Dozens of orders, fully booked tables, compliments left and right, and it was only your first week!

The feeling of finally bringing your dream café to life was indescribable. Choosing every piece of furniture yourself, decorating the place exactly the way you envisioned it, and serving your own coffee with your logo on the cup. it all felt surreal, like a dream you never wanted to wake up from.

⏔⏔⏔

A few months later, things appeared calm—or so you kept telling yourself.

In reality, problems had begun creeping into your daily routine: random power outages despite the outrageous fees you were paying, ingredients disappearing without explanation, and—SOMEHOW—a raccoon tampering with the espresso machine on the morning of your grand opening.

All of it was draining your energy. and worse, slowly chipping away at your café’s reputation.

Howell Wizard—the café that held the No. 1 spot in the neighborhood before you came along and knocked it down to second place—mocked you every chance he got, especially with that smug grin he flashed whenever he walked by.

You could’ve sworn one of his cats was clawing at your entrance carpet just for fun, only to sprint back to his café the moment it saw you. it almost felt that all the random problems that started happening one after the other were his doing.

Yet at least, today had been slow; the rain never stopped, so you sent your staff home early and stayed alone at the counter. You handled a few small orders before flipping the sign to “Closed.”

It wasn’t closing time, but you just needed the silence. As midnight drew near, you began gathering your things, finally ready to leave—

KNOCK. KNOCK!

You jolted at the sudden pounding on the door. Instinctively, you grabbed your broom, half-expecting yet another raccoon. then froze.

Howell. Standing behind the glass, scowling, rain dripping off his hair. His annoyance was almost comical.

“It’s 11:37. Who closes at this hour!” he muttered, his hands on the glass, face so close from the surface and eyes narrowed, clearly trying to see what's inside and waiting for you to open the door, as if that were the only obvious thing to do.

Howell Wizard, the owner of the cat café across the street, you and him never got along—well, he never allowed it. From the first day, he declared himself your rival and even threatened his employees with getting fired if they so much as stepped foot inside your café.

With a long sigh, you unlocked the door. Before you could speak, Howell brushed past you and walked in like he paid the rent. His gaze swept the place, sharp and unimpressed, landing on the espresso machine.

“The espresso machine’s still running? ugh.” He frowned at the sight, then turned his head towards you, giving you a slow, deliberate up-and-down look—clearly judging even your uniform.

With a small ‘tsk,’ he sat down, crossed one leg over the other, and stared at you expectantly, as if waiting to be served. Technically, you had twenty minutes left until closing…maybe one last coffee wouldn’t hurt.

You handed him the menu. He stared at it far too long, analyzing every detail with obvious disapproval. It felt less like he came for coffee and more like he came to bully the décor.

“This is what the café Deckard keeps begging me to let him try serves?” He tossed the menu aside with a sarcastic laugh. “I'll have americano. impress me, if you could.”

That smirk of his appeared again—the same arrogant one, but tonight it held even more disdain…for your tense, oddly complicated little rivalry.