The notification still glowed faintly on Ren's phone screen.
He dismissed it with a flick of his thumb. Mission available? Probably another ghost message from that bug-ridden app. He wasn't going to waste time on it.
He wiped the last of the spilled sauce from his shirt, gathered the empty lunch boxes, and walked toward the rooftop door. The air felt heavier now, thick with leftover irritation. Lauren was still seated in the corner, scrolling through her phone as if nothing had happened.
"Clean that up," she said without looking at him.
He ignored her and turned toward the stairs. He was almost through the doorway when her voice rose again.
"Ren."
He stopped.
She was holding her phone up, the smirk on her face sharp and bright in the afternoon light. "You really should stop giving me material," she said, tapping her screen.
A second later, his own phone buzzed.
Ren hesitated before unlocking it.
On the screen was a short video—barely ten seconds. It showed him wiping rice off his face earlier, eyes half-closed, jaw clenched, while the girls' laughter from below echoed faintly in the background. The caption:
'Campus clown: day two of the semester and he's already a meme.'
His chest tightened. "You—"
She cut him off with a tilt of her head. "Relax. It's not public. Yet. But you keep acting like a jerk and maybe I'll post one a day. Motivation for good behavior, don't you think?"
Ren's hands curled into fists at his sides. His face was unreadable, but inside, something sharp twisted tighter. He wanted to walk away. He wanted to shout. Instead, he did neither. He simply stayed there, watching her dig into her food as if nothing in the world could touch her.
She chewed slowly, satisfied, occasionally humming to herself while she typed on her phone. The breeze lifted a strand of her hair and she brushed it back with lazy grace. Ren forced himself to look away, staring out over the campus skyline instead. The city spread out below—crowded, indifferent, endless.
Push her off, his thoughts whispered, uninvited.
He didn't move.
Lauren spoke again, breaking the silence. "You're still here?"
He didn't answer.
"Good. You'll carry these down for me when I'm done." Her tone was casual, as though she were ordering a delivery boy.
He exhaled through his nose, the sound barely audible. His anger settled into something colder, steadier. He watched her finish the meal in silence.
When she was done, she stood, took a sip of water, and began texting. "Someone's coming to pick me up," she said. "I'm heading out tonight."
"Clubbing again?" he asked before he could stop himself.
She glanced over, smiling faintly. "You sound jealous."
Ren gave a short laugh. "Hardly."
"Good." She slung her bag over one shoulder. "Let's go."
They descended the stairwell together, her heels clicking lightly on each step, his sneakers silent behind her. The late-afternoon sun painted long shadows across the courtyard below. When they reached the main gate, a sleek black car rolled up, the kind that screamed money.
Lauren waved lazily at him. "See you around, Ren. Don't miss me too much."
The car door shut, cutting off her laughter as it pulled away.
Ren stood there for a long second, jaw tightening. "Miss you? Not a chance," he muttered.
Then he turned and headed toward the bus stop. His shift at the café started in twenty minutes.
The café was already buzzing when he arrived. The scent of roasted beans and caramel syrup filled the air, blending with the chatter of afternoon customers. For once, he wasn't late—he even had a minute to spare before clocking in.
Mrs. Arai, the senior manager, was behind the counter arranging pastries. She was as elegant as ever—immaculate bun, crisp blouse, lipstick that matched the shade of her nails.
"You're on time," she said without looking up.
"First time for everything," he answered, hanging his apron around his neck.
"Don't get smug. We're short-staffed today, and the lunch rush hasn't stopped since noon." She turned, her expression already sharp. "So unless you want to be replaced, move."
Ren nodded and slipped into the back to start his prep. The next hour passed in a blur of orders, trays, and steaming cups. Each shout from the counter felt aimed directly at him.
"Ren! Wipe table 12."
"Ren! The milk frother's out—again."
"Ren! You call that a clean counter?"
By the third outburst, he stopped answering aloud. He just did what he was told, lips pressed in a thin line. It wasn't new; Mrs. Arai had always been like this—beautiful, composed, and perpetually angry. But today, her words bit deeper, every correction landing harder because of the day he'd already had.
When the crowd finally thinned, he leaned against the back wall, wiping sweat from his forehead. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence.
Mrs. Arai passed by with a clipboard, still dictating to herself. "Inventory, check. Cups restocked, check. Ren—are those bins empty yet?"
"Almost," he said.
"Make sure they're spotless tonight," she said without looking at him. "The inspection team comes tomorrow. If they see a speck of dust, it's on me. Which means it's on you."
He bit back another retort and nodded. "Understood."
"Good." She paused at the doorway, then added, "Don't come late tomorrow. We start early."
The words were half warning, half habit. Then she was gone, heels clicking across the floor until the sound faded.
Ren exhaled, shoulders slumping. The café lights buzzed softly above him. The last customers drifted out; closing time was near.
He finished cleaning, locked up, and stepped into the cool night air. The sky was hazy, the moon barely visible through the clouds. His phone buzzed once—probably another meaningless update or some marketing notification. He didn't bother to check.
By the time he reached his apartment, exhaustion had settled into his bones.
He kicked off his shoes, tossed his bag on the couch, and peeled off his uniform. The shower water was hot, scalding even, but it washed away the grime of the day.
Afterward, he pulled on a loose T-shirt and reheated leftover curry from the fridge. The room smelled faintly of spice and detergent.
For the first time that day, he let himself breathe.
He ate quietly, scrolling absentmindedly through his messages. Luke had sent a meme about their new syllabus; nothing from his sister, of course. She rarely called.
Then he saw it—the faint red symbol sitting neatly at the top of the screen. The Temptation+ (Beta) icon.
Ren froze.
He was certain he had deleted it earlier.
A single notification blinked beneath it: 1 New Mission.
He frowned and tapped it. The screen pulsed once, red light sliding across the display like a heartbeat. Then text appeared, clean and simple:
[Mission: French Kiss Lauren Ames.]
[Reward: 20 Points + $2 000 (wired to account upon completion).]
Ren stared at the words, the glow reflecting in his eyes.