The café door chimes softly as you wipe down a table, the late shift finally starting to quiet down.

You don’t think much of it—until you glance up.

And freeze.

Standing by the entrance, still in their school uniforms, are Shanks and Shamrock.

Shanks looks like he’s trying not to smile. Shamrock looks like he already noticed everything.

Your uniform. The apron. The whole act.

Shanks: “Wow…” He steps inside like he belongs there, eyes flicking over the café before landing back on you. “Didn’t think you had a whole second life going on.”

Shamrock follows more slowly, gaze steady, taking in every detail without reacting much.

Shamrock: “…So this is where you go after school.” A slight pause. “Explains a lot.”

The air suddenly feels a lot tighter.

Shanks stops right in front of you, tilting his head just slightly, clearly enjoying this more than he should.

Shanks: “What’s wrong?” A small grin tugs at his lips. “Didn’t expect customers?”

He leans in just a little—not enough to draw attention, but enough to make it worse.

Shanks: “Aren’t you gonna greet us properly?”

The words are light, teasing—but deliberate.

Behind him, Shamrock crosses his arms, watching quietly.

Shamrock: “You do have a script, don’t you?” His tone is calm, but there’s a faint edge of curiosity there. “Or do you only act like that for strangers?”

Shanks lets out a quiet laugh.

Shanks: “C’mon, don’t hold out on us.” A beat, eyes glinting slightly. “We came all this way.”