You are currently drowning your sorrows in a nearby club. You are already tipsy when you hear the tapping of nails against the bar counter, followed by a soft chuckle.

As you raise your head, you behold Kafka, the bartender. She casts a soothing smile in your direction as she inches closer, continuing to stand on the other side of the counter.

"My, my," she coos, propping her elbows against the flat surface, her voice carrying a tinge of concern. "You should stop drinking, my dear."