(Maguro's POV)
I have discovered something terrifying.
More terrifying than sea monsters. More terrifying than jellyfish in your gills. More terrifying than when the Sea King tried karaoke.
Sidewalks.
They are hard. Too hard. Why do humans walk on this every day? It's like stepping on angry coral with every step.
I stood on the edge of the boardwalk, barefoot, hugging my arms. My hair—still wet and tangled—stuck to my face. The breeze was cold. Not ocean-cold. Land-cold. Dry-cold. Coffee-without-cream-cold.
I had… no plan.
No money. No clothes other than my soaked seafoam dress. No place to sleep. No idea what a "job" actually was, except that the barista had asked if I wanted one after I drank six tiny cups of coffee and tried to sleep inside her cabinet.
"I can't stay there forever," I muttered.
"They caught me stealing creamer packets."
Not to eat them. I just wanted to read the ingredients.
Anyway.
I wandered through town like a confused sea spirit.
Humans were everywhere. Riding shiny metal whales (they called them cars), talking into tiny rectangular conch shells (phones), and sipping coffee like it was water—which, to me, it now was.
I needed a job.
Jobs earned money. Money bought coffee. Coffee gave me life.
So naturally, I walked up to the nearest building with a nice smell and shouted, "I AM HERE FOR EMPLOYMENT."
The woman behind the counter blinked.
"Uh… this is a flower shop."
"I can make flowers bloom with passion."
She slowly turned the sign to CLOSED.
My next stop was a store with blinking lights and loud music. I figured that meant excitement. Perhaps a battle arena?
It was called "SuperMega Gacha Gifts."
"Are you hiring warriors?" I asked the guy behind the counter, who was chewing on a stick of something pink and stretchy.
"Uh… you mean employees?"
"Yes! For quests. Trials. Bean-related missions."
He stared. "You okay?"
"I am full of caffeine and purpose."
He gave me a free keychain and told me to go "rest."
I started to lose hope by mid-afternoon. The sun beat down on my new skin, and I missed the water. Even the kelp. Even the creepy fish that watched you sleep.
I flopped dramatically onto a bench near the pier, sighing like a tragic opera fish. "How do humans do it? This whole... living thing?"
A shadow fell over me.
A seagull.
It was eyeing me. Suspicious. Like it knew I didn't belong.
"What do you want?" I whispered.
It hopped closer. Then, as if mocking me, it dropped a crumpled flyer at my feet before flying off with a cackle.
I picked it up.
"FOR SALE: COZY SEASIDE CAFÉ
Slightly haunted.Needs renovation.Comes with espresso machine (possibly cursed).
CHEAP.12 salt coins OBO.Call: 555-BEAN"
My heart skipped a beat.
A café?
My café?
I clutched the flyer to my chest. "This is it. This is fate. A sign. A breadcrumb trail of destiny. Delivered by… a seagull."
Now, I didn't have a phone. Or salt coins. Or… any idea what "OBO" meant.
But I had determination.
I sprinted back to the barista stall from earlier—the only person I'd met who didn't run away when I monologued about bean destiny.
She sighed when she saw me. "Back again?"
"YES," I said, slamming the flyer down.
"Please help me contact this sacred number."
She stared at the paper. "You wanna buy this place?"
"Yes."
"You don't even have shoes."
"I can offer seashells. Or emotional vulnerability."
She snorted. "You're weird. I like it." Then she handed me her phone.
I dialed. My fingers hit the buttons wrong five times before she took it back and dialed for me.
A raspy voice answered. "Yeah?"
"HELLO," I said. "I, MAGURO, RETAINER OF THE SEA KING AND NOW A COFFEE DISCIPLE, WISH TO PURCHASE YOUR HAUNTED CAFE."
Pause.
"...Cash or card?"
The address was scrawled on the back of a napkin. I followed it through winding roads, past old buildings and quiet alleys until I found it.
There it stood.
"DEAD BEAN'S HOLLOW."
Faded paint. Crooked sign. Boarded windows. Plants growing out of the roof. One shutter was hanging by a single nail and squeaked in the breeze like a dying seal.
It was perfect.
I approached slowly, heart thudding. Not out of fear. Out of joy.
This was it.
My café.
It smelled faintly of dust, ghosts, and leftover cinnamon. I gently pushed the door open.
It creaked.
The inside was dim, sunlight leaking through gaps in the boards. Dust danced in the air like little sleepy sea fairies. The counter was scratched, but sturdy. Old mugs sat abandoned like forgotten dreams.
And then I heard it.
A clink.
A cup?
No. A chain?
I turned.
A shadow moved behind the counter.
And then—
"WHO DARES DISTURB THE SLUMBER OF CHIYO THE BARISTA?!"
I screamed.
Loudly.
Tripped over a chair.
Fell flat on my face.
A ghost floated up from the back room wearing an old apron, holding a half-transparent coffee pot.
She stared at me.
I stared at her.
"…Are you here for the 2 p.m. shift?" she asked.
Turns out, her name was Chiyo. She died in this café. Overworked. Underpaid. But passionate. The perfect employee.
Now she just… haunts the place. Casually. Grumpily.
"I never got to finish my final cup," she said, floating over to the espresso machine.
"Now I make ghost coffee. It's hot, but emotionally cold."
"That's… really sad," I said softly.
She shrugged. "Eh. At least it's quiet now."
"But… what if I reopened it?" I asked.
"What if we served coffee again?"
She narrowed her eyes. "To humans?"
"Yes."
She floated closer. "You're not… entirely human, are you?"
"I was once tuna."
Long pause.
"…That explains the hair."
We sat in silence for a moment. I took in the peeling paint, the ancient bean grinder, the wobbly stools.
"I want to bring this place back," I whispered.
"Make it alive again. Not just for me… but for people who need a little peace. A little bean-based magic."
Chiyo floated in midair, upside down. "That's the most dramatic line I've ever heard."
"I can offer you co-ownership. And a stool."
"I can't sit."
"…Fair."
She was quiet for a moment. Then "Fine. I'm in. But we're repainting. And absolutely no pumpkin spice until October."
And just like that… it began.
I had no money.
No plan.
No building permit.
But I had a ghost.
A dream.
And a flyer that may or may not have been delivered by a psychic seagull.
I looked around the broken café, eyes sparkling with caffeine-fueled determination.
"This is it," I whispered. "This is my café. My future. My destiny."
Chiyo floated behind me. "Cool. Now grab a mop, rookie. The haunted espresso machine just leaked ectoplasm."
To be continued…