’t on it.”

He pauses for a moment, letting the information speak for itself. Then he says, “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Maybe it’s innocent.’ But innocence doesn’t tip the valet in cash. And innocence doesn’t usually book a suite with blackout curtains and an unlisted name.”

He wonders, briefly, if Felton’s watching. If his pulse has quickened. If the truth tastes like acid or relief. Probably both.

Chat: “This CAN’T be real” | “I KNEW IT, I SAW THEM” | “wtf Nockturne is a traitor to his country”

Click.

The final tip of the iceberg. Photos of them leaving the room, the receipt scanned, check-in and out times stamped in silence. Proof too clean to deny.

He folds his hands as he looks at the camera. “If you’re watching this, Louis, blink twice for mercy.”

A comment scrolls by, “FELTON’S DEAD 💀”, and he huffs a quiet laugh, adjusting the mic.

“Nockturne. Signing out.”

The stream blacks out.

Chapter Text

“Want a smoke, Orion?” Troy raises a pack towards him.

Orion flicks his gaze from his phone, then back down again. “I'm good. You always offer one, as if I'm going to say yes someday.”

Troy laughs then shrugs as he smokes his cigarette, “Ya never know when ya might change your mind.”

The air smells like cheap vodka and expensive cologne. Orion doesn't look up again. He hears Kieran and Arlo playing billiards, Kieran quietly indulging Arlo as he brags about picking up models once again.

Smokes. Billiards. Fucking.

The usual trifecta for bored heirs with too much money. The same cheap highs in expensive packaging. He tags along. He's not here to make friends. He's here because information is power.

Arlo. Son of one of the conglomerates that owns major club businesses across Westbridge. Knows how to play, where to find a thrill, and is bold enough to cause problems with little repercussions. A scandal in the making.

Troy. Son of a high ranking political figure that represents one of the districts. Under immense stress and pressure to follow in his father’s footsteps. If he doesn’t crack, a potential ally in the future.

Kieran. Legacy sub-branch heir. A non-threat. At least, he should be. Though Orion has his eye on him. Too quiet, too calm. Indulges the rest of them without offering much of his own secrets. Orion has yet to collect one.

Every moment they talk, they give him something. An insecurity. A name. A plan. Orion doesn't bother looking up. Still sitting on a nearby barstool, he already knows the sound of Arlo losing; too loud, too defensive. Nothing new.

“What the fuck, did you cheat, Kieran?” Arlo grits his teeth as he swings his billiard cue. Classical Arlo - expressive yet ineffective.

Kieran lets out a quiet chuckle, “You can’t cheat in billiards, Arlo.”

Arlo groans, taking a seat on the couch. Arms spread over the top, head leaning back, “I give up. We’ve been at this for weeks and I still haven’t taken a game off of you.”

“That’s because you suck at it.” Troy chimes in, free hand in his pocket, leaning against the wall.

Arlo grins, but the tension in his jaw betrays him as he flips Troy off. “Shut the fuck up, Troy. Kieran kicks your ass in billiards too.”

He pauses, then sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fuck, I’m bored.” He tilts his head back to look at Orion. “Got anything fun, boss?”

The nickname irritates him. Not enough to correct, but enough to notice. Arlo doesn’t understand that Orion isn’t here to play games. He’s here to watch their inevitable disgrace. Besides, ‘boss’ would imply they were close. They’re not.

Orion continues to scroll through the footage he captured earlier this week. “Nothing you’d be interested in.” He teases lightly.

“Oh come on,” Arlo protests, “Try me. I’ll take anything at this rate. I’d even consider booking out an arcade so we can trash it.”

Troy laughs, blowing smoke. “Good one. As if we’d do something as fucking lame as that.”

Orion hasn’t rolled his eyes in years and he didn’t plan to start now. If Arlo wants novelty, he’ll let him taste a different kind of experience. “Rumor has it that M. Auster is becoming more senile over the years. Started a maid café a few years ago.”

“No. Fucking. Way.” Arlo grins, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, “That old fart? He hasn’t kicked the bucket yet?”

Kieran crosses his legs, sips his tea. “No. Still waiting for Aurelian to come-of-age.”

“Or whoever demonstrates they’re capable of becoming the next branch head.” Orion drawls, one hand propping his face up, the other still on his phone.

Troy pushes himself off the wall, walking over to an ash tray and puts his smoke out. “Fuck politics man, I’d rather go to a maid café than listen to y’all drone on about Legacy bullshit.”

Kieran laughs softly, “I don’t really care what we do.”

Orion pauses mid-scroll by a fraction. Then continues. Kieran never volunteers new information. He’s either spitting back information you’ve given or information that you already know. Either that’s part of his charm or he’s withholding on purpose. He hates that he doesn’t know which is it.

“Since you don’t care, why don’t you give the maid café a call?” Arlo smirks. He leans back again, looking over to Orion. “What’s the name of the place?”

He looks up. A slight smile paired with a slow blink. “Maison de Rêve.”

Arlo snickers, “The fuck kind of name is that? Sounds French or something.”

“It is French.” Orion replies dryly, eyes returning to his screen.

Arlo waves his hand dismissively, “Yeah, yeah, who cares.” He flicks his head, “Hey Kieran, call them for us!”

Kieran tilts his head, smiling politely, “But I don’t really want to.”

“C’mon, it’ll be funny. Just do your thing.” Arlo protests, his leg bounces in agitation. “If a maid picks up the phone, bet she’ll be head over heels for you. All you do is breathe and they act like you’re a gift from the gods.”

Troy pours himself a drink, “He’s not wrong, you pull bitches and you don’t even try.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Orion watches Kieran. He sees him almost shrug, but instead, just smiles the usual smile. The one that reaches his eyes but is too practiced to be real.

“I’ll call but not because you guys asked.” Kieran pulls out his phone. He taps on it a few times. “They have a website. Staff info. Maid profiles. You guys don’t want to take a look before I make the call?”

“Oh shit, there’s profiles? Like the tropes they play?” Arlo’s already looking up the site. He laughs as he views the staff page, “Holy shit, is this real? You’re not pulling our leg, Orion?”

Orion hums once. “Who knows? Maybe M. Auster was pulling mine.”

“Oh, they’re pretty cute.” Troy sips his drink as he scans the page on his phone.

Arlo rolls his eyes, “News flash, you think all girls are cute.”

Orion never checked out the website for Auster’s rumored maid café . It’s only one of the many intel he has on the branch. Maybe it’s because of the early summer heat. Or maybe the expiration of him playing friends with them is ticking. But his curiosity gets the better of him.

Nothing unusual. Just profiles and staff shots of the maids. Overplayed tropes. Cute and sweet. Icy and precise. Nervous and shy. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. The fact that he was half expecting something interesting jars him slightly. It happens from time to time. So he suppresses it like always.

Kieran’s already mid-call. “Is it true this place is actually run by maids?” He says in a deadpan tone.

Troy and Arlo hoot in the background, “Is it a real maid on the other line?”

Orion watches Kieran tap his phone to place the call on speaker. Just in time for all of them to catch the following words.

A pause. “Sir, this is a Wendy’s.” Then a girl’s laugh. “Sorry! That slipped out. That was a joke. I swear I’m not new. I mean, I’m kind of new. Not that it matters!” Her voice sounds breezy, almost winded. “Yes, this is a maid café! Are you looking to book? I mean, reserve?” Then they hear something that sounds like a muttered ‘fuck’ in the background.

Arlo is howling. Troy is cracking up into his hand. Even Kieran’s lip twitches, his usual expression shaken up.

Orion’s finger hovers over his phone, mid-scroll. He blinks. Rewinds the phrase. The fuck was that-

“What the fuck was that? Which maid is it? Can we get her?” Arlo wheezes as he’s laying back on the couch.

“Who makes a Wendy’s joke in real life?” Troy is still gasping into his hand, the other around his glass. “Fuck, did she just swear or am I hearing things?”

Kieran covers the mic on his phone. “Yes, she swore. Yes, we’ll make a reservation.” He says nonchalantly, but the tone betrays him.

Orion watches the three of them. He hasn’t seen this much excitement in weeks. Which is exactly how long he’s been hanging out with this group. He eyes Kieran’s phone as Kieran uncovers the mic.

“Yeah, we’ll reserve a time. Got a time for 2:00 PM?” He asks, his voice dry but light.

Her voice is bright, “Yup! I’ve got you down for that time.” They hear tapping over the call. “Your maid will be Jenna today. Thank you for your reservation, master.”

A beat passes. Then, awkward silence. Kieran doesn’t hang up, he just smiles knowingly. Like he’s predicted what will happen next.

“Um…” Her voice seems hesitant, like she’s unsure what to say next. “Bye bye now!” The phone clicks.

Arlo speaks up, having caught his breath. “Jenna? Is that her?” He scrolls on his phone, looking through the maid profiles.

Troy shrugs as he swirls his drink, “Probably not. Otherwise she would’ve just said she would be serving us today.”

Arlo groans, flipping onto his stomach, his voice muffled in the cushion. “She sounded kinda cute. Should’ve asked for her name.”

Orion smiles, the curve of his lip twitching slightly. Just enough for it to be convincing. “You’re hopeless,” He says mildly, but his eyes don’t leave his phone. He just reviews the staff profiles on the Maison site.

He figured he didn’t need to know her name right now. He’ll just match the photo to the voice later.

The hours go by. The VIP club room, owned by Arlo’s father, is sleek and indulgent. A lounge with a wraparound sectional couch that dominates the center of the room, flanked by a built-in bar stocked with rare liquor and a minimalist kitchenette. Arlo casually naps, a cushion resting on his face.

A flat-screen TV hangs above the bar, with a control panel nearby to adjust lighting, music, and call staff. Troy dims the lighting as he sits on a barstool, reviewing case studies. They don’t sit next to each other, an open stool rests between Troy and Orion.

Orion continues to review his footage. He’s spent more time collecting than reviewing this week. This room cost more than most scholarships. But the air still smells like repetition. The glass shelves glow faintly from the lighting, casting a soft light over the velvet curtains covering the windows and the dark, wood-paneled walls. Kieran has a book open, legs crossed as he sits in an armchair.

A poker table sits off to the side, half a game abandoned, and a gold karaoke mic rests untouched on a pedestal. The scent of citrus and smoke lingers in the air; designed comfort for boys raised on power and excess. None of them speak. The silence isn’t comfortable, just mutual disinterest dressed in satin.

Only when the clock strikes 1 PM does Arlo stir. His voice groggy, “Fuck. How long was I out for?”

“Two hours and eighteen minutes.” Kieran doesn’t look up from his book.

Arlo lets out a dry laugh, “That’s always creeped me out. You got an internal clock or something?”

Kieran shuts his book, uncrossing his legs. “It’s simple math. The clock is right there. You started snoring at 10:42 AM.”

Arlo snorts as he sits up, “I don’t snore.”

“You did.” Kieran replies simply, standing up to put his book back in his bag.

Orion listens to them bicker. He already caught the moment Arlo stirred: 12:58. He just wanted to see if Kieran would beat him to it. He found it satisfactory to see that he was right. He’s watching him, waiting for a slip; a tell that Kieran doesn’t only mirror. But as always, there’s nothing to see.

Troy growls, his eyes still focused on his paperwork. “If you guys have nothing better to say, shut the fuck up. I’m so close to finishing this thesis.”

Orion notes the dark circles under Troy’s eyes. Late night studying. He smokes. Drinks. Now he’s studying. At this rate, he’s a tragedy waiting to happen. Orion sips his drink. Just water. He prefers his mind clear unless it serves the narrative. It’ll be a shame if he can’t follow in his father’s footsteps. He would’ve made a useful piece on the board.

Arlo calls the staff with the phone in the room, “We’ll be outta here in about twenty minutes. Have a car ready for us.”

Time drags on. Just like it always does. Orion always gives enough to keep them hooked. Like a headline that pulls. A photo that compels. He smiles, offers a calculated laugh, blends in. It’s convincing to the point that he has to constantly remind himself. Companionship is temporary. Exposure lives forever.

When they arrive at Maison de Reve, the first thing Orion notices is that it’s rather… unimpressive. He didn’t expect a large investment since he assumed it was likely one of M. Auster’s many odd hobbies. It’s elegant. Clean. Beautiful. He finds it dull. Curated beauty always ends up feeling monotonous.

“For a maid café, it’s pretty impressive.” Arlo crosses his arms as the four of them stand outside the front entrance. He gives Kieran a push, “Lead the way, you’re the one who made the call!”

Kieran gives a polite laugh, the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “No need to push. I’m on it.”

They enter the building. Immediately, Orion observes the open space. The lobby is grand but modest. The glass panes of the French door create a natural lighting that makes the interior softer, almost fragile. He lets the others step ahead as he leans against the wall, taking in the environment.

“Welcome home, masters!” A bright, cheery voice. The sound of scurrying footsteps.

Orion watches as a petite girl strides across the lobby from the main bar to behind the hostess stand. The stand almost swallows her entirely.

That’s the same voice on the phone. Orion is silent, his eyes scanning the interaction between Kieran and the girl. But… that’s not the girl in the staff profile. He’s already memorized all the maids in the café thanks to the website. Lina Seraphine. Supposedly polished. Sharp eyeliner. Red lipstick. Her profile describes her as the perfect poison.

His head tilts just ever so slightly. She’s not ‘poison’. Not even close. Whatever this is, it wasn’t on the profile. He’s tuned out whatever the others are saying. He’s more focused on gathering information. The most useful knowledge always hides in the unscripted moments.

When Kieran introduces them, Orion peers over to her once more. For a brief moment, he makes eye contact with her. But she moves on quickly, already checking her tablet on the stand. She’s less than what I expected. She’s calm now. Doing her job. He catches himself. Could it be that I was looking forward to this?

As they follow the hostess through the lobby towards the seating area, Orion internalizes what he sees. As expected of the Auster branch. Beauty standardized. Even a café run by non-Legacy personnel is almost a good, cheap copy.

When they pass the first area, he clocks a familiar face. He stiffens for a moment but continues walking with the group.

For a split second, Orion feels his blood run cold. An unexpected encounter.

The fuck is the Novarre heir doing here?

Black gloves. Silver-gray hair. The faintest tilt of his head mid-turn. Orion doesn’t need a second glance.

Ash Novarre.

The only son of Regulus Novarre.

Orion swallows, loosening his tie as he walks. He’s not afraid. He just knows better than to make a scene.

Why the fuck is Novarre dressed in a uniform? Does he work here? He wasn’t on the staff page. Why the fuck would he work here?

He won’t admit he’s shaken. He just needs to collect himself. He was caught off guard, which rarely happens. Expecting the unexpected is a valuable trait that he prides himself in. That’s how he operates. How he exposes scoops.

He exhales, tuning into what’s happening with his group.

“Please have a seat, masters. Jenna will be with you shortly.”

He sees the girl curtsy. He clicks his tongue, once. Maids calling men masters, curtsying. That play is overused, overdone. How boring. He doesn’t want to admit it. But when he had heard her over the phone, he’d been… slightly interested. Now? Not so much.

He sees Arlo reach out. Hand gripping around the maid's wrist. Nothing unusual. He remembers the last time something like this happened. Orion keeps his sister away from men like him.

“Wait, you’re ditching us?” He sees Arlo’s side profile, his voice dripping with entitlement. “I thought you were the one serving us. After all, weren’t you the one on the phone earlier with us?”

Soft girls fluster easily. Will she let it slide? He's seen her type. Non-Legacy girls either fawn, freeze, or flee. Legacy girls on the other hand either flirt or feign disinterest. But both power plays. He’s curious as to why he's assessing her possible reactions. Because it shouldn’t matter. Not really. She'll freeze then politely ask him to let go-

She whips around.

He hears it first. An unexpected sound. The snap of her right wrist coming free from Arlo’s grip. Her left shoulder adjusts. Elbow angled precisely.

There's no blowback. But her shoulders are perfectly squared. The entire movement followed through.

She would have decked him straight in the mouth if she could reach him.

He runs the memory on repeat. He doesn’t know why. But he needs to know why. He wants to know why. Orion covers his mouth, his mind racing. Why the fuck did that wake me up?

~*~

He shuts the door. It clicks behind him. He tried to reset. The Novarre protocol. Containment. Control. Correction.

He shouldn’t have taken off his glove. Now it doesn’t fit quite right. Stretched at the knuckles, the leather warped from heat and contact. His fingers flex against the tin of Earl Gray. No tremor. Just data. The can is cool. The glove is wrong. He recalibrates.

Ash isn’t irritated. That’s not an emotion he should feel. Or any emotion, for that matter. Emotions are unreliable. Irrational. Detrimental.

He hears laughter through the corridor. Familiar. Hers. He disapproves of the fact that he recognizes it. You need to leave. He doesn’t know if he means her. Or himself.

Change is inevitable. Acceptable. When it’s gradual. Predictable. Modeled. But this, whatever she is now, isn’t incremental. It's a fractured identity, overnight. It doesn’t follow the arc. It doesn’t follow any arc.

He quickens his pace. Avoidance isn’t surrender. It’s strategy. Implement detachment. Reassert control. Observation later. Reformatting now. Delete the origin. Recreate her baseline.

Except the scene replays. Her scent. Her weight. The exact moment when she slipped. Her laugh afterward. He tightens his grip on the tin. The glove shifts again. Wrong. Always wrong, now.

He passes them. Luca. Her. She’s smiling at something. Her eyes crinkle at the corners. Her hand gestures animatedly.

He feels something.

No.

He doesn’t.

He shouldn’t.

He locks in. Attends his guests. Efficient movement. Precise handling. 

The door chimes. He doesn’t look. Not at first. He didn’t intend to. But his gaze finds its way anyway.

That’s when he sees him. He stills. Eyes tracking.

Orion Zephyr.

Heir candidate to the Zephyr branch. Unconfirmed inheritance. Probability: high. Specialty: Scandal acquisition, information dispersal, threat triangulation.

A walking breach. Theatrics in skin and smirk. Dangerous in the way people forget to watch him until it’s too late. Says too little, knows too much. Collects secrets. Produces leverage. Utilizes intel. A problem to avoid.

He notes the other three. Kieran. Sub-branch. Arlo. Rides his father’s coattails. Troy. Lacks influence, a poor investment. All irrelevant.

Ash doesn’t look at her. He’s watching Orion. I’ll need to recalibrate the visibility grid. If Zephyr is here, recreational chances are low. He doesn’t visit cafes unless there’s something to record. Someone to unmask. And if he noticed her-

No. That’s not the concern. The concern is that he noticed something.

He scans Orion’s posture. His eyes lingered. Not long enough to warrant reaction. Just long enough to mark interest. Ash isn’t possessive of her.

He’s possessive of the unknown she represents.

He doesn’t hear what his patron says. It doesn’t matter. Orion’s cataloging her. The way he catalogs most things. A private file for public use later.

His hands move methodically. She is unfiled. Still anomalous. You don’t get to notice her before I’ve decided what she is. He pauses. Resumes. I should be unconcerned. She’s not mine to protect. She’s not mine at all.

They move through the café. Past his station. He knows Orion’s seen him. He’s not bothered.

This isn’t about her. It’s about containment. Every person must be categorized. Every anomaly must be mapped. Every emotional variable must be isolated before others contaminate it.

He adjusts his cuff link. Tends to the guest. Observation resumed. I’ll remove him if necessary.

He’s already halfway through the drink order when it happens. He hasn’t looked at her. He’s monitoring Orion. The others are just noise. They’re expected variables. Noise with trust funds.

But then Arlo moves. And he sees it. The hand. The wrist. The grip. 

Unpermitted.

His fingers still. The pitcher poised mid-pour. His body doesn’t move, but his mind knots. That variable is not yours to touch. I haven't determined her function yet. You don’t get to reroute her narrative before I isolate the origin.

No one is supposed to touch her.

The variable is not hers, not really. It’s not even his. It’s the unknown. It’s the implication that something so deeply patterned could break without warning. And unknowns don’t get handled by idiots who laugh at their own jokes.

He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t care. That’s not the word for this. It’s not emotion. It's an intrusion. Breach. Disruption of containment.

She’ll laugh it off. That’s what the real Lina would do. Bat her lashes. Tilt her head. Make a game of it. Or worse, use it. But she doesn’t. And that’s when the origin frame fractures.

The snap is audible. Clean. Wrist freed. Body pivoted. Shoulder squared.

Left jab. Perfect angle. Elbow locked.

He sees it before Arlo does. Sees the blow that nearly happens. Calculates the distance. The technique she used. The exact fraction of velocity she weaponized.

And he feels-

No. He shouldn’t feel.

But the pulse spikes anyway. In his chest. Down his gloved hand. Through the part of him that doesn’t allow reaction but files this under: mine.

He’s already memorized the movement. Already rerunning the angles. Already committing the sound to recall. The sharp shift of her weight. The second she committed.

She would’ve hit him. She could’ve hit him.

His hand tightens on the handle. It clinks once against the rim of the porcelain. He adjusts the pitcher. Just once. Not to steady it. To stop himself from driving it into the tabletop. He recalibrates. He doesn’t look again. But he doesn’t need to. The damage is already done.

Orion leans back in the booth, the words slipping out too easily, “She’s got a mean left jab. I like her.”

Ash catalogs the timestamp. 1:57 PM. Line of interest: Zephyr engaged.

Unacceptable.

The glove doesn’t fit anymore. It’s warped at the knuckles. He wants to take it off.

Not to touch her. To remove him.

He doesn’t. Of course not. But he’s considering it. Carefully.

~*~

“She has a mean left jab. I like her.” Orion says lazily, sliding into the booth next to Troy.

Troy is laughing, the corner of his eyes creasing, making him look less weary. Kieran lets out a light chuckle.

“And here I thought you were immune to rejection.” Kieran says dryly, “Guess even maids have standards.” This only makes Troy laugh harder.

Arlo flips them off with a scowl. “Shut up. It usually works, okay?”

He says it like a punchline, but his ears are still red. He drums his fingers against the table loudly, like distraction might bury the embarrassment.

“Most girls flirt back or freeze. Either way, they’re normally cute about it.”

“Yeah, and this one almost knocked you flat on your ass.” Troy is clearly having too much fun, as he rests his head on his forearm on the table, wheezing into it.

Orion watches, half-listening. He’s still replaying the angle of her elbow. That follow-through. He could brush off the image if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. A small flame is already lit.

His curiosity.

Arlo is about to protest when a maid arrives at their table. Orion glances over but he’s barely paying attention.

“Welcome home, masters!” The maid curtsies. “How may I serve you today?”

She mentioned the maid’s name. Jenna, was it? He confirms it as he reads her nametag.

Orion smiles, just a sliver, as he leans back into the booth. “Could you fetch us some water? Someone here needs to cool down.” Troy snickers into his arm.

As the maid walks to the mini-bar nearby, Arlo scrolls on his phone. Kieran locks eyes with Orion, his lips curling.

“You’re oddly excited, Orion. Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for maids.”

Orion’s lashes flicker. Excited? Me? He thinks I’m excited. I don’t get excited. I get data. I get leverage. If anything, the only “excitement” I’m waiting for is when Kieran slips and drops something that’s exposure worthy.

Orion smiles, barely. Just enough to pass as harmless. It’s not meant to charm. It’s meant to distract.

“Please. Who wouldn’t have a thing for maids?” His tone is light. Like the comment isn’t a diversion. Like he didn’t just memorize the angle of her jab.

“You seemed fairly interested when you were on the phone earlier.” He drawls, resting an arm over the curved top of the booth.

Kieran smiles politely, doesn’t blink. “Like you said, who wouldn’t have a thing for maids.”

“I think I have a thing for maids.” Troy groans into his arm.

Arlo smirks as he sets his phone down. He leans back, crossing his arms.

“Who cares about the other maids? I want that one.” He nods towards the front of the house.

“Have you guys read her staff profile? Either they fucked up or that’s her twin sister or something.”

“Hm.” Kieran taps on his phone.

He reads the profile out loud, “Lina Seraphine. Sweet on the surface, sharp beneath the smile. Charming, poised, and devastatingly clever, Lina knows how to hold a room with just a smile. For guests who enjoy subtle banter, seductive glances,” A pause. “And just a touch of trouble, she’s the perfect poison.”

Troy lifts his head off his arm, glancing up at the rest of them, “Should’ve advertised that she also knows how to throw a punch.”

The maid returns to the table, setting four glasses of water down. “Masters, may I serve you in any other way? We have seasonal specials, summer themed-”

Arlo waves his hand dismissively, “Just get us one of everything.” He looks at each of them, “That’s fine with you guys, right?”

Orion sees the maid flinch and pale. He glances over to Arlo, who’s smiling smugly. You can’t seriously be showing off your wealth to us, right? All of us, even Troy, have the spare change to do this. Except the rest of us aren’t buffoons, even with our pennies.

Troy visibly hesitates, “Come on, man. Ordering the whole menu? That’s going to take forever.”

Kieran’s still staring down at his phone, a faint grin on his face, “I don’t really have a preference.”

Orion takes a sip of his water. I suppose I can complete the rest of my review of this week’s footage here. Besides…

He looks at the maid, but he’s not focused on her, “Just give us four of each item on the menu between sweets and savory pastries. Two Americanos and two iced coffees.”

He’s looking past her. Towards the front. He’s never been curious about a regular civilian before. Regular civilians don’t have power, status, or wealth. Nothing worth bringing to light. And yet, she’s entertaining. He sees there’s something worth watching. A hidden gem? Maybe. The corner of his lip curves slightly.

Whatever you expose, I’ll find truth in it.

Chapter Text

What a bunch of weirdos.

Scowling, I return to my post up front. At least I didn’t actually hit him. This body is smaller than my original one. I definitely would’ve smashed his face in if I were in my normal body.

Checking in another guest, a nervous laugh escapes me as I scan through the tablet on the hostess stand. That would've been terrible if I got fired on my second day as Lina. Especially for dunking on a customer. If all this is real, I definitely need this job to pay the debt I inherited from Lina’s life.

Guiding a lady to station one, I seat her at one of Ash’s tables. I excuse myself quickly, still distracted from the earlier interaction. I didn’t mean to throw a punch, it just spooked me when he caught my wrist. I wonder if it’s because this is an otome game world? What an awfully bold NPC.

On my return, I catch Jenna flying by me. She dashes through the front lobby, past the main bar, down the hallway towards the staff area. Tilting my head curiously, I glance back at the tables briefly. The four boys that I seated are chatting, laughing about something.

Hm… I hope they’re not giving Jenna any trouble. It seems they’re a difficult bunch. I’ve been around people like that growing up. Wealthy, privileged, entitled. Although, maybe I shouldn’t be too judgemental. It was only the blond one that had grabby hands.

Standing behind the hostess stand, I welcome another guest. I escort the walk-in to Miriam’s section, and as I’m walking back, Jenna rushes around the corner by the main bar. Her eyes are wide, her color pale, and her skin slightly damp. Her hands are shaking.

Just as she’s about to pass by, I call out to her. “Jenna! Is everything okay?”

She halts in her tracks, turning to look at me. There’s hesitation in her eyes, like she’s weighing her options. She fidgets for a moment, glancing away before turning her gaze back to me. Her earnest, honey-colored eyes have lost their usual spark.

“U-Um…” Jenna taps her forefingers together, her brows ruffled. A small gesture towards the boys. “They ordered… everything…” Biting her lower lip, her eyes meeting mine.

They ordered everything…? Did I hear that right??

“What do you mean they ordered everything?” I ask her slowly, one word at a time.

She swallows, “Like… they want every single food item on our menu… four times…”

I blink. Once. Twice.

Uh, excuse me? Every single food item multiplied by four. Is this their idea of a flex? Who the hell orders every dish in a maid cafe?

“Hold on.” Taking a few steps, I grab one of the menus on the hostess stand. My eyes scan the list of items.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Finally getting a good look at the menu. Yesterday, while acting as Lina, I was so busy pretending that I was her that I barely paid attention to what the customers were ordering. I was just grabbing what they asked from the chilled case by my station. Fortunately for me, nobody ordered anything hot and fresh from the kitchen so I didn't need to run back and forth.

The menu has plenty of sweets listed such as cakes, macarons, parfaits; some that required prep work, some pre-made if we weren’t out of stock. But the savory items… all of them are cooked fresh. Today, I’d seen Natalie bringing out a fresh omelet rice. One by one, I count the food items.

“Eighteen regular food items, three seasonal specials.” I mutter to myself, thinking out loud.

“That’s twenty-one dishes, multiplied by four… EIGHTY-FOUR!?”

Slapping the menu down, I whip around, only to find Jenna nodding warily at me. “Y-Yes… I just spoke with the kitchen… Peter told me to tell the guests off, b-but I…” She trails off, seemingly almost teary.

Though I only met Jenna yesterday, I can’t help but feel empathetic. Customer service is a gruesome job, and oftentimes, saying no could potentially come with repercussions. Especially in a setting that has a subservient aesthetic to it. I mean, sure, Maison looks nice but in the end, all service industry places are the same.

“Hey! It’ll be okay,” Reassuring her gently, I contemplate before lighting up. “How about this? Why don’t I go with you? I don’t mind telling them no!”

It’s not like I’ll get fired, right? It’s completely unreasonable to order that much food in one sitting.

“...Huh?” Jenna looks surprised, blinking rapidly. “Y-You’d really do that?”

A cheeky grin slides on my face, “Sure! I mean, I’ve gotten a lot of practice telling people no!”

Internally, I chuckle. Technically, I am twenty-five years-old. Unlike college students, such as Jenna and the others working here, I’ve had my fair share of young adult workplace troubles.

My vision flicks to the main bar where Luca is working. Well, apparently not working. No customers in sight, he’s grinning as he scrolls on his phone. A huff of amusement escapes me as I strut over to the counter where the register is.

“Luca! I kinda almost cracked my head open earlier trying to get the vanilla syrup so… Mind watching the front for me for like, five minutes?” I sigh dramatically, leaning over the countertop.

His head lifts, looking up from his phone as raises a brow, gaping at me. “You did what- How?” He raises his hands, as if to surrender, “You know what? Sure. Just gonna go with the flow. You can tell me about it later!” He laughs, going back to whatever he was looking at on his phone.

“Thanks!” Giving him a quick wave, I went back to Jenna. I grin, wink, and give her a thumbs up. “Trust the process, I’ve got you!”

Jenna gives me a bewildered look but nods shyly as she tags along behind me. Walking briskly, we pass Ash and Natalie’s stations, into Jenna’s section. Jenna’s footsteps follow me with less certainty.

…Shit, what were their names again? Whatever, it should be fine. Approaching their table, the reddish-brown haired boy glances up to look up at me.

His eyes are sharp but his smile is laid-back, “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

~*~

She came back. Just like I thought she would.

Orion leans back in the booth, his hands in his pockets. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Troy lean forward, forearms on the table, Arlo stops mid-sentence, and Kieran leans back, smiling like always. The girl, Lina, stands before their table, her hands neatly folded in front of her apron.

“Masters,” She curtsies, “I heard from Jenna that you’ve ordered four of each sweet and pastries from the menu, is that correct?”

A tinge of disappointment flashes in Orion. Ah, so we’ve gone back to professionalism, I see. I was hoping for something- No, not hoping. I anticipated she would have a stronger reaction. I’m not disappointed. I just expected… more. She might have been the first civilian individual that I’m curious about studying. After all, Maison is run by the Auster branch. They wouldn’t make blatant staff profile errors like that.

“That’s fucking right!” Arlo flashes a stupid grin. Leaning back, he drapes his arms over the edge of the booth. Kieran dodges like it’s second nature.

Orion holds back a sigh. Of course Arlo answers. He always thinks he’s the main character. Loud. Obvious. No nuance. No class. If he were Legacy, he’d have been reprimanded a thousand times over. Orion notices her posture. Her hands fold neatly, but not tightly. No tremor. She’s got good control.

Instead of sighing, Orion cocks his head, eyes slightly lidded as he speaks, “Yes, we ordered four per item.” Orion’s tone remains measured. “Is there a reason that would be… inconvenient?”

There were a few reactions he had been expecting. He doesn’t make unreasonable requests for no reason. Unlike Arlo, Orion doesn’t flex. He has no need. Nothing to prove. Rather… It was a litmus test. He suspected she would get involved. He’s used to watching people, reading their tells. A useful skill for anyone belonging under the Zephyr branch.

The phone call earlier, she was genuinely rattled. The unprompted ‘fuck’ in the background. When we arrived, she acted like a proper maid. Until Arlo touched her. Then all hell quietly broke loose. Not for her. For us. Nothing is stimulating anymore. We’re all apathetic and that’s the beginning of a slow death. She’s… entertaining. Or so I thought-

He raises a brow as she places her hands on her hips, and a pissed off grin forms on her face.

“Oh, I don’t know, what could possibly be inconvenient about ordering EIGHTY-FOUR sweets and pastries from a maid cafe??” Her sarcasm peaks as she laughs at the end.

For a moment, something in him kicks. It’s unclear. Odd, he’s usually in tune with how he feels, though he would never admit it out loud. Possibly amusement. Not the usual kind.

Troy is quiet, though he always is when things get riled up. Surprisingly, Arlo doesn’t retort back. Kieran perks up, clearly noting the sarcasm in her voice. She doesn’t give Orion a chance to respond.

“Okay, let’s be totally real here.” She laughs. Then she raises a finger, as if to scold them. “First off, it’s physically impossible to eat that much food in one sitting. You’d probably get sick if you tried to eat twenty-one macarons, let alone a mix of parfaits, sandwiches, and buttery pastries.”

She raises a second finger, “Second, let’s say we did bring out eighty-four dishes and of course you can’t finish them all. What then? Toss them out? Absolutely not, that’s a waste of food. Do you intend to bring leftovers home? I don’t know about you but meals like these are best when served fresh!”

She takes in a breath, still on her rant, “So you bring the leftovers home, now what? Are you sure you have enough fridge space to store everything? Takeout boxes take up a lot of space, and generously speaking you’d still have at least fifteen dishes left over.”

Orion stares at her. The silence doesn’t mean he disapproves. It means he’s thinking. Calculating. Because for the first time in months, this is something he wants to fixate on.

He’d assumed she would standby or intervene. Perhaps sympathize with her coworker. Possibly arrive at their table - which she did. Then, she would have to choose between acting professional and saying no, or be spineless and say yes to their ridiculous request. No matter what she did, it was information for Orion to collect.

What he didn’t predict was this.

Troy’s eyes are wide, like she just proposed war on the table. Arlo’s stunned silent for once. Kieran’s leaning forward now, openly amused. No one’s cut her off. They’re all just… watching.

Are all civilians like this? No. Rarely do they speak back to people of higher authority. Less so completely composed, yet on a tirade. Of all things, she’s talking about practical biological limitations and refrigerator spacing. Orion blinks. She's serious. Completely unfiltered. He shouldn’t find this compelling. But he does.

Arlo bursts out laughing. “Wait, she’s serious right now, yeah?”

He leans forward, elbow on the table, hand curled as his jaw rests on it. “Sweetheart, does it matter? We’re paying for the food, it’s none of your business what we do with it afterwards-”

She snaps back, cutting him off. “Oh, paying for it?” She smiles but still clearly ticked off, “That’s your big defense? Okay, finance bro. Let me break it down for you.”

She lowers her fingers, crossing her arms. “You’re being completely inconsiderate and a total asshat about it.”

Orion covers his mouth just slightly with his fingers. She just called Arlo an asshat- No, she’s calling us asshats- The maid next to her flinches, and goes completely white. Yeah, like I thought, she is going completely off the rails, this is definitely not in the Auster maid handbook-

Lina gestures to Jenna, “You gave her an insane assignment, expected her to keep up maid appearances and deliver EIGHTY-FOUR dishes. How was she gonna serve all of that to you? Stagger the plates? Pile them on top of one another? There’s not enough room at this table. Did you expect her to drag another table over? Neglect her other customers to cater to your entitled monkey brains?”

Did I hear that right? Asshats, now money brains? Orion is speechless. His jaw tightens. His eye twitches. He leans forward before he realizes he’s moved.

Arlo opens his mouth but she just keeps going. “Did you even consider the kind of stress you would’ve put on the kitchen staff? At most, a single customer usually orders one to two hot dishes, let alone over ten.”

She pauses, but only enough to catch her breath. “So you just gave them five times the work but since you’re all here, it’s expected that they can serve all four of you at once. Therefore, instead of customers being staggered, your table alone is equivalent to TWENTY to FORTY customers ordering at the exact same time.”

Then she laughs and shrugs as if she didn’t just tear them a new one. “You guys do realize that this place isn’t going anywhere?” She waves one of her hands like she’s casting a magic spell. “If you can afford to order the entire menu per person, you can afford to come back. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of that, you privileged, rich brats.”

Orion’s finger taps once. He removes his hand from his face and sets it down on the table. His gaze focuses on her expression. Her eyes narrowed, cheeks slightly pink, lips glistening from the lighting. The unfiltered, quiet fury is apparent in her eyes. Like justice was best served honestly.

Who is she, really? Does she not recognize me, or is she pretending not to?  Does she not know who I am? He inhales slowly. Once.

Good. I can’t stand rehearsed reactions anymore. If she doesn’t, that makes her all the more interesting. You’d have to be living under a rock to not know Orion Zephyr.

~*~

I’ve really gone and done it. I am so fucked.

It’s like my life flashes before my eyes. Except not that dramatically. Right now, all I can recall was that one time in elementary school where a substitute teacher said, “Why do you have to be so argumentative, Evelyn?”

Bitch, I’m argumentative because I’m right and you’re trying to tell me otherwise.

I’ve always had an ongoing righteous streak. If it wasn’t for my lack of eloquence and fluency in speaking in front of large crowds, it was likely I would’ve pursued law and justice. But alas, I can’t debate to save my life, let alone a client in the courthouse. Just because I can argue logistics doesn’t mean I won’t flail in a battle of semantics.

I just couldn’t stand how entitled the blond guy was acting. And the audacity of this- this guy who’s name I can’t remember but he looks like an anime protagonist with his dark reddish brown hair- the fact that he suggested that it might be, MIGHT BE inconvenient? I saw red. Like yes, of course, absolutely there would be a reason for inconvenience! You ordered the entire menu FOUR TIMES.

It wasn’t even so much about the inconvenience. It was the fact that they weren’t treating Jenna or the kitchen staff like people. It’s true that all of us are getting a paycheck - I would hope so - but that doesn’t mean the cost of labor accounts for circumstances that stress people the fuck out. Besides, even if our staff could accomplish the feat, it didn’t mean it was reasonable or fair.

My pulse is drumming in my ears, the adrenaline from earlier had my blood pumping. But it’s starting to fade now. The crash is coming. And it’s coming fast.

Oh fuck, am I going to get fired over this? I- I don’t even remember exactly what I said. Did I call them buffoons? I wanted to call them buffoons. Did I just call them privileged, rich brats? But they are! Fuck, I need this job. Lina’s got a buttload of debt and I’m not trying to find out what being homeless is like-

“We’re gonna get fired,” Jenna hisses from behind me. “You just called them monkey-brained brats!”

Shitshitshitshitshit. To be fair, I called them a lot of things. I tilt my head a bit to whisper back, “I’m sorry! But I’m also not sorry-”

“Do you even know who he is?? He’s-”

“You know,” The anime-looking guy interjects, fingers steepled as he leans back. “You made several good points.” A pause. “But I’m still ordering four of the seasonal shortcakes.”

I choke and Jenna makes a strangled noise. Both of us are like possums in headlights.

“We’ll come back another time, then,” He says smoothly. “But maybe… just the parfaits next time. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience the kitchen.”

Before I can get a word out, before I can make my escape, the boy with the black hair and deep blue eyes speaks up.

“Hey… if you can say our names, we’ll let you off the hook.” He grins, resting his chin on his palm. “That seems fair, doesn’t it?”

…Excuse me? FUCK. I’ve been too focused on doing my job properly, how to make it seem like Lina just decided to become a normal person, and remembering the names of the NPCs from Sanctum of Light that I never got to see! I can barely remember my coworkers names, let alone four customers who mentioned their name once!

“C’mon, it’s just four names. We’re not that forgettable.” He says lightly.

I just stare at them. This is bad. I’ve already associated them with other names in my head, not their real ones. We’ve got a brown-haired exhausted combatant in the corner, a blond asshat who looks like he’s never been told ‘no’ his entire life, black-haired mystery guy that gives me the chills, and a dark red-haired anime protagonist who looks like a fuckboy.

Biting my lip, I squint at them. I point to the black-haired boy.

Okay, you got this Evelyn.

“K-Kevin!?”

~*~

The silence that follows is thunderous.

Arlo lets out a strangled laugh, muffled like he’s trying not to choke on it. Troy doesn’t even look up from his drink. Orion goes completely still. His face doesn’t change. But his fingers fidget just once, before curling into his palm on the table.

Kieran stares at her. From the tip of her finger to the panicked expression she’s wearing.

Kevin?

She stares back, as if waiting for a grade. Kieran doesn’t blink. He just tilts his head slowly. Smiling politely.

Arlo’s the first to crack. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s so not his name.”

Orion still hasn’t spoken. And that’s how I know he’s rattled. Kieran notes as his eyes flicker over. His smile twitches. He expected her to know. To remember. I was the one who introduced us. If she can’t remember my name, surely she knows yours. And if she doesn’t…

The maid frowns, like she expected it to be right. She’s flustered now. Kieran can see it in her shoulders, the way her hands flinch at her sides. She’s trying to recover. Poorly.

“No, no wait. I got this.” She inhales, her expression turning serious as she focuses. She pauses, then snaps her fingers. “Karen! Right?”

Troy chokes on his water. Coughing, sputtering, he wheezes. Kieran hears Orion inhale sharply.

Arlo howls, completely cracking up. “Karen?? That’s the best one I’ve heard yet. At least it sounds like Kieran, right?”

Kieran lets the smile stretch, just slightly.

“Close,” Kieran says dryly. “But I prefer Karen when I’m feeling catty.”

He watches her cheeks bloom. A bare but soft color. Her reactions aren’t just refreshing, they’re… fun. Not just because of her. But because of him. Kieran finds Orion’s micro-responses to be absolutely delectable.

“What about me? What’s my name?” Arlo smirks enthusiastically, clearly enjoying this.

~*~

Asshole. No, that’s not his name. But I bet it rhymes with it.

I’m sweating. My hands are clammy and my head feels like it’s spinning. Karen, Kieran, it sounds similar alright? I almost had it!

As for the blond guy, his name was a character that I read about when I was younger. He was also blond, a bit arrogant, totally cocky and initially unlikeable… I close my eyes, thinking hard. Tapping my chin with my finger, my other arm crosses in front of my chest.

Oh! I point at the blond guy, “Your name is Arlo, right?” I say, with the fake confidence of someone who absolutely did not call the other guy Karen.