Finally. I could finally say the words.
I stood in the centre of the room with my hands on my hips. I took a deep, satisfied breath. The air smelt of fresh varnish, roasted beans, and the specific, sterile scent of new equipment. It was not a strategic location. It was just the renovated first floor of my house, tucked away from the main road, but it was mine.
"My coffee shop," I whispered. The words tasted sweet on my tongue. "This is where my life actually starts."
Everything was perfect. The espresso machine was calibrated. The floors were swept so clean you could eat off them. I had spent the last hour stocking the shelves. Satisfied, I walked to the front door. I just wanted to step out and take a look at the facade from the street.
I unlocked it. I pushed the handle down. I swung the door open.
I expected the grey asphalt of the city street. I expected the noise of motorbikes, the humidity of the city, and maybe a stray cat or two.
Instead, I was greeted by a wall of blue.
"Ehhh?"
I blinked. I was not painted blue. It was depth. Infinite, sky-blue with fluffy white clouds drifting lazily across my field of vision.
Slam.
I shut the door immediately. My heart did a weird flutter in my chest.
"Okay," I muttered and backed away. "Too much caffeine, maybe. Or lack of sleep. I am hallucinating. I am going to open this door again, and there will be my motorcycle, Yamaha Jupiter Z, parked in front of my fence."
I gripped the handle. My palms were sweaty against the cool metal. I counted to three. I yanked it open.
The blue sky was still there. And a breeze, a fresh and clean breeze that smelt of grass and ozone, ruffled my hair.
"It is impossible, right? Am I dreaming? Is this a lucid dream?"
I slammed it shut again. Then opened it. Slammed. Opened. The view remained stubbornly panoramic.
"What the hell is going on?!"
I stepped out. My foot did not land on my concrete porch. It landed on wooden planks. I gripped the railing, a rustic wooden fence that definitely was not there yesterday, and looked down.
My stomach dropped into my shoes.
My house was not on the ground. It was perched on the side of a colossal tree, the kind of tree that should not exist. The trunk was wider than a skyscraper. Below me, far, far below, was a sea of green. An endless meadow of swaying grass that stretched to the horizon, unbroken by roads, buildings, or power lines.
"You have got to be kidding me..."
To my right, a spiral wooden staircase wound its way down the trunk. I looked at it, then back at my shop. Curiosity won over terror. I had to know what was down there.
I started the descent. It was a mistake. The tree was so massive that the stairs seemed to go on forever. By the time I reached the massive, rough roots at the base, my legs were swollen, and my lungs were burning. I collapsed onto the soft grass, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
"Haa... haa... haa..."
I lay on my back and stared up at the canopy. The leaves were impossibly high, filtering the sunlight into dappled gold. The heat was different here. It was not the stinging heat I was used to. It was warm, dry, and gentle.
A few minutes passed, and I regained control of my body. I sat up and scanned the surroundings again. Grass. Wind. Sky.
"Is this the afterlife?" I wondered aloud. "Am I in the Field of Reeds? But if this is heaven, why is it just a field? Does this mean I have to farm wheat for eternity? That is no way. That belief is from the other part of the world and thousands of years ago."
If it was not the afterlife, logic, or at least the logic of the hundreds of light novels I had read, suggested only one other option.
A fantasy world or game world.
And if this were a fantasy world with a blending game, there would have to be a system.
I stood up, cleared my throat, and felt incredibly stupid. "STATUS."
Of course, it would not work, right?
Ding.
A semi-transparent window popped into existence right in front of my nose. I jumped back and nearly tripped over a tree root.
| NAME: DARYA |
| RACE: HUMAN |
| JOB: BARISTA |
I stared at it. It was underwhelming.
"That is it?" I poked the screen. My finger passed through the light. "No Strength? No Agility? No Mana Points? This is basically just my ID card."
If the system worked on voice commands, maybe I just needed the right keyword. Status was too broad. I needed specifics.
"Attribute!"
Nothing. The wind blew silently.
"Information!" Still nothing.
"Stats! Profile! Character Sheet!" Silence.
"Skill!"
Ding.
A second window appeared, hovering below the first.
| SKILL LIST |
[SHOP OWNER (UNNAMED)]
[REPLENISH ITEM]
"Only two skills." I frowned. "And what does Shop Owner even do?"
I tapped the text. It expanded, revealing a block of text.
[SHOP OWNER (UNNAMED)] Evidence of Cafe Ownership. The Cafe acts as an Absolute Sanctuary. It neutralises all hostile powers, magic, and physical force within a 300-meter radius. The structure cannot be destroyed by any means. If an entity harbours Killing Intent or Destructive Intent within this zone, the gravitational pressure around them will be multiplied, rendering them immobile.
[REPLENISH ITEM] All inventory consumed or lost will be fully replenished at the start of every day (06:00 AM).
I read it twice. Then a third time.
"So," I muttered while processing the information. "My coffee shop is basically an indestructible bunker with infinite supplies. And if someone tries to start a fight, gravity crushes them. Okay. That is... reassuring."
But something was missing. The skill said (UNNAMED).
"How do I register the name? Is there a command? REGISTRATION!" I shouted at the sky. Nothing. "CAFE REGISTRATION!"
Ding.
| STATE SHOP NAME | | _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ |
The cursor blinked, waiting.
I rubbed my chin. Naming a shop was hard enough in the real world. In a fantasy world located in a giant tree? Yggdrasil Coffee? No, too cliché. Treehouse Brews? Too childish.
I thought about what a coffee shop meant to me. It was a place where people sat, read, talked, and learnt. A place of information. In my native tongue, Javanese, the word for knowledge was Kawruh. And the word for place was Panggonan.
Panggonan Kawruh. The Place of Knowledge. It sounded distinct. Grounded. A little bit of home in this fantasy world.
"Panggonan Kawruh," I said clearly.
| STATE CAFE NAME: PANGGONAN KAWRUH | | REGISTRATION COMPLETE |
A warm, golden light briefly enveloped my body, then faded. The text on the skill changed from (UNNAMED) to [SHOP OWNER (PANGGONAN KAWRUH)].
"Okay. One thing is settled." I dusted off my pants. "Now... wait a second."
A cold sweat broke out on my neck.
"My stock."
I had prepared the shop, yes. But I hadn't actually bought the bulk supplies yet. The jars were empty. The fridge was empty.
Replenish Item only works if there is an item to replenish!
Panic overtook exhaustion. I sprinted back to the spiral staircase and bolted up the steps. By the time I reached the balcony, my lungs were screaming, and my legs felt like lead. I threw myself through the door and scanned the interior.
The shop was split into two distinct vibes.
The front area, the "Working Zone", was sleek and modern. Monochrome black and white tiles, industrial-style lamps, a long wooden counter, and six sturdy chairs arranged around two tables. It was serious and professional.
The back area, the "Relaxing Zone", was a different world. I had designed it with a pop-art theme with vibrant colours, abstract wall art, and a plush carpet covering the entire floor. There were no chairs, just low tables and ten massive, overstuffed beanbag pillows. It was a no-shoes zone meant for lounging.
I ignored the decor and ran to the storage room. Empty. I checked the cupboards behind the counter. Empty. No beans. No milk. No sugar. Just empty jars and clean machinery.
"DAMN IT!" I slammed my hand on the counter. "There is not a single supply here! What is the point of an indestructible shop if I cannot serve anything?!"
I paced back and forth while clutching my hair. Think, Darya. Think like a gamer. The skill says Replenish. Maybe the supplies are not physical yet? Maybe they are in a pocket dimension? What do games usually have?
"BAG!" Nothing. "STORAGE!" Nothing. "INVENTORY!"
Ding.
A massive grid filled my vision. It was beautiful.
Everything I needed was there, represented by little digital pictures.
"Oh, thank god." I slumped against the espresso machine, sliding down until I hit the floor. "I do not have to farm beans."
I checked the sink. I turned the faucet. Crystal clear water flowed out. I tasted it. Cool, clean, refreshing. "Utilities check out. Tables check. Chairs check. Toilet... check."
I sat on one of the stools and wiped sweat from my forehead. "Now, the menu."
I picked up one of the laminated menus I had printed yesterday. It was perfect. High-quality photos, clear fonts. But... Will there be customers? And if there are, how do I charge them? This menu is in Rupiah. Fantasy worlds usually use Copper, Silver, and Gold.
I tapped the counter. If one copper is roughly a penny, or maybe a thousand Rupiah... how do I even calculate the exchange rate?
SLAM!
The sound of the front door hitting the wall echoed like a gunshot.
I jumped and nearly fell off the stool. A voice, smooth as velvet but heavy with authority, drifted into the room.
"Oho... a human? In a place such as this?"
I slowly turned my head to the source of the voice.
Standing in the doorway was a woman. She was dressed entirely in black. A flowing gothic robe that looked like it cost more than my entire house, polished black boots, and gloves. Her skin was as pale as moonlight, contrasting sharply with her long, obsidian hair.
She took a step inside. Click. Her boot hit the floorboard. She walked toward me, step by step. She did not walk like a normal person. She moved with a predator's grace, every motion deliberate.
She reached the counter and sat on the stool beside me. She leaned in, her face inches from mine. I could smell her scent. It was like night-blooming flowers and old books. She was mesmerising. Beautiful in a way that felt dangerous.
And then I saw them. Curling from her temples, blending into her black hair, were two thick, black sheep horns.
I stared. I could not look away. I saw her lips moving, but my brain had short-circuited. The sound was not reaching my ears. I was completely bewitched.
Smack.
A sharp sting on my cheek. My head snapped to the side. The heat of the slap flooded my face, snapping me back to reality.
"Art thou alive?" she demanded.
Her voice finally registered. It was archaic, regal, and slightly annoyed.
"Ah... yes," I stammered and rubbed my cheek. "I am alive."
"Good," she said and leaned back. "I was speaking unto thee, yet thou remained silent. Methought thou wert a living dead, or perhaps a golem."
"Just... stunned," I muttered. "I am alive."
She looked around the shop, her red eyes narrowing. "Then, what is this place? 'Tis... strange. I have never seen such architecture."
"This is a coffee shop."
"'Koffi'?" She tilted her head, testing the word. Her expression was one of genuine confusion.
Right. No coffee in this world.
"Perhaps you know about tea?" I asked.
"If thou speakest of possets and herbal infusions, I wot of them."
"It is similar. If tea comes from a leaf, coffee comes from a bean. We roast it, grind it, and brew it."
"A bean brew?" She looked intrigued. "That is quite... interesting."
"Here." I grabbed the menu from the counter and slid it toward her. "Take a look. This is the menu."
"Menu?" She picked it up, holding it delicately.
"It is a list of the food and drink I serve. So you can choose."
"Ah. A scroll of offerings."
She turned the menu over in her hands. Her frown deepened. She scratched the surface with a long, black fingernail. Scritch-scratch.
"What is this artefact?" she murmured.
"The menu..."
"Nay, the material. This paper is impossibly thick. And there is... a barrier? It feels smooth, like ice, yet it bends."
"Ah! That." I tapped the menu. "It has been laminated. With plastic. It shields the paper from water."
"Laminated... means shielded," she repeated slowly. "And what meanest thou by... 'plastic'?"
I froze.
How do you explain synthetic polymers derived from petrochemicals to a medieval fantasy demon? It is made from cellulose, coal, natural gas, salt, and crude oil, concepts that probably do not exist in her vocabulary.
"It is made from..." I gestured vaguely. "Natural resources. From deep underground. Oil, mostly."
"Oil?" She looked sceptical. "Thou turnest oil into a transparent shield? Is this alchemy?"
"No, not magic. Just... processing. It is made with natural resources."
"I wot not of these resources," she muttered and traced the words. "Thou art strange, human."
"Yeah, I get that a lot."
She looked back at the menu. "And this script? What tongue is this? All these words are drinks?"
"Yes. Cappuccino, Latte, Espresso..."
"I cannot visualise them," she said as she put the menu down. "How am I to choose?"
"How about I show you?"
Her eyes widened. "Show me? Thou mean... thou shalt brew every single one for my inspection? Thou art surprisingly gracious for a human."
"No! No, I mean pictures. Just wait here a second."
I did not wait for an answer. I hopped off the stool and rushed to the stairs leading to the second floor. I had a reference book in my room, a "World of Coffee" visual encyclopedia I used for inspiration.
I ran up to my room and scanned the bookshelf. I had arranged everything alphabetically, so it only took a second to find it. I grabbed the book and ran back down.
"Okay, look at thi..."
I stopped. The stool at the counter was empty.
I spun around. My heart stopped. She was in the back. In the Relaxing Zone.
She was sitting smack in the middle of the pristine, fluffy grey carpet. Wearing her dirty, outdoor boots.
"AHHH!" I screamed while pointing at her feet. "You cannot go in there with shoes on!"
She blinked, looking down at her boots, then at me. "Why? And what are these?" She poked one of the massive beanbag cushions with her toe. "They are soft. Bigger than any pillow I have seen."
"Because that is a carpet! It gets dirty!" I pointed frantically to the sign on the wall, a red circle with a shoe crossed out. "Can you not read the sign?!"
"I see a red circle and a line," she said calmly. "I wot not its meaning. Is it a warding sigil?"
Of course. Universal symbols are not universal in another world. Does it mean it lost the meaning of universal, then?
"It means 'No Shoes'! Please, just come out of there!"
"May I bring this cushion?" she asked, already hugging a lime-green beanbag that was half her size.
"Yes! Whatever! Just get off the carpet!"
She stood up and dragged the beanbag to the front of the shop. I watched in horror as she left a trail of faint dust prints on my clean carpet. She dropped the cushion in front of the counter and sat on it, hugging it to her chest like a prize.
I sat on the floor beside her, trying to ignore the dirt, and opened the book.
"So," I said and flipped to the page on milk-based drinks. "These are the pictures of the drinks on that menu."
She leaned in. Her eyes went wide. She traced the image of a latte art fern.
"Didst thou... paint all of this?" she whispered.
"Paint?"
"The detail... the shading... the reflection of the light in the cup." She looked at me, her red eyes shining with awe and a hint of pride. "Thou painted these? Thou hast a terrifying talent."
"Ah... haha..." I laughed nervously. "Something like that."
She touched the page again, then checked her finger.
"No paint," she noted. "No smudge. No texture. The parchment is smooth as glass." She looked at me, her expression shifting from arrogance to genuine curiosity. "How didst thou create this?"
"That is... a secret," I deflected. "More importantly, look at this chart."
I pointed to a diagram breaking down the ratio of milk, foam, and espresso. "This explains the difference. See? A latte has more steamed milk, while a cappuccino has more foam."