On the eve of the day, two days after the Amazon green gate dungeon was cleared, a handsome, blue-haired young man with a white face mask changed the sign of the café shop from Open to Closed while looking outside the glass door.
He could see a few cars moving on the road under the warm white light of the street lamps. Pedestrians were scarce as it was already past 10 p.m.
Percival sighed as he picked up a rag from one of the tables and went to the counter, where he began to wipe it.
Just then, the bell rang as someone walked in. Percival sighed inwardly, realizing he had forgotten to lock the door, so he calmly spoke,
"We're closed."
His white apron and round glasses made him look scholarly.
"Oh, I know."
That sort of reply made Percival lift his head. His eyes narrowed at the sight of a mid-twenties man seated with both legs crossed on the table he had just cleaned.
