As he quickened his pace toward the coffee shop, Isaac noticed something surprising: the knot that used to tighten in his chest whenever he thought of his ex-girlfriend was gone. For months, her name and the lies she spread had been like poison, fueling a hatred that consumed him and made him feel like the monster the internet described.
But now, as he rounded the corner of Valentina's street, he tried to summon that anger and found nothing.
He thought of the false accusations, the cruel trial of social media, and the face of the woman who had nearly destroyed his life. Before, this thought would bring nausea; now, it brought only an indifferent emptiness. The hatred had been flushed out, replaced by the memory of Sasha's touch, the scent of vanilla, and the courage she showed in revealing her deepest secret.
Sasha's Healing
Sasha, with her own fragility and her own fears, had done what no lawyer or apology ever could: she redeemed him. By accepting him, loving him, and trusting him with her true identity as Lani, she proved that he was not the villain of that story.
"She saw me," he thought, an involuntary smile tugging at his lips as he spotted the coffee shop sign. "No masks, no lies. She saw me and chose to stay."
The forgiveness he couldn't grant himself had been delivered by Sasha between sheets and whispered confessions. His hatred for his ex had been an anchor pinning him to the past, but Sasha's love was the wind pushing him forward. For the first time in a long while, Isaac didn't feel like a scandal survivor; he felt like just a man on his way to work, eager to build a future.
Under Valentina's Gaze
He reached the coffee shop door exactly two minutes before his shift began. He paused for a second, smoothed his messy hair, and took a deep breath. As he entered, the door chime rang, announcing his arrival.
Valentina was behind the counter, polishing a cup with surgical precision. She looked over her glasses, taking in Isaac's state—slightly out of breath, clothes a bit wrinkled, but with a spark in his eyes she hadn't seen since the day she hired him.
— You're almost late, Isaac — she said, her voice firm but lacking its usual harshness. She studied him for a moment longer. — And you look like you've finally stopped carrying the world on your shoulders. What happened? Did yesterday's rain wash your soul, or did you finally have a decent cup of coffee?
Isaac let out a short, light laugh as he grabbed his apron.
— Something like that, Valentina.
The Interrogation
Meanwhile, back at the apartment, the sound of the door closing downstairs was the signal for the "inquisition" to begin. Stella wasted no time; she sat on the edge of the bed, crossed her legs, and stared at Sasha with a smile that blended amusement with an almost sisterly protectiveness.
— Alright, young lady. Start talking
— Stella said, handing a piece of bread to Sasha.
— Since when did the "Coffee Shop Boy" become the "Owner of the Bedroom"? And don't give me that excuse about the rain, because I saw the way he looked at you before he left.
Sasha took the bread but didn't eat it immediately. She felt the heat in her face, but to Stella's surprise, she didn't look down at the floor as she usually did. There was a new serenity in her gestures.
— It wasn't planned, Stella
— Sasha began, her voice soft but firm.
— It just happened. And... it was the best thing that's ever happened to me.
The End of the Nightmare
As she spoke, Sasha realized that something deep inside her had changed drastically. For years, the fear of social phobia and the anxiety of being "discovered" as Lani had been like heavy chains. She lived in a constant state of alert, feeling broken for not being able to face the real world.
But now, thinking of Isaac, she felt the weight of those chains evaporate. The fear of being judged, which used to make it hard to breathe, seemed insignificant in the face of his acceptance.
— You know what's funny?
— Sasha continued, looking at the streaming setup in the corner of the room.
— I spent so much time creating Lani to be my shield, thinking no one would accept the real Sasha. But Isaac... he doesn't care about the numbers or the avatar. He likes the part of me that I hated the most.
Stella's gaze softened. She knew Sasha better than anyone and knew how much she had suffered.
— He gave you peace, didn't he?
— More than that
— Sasha replied with a light smile.
— He gave me a place in the real world. For the first time, I don't feel like I need headphones to feel safe. The hatred I had for my own shyness, that feeling of being "weird"... it's gone. Because of him, I feel like I am enough.
The New Horizon
Stella sighed, visibly relieved.
— Well, he seems like one of the good ones. Even if he almost knocked over my cheese bread on his way out. But what now? Scott isn't going to give up easily, Sasha. He's still sniffing around trying to find out who Lani is.
Sasha pulled the sheet tighter against her body, but she didn't tremble.
— Let him look. I'm not hiding in the dark anymore. Now I have Isaac. And for the first time, I'm not afraid to fight for what's mine.
Stella laughed and hugged her friend.
— That's the spirit! Now eat this bread, because you're going to need the energy. We have a state secret to protect and a V-Tuber career to manage.
The Weight of the Glass Crown
In the studio, the silence following the email to Sasha was heavy. Scott sat in his expensive ergonomic chair, yet he looked small in it. He stared at the reflection in his triple 4K monitors, his face washed out by a cold blue light that made him look pale.
Fernanda watched him, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. She had known him since he was the scrawny kid trying to win spelling bees just to hear a "good job" that never came from home.
— You're making that face again, Scott
— Fernanda said, her voice cutting through the silence.
— What face?
— he shot back, trying to regain his posture as a confident influencer.
— The face of someone trying to prove something to people who don't give a damn about you.
Scott looked away.
The Ghost of Perfection
Fernanda would never forget the day the dynamic between them shifted, years ago. She had gone to his house for a school project. The mansion's silence was oppressive. In the dining room, Mr. Miller
—a man whose heart seemed made of marble and numbers
—was examining Scott's report card.
— Ninety-eight in math, Scott?
— his father's voice was a frigid whisper.
— It was the highest grade in the class, Dad...
— Scott began, his voice trembling like a boy seeking only a nod of approval.
The sound of the impact was sharp. A stinging slap that echoed through the foyer, snapping Scott's head to the side. Hidden behind the door, Fernanda felt her own face burn in sympathy.
— I don't pay for your school so you can be the best in a room of mediocrities
— Mr. Miller said, wiping his hands on a napkin as if he had touched something filthy.
— I pay for you to be flawless. If you aren't perfect, you are invisible to me. You are just an investment losing value.
In that moment, Fernanda saw the light in Scott's eyes die. The narcissism he developed later wasn't vanity; it was a desperate attempt to inflate his own importance so he wouldn't feel like the "failed investment" his father had described.
The Clash of Egos
Back in the present, the silence in the studio was broken by the metallic clatter of Scott throwing a pen against the wall. The object ricocheted and landed near Fernanda's feet.
— Why are you still here, Fernanda?
— Scott asked, his voice hoarse, without looking at her.
— To remind me that I'm a "low-return investment"? To laugh at how I lost control of Lani's narrative?
Fernanda didn't move. She remained leaning against the desk, crossing her arms with a bored expression that masked her concern.
— I'm here because, if I leave, you'll end up breaking that three-thousand-dollar monitor. And I'm the editor; I need it working to fix the nonsense you spew
— she replied, acidly.
— And stop the drama. You didn't lose control of anything; you just stopped being an executioner for five minutes.
Between Barbs and Truths
Scott spun his chair abruptly, his eyes bloodshot.
— You don't understand! If I don't deliver the "scoop," my father calls. He doesn't watch the videos, Fernanda; he watches the profit spreadsheets. If the graph drops, I go back to being that invisible kid in the dining room. I need Lani's identity!
— So you're going to hit her because your father hit you?
— Fernanda's blow was verbal, but it struck Scott with the force of a punch.
He stood up, breathing heavily, taking a step into her space.
— Shut up! You don't know anything! You were always the "charitable neighbor," the girl who looked at me with pity. I don't need your mercy; I need you to edit the damn investigation video!
Fernanda stood up too, meeting him face-to-face. She was shorter, but she didn't back down an inch.
— I don't feel sorry for you, Scott. I'm angry! I'm angry because you're brilliant and you choose to be a parasite of other people's privacy just to get a "thumbs up" from an old man who doesn't even love you. You want the video?
— She grabbed the external hard drive from the desk and held it out to him.
— Take it. Edit it yourself. But do it alone, because I'm not putting my name on a character assassination.
The Lump in the Throat
Scott grabbed the drive tightly, his knuckles white. They stared at each other for long seconds, a duel of wills that had been waged since childhood. His narcissism screamed at him to kick her out, to prove he was the master of his own empire. But the trembling boy inside knew that if Fernanda walked through that door, the last trace of truth in his life would go with her.
— You're insufferable
— Scott growled, his voice breaking at the end.
— And you're a narcissistic idiot
— Fernanda countered, but her tone softened by a fraction.
— But you're my idiot. And I'm not going to let you turn into Mr. Miller.
She reached out and, in a blunt gesture that was the most affection they allowed themselves, shoved his shoulder back into the chair.
— Now sit. We're opening a live stream. But not to expose anyone. We're going to talk about how the V-Tuber market is saturated with people chasing easy clicks. Let's be the resistance, not the problem.
Scott looked at the drive in his hand, then at Fernanda. His face still burned
—not from the slap years ago, but from the shame of almost becoming what he feared most.
— He's going to call me tomorrow asking for an explanation about the numbers, Fê
— Scott murmured, hiding his face in his hands.
— Let him call
— Fernanda sat in the editing chair next to him and put on her headphones.
— If he yells, I'll hang up on him. Now shut up and adjust the microphone. We have work to do.
The Coffee of New Beginnings
While Sasha and Stella finished breakfast with plans for new avatars and strategies for dealing with Scott, Valentina's coffee shop was buzzing. The door chime didn't stop ringing, and Isaac moved behind the counter with a fluidity that looked like a dance.
— Hey, Isaac!
— David emerged from the kitchen, balancing a tray with twice the recommended weight.
— If you keep smiling at the coffee beans like that, they're going to end up roasting themselves out of embarrassment. What's gotten into you today? You look like you won the lottery or finally watched the finale of that K-drama I recommended.
Isaac laughed while steaming milk for a cappuccino.
— No lottery, David. Just... the air feels easier to breathe today.
David narrowed his eyes in his usual clownish way, but inside he felt immense relief. He knew Isaac's "defense smile," the one that hid the emptiness. The smile he wore now was different; it was real.
— I see... "the air." If that "air's" name is Sasha, I want some too
— David teased, winking at a regular customer while handing over an order.
The Shadow and the Light
In the farthest corner of the coffee shop, sitting at a small table covered in cheese bread crumbs, Afonso was deep into his laptop. He rarely interacted, but his presence was a constant. He watched the interaction between Isaac and David with a cynicism that tried to hide his own admiration.
Afonso adjusted his glasses and muttered to himself:
— Look at them. Acting as if the world isn't a chaos of expectations and superficiality.
Isaac approached to clean the next table, and Afonso didn't miss his chance.
— You look different, Isaac. Lost that "brooding Seinen protagonist" aura. What happened? Finally realized that internet opinions are as irrelevant as the annual potato production in Estonia?
— Something like that, Afonso
— replied Isaac, wiping the table vigorously.
— I realized that a few real voices are worth more than thousands of anonymous comments.
Afonso gave a small smirk, returning to his code. Deep down, he respected Isaac. He saw in Isaac someone who, despite being closed off like him, had found a courage that Afonso still sought to hide behind his sarcastic rants.
The Unexpected Visit
Near noon, the door opened and Stella entered, practically dragging a visibly nervous Sasha, who was notably without the headphones that used to be her armor. Sasha wore a baggy hoodie, but her posture was more upright.
Upon seeing the two, Valentina stepped out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron.
— Well, well! If it isn't my favorite customers
— Valentina said in her mature, welcoming voice. She looked at Sasha and gave a wink.
— Sasha, you look great. Youth suits you. And Isaac... stop looking at the girl like she's made of gold and go take their order.
David approached quickly, making an exaggerated bow.
— Welcome to the temple of caffeine! Stella, you brought your moody aura today or can we suggest a Korean romance while you drink?
— Less drama, David
— Stella retorted, but there was amusement in her eyes.
— We came for the usual "fuel." Sasha has an important live stream today and we need energy.
The Silent Pact
Isaac approached their table. For a second, the world around them disappeared. He looked at Sasha and she looked back. They didn't need to talk about what happened the night before, or the shadows left behind.
— The usual?
— Isaac asked, his voice soft.
— The usual
— Sasha replied, her voice firm. She reached out and lightly touched Isaac's arm over the counter. — And, Isaac... I'm not afraid anymore.
Valentina, watching from afar, sighed dramatically.
— Oh boy... being single at 37 is a punishment when you work with this much cuteness. David! Stop drooling over someone else's romance and go help Afonso with that delivery order!
The coffee shop, which was once just a workplace for Isaac and a hiding place for Sasha, had become the headquarters of a new resistance. Between the smell of coffee and the hum of conversations, they knew that Scott and the past might try to knock on the door, but now the house was full of people willing to keep it shut.
The morning at the coffee shop followed its vibrant rhythm until the door chime rang in a different way. It wasn't Sasha's timid ring or Stella's energetic one; it was a decisive ring.
Fernanda entered. At 25, she carried an expression of elegant exhaustion, typical of someone who spent the night editing videos and dealing with Scott's inflated ego. She wore professional headphones around her neck and a worn-out denim jacket.
She walked straight to the counter, ignoring David's curious glances. But on her way, her eyes hit the corner table.
The Unexpected Encounter
Afonso was frowning, grumbling about a bug in his game code. He didn't notice Fernanda approaching until she stopped behind him and, without asking permission, pointed at the laptop screen.
— You forgot to close the bracket on line 142
— she said, her voice husky and direct.
— And that graphics engine you're using is unstable for that kind of shading. If you switch to open source, you'll save 20% on processing.
Afonso froze. He lifted his head slowly, ready to fire off a sarcastic comment about "people who stick their noses where they don't belong," but the words died in his throat.
Fernanda wasn't like the "popular" girls he despised. She had real dark circles under her eyes from hard work, smelled of strong coffee and electronics, and looked at him with a sharp intelligence that completely disarmed him. For the first time in his life, the master of nihilism was speechless.
— I... I was testing the stability of the error
— stammered Afonso, his face turning as red as a tomato.
— Who are you?
— Someone who can't stand to see badly written code
— Fernanda gave a half-smile, a gesture that made Afonso's heart skip a beat.
— I'm Fernanda. I work with editing and systems.
At the Counter
She headed to the counter, where Isaac was watching her curiously.
— A triple Espresso. No sugar, no fluff. I need something that will make me forget a narcissistic idiot
— she said, referring to Scott without naming him.
Isaac served the coffee with his usual agility.
— Seems like you had a rough morning.
— You have no idea — she sighed, taking the cup.
— Some people think life is a constant reality show. I just wanted a place where people were real.
While she drank her coffee standing up, Afonso, at the next table, couldn't even look at his own computer anymore. He pretended to type, but his eyes kept escaping to the back of Fernanda's neck.
The Corny Cupid
David, never one to miss an opportunity, slid over to Afonso and whispered:
— Looks like our "Lone Wolf" was taken down by an IT specialist, huh? She's your type: smart, tough, and understands things I can't even pronounce.
— Shut up, David!
— Afonso hissed, but he couldn't hide the tremor in his hands.
— She just... she just understands programming logic. It's rare to find someone with a functional brain these days.
On the other side of the counter, Sasha and Stella watched the scene.
— That's Scott's editor
— whispered Stella to Sasha, going on alert.
— I recognize the logo on her jacket.
Sasha looked at Fernanda. Unlike the fear she felt toward Scott, she felt a strange empathy for this woman. Fernanda looked exhausted from carrying the world
— or Scott
— on her back.
The Impact
Fernanda finished her coffee, left the money on the counter, and gave Isaac a dry nod. Before leaving, she passed by Afonso's table again and tapped lightly on the wooden surface.
— Fix that shading, kid. The game has potential. If you need a better texture library, I usually post some on the OpenSource BR forum. My user is 'Nanda_Edit'.
She left, and the door chime echoed. Silence fell over Afonso's table.
— She called me kid...
— Afonso muttered, but not with anger. He seemed to be in a trance.
— And she knows the texture forum...
Valentina approached, wiping her hands and laughing at Afonso's dazed face.
— Someone bring a bucket, because Afonso has melted. Isaac, it seems your happiness is contagious. Even our little grump found a muse.
Isaac looked at the door and then at Sasha, smiling. The atmosphere in the coffee shop was changing; the pieces were moving. Fernanda was the link to Scott's world, but for Afonso, she was the first person who spoke his "language."