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HFfC: CH 9: The Human & The Elf
🕑 Added 2025-07-14 19:48:45 +0000 UTCAfter their final goodbye to the Captain, Zero flipped the sign on the door to 'CLOSED' and slid the heavy bolt into place with a satisfying thunk. The café, which had been a storm of noise and activity just an hour ago, was now profoundly, beautifully silent.
"That was exhausting," Zero sighed, slumping against the door. "I don't know if I can do that every day for the next week."
Soma, already at the sink tackling the last of their dinner dishes, didn't seem to share the sentiment. "I don't know," he said, a strange energy still buzzing in his voice as he scrubbed a plate with vigor. "That was a challenge. I loved it."
Zero looked up, surprised. "Whoa, what happened to you? Yesterday, you were bummed about the leftover congee. Why are you so eager to compete all of a sudden?"
"Oh, wait... yeah," Soma said, pausing his washing. He looked down at his hands as if they belonged to someone else. "Now that I think about it, I did feel... something. During the festival. It's just... somehow, I can't imagine myself losing when it comes to cooking."
Something in Zero's head clicked. The unshakeable confidence, the thrill of competition, the absolute refusal to accept defeat in the kitchen... it wasn't just Soma's personality. It was a core component of the character he was based on.
"It was your trait," Zero realized aloud.
Soma looked over his shoulder, confused. "My what?"
"Your trait," Zero repeated, walking over to the cash register and running a hand over its cool, metallic surface. "It's a kind of behavior that comes with the card. A piece of the original character's personality."
The idea settled on Soma, and for a moment, he looked thoughtful. Am I just a clone? he wondered. Or am I something else now, with this... added trait?
His existential thoughts were abruptly cut short by a loud shout from Zero.
"HOLY SHIT!"
Soma jumped, nearly dropping the plate he was holding. "What happened?!"
He looked over and saw Zero staring at the register's screen, his eyes wide and teary with disbelief. "The Gacha points," Zero whispered, his voice trembling with excitement. "It's... it's almost at a thousand."
"What? Are you sure?" Soma said, quickly wiping his wet hands on his apron and rushing over.
Zero nodded happily, his face illuminated by the screen's soft glow. "Look! It's at 659!"
Soma stared. The number pulsed gently on the screen. All the stress, all the chaos, all the hard work of the day had paid off in a way they hadn't dared to imagine. "Whoa," he breathed. "That was... fast."
A massive, giddy grin broke across Zero's face. He grabbed Soma's hands, pulling him away from the register and into another wild, celebratory dance on the café floor.
"Let's gooo!" Zero shouted, spinning them both in a joyous circle. "We are etching our name into this world, baby!!"
The morning sun streamed into the loft, painting the wooden floor in stripes of gold. The air was still and quiet, filled only with the promise of a new day. For the first time in a long time—perhaps ever—Zero woke up feeling not just rested, but genuinely cheerful.
He found Soma already in the kitchen, humming to himself as he looked over their stock of ingredients.
"What's on the menu for today, Chef?" Zero asked, his voice bright.
Soma turned, a focused glint in his eye. "Alright, listen up. For breakfast, we're going to hit them with something they've never seen: fluffy, jiggly Soufflé Pancakes with a berry compote and fresh cream. For the lunch rush, something fast, hearty, and comforting: Oyakodon—a chicken and egg rice bowl. And for dinner," he grinned, "we'll blow them away with a rich, deep Tonkotsu Ramen that's been simmering for hours."
Zero whistled, impressed. "Ambitious. Do you think that would work with coffee or tea?"
Soma waved a hand dismissively. "You handle the drinks, I trust you. You're the mysterious drink wizard, after all."
Zero chuckled. "You better trust me. You are me." They shared a laugh, the easy camaraderie filling the quiet morning.
They took turns getting ready, the simple domesticity of it—showering, dressing, preparing for a day of work together—feeling both strange and wonderfully normal. As Soma came out of the bedroom, dressed in his usual practical attire, he saw Zero donning the flowing blue robes and the wide-brimmed hat with its obscuring black veil.
"Why are you still wearing shit like that?" Soma asked, his voice softer than usual.
Zero paused, his hands adjusting the veil. "They're more comfortable with me like this," he said quietly, "than they are with my horns out."
Soma's expression softened. "You don't know that for sure."
A sad, knowing smile touched Zero's lips, though it was hidden by the gauze. "Come on, you don't need to lie to me. You were there," he said, referencing their shared memories. "You saw their faces before. They all left the café. The only reason yesterday was a success was because the new customers didn't know I was a demon."
"Are you going to hide forever, then?" Soma pressed gently. "The Captain didn't mind, you know."
"The Captain is one person," Zero countered, his voice laced with a deep, weary longing. "I just... I just want to be treated like a normal person for a while. Is that so much to ask?"
Soma sighed, the fight going out of him. He understood. He was him, after all. "Okay," he conceded. "But you make sure that veil of yours doesn't get a single thread anywhere near my food, or I'll make you wash dishes for a month."
Zero's cheerful demeanor returned in an instant. "Yes, Chef!" he chirped, giving a mock salute.
Café LeBlanc was no longer a secret. It was a sensation.
Within a day of the Grey Tide Festival, the quiet alleyway had transformed into the most exclusive waiting room in the entire city. A line of people, diverse and ever-growing, snaked from the café's unassuming wooden door all the way to the main thoroughfare. Wealthy merchants in fine silks stood patiently behind rugged-looking city guards, and curious university students whispered excitedly next to stoic elves who looked as though they'd never waited for anything in their lives. The air, once smelling of little more than damp cobblestone, was now permanently perfumed with the heavenly aromas wafting from Soma's kitchen.
The allure wasn't just the food, though the Master Chef rank dishes were the primary draw. It was the entire, bizarre, wonderful experience. It was the thrill of entering a tiny, quaint café that looked like it had been forgotten by time, only to be served a meal that could make angels weep. It was the dynamic of the two "brothers" who ran the place: the fiery, red-haired genius who cooked with a passion that was a spectacle in itself, and the silent, enigmatic owner who moved behind the bar like a shadow.
The mysterious veiled man became a legend in his own right. People would watch, fascinated, as he prepared drinks with a silent, focused grace, his movements precise and mesmerizing. Whispers and theories abounded. Was he a disgraced noble hiding his face in shame? A powerful mage whose features were too dangerous to behold? The mystery only deepened their fascination.
While they waited, customers would inevitably turn their attention to the single piece of art in the café: the painting by the door. The beautiful, melancholic woman in the red dress, her gaze downcast beneath a canopy of blossoms. "Sayuri," the painting was titled. She became the silent patron saint of their wait, another layer of the café's burgeoning lore.
For five straight days, the rhythm was the same. A frantic, exhilarating rush from dawn until dusk. Soufflé Pancakes that vanished like sweet clouds in the morning, rich Oyakodon that sold out by noon, and deep, soul-warming Tonkotsu Ramen that had people sighing with pleasure in the evening. Their Gacha points soared, quickly surpassing the thousand-point mark and continuing to climb.
Late one night, after the last customer had finally, reluctantly, departed, Soma leaned against the counter, watching Zero count their earnings. "We have more than enough now," Soma said, a hungry, competitive glint in his eye. "Let's do the 11-pull. I want to see what we get."
Zero finished stacking the coins and looked at the glowing number on the register. It was well over two thousand. He could feel the power thrumming within the machine, the siren's call of another Gacha pull. But he hesitated. "Let's... let's hold off for a bit," he said quietly.
Soma frowned. "Why? We hit the goal. We crushed it."
"I know," Zero said, a faint, superstitious tremor in his voice. "It's just... this is the first time in my life—in either life—that things have gone this well. I just want to... collect a little more of this good luck before we spend it. Just to be sure."
Soma looked at him, at the genuine, deep-seated fear of a lifetime of misfortune that still lingered behind his eyes. He, of all people, understood. He chuckled softly. "Alright, boss. We'll hoard our luck for a little while longer."
But their sudden, meteoric success did not just bring them a line of eager customers and a hoard of Gacha points. Their little café, once invisible, was now a bright, shining beacon on the city's map. And such a light, they were beginning to realize, did not just attract moths. It also attracted unwanted, and far more dangerous, attention.
One evening, dinner service was winding down. The frantic rush had subsided into a comfortable, steady hum of quiet conversation and the clinking of cutlery. The line was gone, replaced by a handful of regulars who savored the café's peaceful atmosphere. Their favorite, the Captain, had yet to arrive. Zero and Soma had learned his habits; the proud beastman preferred the quiet of the late evening, never showing himself when the café was crowded. Zero found himself glancing at the windows, watching the sky outside deepen from bruised purple to inky black, anticipating the familiar ding of the bell that would announce their first customer's arrival.
Ding.
The bell chimed, sharp and sudden. Zero and Soma turned from their tasks, a synchronized, welcoming smile on their faces. "Welcome!" they said in unison.
The smiles froze.
The men who stepped inside were not regulars. They were predators. One was a tall, wiry elf, the other a stout, smirking human. Both were dressed in identical, garish striped suits sharp enough to cut glass, their dark hair slicked back with an oiliness that had nothing to do with style. A lit cigarette dangled from each of their mouths, thin plumes of smoke curling into the warm, coffee-scented air.
The human strode forward, his eyes scanning the room with an unnerving, proprietary arrogance. "Well, well," he said, his voice a lazy drawl that didn't match the predatory glint in his eyes. "Who do we have here?"
Zero, a bit taken aback by the man's aggressive tone, maintained his composure. "What can I get for you, sir?" he asked, his voice polite and even from behind his veil.
The human ignored the question. He swaggered over to the bar and slid onto a stool next to a scrawny man who was quietly finishing his meal. He threw a heavy arm over the scrawny man's shoulders, making him flinch. "Look at this," the thug said to his captive audience of one. "The mysterious man. He doesn't even know who I am."
"I apologize if I don't recognize you, sir," Zero said calmly. "I'm new to the city."
The man let out a short, manic laugh. He reached slowly into the breast pocket of his striped suit. The remaining customers tensed. With a flourish, he pulled out a heavy, rune-etched revolver.
BANG!
The gunshot was deafening in the small café. The scrawny man screamed. Zero didn't flinch, but he felt the air whip past his ear as the bullet slammed into the wall behind him, shattering a large glass jar of dark-roast coffee beans. The comforting aroma of coffee was instantly tainted by the acrid smell of spent magic.
By the door, the elf had drawn his own pistol, holding a finger to his lips in a universal "shush" gesture to the terrified customers.
Zero stood perfectly still. So did Soma, who had frozen in the kitchen doorway, his eyes burning with a dangerous light.
The human thug laughed again, enjoying the fear he had created. With a flick of his wrist, he slapped Zero's veiled hat away. It flew off the counter, revealing Zero's dark, elegant horns to the entire room.
"Well, look at that," the man sneered, the slur dripping from his lips like poison. "Turns out the mysterious man is just another Taintedfuck."
The terror on the remaining customers' faces didn't vanish, but it was joined by something else, something uglier: a familiar, cold disgust. Zero had expected it. He had dreaded it. And here it was.
"What do you want from m—"
Zero's words were cut off as the man's hand shot out, yanking one of his horns with a wrenching twist that sent a bolt of pure agony through his skull. With the same motion, the thug slammed Zero's face down onto the hard wood of the bar table.
A woman screamed. Soma, who had been frozen, tensed, every muscle in his body coiling like a spring. A low, guttural growl started in his chest, and his hand instinctively reached for the heavy cleaver on the prep block. But through the pain, Zero lifted one hand just slightly, a clear gesture: Stay down.
"Alright, ladies and gents," the elf by the door said calmly. "Today's meal will be on the house. So you can all clear the area now. Right, Taintedfuck?"
Zero didn't say anything, his cheek pressed against the wood. The human grabbed his hair and slammed his face into the counter again, harder this time. "Answer him, Tainted," he shouted.
Zero gulped, the taste of blood in his mouth. "Yes," he managed to choke out. "It's... on the house."
One by one, not meeting his eyes, the customers fled the café, leaving Zero and Soma alone with their new, unwanted business partners.
The human thug, finally let go of Zero's horn, but he didn't move away. He leaned in close, his foul, smoky breath washing over Zero's face. "Now," he said, his voice a low, conversational threat, "how does a little demon like you end up being the boss of a place this nice?"
Zero slowly pushed himself up, the side of his face throbbing where it had met the counter. He didn't wipe away the trickle of blood from his lip. He met the man's gaze, his own eyes cold and steady. "What's the matter?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "Never seen horns in a place that wasn't a gutter?"
Both the human and the elf, burst into loud, ugly laughter. "Hah! He's a funny one, this Taintedfuck," The elf commented from the doorway, polishing his pistol with a silk handkerchief.
"You don't say," the human chuckled, his good humor vanishing as quickly as it appeared. He leaned in again, his smile gone. "You see, this alley... this whole block... it's our territory. We take care of it. And when we see a new spot open up, making a big splash, drawing crowds like crazy... well, we gotta come do a routine check."
His gaze then shifted, dismissing Zero completely as he turned his head toward the kitchen. "You're the Master Chef, huh?" he called out to Soma. "The talk of the town." He gestured with his head back toward Zero, a look of utter contempt on his face. "What do you say? You come work for our boss. A real boss, in a proper establishment with real money. It's much better than wasting your talent working for... this. No self-respecting human wants to work with a demon."
Soma's hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides. The heavy cleaver on the prep block seemed to call to him, a silent promise of swift, brutal justice. He gritted his teeth, the competitive rage he felt at the festival now twisting into a far darker, more protective fury. "No thanks," he said, his voice tight and low. "I'll stick with this café."
The human thug shrugged, turning back to Zero. He let go of Zero's hair and, with a casual, almost lazy motion, lightly slapped his cheek. It wasn't hard, but it was a profound insult. "Your choice," he said to Soma, but his eyes were locked on Zero. "Then I guess we'll just have to settle for your monthly security donation." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Don't worry, I'm a generous man. I'll give you a week to get it together." He looked over at his partner. "Hmmmm... how much would this café's donation be, Eroan?"
The elf finished polishing his gun and gave a light, mocking laugh. "Given the lines out the door? About 3000 Sol should be enough, right, Orimys?"
"Yeahhh, 3000 it is," Orimys confirmed with a greedy smile. He pushed himself away from the bar and swaggered toward the door, where Eroan held it open for him. The bell chimed softly, a sickeningly cheerful sound in the tense silence. Orimys stopped at the threshold and turned his head, his final words delivered with a chilling nonchalance.
"And don't even bother calling the Watchers," he said. "They're in our pockets, after all."
Then they both laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed down the alley as they walked away, leaving Zero and Soma alone in the sudden, violated quiet of their café.
The moment the door clicked shut, the fragile composure Soma had maintained shattered. He rushed over to Zero, his eyes scanning the angry red bruise already forming on the side of his face where it had been slammed into the bar.
"Are you alright?" Soma asked, his voice tight with a fury that was all the more potent for being suppressed.
Zero touched his cheek gingerly, then took a slow, steadying breath. "I'm good," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "This Archdemon body is more resilient than I thought." The physical pain was already fading, but a deeper, colder ache remained.
"You should sit down," Soma insisted. "Let me clean up the jar."
"No need," Zero said, pushing himself away from the counter. His movements were stiff, deliberate. "I need to do something. To... process what just happened."
Soma just nodded, understanding completely. Zero needed to reclaim his space, to physically erase the violation that had just occurred. He watched as Zero found a broom and dustpan and began to meticulously sweep up the shards of the broken glass jar. The sound of the bristles scraping against the wood floor was the only sound in the café. Zero carefully gathered every last splinter, his focus absolute, as if restoring order to this small patch of floor could restore order to their lives.
After he disposed of the glass, he wiped the counter clean of the dark, fragrant coffee beans. He found a new, identical jar from their magically replenishing stock and filled it, placing it exactly where the old one had been. "Thank god this café has unlimited ingredients," he muttered to himself, the small absurdity a brief anchor in the swirling mess of his thoughts.
Just as he finished, the bell above the door chimed again.
Ding.
Zero flinched, his body tensing instinctively. He saw Soma's hand dart toward the kitchen cleaver. But the figure who stepped inside was not one of the thugs. It was the Captain.
The white tiger beastman took one look at the tense atmosphere and the faint, but undeniable, red bruise blooming on Zero's cheekbone. His golden eyes narrowed.
"What happened?" he rumbled, his voice low and dangerous.
Zero forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just some local thugs trying to squeeze money out of the new business."
The Captain's expression hardened. "Tell me. In detail."
From the kitchen doorway, Soma appeared, holding a fresh plate. "Well," he said, his voice regaining some of its usual confidence, "let's talk with the meal, shall we?"
As they sat together at the bar, the only three souls in the quiet café, Zero and Soma recounted the entire event. They told him about the striped suits, the guns, the insults, and the final, chilling demand for 3000 Sol.
The Captain listened without interruption, his massive hands resting on the counter. When they finished, he let out a long, weary sigh. "Haaahh... those guys," he said, a note of bitter familiarity in his voice. "The Vipers. So, it seems the Kingdom's grand incentive to imitate the Athenean Concord's police force didn't work out as they intended."
"So these Watchers... they're the Kingdom's police?" Zero asked.
"Yes," the Captain confirmed, swirling the tea Zero had made him. "The Crown saw how the Athenean Concord used their 'Sentinels' to maintain order and wanted to implement the same system here. The Watchers have been established for decades now, but in most city districts, they're still like this—corrupt, lazy, or in the pockets of local gangs."
"It is what it is, I guess," Soma said with a pragmatic shrug. "There's no easy way to clean up that kind of mess."
They finished their meal in a heavy silence. Then, suddenly, the Captain stood up. He placed his payment on the counter, more than enough for the meal. "Thanks for the food," he said, his voice flat and unreadable. "As always, it was delicious."
Then, without another word, he turned, opened the door, and stepped out into the night.
Zero stared after him. "That was weird," he said, a frown creasing his brow. "He usually stays for a while, has another drink before he goes back."
Soma shrugged, though he too felt the strangeness of the Captain's abrupt departure. He walked to the front door, flipped the sign to 'CLOSED', and slid the bolt home, the sound echoing in the now-empty café.
The weight of the night events hung in the air long after the Captain had departed. The café was clean, the chairs were stacked, but the silence felt heavy, violated.
"Let's take a break tomorrow," Zero said suddenly, his voice quiet in the empty room.
Soma, who was putting the last of the clean dishes away, looked over at him. He saw the exhaustion in Zero's posture, the faint shadow of the bruise still on his cheek, and understood it wasn't just about physical tiredness. "Alright," he agreed without hesitation. "Let's just rest."
The next morning, for the first time in a week, the frantic energy of a looming service was absent. Sunlight streamed into the loft, but both Zero and Soma remained in their beds, luxuriating in the simple, profound pleasure of having nowhere to be and nothing to do. They were being deliberately, wonderfully lazy.
"If only we had our Blackberry phones," Soma said from his room, his voice muffled by his pillow.
Zero sighed from his own bed, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. "Haaahhh, I know," he called back. "I want to play a game. Or just scroll through something mindless. I'm so bored."
"Alright," Soma's voice came again, followed by the sound of him finally rolling out of bed. "What do you want for breakfast? I'm not doing anything fancy."
"Just pancakes, please," Zero replied.
A few minutes later, the sweet, comforting smell of batter hitting a hot, buttery pan wafted through the loft. It was a scent that could coax anyone from their slumber. Zero finally got up, drawn by the aroma, and found a tall stack of perfectly golden-brown pancakes waiting for him at the dining table.
As they ate in comfortable silence, Zero's mind drifted. He remembered the feeling of his head being slammed into the hard wood of the bar, the wrenching pain in his horn, the cold, suffocating feeling of powerlessness. He had been strong enough to endure it, but he was tired of just enduring. He wanted the power to make sure it never happened again.
He put his fork down, a new, hard glint in his eye. He took a deep breath, exhaling the last of his lazy morning languor. "Soma," he said, his voice quiet but charged with a sudden, unshakeable resolve. "Get your ass to the bathroom. Go take a shower."
Soma, in the middle of a large bite dripping with syrup, paused and looked at him, confused. "Hahh? Now? Why?"
"We're doing our second Gacha today," Zero declared.
Soma's confusion vanished, replaced instantly by a wide, brilliant grin. "Alright then!" he said cheerfully, swallowing his mouthful of pancake. He jumped up from the table, his energy matching Zero's newfound determination. "Don't start without me!" he called, already heading for the bathroom.
Freshly showered and dressed in clean, casual clothes, Zero and Soma stood before the old-fashioned cash register, the source of their strange new power. The café was quiet, the morning light still soft and gentle.
"Are you sure we need to do all this?" Soma asked, leaning against the counter with a skeptical look. "It's just Gacha. You just tap the button."
"Shush," Zero hissed, his expression one of utmost gravity. "This is important. It's a ritual." He put his hands together in a prayer-like gesture and motioned for Soma to follow suit. Soma rolled his eyes but reluctantly copied the pose.
Zero closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly. "Dear Cecil," he began, his voice a low, reverent murmur. "God of Celestial Paperwork, Divine Intern of Domain 6-A. It is I, your humble, off-the-books reincarnation. Please bless me with good cards today. I'm not asking for Goku or Vegetta rank cards right off the bat, just something useful. May your divine pen never run out of ink, and may your paperwork be miraculously lessened... should you choose to grant me good fortune."
Soma snorted. "Are you praying to him or cursing him with more work if he doesn't deliver?"
Zero opened one eye, a devilish smile spreading across his face. "Depends entirely on the outcome of these next few moments."
"Stop that," Soma said, shaking his head. "You look like a third-rate cartoon villain when you smile like that."
Ignoring him, Zero turned back to the register. He took a deep breath, then tapped the screen. The blue holographic display flickered to life, showing their hard-earned balance: 3790 Gacha Points.
Soma's eyes lit up. "Uuuu, do three 11-pulls! Go on!"
Zero nodded, his focus absolute. He tapped the [11x Draw] button once. A soft chime echoed, and the number dropped. He tapped it a second time. Another chime. And a third. With each tap, a shimmering, foil-wrapped pack of cards materialized from the register's slot with a soft hiss, hovering gently in the air before them.
There were three packs in total, each with a different cartoonish image of Cecil on the front. One showed him winking with a peace sign, just like their first pack. The second had him looking smug, holding a clipboard like a trophy. The third, however, showed Cecil with huge, comical tears streaming down his face.
Soma pointed at the last one. "Let's just hope the crying one isn't the bad luck pack."
"Stop it! Don't jinx them!" Zero whispered frantically.
Soma threw his hands up in mock exasperation. "Why are you getting mad at me? You're the one who already pulled the packs. It's too late for jinxes!"
