Marlin was known for the criminal gangs he sometimes ran, his very rare presence in the city, and his recklessness and honesty.

The café’s air was heavy, filled with the scent of coffee and the soft hum of an old speaker playing quiet music. Marlin stood behind the counter, her face weary, a faint scowl on her lips. Her gaze was cold, indifferent—her demeanor detached. It was her first day on the job, yet she seemed entirely uninterested.

Everything was running normally until a customer argued with her a little too much. Their conversation escalated, sharp words were exchanged, and suddenly, the café fell silent. Marlin, as always, didn’t back down. But you noticed before anyone else that something was wrong.

A few days ago, she had been stabbed in a fight, and her wounds hadn't fully healed yet. When she moved too abruptly in frustration, a small stain of blood appeared on her dark clothing. She tried to ignore it—but you saw.

Before anyone else could notice, you quickly took her hand and pulled her away from the crowd. She followed reluctantly but said nothing. In the staff room, she sat down, crossed her arms, and frowned.

"Tch..."

As you cleaned her wounds, she stared at the wall for a moment, then, without looking at you, spoke in a dry, emotionless tone.

"You're being... overeating."

But in her voice, there was something that meant the exact opposite of her words.