Shawn sighed at his reflection in the mirror as he pulled on his clothes. "Everyone else is off to the Maldives to enjoy the sun and sand, and here I am, busting my ass looking for a job. Some people really have all the luck."
He stood on the street corner, looking across the road at the coffee shop named "Brokeback Mountain."
"...This coffee shop's name is way too weird. I really wonder what kind of strange person the owner is," he grumbled sincerely at the expensive-looking, raw wood sign.
But this barista job was the highest-paying summer gig he had found online.
He took a deep breath, the air a mixture of car exhaust and the aroma of food wafting from a distant restaurant. He couldn't hesitate any longer. He clutched his resume as if it were a lottery ticket that would decide the fate of his summer, took a step, and walked toward the expensive-looking wooden door across the street.
As he pushed the door open, a crisp brass wind chime rang above his head. Immediately after, a rich and complex aroma washed over him—deeply roasted coffee beans, freshly baked bread, and a hint of... a cold, clean scent of cedarwood.
Shawn's gaze swept across the shop, finally landing on the man behind the counter who was intently wiping a glass cup.
In that instant, only one thought remained in his mind: My God, is the competition for baristas this intense these days?
The man was tall, wearing a simple black T-shirt with a matching apron. The plain attire did nothing to diminish his presence; instead, like the finest picture frame, it made him stand out even more. He had well-defined cheekbones and a pair of eyes the color of a frozen winter lake, and his entire being exuded a masculine charm that was a mixture of ruggedness and refinement.
Just as Shawn was so intimidated by this powerful aura that his legs felt a little weak, the familiar blue screen—the same one that had been roaring at him just a few days ago—unfolded before his eyes without warning.
[System: SSS-rank individual detected: Simon Nessman!]
Shawn's mind went completely blank. SSS-rank? Another one?
[Side Mission Issued: Charm Simon Nessman] [Objective: Make Simon Nessman fall madly in love with you.] [Reward: $500,000.]
Five hundred thousand dollars?!
The number exploded in his mind like a heavy bomb, shattering his pitiful reason and logic to pieces. He even suspected he was hallucinating from excessive nervousness.
However, before he could recover from this earth-shattering news, the text on the screen refreshed, and a new, more urgent command popped up, the font even flickering slightly, as if urging him on.
[Newbie Guide Mission: Now, immediately, make physical contact with the target.] [Reward: $1,000.]
One thousand dollars.
If five hundred thousand was a distant and illusory astronomical figure, then this one thousand dollars was a huge sum that could immediately make his summer incredibly comfortable.
Under the dual temptation of the system's "$500,000" and "$1,000," a tempest raged in Shawn's heart. His sense of morality was engaged in a brutal battle with his survival instincts.
A crazy plan quickly formed in his mind.
He clutched his resume and started walking, each step feeling like he was treading on cotton. He walked up to the counter. The man finally stopped what he was doing, lifted his eyelids, and his lake-like eyes looked over, a gentle, questioning smile even gracing his face.
"Hello, can I help you with something?" His voice was like the man himself, clean and warm, like a summer breeze.
Damn it, he's a nice guy. This makes it even harder to do it, Shawn wailed internally.
"Hello, I... I'm here to apply for the job..." Shawn's voice trembled slightly from his guilty conscience.
"Oh, for an interview? Please give me your resume," Simon's smile was friendly, completely lacking the cold aura an SSS-rank individual ought to have.
Shawn said, "Okay," as he handed over his resume.
The moment Simon reached out to take the resume, Shawn's body suddenly lurched forward, his feet seemingly tripped by his own shadow, and he let out a short cry of alarm.
"Oops!"
He "accidentally" fell, and the resume in his hand scattered with a "whoosh." To steady himself, he subconsciously flailed his hand out on the counter.
Time seemed to stretch out infinitely in that moment.
He could clearly see his own fingertips, at a precisely calculated angle, swiping toward the man's hand, which was suspended in mid-air.
And then, contact.
His fingers, lightly and briefly, brushed against the back of Simon Nessman's hand.
The sensation was startlingly real. The texture of the skin was clear, with a hint of a light callus, and the temperature was much higher than he had imagined. The contact, which lasted less than a second, was like an electric current that shot from his fingertips through his entire body.
The instant his fingers left the other's skin, his phone in his pocket vibrated weakly and rapidly.
[Phone displays: $1000 received.]
It worked!
A complex emotion—a mixture of ecstasy, lingering fear, and guilt—instantly overwhelmed Shawn.
However, this ecstasy didn't last long.
Simon Nessman frowned and pulled his hand back. His movement was so fast it was almost instinctual, as if he had been burned by something scalding, swift and decisive.
Shawn's heart sank violently. A strong sense of shame and guilt washed over him. He didn't dare to look up, just frantically squatted down to pick up the scattered resume. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I... I didn't do it on purpose..." he apologized incoherently, his cheeks burning hot.
He clumsily gathered the resume, stood up again, and handed over the now-wrinkled document with both hands, his head bowed even lower, like a sinner awaiting judgment.
From across the counter, there was a suffocating silence.
The man didn't immediately take the resume, nor did he speak. Shawn could feel a gaze as sharp as a physical object resting on the top of his head, scrutinizing him inch by inch.
After a long, almost unbearable silence, Shawn finally mustered the courage to cautiously look up.
He met a pair of bottomless eyes.
It was a strange look. There was no anger in it, no contempt, but an extreme calm, a kind of cold, rational inquiry, as if he were dissecting and analyzing a specimen. The man was sizing him up with a strange, evaluative gaze, as if pondering every detail of the "accident" that had just occurred.
Before those all-seeing eyes, Shawn felt his clumsy acting was like a transparent sheet of glass, seen through completely by the other person.
Oh no, Shawn cursed inwardly, was my acting so bad that he saw through it?