The plaza had more eyes today.
Not a crowd.Not a flash mob.No cheering.No lines winding into the street.
Just… more glances that lingered.More footsteps that slowed, then moved on.More phones that hovered before being tucked away.
It wasn't noise.It was pressure—soft, ambient, present.
Jun didn't change his rhythm.
He unpacked the kit the same way.
Cloth unfolded with deliberate folds.Dripper centered.Grinder placed just to the left.Kettle aligned at a slight angle for easy reach.
Everything in its place.
Same setup.Same tempo.Same breath between motions.
His gear looked the way it always had.
Faded.Reliable.Worn.
But functional.
But his.
[System Buff: Consistency Bonus – Brew Reliability +6%]
The first few cups flowed like a steady song.
One for a jogger who nodded with breathless gratitude.One for a man in a business coat, who took a picture of the steam before sipping.One for a girl in headphones who dropped 10 Notes without making eye contact or pausing her music.
The kettle hissed softly.
The dripper emptied clean.
The cloth absorbed the occasional drip.
The flow stayed calm.
Then—a shadow lingered.
Jun glanced up.
A young man stood a few feet back.
Crisp jacket.Designer boots.Camera lens hanging from one shoulder.
Arms crossed.
Brows furrowed.
But his eyes weren't on Jun's hands.They were on the tools.
The scratched ceramic dripper.The warped hand grinder.The thin, almost-too-small cloth with fraying corners.
"That's what you're using?" the man said, voice skeptical.
Jun nodded once.
"Still works."
The man snorted.
Not cruel.But clearly unimpressed.
"I mean… respect, I guess. But with the reach you're getting now? You could've at least upgraded to something cleaner."
Jun didn't answer right away.
Instead, he ground another batch of beans.Slowly.Evenly.
Let the burrs catch and sing.Let the rhythm stay unbroken.
Then he poured.Calm.Precise.
The man didn't move.Didn't sip.Just kept talking.
"Look. Your name's floating in some of my circles. Barista heads. Artisan threads. Street-side brew aesthetics. You're getting clicks, dude."
Jun raised an eyebrow slightly.
"And?"
The man tilted his head, a little incredulous.
"And people are watching now. Don't you want to represent better? You know—look the part?"
Jun didn't argue.
He didn't snap.
He just handed the finished cup to the next customer—an older woman who had waited patiently with her scarf wrapped twice around her neck.
She took it with both hands.
Sipped.
Smiled.
Left a few extra Notes and walked off humming something tuneless.
Only then did Jun turn back.
"No one tastes the handle," he said.
The man blinked.
Jun didn't stop.
"No one tastes the shine.Or the metal edge.Or the name brand stamped under the kettle."
He rinsed the filter.
Steam rose again.
"Only thing that reaches the tongue is what I pour.And that hasn't changed."
[System Log: Response Logged – Artisan Identity Reinforced][Trait Progression: Integrity +6%]
The man stood silent for a moment.
The skepticism in his posture didn't vanish—but it softened.He looked again at the gear.Then at Jun's hands.Then at the steam rising from the cloth-covered cart.
Finally, he nodded.
Not dramatically.Just once.
"Alright," he said. "You do you."
He turned and walked away.
Camera swinging against his hip.
Boots tapping a little slower than before.
Jun didn't watch him go.
Didn't puff up.Didn't deflate.Didn't change.
He reset the kit.Rinsed the dripper again.Wiped the cloth.Waited for the next cup.
Same rhythm.Same gear.Same purpose.
If the world wanted flash,it could look elsewhere.
If it wanted truth—
it could find it here.
One scratched handle at a time.
[System Record – Storyline ID: S08-Origin]Logged User: Stylsite08Path: Stillness to Mastery
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