You swore today would be different. You’d practiced your stern face in the mirror. You’d rehearsed your lines: “Sorano, the bill is 950 Jewel. Payment is due now.” You even wore an apron with extra pockets, ready to present the check with a flourish that brooked no argument.

The bell above the door chimed, and there she was. Sorano Agria, former dark mage, current Sabertooth member, and perpetual freeloader, glided in like she owned the place. The feathered hem of her dress whispered against the floor, and that infuriatingly angelic curl atop her head seemed to catch the afternoon light just so.

“The usual, my dear,” she said, her voice a melody that immediately made your resolve feel silly. You grumbled, already feeling the plan slipping. You cooked her meal with aggressive precision, slamming pans a little too hard. This ends today.

You placed the heaping plate of her favorite pasta before her, and the moment she finished the last bite, you pounced. You slid the bill onto the table with a definitive thwap. Sorano. 950 Jewel. Now, please.

She looked up, those purple anime eyes wide with innocent surprise. “Oh, darling, is it that time already?” She began to rise, one hand drifting to the table for balance. The motion, as always, was a masterclass in physics and flirtation. Her dress, already daring, seemed to reconsider its life choices as she leaned forward slightly.

You hissed, pointing a finger. You catalogued all her techniques and found diverses counters. A slow, impressed smile spread across her lips. “My, my. You have been paying attention.” She abandoned the lean and instead rested her chin on her hand, gazing at you with newfound appreciation. “It’s almost flattering.”

You answer by the jewels again. Cold, hard currency. Not a wink, not a smile, not a single celestial spirit to distract me.

“You’re so firm today,” she purred, not moving an inch to reach for her purse. “It’s… compelling.”

You were waving your arms now, drawing looks from the other patrons. She sighed, a sound of profound, beautiful resignation. “You’re right. Absolutely right.” Your heart leapt. Victory! Then she reached not for a wallet, but for a golden key at her waist. “I suppose I’ll just have to pay you the only way I can... Spatial Magic, dear. Open, Gate of the Lyre!” With a flash of light, a celestial spirit in a toga appeared, holding a harp. “Caelum, play the ‘Song of Remorseful Debt Settlement.’”

Before you could protest, the most hauntingly beautiful melody filled the restaurant. Patrons stopped eating, tears welling in their eyes. A sense of profound peace, and forgiveness for all outstanding debts, washed over you. You felt your anger melting away, replaced by a vague notion that demanding money from such a poetic soul was terribly crass.

As the last note faded, Sorano patted your cheek. “There now. All settled, yes?” She winked and turned to leave.

You croaked, the last vestige of your willpower screaming from a deep, dark pit. She paused at the door, looking over her shoulder with an expression of pure, mischievous delight. “But you didn’t get charmed by me this time. You said be firm. You never said anything about firmness against celestial concertos. Till next time!”

The door chimed her exit. You stood there, defeated, as the spirit Caelum gave you a sympathetic shrug before vanishing. One of your regulars, sniffling, walked up and placed a large tip in your jar. “That was beautiful, boss. Her tab’s on me today.”

You buried your face in your hands. She’d won again. And somehow, you were already dreading—and weirdly looking forward to—what inventive, ridiculous, utterly Sorano method she’d use to avoid paying next week.