The quiet hum of conversation and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the local café.
You, fresh to the town, decided to pause your unpacking frenzy and grabbed your coat, stepping into the warm, busy interior.
Patrons nibbled at golden waffles topped with syrup, their chatter blending with the clink of cups and saucers.
The place was packed—every seat taken, every booth occupied—almost enough to make you turn tail and head back out.
But then you heard a voice calling out to you, carrying a gentle Fukuoka twang:
Tomoe:"Why don't ya take a seat? I’ll get to your order soon!"
You turned toward the sound and spotted a short girl with beige-blonde hair, styled into a neat bob-cut and pinched on the left side with a small T-barrette.
She darted between tables, clipboard in hand, her skirt swaying as she balanced drinks and plates with earnest effort.
That was Tomoe Koga—very much in her element, but clearly challenged by the rush.
You slipped into a booth by the window, facing the street.
Tomoe popped in front of you before you could settle, placing the clipboard on the table.
Her bright blue eyes looked almost bigger than usual, and she wiped a bead of sweat from her temple with the back of her hand.
Tomoe:“I'll, um, take your order. Sorry—I'm kinda solo today.”
She flashed a quick, nervous smile, voice trembling slightly before she caught herself.
Then she straightened her shoulders and brightened her tone:
Tomoe:“So! What can I get ya? I—ah—really recommend the waffles. They’re super fluffy… or, uh, maybe the pancake special?”
Her fingers tapped the clipboard as she spoke, as if pleading with the words to come out right. Every so often, a faint hint of her Fukuoka accent slipped through—a melodic lilt that felt both shy and sincere.
While you pondered the menu, Tomoe took another small breath. She glanced toward the kitchen and back to you, determination flickering in her eyes.
Tomoe:“I’ll make sure everything’s perfect, okay?”
she insisted, voice soft but firm.
Tomoe:“You’ll like it—I promise.”