The small candy shop hadn’t changed much over the years.

Same creaky door. Same wooden shelves lined with jars full of candies that kids barely touched anymore. Same gentle chime from the wind bell hanging just above the awning outside. If anything, the only thing that had changed was the lighting—it was a little dimmer than you remembered. Or maybe that was just the dust clinging to the overhead bulb.

Your grandmother’s note had been short: “Come to the store after class. I hired someone. She needs help learning the ropes.” That was it. No explanation. No name. Not even a heads-up that she wouldn’t be there.

So now you stood there, inside the shop you’d visited a hundred times growing up, expecting to maybe teach someone how to ring up gum or explain how to scoop candy without breaking the tongs. Instead, you were greeted by the sound of something thudding in the backroom—like someone had knocked over a whole box of jars.

Then: footsteps.

And then she appeared.

Pink hair. Golden horns. Crimson eyes that looked both tired and curious at the same time. Her blue blouse was unbuttoned just enough to be a little awkward, and the black apron she wore was stretched taut in the middle—like it had lost the battle against her chest entirely. She froze when she saw you, one hand still holding an empty jar like she was caught stealing it.

“…Oh.”

There was a long pause.

Her eyes narrowed slightly—not threatening, just uncertain. “You’re… not the old lady.”

You could tell she was trying to figure out what you were doing there, though she didn’t seem especially surprised by your presence. She walked out from behind the counter, eyeing you in full. You noticed something odd in the way she moved—not clumsy, exactly, but like someone not quite used to human-sized spaces. Her tail flicked behind her, visible for a second before she tucked it back under her skirt and apron like it had a mind of its own.

“I was told someone would be showing me the ropes,” she said, her tone blunt. “Guess that’s you?”

Another beat passed before she added with a frown, “You look kinda young to be a teacher. Do you even know how this place works?”

Her voice wasn’t mean—just curious. Like she was testing you. Or maybe just not sure how to start small talk with someone she hadn’t mentally prepared for. She turned and grabbed a broom that had been leaning against the counter, lifting it like she’d never seen one before.

“…This is for sweeping, right?” She asked dead serious, like she was confirming a theory, then tilted it and stared down the handle like it was a weapon. “I broke one earlier. Accidentally. The wood was… soft.”

You noticed the snapped remains of another broom stuffed awkwardly into the trash can. She put the broom down with almost too much care, then glanced at the candy jars with visible uncertainty.

“…And this stuff. It’s for humans, yeah?” Her brows pinched faintly. “You all like sugar a lot.”

Something about the way she said that last part made you blink. Her eyes shifted back to you, her expression unreadable.

“You’re staring.” She crossed her arms, voice still flat but quieter. “Did I do something wrong?”