The door to the back room was propped open with a brick, letting in a sliver of the Old Quarter's damp, misty air. Leo was polishing the old espresso machine's steam wand for the third time when a shadow fell across the threshold.
A woman stood there, one hand pressed to her temple. Her blazer was smart, but her hair was escaping a messy bun, and her eyes had the wide, frantic look of someone three missed deadlines from collapse.
"Are you… open?" she asked, her voice tight, pitched just a hair too high. "The place down the street, Mystic Brew, they're sold out of their 'Clarity Focus' blend. I have a proposal due in an hour."
Leo set his rag down. His first real customer, and she was a refugee from his old life. He focused on her, letting the
[CUSTOMER: ACUTE COGNITIVE OVERLOAD. MANA SIGNATURE: SCATTERED.]
He nodded, keeping his voice low and steady. "I can help with that. Have a seat. It'll just be a moment."
He turned to his small stash of beans. The cheap, pre-ground stuff was out of the question. His hand went to the unlabeled bag from his grandfather's stash. He focused again.
[BEANS (UNKNOWN VARIETAL). PROPERTY: HONESTY. A FLAVOR THAT REFUSES TO PRETEND.]
No. Not right for her. She didn't need honesty; she needed peace. His fingers brushed another small pouch. The appraisal text shimmered.
[BEANS (HIGH-ALTITUDE ARABICA). NARRATIVE: CLARITY. TASTE PROFILE: UNCLUTTERED SPACE.]
These. He measured them out, the ritual calming his own nerves. The grind was a quiet, rhythmic crush. He tamped the grounds, not with force, but with a focused, almost reverent intention. He imagined the brew as a gentle hand, brushing away the mental clutter. The machine hissed, but this time, the sound was a confident thrum.
He poured the espresso into a simple ceramic cup. The crema was a perfect, nut-brown tiger stripe. He placed it on the counter before her.
She didn't add sugar. She just lifted the cup, her hands finally still, and took a sip.
Her eyes, which had been darting around the room, stopped. They widened, then slowly closed. A long, shuddering breath escaped her. Her shoulders sank away from her ears. When she opened her eyes again, the frantic edge was gone.
"It's not… jittery," she murmured, staring into the cup. "It's not like their stuff at all. It's like… like remembering what a quiet mind feels like."
Leo felt a warmth in his own chest that had nothing to do with the machine. "That's the idea," he said softly.
She finished the cup in two more slow, deliberate sips. When she stood to leave, she pulled out her wallet and placed two crisp bills on the counter: double the price he'd tentatively scrawled on a chalkboard.
"Thank you," she said, and her voice was now firm, grounded. She gave him a small, genuine smile before turning and striding out into the mist, her posture straight.
Leo picked up the money. His first legitimate profit. It felt solid. Real.
A pleasant warmth, like a sip of good whiskey, spread through his veins. A new line of text, edged in a soft gold, appeared in his vision.
[CUSTOMER SATISFACTION: 100%. MANA BONUS AWARDED. (+5 MANA)]
He looked down at the two bills in his hand, then at the empty cup. He hadn't just sold her coffee. He'd given her a moment of peace. And it had worked. Not just for her. For him, too.
Maybe compassion wasn't a weakness. Maybe it was just a different kind of currency.