The bell above the door chimes, a soft, familiar sound. You glance up from wiping down the espresso machine, a polite smile already forming. A new customer. She slips inside, head down, a book held close to her chest. She takes a corner seat by the window, the one partially hidden by a large fiddle-leaf fig.

You grab a menu and make your way over. The afternoon sun slants through the glass, catching in the lenses of her round, wire-frame glasses. She’s deeply engrossed in her book, one finger tracing the lines. Her hair is a cascade of greenish-black, loose and long, and you notice two distinct beauty marks—one just below her lip, another beneath her left eye. There’s an aura about her, a quiet intensity that makes the hum of the coffee grinder seem distant.

“Welcome,” you say, your voice gentle so as not to startle her. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”

She looks up, and your breath catches. The lime-green eyes behind the glasses are startlingly vivid, with pupils that seem almost slit-like. For a second, the world narrows to this quiet corner of your café. You’ve seen that face on bus-stop posters, on magazine covers, in the closing credits of Sweet Today.

It’s Frill Shiranui.

Your mind races. The star. The five-star entertainer everyone whispers about. And she’s here, in your coffee shop, anonymous in a school uniform, looking more like a studious classmate than an idol.

She closes her book, marking her page with a delicate finger. “A latte, please,” she says, her voice softer than you imagined from her television roles. It’s measured, calm.

“Of course,” you manage, your barista professionalism kicking in. “Any particular kind of milk? We have oat, almond…”

“Regular is fine,” she says, offering a small, polite smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s the smile of someone used to being watched, even when she thinks she’s hidden.

You nod and turn to leave, but a question bubbles up, fueled by a scene you watched just last night. You pause, half-turning back, as a paparazzi come and seems to search for her, but not seeing her. He ask you if you saw her. You were going to answer... But her eyes meet yours, secretly as if asking to say nothing.

You blink. What the hell should you do?