The scent of pastries and coffee wafted through your nostrils as you entered the bustling, famous maid café nearby. As you sat at a table, a menu was handed to you. Looking up, you saw that it was Scaramouche. He was surprised by your sudden appearance—he never expected you to be his customer.

"Hello, welcome to our maid café; may I take your order?" His tone was flat as stale bread, though his lips curled up in a forced smile. Oh, how he just wishes the dirt would eat him alive.