The bell above the café door chimed softly, announcing a new arrival. Soma and Zero, who were busy serving the last of their evening customers, looked up. A small boy with oversized glasses and a serious expression walked in, looking around the café with a curious, analytical gaze.
Soma's face split into a wide, mischievous grin. Seizing the opportunity, he walked over to the small figure. "Hello there, little guy," he said in a loud, patronizing voice, ruffling the boy's hair with a rough, brotherly affection.
The child—Erwin in his Conan form—gave a tight, forceful smile. He slowly reached up, his small hand closing around Soma's wrist with a surprising strength, and physically removed the offending hand from his head. "My friends told me this was a good café," Erwin said, his voice a perfect imitation of a polite, inquisitive child, "but seeing the chef, I'm starting to doubt the food is any good."
Soma's grin twitched, genuinely ticked off by the jab. He held his anger in check, playing along with the charade. "Alright, little man," he said through gritted teeth. "Go sit wherever you like. Do you need a booster seat to reach the table?"
Erwin simply took a seat at an empty table, his small legs dangling far from the floor. From behind the bar, Zero, still wearing his veiled hat, smirked, trying to hold back a laugh at the silent, vicious battle of wills unfolding before him.
Time passed. The last of the loyal customers finished their meals, paid their compliments, and headed home into the night. Erwin, who had been subjected to Soma's relentless teasing for the entire evening—being offered milk instead of water, having his food cut into tiny, child-sized pieces—finally had enough. He stomped angrily up the stairs to the living quarters.
"Ahahahaha!" Soma laughed, watching him go. "You have two powerful cards inside you, and you still get mad like a child! Oh, wait," he added, his voice dripping with mock realization, "one of your cards is a child!"
"The only child here is YOU!" Erwin's furious, high-pitched voice shouted from upstairs.
Zero laughed along with Soma, the sound warm and easy in the now-empty café. Just then, the bell above the door chimed one last time.
"Welcome," Soma called out, turning from the stairs.
It was Detective Wolfe and Monet Montallet. They looked utterly exhausted, their uniforms rumpled after a long, difficult shift.
"Hello, Watcher officers," Zero said, his voice calm and welcoming. "What can I get for you tonight?"
Monet slumped onto a stool at the bar, her head resting on the cool, polished wood. "Can you get me something... calming?" she mumbled.
"Coffee," Wolfe grunted, taking the stool beside her. "Black."
Zero smiled at their dynamic. He set about preparing a fragrant, calming herbal tea for Monet and a strong, dark coffee for Wolfe. "I know it's late," Zero said, "and it's usually not recommended to order the last batch of food from a tavern, but I can assure you, my chef is good. He's so good that even his last batch is the best you'll have all week."
"Of course!" Soma's voice called from the kitchen.
Monet lifted her head, her interest piqued. "Yes, please," she said, her voice brightening. "I haven't eaten since noon. Can I see a menu?"
Soma appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on his apron. "We only do one meal a day here," he explained. "And it changes every day."
"Wow," Monet said, impressed. "How long have you been doing this?"
"About a month now," Soma said smugly. "In fact, two days from now is the one-month anniversary of our grand opening."
"That's not a thing," Zero said flatly from behind the bar. "An anniversary is a yearly thing."
"It's a monthly thing if you put your mind to it," Soma retorted, before turning his charming smile back to the two officers. "So, do you want to order the food, too? Tonight, it's Pho."
"Pho?" Monet asked, the name unfamiliar.
"It's a kind of noodle soup," Soma explained, his eyes lighting up with a chef's passion. "Rich bone broth that's been simmering all day, tender slices of beef, fresh herbs... I know this: it will cure you of your tiredness."
"One for me, please," Monet said without a second's hesitation.
"I'll pass," Wolfe grunted. "Just the coffee."
Zero placed the steaming mugs in front of them. "Enjoy," he said.
Soma returned from the kitchen carrying a large, steaming bowl. The aroma that preceded him was intoxicating—a rich, complex scent of star anise, cinnamon, and savory beef broth that seemed to physically push back the exhaustion of the long day. He placed the bowl of Pho in front of Monet. It was a work of art: delicate rice noodles submerged in a crystal-clear, amber broth, topped with paper-thin slices of rare beef, fresh cilantro, and vibrant green onions.
The moment the scent hit her, Monet's hunger intensified tenfold. Wolfe, who had been stoically sipping his black coffee, caught the fragrant steam. He coughed, a gruff, failed attempt to cover the sound of his stomach rumbling. He stared into his coffee cup for a moment, then, without looking at anyone, coolly said, "One for me as well, please."
Monet's tired face broke into a teasing grin. "Awww, you smelled my meal, and now you want one too, sir?"
Wolfe shot her a look that could curdle milk. "Boot."
Monet instinctively straightened her posture, her back going ramrod straight. The teasing rookie was gone, replaced by the attentive officer.
"Two runearm-wielding suspects burst into this café," Wolfe began, his voice low and intense, turning the quiet café into a training room. "They've taken the room. What do you do?"
Monet's mind snapped into focus. "Sir, my first priority would be to establish a perimeter, call for backup, and attempt to de-escalate while assessing the number of hostages and the suspects' intent."
"Wrong," Wolfe said flatly. "Look around. One entrance, one exit, and it opens into a narrow alley. A perfect kill zone. There's no 'perimeter' to establish from the outside without getting shot. You're inside, just like tonight. You're the first responder. What do you do now?"
Monet's eyes darted around the café, seeing it now not as a cozy eatery but as a tactical problem. "I would seek cover, sir. The bar is solid wood. The cash register is a reinforced position. I'd try to position myself to have a clear line of sight on both suspects while minimizing civilian exposure."
"The register is also the target," Wolfe countered, his voice like chipping stone. "They want the money. You take cover there, you put yourself in the center of the conflict. The suspects are positioned here," he gestured to where Orimys and Eroan had stood, "one by the door, one in the center. They control the only exit. The owner is behind the bar, a potential hostage. The chef is in the kitchen, a potential flanking threat, but also a civilian. What's your move?"
"I would wait for an opening, sir," Monet stammered, the pressure mounting. "When their attention is divided, I would attempt to neutralize the closest threat, the one in the center, to create an escape path for the civilians."
"And the one by the door shoots you in the back while you're doing it," Wolfe said coldly. "You're outnumbered. You're outgunned. And you have civilians to protect. Your job isn't to be a hero; it's to make sure everyone else gets to go home."
The relentless questioning continued, a verbal barrage that left Monet feeling more drained than her entire shift had. Wolfe picked apart every textbook answer she gave, forcing her to confront the messy, unpredictable reality of their work. The lesson was brutal but clear: the manual could never prepare you for the chaos of a real fight.
The impromptu exam was only halted when Soma returned from the kitchen, placing a steaming bowl of Pho in front of the detective. The rich, savory aroma filled the space between them, a flag of truce in their tactical war game.
Wolfe finally broke eye contact with Monet and looked down at the food. Monet let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
Soma leaned in conspiratorially toward Monet. "I was about to let him do that for another fifteen minutes," he whispered with a mischievous grin.
Monet could only offer a weak, sad smile in return. She picked up her spoon and took her first taste of the Pho. The broth was a revelation—deep, complex, and so profoundly comforting it felt like it was healing her from the inside out. The noodles were perfect, the beef melted in her mouth, and the fresh herbs cut through the richness. It was too good. It was just too delicious to be eaten sad. And for a few blissful moments, she forgot all about tactics, reports, and the endless, wearying night.
…
The lights were off on the café floor, the 'CLOSED' sign a dark silhouette against the streetlamps. In the living quarters above, Zero, Soma, and Erwin sat in a quiet, meditative circle. Miles away, in the cold, dark factory, Sebas stood amidst the wreckage of the Viper gang, his eyes also closed. In an instant, their four consciousnesses converged, their forms solidifying around the familiar round table in the endless void of their shared mind.
Zero looked at the three solid forms of his clones, the feeling of their shared presence still a novel sensation. "It's the first time we're all meeting in the hub like this," he began, opening the meeting.
"Ah!" Soma cut him off, slamming a hand on the table with a dramatic flourish. "Before we start, can we call ourselves 'The Animus Council'? And this place, 'The Animus Hub'?"
Zero blinked. "Why?"
"'Animus' is Latin for soul or mind," Soma explained, a proud, smug grin on his face. "It kind of fits, right? And we're going to grow, get more clones. Can you imagine it? Years from now, that reincarnated saint or whatever is trying to uncover the secret power pulling the strings of the kingdom, and all they find are whispers of a group called 'The Animus Council'? It'll be wild!"
Erwin, who had been listening with a deadpan expression, asked, "Are we plotting to take over the world now?"
"I think it fits," a calm voice said.
They all turned their heads to look at Sebas. The dignified butler, who they expected to be the most reserved, had agreed with Soma's dramatic naming.
"This world is not kind to our Master," Sebas elaborated, his gaze steady. "Sooner or later, you will have to go out into it and not have to wear your veiled hat. To achieve that, a certain level of influence—of power—is required."
"Does your card influence you this much?" Zero asked, a little taken aback by the butler's ambition.
"No. Or perhaps, yes. I do not know," Erwin interjected, his voice quiet but firm. "But I agree with Sebas. We are all you. Every time I walk outside, I see our kind—demons—being kicked, sneered at, and judged simply for existing."
Zero sighed, the weight of their shared experience settling on him. "Let's not talk about that right now. For now... about the gang, Sebas. Can you give us your report?"
Sebas stood. He waved a hand over the table, and the polished wood dissolved, shifting into a shimmering, three-dimensional holographic map of the Evercrest Duchy.
"Whoa, it's the whole duchy," Soma breathed.
"It's not the official map, though," Zero noted, leaning in closer. "Look, the borders are different. A lot different."
"Yes, exactly," Sebas confirmed. "This is the underground map, showing the territories of the various criminal organizations. As you can see, the Viper gang's territory is laughably small." He pointed, and a small, insignificant patch of the map glowed red. "But there is one thing the Vipers had that I need."
"What is it?" Zero asked.
"The red-light district," Sebas stated. "Believe it or not, more than half of their income comes from controlling this single, small area."
Soma looked horrified. "Sebas, what do you need a red-light district for? Sebas, please, there are a lot of STIs out there!"
A serene smile touched the butler's lips. "It is not for that, Young Master Soma. And incidentally, in this world, the prostitutes seem to have regular, mandatory sessions with healers. In turn, the healers are paid to cure them of any... afflictions."
Soma's jaw dropped.
"Sex," Erwin said, his voice cold and analytical. "Not in our past life, nor in this one, has its power diminished. It is a powerful weapon for gathering information."
"I will handle the red-light district for now," Sebas declared. "I will use every resource at my disposal to create an establishment that will rival the Hao Sect from novels on our past life. We can use the waiters, the prostitutes, all the workers who are deemed invisible by the powerful, as our eyes and ears."
He looked at Zero. "All I need is three months. I will come back here to give a full report every week, but other than that, I will not be returning to the café for a while."
"So this is it, then," Zero said, a strange, ironic smile on his face. "I guess this is our first real step toward a 'slow living,' right?"
The four of them looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Their paths were set.
"...To cook the best dish there is," Soma said, his eyes gleaming with a chef's passion.
"...To control the security of this kingdom," Erwin stated, his voice the calm of a commander.
"...To a world," Sebas concluded, his voice a quiet, unshakeable promise, "that will one day be in our grasp."
*A/N*
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*A/N*