Karen stared blankly at the owner of the nightclub where she worked, as Tokio, a forty-five-year-old woman, showed her around every corner. The place had two floors.
The upper floor was reserved for guests who simply wanted to sit and watch, or drink their sake while dancing around the half-circular staircase.
The lower floor was entirely for guests who loved parties and loud music. There were square standing tables on the sides, with plenty of sake and waiters busy serving drinks or cleaning glasses.
There was also a special stage with several poles set up so guests could dance as much as they liked. Colored lights shone from every corner while a male DJ in a cap played his equipment skillfully from the stage.
Tokio eventually took her to her office on the first floor. They passed through the crowd and walked down a hallway toward the restroom before Tokio turned into another corridor, where a mahogany-brown door could be seen from a distance.
Tokio opened the door. "Come in," she said softly. Karen followed her inside and looked at Tokio, who sat behind her desk.
"This is your first day of work, isn't it?" she asked, resting her chin on her hand.
"Yes," Karen nodded slightly.
"You know what could possibly happen, right?" she asked again, making sure.
"As long as I don't have to sleep with men or serve them, I understand completely."
Tokio chuckled lightly, the corner of her lips curling upward. "I'm not a Madam. No, none of my employees are allowed to serve the guests. That includes you. But of course, there will be some commotion caused by too much sake," she added.
Tokio glanced at the waitress uniform Karen was wearing. A thigh-length black dress with a flared skirt, paired with a white apron, black knee-high socks, and sharp-heeled shoes.
"That outfit looks good. Be careful out there."
Karen nodded stiffly, turned around, and walked out, while Tokio let out a long sigh.
This new girl was bound to cause some trouble. Tokio decided she would tell Jehd, the security guard, to keep an eye on Karen so the girl wouldn't become the source of new problems.
***
Karen soon realized that what Tokio had said was true. Some men looked drunk, with their ties wrapped around their heads or shirts unbuttoned, exposing round bellies as they breathed heavily.
Karen glanced blankly at a man who had taken off his jacket, his sagging arms and protruding stomach visible, while his glasses slid down his sweat-drenched face. The man looked old.
She noticed the female guest sitting right next to him, wearing a black metallic mini-dress made of lace, enjoying the man's hand on her full backside.
The woman openly flipped her hair aside, letting the man stare at the front of her dress that revealed a deep cleavage. The man licked his lips and leaned closer, while Karen shut her eyes in disgust, knowing what would happen next.
It would surely involve a bed and money, she thought as she opened her eyes and headed to the bartender to collect the empty glasses left by guests. This nightclub didn't only sell sake—they sold all kinds of drinks from around the world. Name it, they had it.
Karen picked up a round brown tray, placed the empty glasses on it, and carried them to the kitchen. She wasn't used to wearing high heels, her feet ached and throbbed. But Tokio's instructions were clear and not to be disobeyed.
Exhaling once, Karen walked slowly along the wall until she finally reached the kitchen and set the dirty dishes down.
There were at least five chefs inside, each with their own tasks. The nightclub served all sorts of food, from Asian to Western and even Middle Eastern cuisine. One of the chefs plated a finished dish—steak covered in brown sauce with fries and peas.
The head chef glanced at her before instructing Karen to take it.
"Table number five," he said softly while looking at the order slip. Karen nodded obediently.
She had to ask another waitress where table number five was since she hadn't memorized the seating layout yet. The plumper waitress pointed upstairs, near the restroom, and Karen nodded again.
She carefully twisted her body, hoping not to spill the food, and miraculously managed to place the plate on the table.
"Your order," she said quickly, about to leave when a hand suddenly grabbed hers.
She looked at the man who had pulled her. He was wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt with a white undershirt beneath. He couldn't have been older than thirty. But Karen only stared at him blankly.
"You're new, aren't you?" he asked, intrigued, as he stood up.
There were at least two other women at the table wearing mini dresses, and another man sitting across from them, sipping his drink.
"Yes. I'm new," she answered without interest.
The man seemed interested and clearly had no intention of letting go of her hand. His arrogant, mocking smile—something Karen particularly despised.
"Good. Come, keep me company."
He pulled Karen to sit beside him without permission. And if that wasn't enough, he placed his arm around her shoulders.
"You should eat your order."
"Ah, but tonight I'm craving something else."
"Then please say what it is. I'll have the chef prepare it."
The man laughed in disbelief and touched Karen's chin, making her eyebrows twitch slightly, showing faint displeasure.
"I want to order you tonight."
Karen was silent. She knew Tokio had said her waitresses wouldn't be touched, so she stepped back, brushed the man's hand away politely, and quickly stood up. Her eyes were blank, her voice firm.
"If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."
Karen walked toward the stairs, descending unhurriedly. But she hadn't expected the man to follow her. He grabbed her shoulder again as they stepped onto the lower floor.
"Wait..!"
Karen was about to free herself from his grip when she turned around—only for her gaze to catch on the door as it opened, revealing a man in a suit walking in.
The man removed his sunglasses, scanning the room with a sharp gaze. His posture was relaxed, one hand in his pocket, the expensive watch on his wrist peeking from under his sleeve.
He lightly tapped his sunglasses against his thigh as his eyes swept over the room, calculating. One of the guards approached, bowed respectfully, and whispered something in his ear—though how that was possible in such a noisy place was unclear.
The man frowned slightly as he listened carefully, then looked upward, as though thinking something over. He nodded once, scanned the room again without missing a beat, then put his sunglasses back on and moved upstairs, his eyes fixed on the crowd.
"Hey! Are you listening to me?" the man in the Hawaiian shirt barked.
For a moment, Karen's attention was entirely on the suited man above, before she turned back to the stubborn drunk in front of her.
"Do you need anything else?" Karen didn't raise her voice, only made it one tone firmer.
The man grew even bolder, leaning closer, his alcohol-laced breath on her face. "I want to order you tonight!"
Karen's expression stayed blank, though she clearly felt insulted being mistaken for a prostitute. Her voice was calm, almost cold, though tinged with offense. "I will find another woman for you."
"Are you deaf? I said I want you tonight!" Then he hugged her, squeezing her backside.
That was her limit. Karen shoved him away quickly, her eyes narrowing sharply. "I am not a prostitute," she replied flatly.
"Name your price. There's no way i can't buy you."
Before Karen could answer, the suited man suddenly appeared behind them, startling both.
"She is not for sale. Didn't you hear her?" he asked softly.
His eyes scanned Karen from head to toe, the corner of his lips curling as if deciding on something. As though… he intended to buy Karen for the night himself.