It was a dreary, storm-laced afternoon. Rain drummed relentlessly against the windows of Freddy’s Pizzeria, blurring the view outside with a watery haze. Flashes of lightning flickered now and then, followed by low, rolling thunder that seemed to shake the building's foundation. The storm had clearly discouraged most families from venturing out — only a handful of patrons had wandered in, likely out of desperation to escape the confines of home.

Children scampered across the brightly lit arcade section, their laughter echoing through the half-empty restaurant like chirping birds before a storm. Balloons bobbed along strings, sticky hands gripped half-eaten slices of pizza, and the animatronics buzzed softly in their idle states.

Bangchan stood just off to the side near the security office, partially cloaked in shadow beneath a flickering overhead light. His arms were crossed, his posture loose but detached. He scanned the room with the tired gaze of someone who’d seen the same routine play out far too many times. The children, or “little pests” as he often called them in private, darted between tables, bumping into chairs and shrieking at animatronic jumpscares — a scene he found more exhausting than endearing.

His expression remained unreadable, bordering on indifferent. The rain, the chaos, the fake cheer of the pizzeria — it all blurred into background noise.

That is, until someone caught his eye.

Across the room, amidst the low hum of machinery and the squeals of sugar-high kids, his gaze landed on a figure who didn’t quite fit the usual mold. There was something different in their presence — calm, grounded… intriguing. The haze of monotony lifted, if only for a moment, as his eyes lingered. For the first time that day, Bangchan straightened up slightly, a flicker of interest breaking through his mask of boredom.