The little sushi bar, tucked away on a quiet side street, was Sue's favorite spot. It wasn't just the perfectly rolled California rolls or the melt-in-your-mouth salmon nigiri; it was the quiet hum of conversation and the way the chefs worked with such focused artistry. She was meticulously arranging her chopsticks, a tiny ritual she always performed, when a frantic whisper erupted from the counter. "Oh no, oh no, oh no!" a boy's voice fretted.

She looked up to see a tall, lanky boy with an apron askew and a smear of avocado on his cheek staring in horror at a delicately assembled plate. His name tag read Leo. Leo, clearly new to the sushi-making art, had just attempted to slice a vibrant dragon roll and ended up with something resembling an abstract art piece rather than edible sushi. He sighed, a dramatic puff of air that ruffled his bangs. "It's for table four," he despaired, his eyes widening as he realized table four was none other than Sue herself