Chương 9: I Prefer Tea

It was 11: 47 PM and Soren was sitting in the dark on the edge of the bed. The wall of the building next door seemed to have been repainted a darker gray, a shapeless color that made that old, rusty clothesline a humiliating place for the garments hanging there. Soren had already grown accustomed to the company of that wall. It was ideal for certain existential reflections, as it possessed distinct advantages over a confessional or a mass, or at the very least, it did not cause any sort of distraction.

Since the bus stop, his cell phone had vibrated more than six times. The messages came from the same sequence of zeros, and they all contained variations of text. The desperation was becoming clear; the first messages read in a cordial tone, while the second ones were a bit more rushed with a slight touch of delusion, and the last ones looked like a message from someone who had lost a big bet to a friend. They were messages along the lines of: "please answer right now, not two minutes from now."

And even so, he had not replied to a single one. Despite the attempts, Soren knew that sooner or later the meeting would end up happening; he had known this since the moment he raised his hand in that parking lot at three in the morning. But for him, this resistance gave him a kind of satisfaction in making them wait, maintaining the illusion that there was still a choice in determining his destiny, even when the choice had already been made. On his desk lay the famous employee of the month certificate.

Soren had left it next to his house keys and his coffee mug, which was already cold and nearly empty. He had brought it home for a few personal reasons: first, that frame looked much better on the wall in front of his bed than next to a questionable raccoon, and second, this certificate was a sort of physical offering of a reward from a world full of bureaucracy—or perhaps simply because it was funny, and for Soren, it made him believe that the universe possessed some sense of humor. Exemplary crisis management.

Soren could not get that phrase out of his head; he smiled to himself at the wall on the other side of his window. Behind him, his cell phone vibrated once more—probably another drama in message form. Damn it. This time, Soren uncrossed his arms on the windowsill and unlocked the phone. He lay down on the bed and began to read that message. Revised Request From: Director Tanaka, WID. Subject: Request for consultation. (Urgent.) Dear Mr.

Vonesdar, We have noted your continued lack of response; however, recent events in Tokyo require a conversation between us. Please keep in mind, I am not your enemy. Proposed location: Café Lunem, Shibuya. Time: 9: 00 AM. Topic: Gas leak. Note: The coffee is excellent. Soren couldn't believe it. The government folks had the nerve to use his own excuse; the gas leak was a creative invention that had cost some imagination. This cheap copycat attempt could be just as much an excellent sign for him as a terrible one.

He looked back up at the ceiling, that ceiling he had already dubbed rock art that had clearly never been understood by anyone who looked at it. The outline of a country he had visited once, when the world was totally different from what it is now. Back then, he was something completely distinct from a convenience store clerk, something more socially interesting. I am not your enemy.

Soren spent four seconds reading those words that sounded like a cheap attempt by a child wanting to be friends with another; after all, he had spent centuries listening to these kinds of messages. You had to have a lot of nerve. Reading it, it read simply like this: I want to be your friend because I am not your enemy. And most of the time, it was never true. However, a few centuries ago, everyone who mentioned it ended up dead or regretting ever being born.

For now, that remained to be proven; since the 2000s, more tolerance is demanded of society, as Tokyo is a regulated city where magic is controlled. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. At this point, running away was no longer an option. It had ceased to be one the moment the child saw the inside of that damn fissure. And a very peculiar System had started paying attention to a certain convenience store clerk.

The only question riding like a roller coaster car in his mind was how much to reveal, how much he could share, what story to tell; it could be perceived either as a joke or a drama, like the sinking of the Titanic. Well then, the priority now was to think carefully about which version of the truth would allow him to remain sufficiently free and banal in Tokyo.

It had to be a story so well told that everyone would believe he was a common worker who sleeps during the day and works at night, as there was a goal to protect: being able to continue enjoying humanity's greatest achievement. He clicked reply and drafted a response.

"I prefer tea." Four seconds after he had sent it, the following message appeared:"The tea is also excellent, duly noted. Director Tanaka." The right corner of his mouth twitched into a smile of someone who has something up their sleeve; maybe this wouldn't end up being a total disaster. Soren looked toward that certificate; it probably would end up being one, after all.

Soren paced from one corner to the other inside his small apartment; one moment he would grab the coffee mug, the next he would set it down on the desk or even on the counter. Then he would look out that window, but even so, solutions didn't present themselves. It was then that he grabbed his cell phone again and read the message one more time. Somewhere behind his ribs, the entity that was not his heart grew restless again, pressing against his chest, against the world full of schemes and laws.

He could interpret this movement: Not yet, it seemed to say, not yet. 🍲 Café Lunem was the kind of place that tried too hard to please everyone. The exterior brick was exposed, and the dark wood had clearly been repurposed from another structure; the nails and splinters didn't match. It reminded him of the wood from a tribal raft. Inside, there were baristas with fade haircuts and very strong opinions on slow-drip coffee filtration techniques.

The menu offered 17 types of coffee, all of them house specialties, ranging from the most intense coffees to cocktails with diverse aroma varieties—vanilla, matcha, or even caramel were the ones highlighted. At the bottom of the menu, in smaller letters, there was a single tea option, described as: seasonal infusion. Soren looked at the menu, and that seasonal infusion did not give him a good impression, as it could just as easily be a chamomile infusion as a tractor oil-based beverage.

Soren arrived at precisely 8: 47 AM, enough time to evaluate the space and go unnoticed. At that hour, the inside of the café was almost empty considering the tables and chairs available indoors; it was too early for the creative magic professionals and too late for the full-time office workers. Despite the small crowd, there was a certain presence inside. Three undercover WID agents were seated at separate tables, pretending to be regular customers.

One was typing on a laptop with the intensity of someone who had never used a computer naturally. The other agent was reading a newspaper from last year; the newspaper was already yellow from lack of use, and the dust would make anyone sneeze even without allergies, yet the man read the paper with his nose glued to the pages. The last agent stared at a Japanese cheesecake on his table for a long time, in an aggressively serious manner, as if the cake had personally offended him.

Director Tanaka was seated at the table in the back of the room. She had chosen the spot strategically, with every possible detail in mind. From that spot, she could observe the space around her with a clean and clear view of the café's two exits. Her back was to the wooden wall, and above her was a poster of a coffee cocktail drawn 10 years ago; that same cocktail, Café Lunem no longer served to anyone who asked for it.

She sat close enough to the counter so it wouldn't seem like a private, restricted meeting, but with enough of a safety distance to prevent eavesdropping from other tables. Soren appreciated good professionalism. He was truly a fan of that attitude; he had already seen many people die in less diplomatic civilizations, so it was better to maintain best practices.

"Mr. Vonesdar." The Director did not stand up when Soren approached the table, nor did she reach out her hand to greet him. She merely pronounced his name in an imposing, icy tone. She simply pointed to the chair where he should sit, with a slow gesture that demonstrated all the exhaustion she had accumulated around the relentless quest to figure out who this night-shift clerk really was.

"Thank you for your presence," she said with a total seriousness that clearly demonstrated the importance of this meeting. Soren pulled the chair back, and as he sat down, he tried to break the ice that made itself felt at that table: "You were very persistent."

"I am well aware of that, Mr. Vonesdar. At the WID, my team of analysts says it is one of my best qualities." The Director touched the menu that was on the table next to her coffee cup, which she had ordered a good few minutes ago. Tanaka didn't stand on ceremony for anyone; she delicately slid it across the table for Soren to consider his morning order. The Director could not hold back her recommendation:"The tea is indeed quite pleasant. I had already tried this month's infusion."

"Did the Director confirm the quality of the tea before scheduling a meeting with an unclassified entity?"

"I believe that rigorous preparation makes a difference, Mr. Vonesdar." Soren was still trying to find the most comfortable way to sit in that chair; one moment his right buttock hurt, the next a sharp pain shot through his lower back. Centuries of humanity's existence, and Soren accepted that even today there were innovations meant to provide suffering. While trying to find a position, he looked discreetly at the Director and wondered if this induced discomfort was also intentional.

Apparently, nothing in that café encouraged people to stay for very long.