The interview was simpler than I had imagined.
The manager was a man in his forties with a peculiar handlebar mustache. He asked for my age, whether I had experience, and if I was literate.
I stumbled through my answers. But in the end, he said, "One-week trial period. Nine hundred yen an hour, one meal included. If you pass the trial, you'll be a regular employee at a thousand yen an hour."
I nodded vigorously, as if I were trying to snap my own neck.
"Oh, and one more thing," the manager rubbed his chin, his gaze sweeping over me. "Do you have a place to stay? Looking at you… you don't seem like a local."
I shook my head. I had only arrived in Tokyo five days ago.
"Manager, didn't you say there was an attic in the cafe?" the girl's voice chimed in. "The one you always complain about stray cats sneaking into."
The manager shot her a look. "My shop isn't a shelter…"
"Manager~" She grabbed his arm and swayed it back and forth. "I'm sure someone as kindhearted as you wouldn't have the heart to let a cute girl wander the streets, right?"
She stared him down with wide eyes, a playful smile dancing on her lips.
The manager let out a long sigh. "I give up. Fine, you know I'm a sucker for that." He turned back to me, his expression turning serious. "You can stay in the attic, but you'll have to cover the utilities yourself. I'll deduct three thousand yen from your monthly wages for water, electricity, and Wi-Fi. The room has its own meter; if you run the AC too much, the costs will go up, so be careful."
I froze. It took my brain several seconds to process the information. A job. A place to live. Three thousand yen a month. I did a quick calculation—if I passed the trial, at a thousand yen an hour, working eight hours a day, in a month I'd have…
"Th-thank you so much!" I bowed deeply, bending my waist so far it felt like I might fold in half. My voice was so loud it startled even me.
"Don't thank me just yet," the manager waved a hand dismissively before turning to the girl. "Reze, it was your idea, so you're responsible for showing her the ropes. And—" he paused, his eyes sharpening slightly, "don't teach her anything strange."
"Yay! Long live the Manager!" the girl cheered, immediately letting go of his arm to give me a mischievous wink.
The manager pinched the bridge of his nose. "I really don't know what to do with you, Reze."
Reze.
Was her name Reze? I repeated it twice in my mind. Re-ze. The syllables rolled off the tip of my tongue like a piece of sweet candy. Then the girl—Reze—turned to me and held out her hand, a captivating smile in her eyes.
"My name is Reze. And you?"
"I… I'm Hong Xin…" My hand was only halfway up before Reze grabbed it. Her hand was warm and strong, with thin calluses that felt grounding—not at all as delicate as her appearance suggested.
"Well then, I look forward to working with you, Hong Xin."
The manager glanced at the clock on the wall. "Let's count today as your first day. However, Hong Xin, I'll give you half a day off to settle your luggage and observe how the staff works. Reze, show her around."
"Leave it to me!" Reze stood tall and gave a mock salute.
The cafe wasn't large, but every corner bore the marks of meticulous care. The wooden tables and chairs were polished to a shine, the pastry display was neatly arranged, and the air was thick with the intertwined scents of coffee beans and toasted bread.
Reze moved through the shop like a graceful butterfly, introducing things in a lighthearted tone as she went.
"This is the sink. Hot water is to the left—"
"Put the washed cups on this rack to drain. Tilt them like this so the water flows into the grooves."
"Trash goes out every day before closing. There are sorting bins in the back alley. The manager is super picky about trash sorting. If he catches you messing up, he'll lecture you all day."
When we reached the counter, Reze's eyes lit up. "Ah, I almost forgot the most important part!"
She tied on her apron, expertly pulled her hair into a low ponytail, and turned to me, spreading her arms wide. "Welcome to the heart of 'Nidao Coffee'!"
Her energy was infectious, and my nerves began to dissipate.
Observing Miss Reze work… it actually made me a little happy.
Was it because I had found a place to belong? Or was it because…
The first customer was a middle-aged man in a suit, looking exhausted. When Reze took his order, her smile was warm without being flippant. "A Brazilian single-origin? The beans are in great condition today. I'll grind a bit extra for you so the aroma is even fuller."
She turned to operate the grinder, her fingers dancing across the buttons, yet she didn't forget to look back at the customer. "The sunlight at your usual window seat is lovely today. Shall I save it for you?"
The man blinked, and as he nodded, the fatigue on his face seemed to lift slightly.
When the coffee was served, Reze placed a small cookie beside the saucer. "On the house. It's an almond biscotti the manager just tried out. It pairs perfectly with Brazilian coffee."
The next table was a group of girls, chattering about what to order. Reze pointed at the menu. "If you like it sweet, this Caramel Macchiato is a secret menu item. I can draw a little kitten on top—but only if you promise to tell me I'm a good artist!"
The girls burst into laughter.
After taking the order, Reze hummed a light melody as she brewed the coffee, her wrist moving the milk pitcher with the grace of a dancer. When she brought the coffee with its slightly lopsided but adorable kitten art to the table, the students let out delighted cheers.
"Teach me how to draw that next time!" one girl said.
"No problem, but I charge tuition—how about washing ten cups for me?"
"Ehhh—no way!"
Once the lunch rush subsided, the shop grew quiet. Reze was wiping down the counter when she suddenly turned to me. "How much did you remember?"
I was caught off guard.
"The ordering process, the types of coffee, how to treat different customers." She counted them off on her fingers. "Observation isn't just looking with your eyes; you have to use this." She tapped her temple.
"I remembered most of it…" I hurriedly added, "I'll work even harder from now on!"
"Pfft… Hahaha!"
Miss Reze covered her mouth, her deep green eyes squinting with laughter. She looked at me and said, "What are you so nervous for? You're like a grade-schooler in front of a teacher."
"Eh?"
She walked over to me, pulled a small notebook from her apron pocket, and quickly sketched a simple flowchart. "Look, customers coming in fall into a few categories: solo, on a date, business talk, or friends hanging out. You have to tweak how you treat them. Someone alone might need peace, while a group of friends can handle a bit more liveliness…"
"Like that gentleman in the suit earlier. He comes every Wednesday afternoon, always orders the Brazilian single-origin, and always sits in the same spot. With regulars like that, you have to remember their habits, but don't make them feel watched—that's why I said 'the beans are good today' instead of 'you're having the Brazilian again.'"
I listened blankly, trying my best to memorize every word Miss Reze said.
"Do you think I'm too noisy?" Reze asked suddenly.
I shook my head frantically.
She smiled, and there was something in that smile I couldn't quite name. "Being lively is a weapon in the service industry. If you can make a customer leave happy, they'll want to come back. and if they come back, we get to eat—simple logic, right?"
I nodded vigorously.
"Good."
The afternoon flowed by amidst the scent of coffee and Reze's lighthearted humming.
"Come here, I'll teach you my super-invincible, easy-to-remember secret for identifying coffee beans."
"Brazilian beans are like a steady middle-aged uncle. The flavor is balanced; everyone can enjoy it."
"Colombian beans are the honor students. Bitterness and acidity are perfectly poised, clean and crisp."
"Ethiopian is the most interesting. It has a clear floral and fruity scent, like a lively young girl—ah, maybe that's a bit of a gender stereotype?" She stuck out her tongue. "Anyway, it's a flavor with a lot of personality!"
Just like Miss Reze? I watched her vivid expressions, thinking the words silently without saying them.
When a customer ordered an Ethiopian blend, she specifically beckoned me over. "Smell this. This is the dry aroma after grinding. Doesn't it smell like blueberries and jasmine?"
I took a deep breath. There truly was a faint, lingering sweetness.
"You have a good sense of smell." Reze looked surprised. "How about this one?" She opened another jar.
I hesitated before saying, "It smells a bit like… nuts and chocolate?"
"Correct! That's Guatemala." She patted my shoulder happily. "You're pretty good at this. You're smart."
Was I… smart?
Those words fell into my heart, rippling outward. In school, the teachers would only tap the blackboard and say, "How can you not even know something this simple?" My family would only sigh and tell me to "accept my lot in life." No one had ever said that to me before.
I looked at Reze's profile. She was carefully weighing coffee grounds, her eyelashes casting thin shadows on her cheeks. She was so skilled, so composed, as if there was nothing in this world she couldn't handle.
And I couldn't even recognize all the words on a page.
My chest suddenly felt a bit tight. I lowered my head, staring at the tips of my shoes.
Before closing, Reze walked me through the cleaning routine. Her mopping had a rhythmic quality; she hummed a song and occasionally spun around, her broom rotating in her hand like a top.
"Work is hard, so you have to find your own fun." As she spoke, she tossed a rag into the air, let it spin twice, and caught it steadily.
The manager poked his head out from the kitchen. "Reze, stop playing with the rags!"
"Yes, sir, Manager-sama!" She snapped to attention and saluted. As soon as the manager pulled his head back, she immediately made a face, her grin stretching from ear to ear.
Finally, the rolling shutter was pulled down, and the manager left first. Reze took a long, deep stretch at the entrance, her slender silhouette outlined by the twilight.
"Good work today," she said to me, her voice softer than it had been during the shift. "Are you satisfied with the attic?"
"It's wonderful," I whispered. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me." She turned around, her back to the sunset, her smile melting into the warm golden light. "You grabbed the opportunity yourself. I only… gave it a little push."
She waved and walked toward the other end of the street. I stood at the shop door, watching her back. Her gait was unique—not the dainty steps common among girls, nor a boisterous stride, but a light, steady pace. Like a cat.
When she reached the corner, she suddenly turned back and smiled at me.
And then she was gone.
I stood on the street as it grew dark, motionless for a long time.
The attic was better than I had imagined. It had a sloped ceiling and was low, but it was clean and tidy. A bed, a wardrobe, a desk. A skylight was set into the slope, currently reflecting Tokyo's purple evening sky.
I stood in the center of the room and slowly turned in a circle. This was my room. It had a lock, a bed, a roof, and the responsibility of going downstairs to open the door tomorrow morning.
And it had Reze.
That girl who was as lively as sunshine, yet occasionally showed a certain depth in her expression.
I pulled my crumpled notebook from my bag and clumsily wrote:
"Reze is like a rainbow. When it's bustling, she's dazzling, but when it's quiet, she seems separated by a mist of rain."
"The way she teaches me is special—it's not 'I'm teaching you,' but 'let's look together.' It makes me feel like I'm not some stupid charity case, but someone who can actually learn."
"I remembered three things today: Brazilian coffee is like an uncle, Colombian is an honor student, and Ethiopian is like a lively girl. I also remembered: be quiet with solo customers, but be lively with groups of friends."
"The manager said the trial is one week. In this week, I want to be like a sponge and absorb everything."
"I want to stay here."
"I want to stay here. I want to see Reze putting on her apron every morning. I want to hear her hum again. I want to be like her one day, making customers leave with a smile."
After writing this, I lay on the bed. Outside the skylight, the lights of Tokyo flickered on one by one, like a river of stars hanging upside down.
I no longer felt cold. I no longer felt abandoned.
I had a job. I had a room. I had a reason to wake up on time tomorrow.
And I had that girl who hummed amidst the scent of coffee, her smile as bright as the sun.
Although I didn't know who she was, where she came from, or why she chose to help me.
I knew that in this suffocatingly vast Tokyo, she had given me a rope to tether myself.
And the warmth traveling from the other end of that rope was so real, so intoxicating…
That no matter what, I didn't want to let go.
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My : https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Chainsaw Man : The Chainsaw Man World Doesn't Need a Perfect Idol (14 Chapters – Ongoing)
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