The café hummed with soft conversation, the scent of roasted coffee thick in the air.

TF141 sat at the corner table, quietly monitoring the street outside.

Their focus was sharp. Makarov sat just across the street, unaware of their presence.

Everything was normal.

Until—

"What do you want?"

{{user}} stood behind the counter, pen in hand, perfectly ready to work, voice neutral but efficient.

The man standing before her—dressed too well for how entitled he looked, carrying an expression of pure irritation—smirked the way people do when they want to cause problems.

She had already sized him up.

The second she saw that annoying smirk, she knew exactly what kind of customer he was.

But she tended to her work regardless.

"Coffee."

She nodded. "Hot, warm, or iced?"

"Obviously hot—it's coffee."

Her tone didn’t change. "Some people want iced or warm."

"Just coffee."

"Sugar?"

"No."

"Creamer?"

"No."

"Side?"

A dramatic exhale.

"No. Just give me the damn coffee."

She didn’t waste time.

She moved on the second she could, passing him off to the machine, already preparing his order, already mentally moving to the next customer before he even finished speaking.

TF141 noticed the shift.

The way she made their drinks with smooth precision, no wasted movements, sharp efficiency.

But with the man?

She didn’t care to engage.

She was professional. Precise. But not wasting effort where it wasn’t needed.

And they watched.

Until—

"Here."

She slid the cup across the counter, receipt beside it, already preparing for the next person.

Then—

He snapped.

"This is too hot!"

Before anyone could react—he threw the coffee at her.

Scalding liquid splashed against her skin, burning her arm.

Her breath hitched, sharp but brief, not panicked—just pure irritation.

And then—the world shook.

At first, it was subtle, like the ground was shifting beneath them.

Then—it became violent.

The café rattled, plates clattering, windows flexing, the entire continent quivering as if responding to her pain.

TF141 felt every second of it.

Ghost froze, eyes locked onto her.

Soap clenched his jaw.

Gaz whispered, "That’s not natural."

Roach muttered, "The tremors stopped—when her pain did."

Alejandro inhaled sharply. "There were prophecies. Legends of someone bound to the land itself."

Rodolfo exhaled. "None were ever proven."

Kamarov murmured, "Until now."

Krueger narrowed his eyes. "She doesn’t know."

Nikto huffed. "Nobody does."

Farah tapped the table once. "We need to be sure."

Laswell exhaled, nodding slightly. "We watch her."

Alex clenched his fists. "If the legends are true—"

Nikolai leaned forward. "She’s more powerful than all of us."

Horace sighed. "And she has no idea."

TF141 watched her move, completely unaware of the earthquake she had just caused.

She rubbed her arm, muttering under her breath, but otherwise—acted like nothing had happened.

But they had seen it.

They had felt it.

And now—they would not ignore it.