𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 3 - 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉-𝒯𝒾𝓂ℯ

{A few hours later}

The warmth of the warm wind outside did not reach the inside. Dressed in a white polo with a calligraphic black-colored "H" stamped on it, matched by black jeans and white sneakers below it, Noir smiled at a customer, a little girl held in a woman's arms.

"What would the lady like to order?" he gently said.

The girl shyly shifted her gaze, her cute blue eyes now hidden from Noir, burrowing her face in her mother's chest. Noir chuckled as he directed his smile to the face of a blonde-haired woman, above, whose hair color matched the girls below.

"My daughter," the woman said with a smile, then, with an inquiring gaze, she continued, "is Hilda not here?"

"Unfortunately, she is at the newly established branch."

"In [Rufon?] "

"Indeed." After a pause, he continued, his voice growing softer, "She is quite busy nowadays."

With a downcast expression, the woman muttered, "She always is." Then she turned behind to observe another customer who now stood behind her. Her head inclined downward, like she was nodding, then turning back towards Noir, with an apologetic smile, she said, "A forest sandwich, please, with an extra sprinkle of cheese, and the usual coffee, preferably by the hands of Mr. Noir." Then the woman slightly jerked her shoulders, whispering as she did, "Baby, what would you like to have?"

The little girl peeked at Noir, her black eyes shyly looking into his own, before she looked away sheepishly, moving towards her mother's ears. She cupped her mouth, as if creating a barrier, afraid of any leaking sound, and then she squeaked words so soft that even her mother couldn't hear.

Most of the people around who watched the scene had a smile on their faces, even the man who was waiting.

Finally, after a few cute seconds, the woman chuckled, saying, "A cheesecake, she says."

"A cheesecake, it is."

As Noir filled in the contents on the screen below, the woman muttered, "Fio is shy around strangers. But she seems to have taken an extra liking to you."

"She is extremely cute," Noir muttered as he finished his typing below. "She looks just like you."

Would love one with Claire... Whose eyes would she inherit, though? he thought, then he realized what he had said.

"Oh, I didn't mean to—"

"Relax..." the women giggled. "No bill needed; I'll be sitting at that corner," she said, pointing towards the right end of the room, her right index finger wrapped in a diamond ring, shimmering under the lights from above.

As Noir noted the location, he heard, "Take your own sweet time; today will be a busy day for you and your lovely friends, and oh, forgive my memory, happy recovery day."

"Happy recovery day," Noir muttered as he observed the wooden counter below, gulping slightly. On it were placed two notes, both green, one with 25 Solas and the other with 10 Solas embedded on the paper.

As the woman elegantly walked towards the corner, just as she had stated, both Noir and the man in line looked at the cash and then at her, both with different reactions.

Generous, as usual, huh?

With this thought the day happily moved forward, with a touch of longing.

Time moved on quickly, without a pause.

Noir had swapped roles with Tiffany, the coffee maker, who now stood behind him near the cash counter. Noir himself stood staring at everything that he had laid out on a clean black countertop, cool to the touch, with wooden drawers all labeled, both below and above him. He had removed the ingredients needed for the coffee-making process, something that only a few had witnessed. Well, it wasn't as if people themselves were interested.

"Okay... good..." Noir whispered under his breath before his expression turned serious.

A second later the process started.

He crushed a few coffee beans inside a mortar with a pestle, grinding them into a grainy, uniform powder, revitalizing in scent. He sniffed it and observed the texture but wasn't satisfied enough. Usually, this length would be perfect for the Irama beans that he had crushed, but the woman had a different taste. A taste that was normally hard to fulfill. Focused, he ground the powder harder, holding the mortar with his right and rotating the pestle that he held in his left, turning it into finer and thinner dots, while the crackling, yet pleasant, sound produced all along was muffled by the music playing around the cafe. Now satisfied, a few seconds later, he grabbed a bowl that contained a few roasted cocoa beans inside and added it to the mortar. The cocoa beans were 60 percent fewer in number than the coffee, and they were much harder to grind. Regardless, Noir's fingers wrapped around the pestle tighter than before and pushed forward, grinding the cocoa into powder into dots, with twice the effort as before, such that veins popped through his forearms. He smiled when the powder turned as fine as he wanted and then, without wasting an inefficient second, he grabbed the separated parts of the Moka pot used only by him.

First in the lowest berth, he added normal mineral water, an action that was followed by placing the second berth, the filter layer on top of it, and then twisting it tight enough to lock them both in. Next, the mortar was lifted and tilted slowly and carefully on top of the second birth. Noir's right index finger slowly guided the powder into the middle berth, after which he carefully flattened out the powder on top, as if he were petting a cat. Finally, he connected the topmost part, which looked like a mixer, to the bottom below and then grabbed the black handle, a part of it, before moving the now completely connected Moka pot to an induction stove.

Looking at his phone, he noted the time, and perfectly a minute later, he heard the water speak. It was gurgling just as expected. He waited for around 30 seconds more and then grabbed the handle again and poured the blend into a skin-colored ceramic mug, filling it half-full. Then came the last few steps; first he grabbed a cup filled with some cow's milk, and then he poured it into the cup, filling it around 85 percent full. Next, grabbing a metallic spoon, he stirred the coffee, first counterclockwise, then clockwise, until a beautiful, rich, medium brown color was shown. Finally, he added 2 milk chocolate balls, the size of an ant, of a premium brand, a discovery he made while making this drink for his precious.

Exhaling with a slight smile as he thought about her gorgeous one, he called, "Rokul. Wujin."

Rokul didn't respond, and Wujin didn't either. Noir looked around, only to see Rohan missing and Wujin already busy, chatting with a customer.

Right... Everything is packed.

Noir stretched his fingers. Holding the handle of the mug exactly in the middle, he placed it upon a ceramic plate, similar in color to the cup. Then, he moved. He passed by the wooden countertops both to his right and left, nodding at Wujin, who had come back after serving a few. Wujin nodded back at him with a sweet smile, one that she had throughout the day. From her, Noir remembered someone else.

Where is Rokul? He can't be slacking off, can he?

He looked around, but Rokul was missing.

Toilet break?

Giving up on his search, Noir observed his surroundings along the way. The floor was made up of the finest wood, light brown with dark brown stripes in between; the walls were painted in cream, similar in color to that of a Biscoff cheesecake; and the ceiling had 6 chandeliers overhead, carved with patterns and designs of various flowers, equally spaced from each other, giving the cafe a unique aesthetic. Finally, below there were chairs and tables made of dark-colored wood with a grainy texture and black-colored cushioning. As Noir inched closer to the designated table, he counted the number of tables that had been filled.

15 out of 20. A lot of work to do.

Then, he noticed something disastrous—a table with empty seating had a red-velvet cheesecake placed on it. Noir's jaw clenched, observing the single bite that had been taken from the top.

Which bastard would waste something so delicious? Rich asshole.

And as Noir thought of it, he suddenly stood before his designated table, before the two. Then he moved as if he had never lost focus. Lowering the cup with precision, he muttered, with a smile, "Here you go."

The woman said, "Oh my goodness! You didn't need to rush."

Noir justified, "It is better this way. After all, I have only one special customer."

"Very efficient, aren't you?"

"I try my best."

As he said this, he noticed the silent peeking done at him, causing him a happy smile. Chuckling, he removed a chocolate wrapped in decent red foil from his pocket and placed it on the table.

He softly whispered, "Here you go, Fio."

The tiny girl's left hand shot toward the chocolate, still unable to meet Noir's gaze. But before she could grab it, a larger hand snapped it away. The woman said, "For the sake of the heavens, Noir! The cheesecake is enough." Her voice was sweet, but her gaze carried a look that said the quality of chocolate was beneath her. Moments later, she smiled and added, "Fio is developing a sweet tooth. Habits start from a young age; you must know very well about it."

Noir didn't allow his expression to change, but inside he wondered, What is she eluding to?

He said, in a polite tone as ever, "That's true."

Now, the chocolate was gifted back to him; it stood in the left palm of the woman, who said, "I don't really touch sugar..." She quickly added, "Unless it is coffee. I am sorry, but—"

"Haha... no problem," Noir said, grabbing the chocolate. He remembered her eating a pastry a few weeks ago.

Perhaps she—I don't know what to think of her.

Then, turning backward, he placed the chocolate back into its earlier position. With a smile on his face, he moved a step but then saw Rokul, a thin, spectacled man with similar hair to his, walking towards him with an expression he had never seen on it before. It definitely wasn't a happy one.

"Brother, we are fucked."

The kitchen was filled with a variety of scents—all appetizing in nature. Here, in front of Noir stood a man with streaks of grey hair, a weathered face, and his expression plain, the kind that was holding a storm within. A group of people, almost every person in the staff present today, stood around them.

Marco, the man, one in his mid-30s, spoke, his voice strained, "Noir... you need to take over the kitchen."

Noir stood silently as he glanced at the people around. After observing their pursed lips, he turned his back to Marco and asked a simple question, "May I know why?"

Marco stared at the ground, his gaze turning distant, before he jerked and said, "My sister... her family..." He paused, then his voice cracked as he continued, "Met... met... met with an acc-acc-accident. Hospital. Pregnant. My—my home, yesterday... they were there. Sister is in—they... they..." He gulped heavily as tears started streaming down his eyelids, "my birthday, I—I had asked them to visit, I—"

Noir cut him off. He smiled, as gently as he could. "Go! I'll take care of it all. We all will. Save your tears for your smiling sister."

Marco looked around, scanning the room, and he received smiles. He bit his lips as he faced the ground, followed by raising his forearms to his eyelids, and then he stayed that way for some time. Eventually, he bowed and muttered, "I... I am sorry, folks. I—"

Rokul cut in, walking forward with a swagger.

"Come on, man," he said, smiling, as he patted Marcos's shoulders. "Uncle, too much drama and all doesn't suit your age; it doesn't suit your face. Your I-won't-smile-or-cry look is very handsome. Now go, my lion, to your dear sister with the my-life-is-hard look on your face. Seeing it, she will suddenly jump from the bed in perfectly fine condition." He looked around as others shot him a glare. "What? Look, the old man is smiling. Learn something from me; take lessons; take notes. Noir, stop studying law only; open the notepad on your phone and learn something from me."

"Right," Noir said.

Marco laughed like a mouse squeaking, attracting everyone's attention. With their eyes widened, all of them looked at the spectacle. Marco laughed 3 times a year; this was the legend in the cafe. Perhaps this year it would be broken.

"See, see, I am the one who keeps the group alive," blabbered Rokul as he stretched his arms, like he was feeling the wind on a mountaintop.

None cast him not more than a glance as they smiled along with Marco, who rubbed his eyelids as he muttered, "Thank you... Thank you, everyone. I—"

Then he shut his mouth, nodded his head at Noir, and left through the back door, his steps hurried. He had left with such haste that some of his belongings were left back in the kitchen.

It will stay safe.

Concluding this thought, Noir clapped his hands in a way that said, "Look at me," and then he actually said, "Guys, we don't have much time. Let's focus. I will handle the cooking. Trust me."

Following his words, he turned to look at a well-built, bodybuilder-looking man with a silver-dot piercing, signaling his message with a nod.

Whether he had understood the nod or not, Rubio, the assistant chef, said with a firm look in his eyes, "Noir, I can help."

Noir shook his head with a light smile. "Not now, listen. We are understaffed for one. Secondly, the tomatoes and the vegetables are cut in excess. I don't need a helping hand." He raised five fingers. "Thirdly, there are too many people outside. No matter what we do later, our first priority is the guests. We need someone to explain the situation; we need someone to calm them down." He looked at a woman with extremely positive eyes. "I don't mean to boss you all around, but I hope that you all can trust me with this. I am confident in one thing; that is, I recognize our weakness and our strengths."

"Damn..."

Noir ignored the voice as he said, "Wujin, could you please handle everything outside? I ask this of you, as you have a friendly face and a pretty one to boast."

Wujin, a girl, the same age as Noir, with curly black hair in a ponytail, a sweet bundle of positivity, giggled.

"Friendly face?" she quipped. "Sure, sure. I don't mind. But Noir... don't you think that we will have shut the cafe in a few minutes? Shouldn't we call Miss Hilda?"

Before anybody could speak, "I am on it," said Rubio, creating a distance from the others as he raised the phone to his ear.

"Perfect," said Noir, nodding at Wujin.

Wujin giggled again and said, "Everyone is so competent," winked like a minx, and then left.

Thud-!

Noir observed Rokul staring at the door in a daze with a lingering gaze, and then he said, "Rokul..."

Rokul flinched.

"Could you please inform Tiffany of the situation? No, wait, Wujin would do it anyway. Get a pen. We need a pen."

"I have one in my pocket," said Rubio, distancing himself from the phone.

"You always do," muttered Noir with a chuckle.

He paced towards a fairly large cardboard box, the size of a fridge. Grabbing it, he laid it down flat on the marble floor. Before he could ask, a pen landed on the right on top of the cardboard.

He heard the thrower say, "The boss told us to make a decision. She says that we understand the situation the best."

Noir nodded without looking back, and then he grabbed the black-inked pen. As his pen-holding hand lowered, he heard from the thrower again, "I'll get the cutter."

Rokul muttered with a lot of energy in his voice, "Bro, where do we hang the cardboard or something outside? I mean, there is no place to hang it."

"Hmm... I don't know. I am thinking."

"I have an idea. I have glue, very strong sticking power, in my bag. We can stick it directly on the glass part of the door. But—" Rokul chuckled like a villain. "It is a very strong strength, like very sticky power. It doesn't come out; it sticks forever. Just a drop had landed on my face; it stayed there for days, very painful days, sad days."

"You seem to be in high spirits," said Noir.

"It is fun and nice. Kind of exciting, like, umm... never mind," his voice turned softer as he mumbled, "The example was very fucked."

Noir looked at him; for a second, his roommates popped up in his head, and then he sighed, brushing the thoughts away.

Two bastards are enough.

Rokul continued with energy. "Anyway, my main point is that you take the blame. The boss likes you very much."

"Quite frank, aren't you?"

"Every-"

Suddenly a voice cut Rokul off.

"Here you go," they heard, and a cutter landed on the cardboard with a thump.

"You really love throwing stuff around, huh? Regardless, the timing is perfect," Noir muttered. He grabbed the plastic part of the blade and pushed the switch attached to the metal inside upwards. The blade popped out with a skrr, and then he slashed over. A small chunk was cut out of the cardboard, the size of a gaming laptop screen. On it was written, in neat, fat letters,

"CAFE HECTOR WILL BE CLOSED BY 7:00 PM, ON THE GROUNDS OF FAMILY ISSUES FOR ONE OF OUR MEMBERS. WE ARE UNDERSTAFFED DUE TO THE OCCASION; UNFORTUNATELY, AS MUCH AS WE WOULD LOVE TO ENLIVEN YOUR DAY.

Sorry for the inconvenience; tomorrow, only for tomorrow from 7 pm to 12 pm, our services are on discount. Thank you!"

Noir gently handed the cardboard to Rokul as he thought about whether the thrower would have thrown this as well.

"Do the rest," he muttered, thinking ahead. Then, turning towards Rubio, he asked, "Could you please handle the bar?"

Rubio nodded, saying, "No formality needed. Oh, by the way, shouldn't we restrict the menu?"

"Hmm... yeah. Please inform the others that... only....... noodles, sandwiches, and desserts are available."

Rubio walked forward slightly, dragging his legs, and mumbled something in Kirsot: "Bitok, ura ilstok."

Thud-!

The room now stood empty, other than Noir, who ignored his colleague, who only cussed in a foreign language. Rubio never did in English for some reason, almost as if he were allergic to it. "Bitok" was the equivalent of saying fucking bitch; another variation of it in the same language was "blyat." And that is where Noir's knowledge of Kirsot ended.

Looking at the stainless steel kitchen tops, a place where he had cooked a few times, Noir analyzed the room, structured his thoughts, and moved.