Inside, color spilled like confetti lanterns, the decor rich yet plain, no clutter, every touch placed like a careful brushstroke on rice paper.

Fresh coffee sat on the counter, steam drifting like silk threads, the scent surging like a warm tide, tugging the senses into a small, sweet dream.

The layout felt near‑perfect, chairs and cups all new, the newborn shop smelling like rain on new leaves after a spring shower.

Outside, the dressing was lovely, door and sign holding flavor like old wood and fresh paint, craft quirky as a kite in a sudden breeze.

The sign read “Meow Meow Café,” a strange name that hooked like a fish on a line and reeled guests in with playful ease.

Coffee, a shop, and cosplay—three notes ringing like a chime, the whole place dancing to that bright tune.

Sigh—shame rose first, hot as a flushed moon; then Yun Shi tugged at the corner of her skirt with stiff fingers.

A black‑and‑white dress fluttered like magpie wings, a white headpiece perched like a little cloud, and her small hands clutched the hem like sparrows on reed.

A soft blush spread across her cheeks like dawn light over a quiet lake.

“Next up, table fourteen—please handle it, Yun Shi‑chan.”

A girl with black hair to her waist, smile warm as spring sun, tapped the maid’s shoulder, her dark eyes shining like night pools of encouragement.

“Yes, Manager.”

Resignation sank first, heavy as rain clouds; then Yun Shi answered, voice light as a falling leaf.

“Uh, I’m obviously a boy—why dress me like this...”

Following the voice, Yun Shi saw a “girl” in the same maid outfit, doing the same hem‑press, face pink like a peach, cat ears tied atop like velvet buds.

That was Yun Shi’s so‑called coworker, a temp hired by the manager, like her a student; she in high school, he in college, she faking a fake, he crossplaying for real.

The manager called him Meow‑kun, a strange name purring like the sign itself.

Fate really is a trickster, a kite tugging you across the sky.

Why was Yun Shi working in a café—well, it started like this.

For someone carrying memories of a past life, this date mattered, bright as a harvest moon: Mid‑Autumn Festival.

Back in China, the memories were deepest, and Japan has Mid‑Autumn too, though the customs bend differently like willows by a different river.

Since it’s Mid‑Autumn, you have to give gifts, and the person Yun Shi wanted most to gift was Mizuki.

Why Mizuki? The feeling came first like a tide; the answer never formed, but her heart pointed like a compass needle toward Mizuki.

But Yun Shi had no money for a gift; recent expenses swelled like floodwater, and bounty‑style gigs wouldn’t land enough coin before the moon was full.

Left with nothing, Yun Shi had to borrow money, a hard task like climbing a wet stone stair.

“Um, Maya Hanazaka, I...”

“Mm, what’s up?”

“I...”

“?”

“...No, it’s nothing.”

First try, Maya—clean miss, falling like a dropped petal.

“Sham...”

“Yun‑Yun, let’s get food, okay? A new place just opened, pleeease—”

“...No.”

Sham—another miss, slipping like rain off wax leaves.

“Yun Shi‑kun, can you tutor me? I’ve got questions I don’t get.”

“My time’s only one hour.”

Lady Mizuki—she face‑planted before Yun Shi even asked, like tripping over the doorway.

“Yun Shi, will you go shopping with me?”

“I refuse.”

She hadn’t even voiced her request to Yan Er and it was total defeat, like a paper boat split by a small wave.

“I have something to say.”

“Could it be...”

“Mm...”

“Yun Shi‑chan wants to hit karaoke with us!”

“You wish.”

Moa—still failed, the path blocked like bamboo thick in a grove.

That left no one to ask; every possible helper fell away like leaves in late autumn.

As for Mizuki, she was off limits—if you’re gifting her, borrowing from her to buy the gift was nonsense, a knot tied into itself.

The world can be tragicomedy, a lacquer bowl hiding a crack; for Yun Shi, it was worse, like frost nipping first at tender shoots.

With no choice, Yun Shi picked the most basic and most effective way—work a job.

But the tragedy hadn’t ended; everyone knew Yun Shi was a stubborn tsundere, so her lack of frankness made jobs slip away like fish from loose nets.

Days passed like sand in a narrow hourglass, and when she walked past the Meow Meow Café, the manager’s gaze snagged her like a looped thread.

And Yun Shi found she couldn’t refuse, the way a tethered kite can’t ignore the pull.

It went like this.

“Young man—no, young lady fits better—interested in working my shop? The pay’s sweet, the day rate’s nice.”

“Uh, senpai, never mind how you’re running a shop at your age, one thing—I'm a boy!”

“Hmmhmm, little sister, don’t trick me—do you look like a boy?”

“What do you mean?”

“Simple—even if I were silly enough to be fooled, I can see it: that waist’s too slim, hips not squared, chest slightly rising, and most of all, boys and girls have different body ratios!”

“Huh?!”

“Don’t lie to me, junior.”

To keep her from blabbing everywhere, Yun Shi swallowed her pride like bitter tea and agreed to temp here.

The manager hadn’t lied; the pay was good, the day rate was fine, and Yun Shi wouldn’t be alone, since Meow‑kun could share the grind and balance her heart.

The manager seemed to be a high schooler, even younger than Meow‑kun; how she opened a shop and recruited him was a mystery fluttering like a secret letter.

“Welcome—meow—”

Meow‑kun, cat ears perched like soft leaves, greeted the guests with a smile bright as morning.

“Oh, a cat‑ear girl—awesome!”

“So cute—”

Right, the café had a signature: cosplay. Meow‑kun’s cat‑ear girl act was one of the house specials, a bell ringing on the door.

The manager arranged who cosplayed what, choices falling like cards, and Meow‑kun had the bad luck to draw “cat‑ear girl,” while Yun Shi had no role yet and could breathe for a bit.

“Um, I’m a boy...”

“Cat‑ear girls are the best—”

“Can we take photos?”

“Uh...”

Meow‑kun tried to announce his gender, but no one listened, the crowd’s glee bubbling like hot spring foam, and Yun Shi watched with a pinch of schadenfreude.

It felt familiar, like a rhyme you’ve heard—when she said she was a boy, it played out almost the same.

“Go ahead—two shots won’t hurt, right, Meow‑kun?”

The manager at the counter smiled gentle as sun on persimmons and helped the struggling Meow‑kun out.

“But, Manager...”

“Relax, I’ll toss you a bonus.”

“...All right.”

Seeing Meow‑kun obey, the manager’s smile bloomed like a chrysanthemum; her authority fluttered back like a banner in wind, payback for past teasing.

“By the way, Yun Shi‑chan, I found the right cosplay for you.”

She called over Yun Shi, who was wiping tables, her smile bright as polished lacquer.

“Cosplay... what role?”

Unease pricked first like a thorn; Yun Shi tilted her head, feeling a bad wind.

“Hmm, Yun Shi‑chan’s attribute is tsundere, so a tsundere lady fits like jade in a carved ring.”

“...”

“Decided—cosplay Shana, how about it?”

Shana, heroine from a famous anime, a renowned tsundere; Yun Shi would fit like flame to wick.

“This...”

“Cos a role, get a bonus.”

“Fine.”

The manager knew how to hook hearts, luring even Yun Shi down like a carp to sweet bait.

To nail Shana, Yun Shi let her hair down like a dark waterfall and changed into the cosplay uniform; her height might run long like bamboo, but her face would cover like moonlight.

Yeah, this is a world that judges by faces, a pond that mirrors only what's bright.

“Oh, Shana‑chan—looks so close to the real one—”

“So cute—”

“Let me snap one—”

“Blast it—no photos!”

“Ahh, she’s tsundere—so moe—”

“I am not—cut it out already!”

To a pack of shut‑in otaku, anything cute turns harsh words to sugar, like sour plums dipped in honey.

“Mm, results are excellent.”

At the counter, the manager counted bills like fallen leaves, her face glowing like a lantern.

She did seem a bit black‑hearted, a charcoal line under powdered rouge.

“Meow, welcome—”

Meow‑kun smiled and glided to greet guests, and Yun Shi’s gaze drifted there like a moth to light.

“Hey, a new shop—looks gorgeous.”

“Can’t argue.”

“Ah, a delicious ham sandwich—”

Yun Shi froze, breath snagging like silk on a thorn.

She saw them—wasn’t that Mizuki, Maya Hanazaka, and Sham!

Heavens—why were they here—their presence crashed like thunder under a summer roof.

Alarm bells clanged first, loud as temple gongs; then panic surged like the Yangtze overtopping a dam—red alert.

“What do I do, what do I do!”

Yun Shi retreated into the break room like a startled cat, clutching her head as thoughts skittered like minnows.

If they found out she worked here, it’d be a disaster, a pot boiling over.

Worse, some certain idiot might catch her secret, and if Sham and Maya knew, that’d be the worst, a storm hitting at high tide.

“How did it come to this...”

Frustration pressed first like a heavy door; then Yun Shi leaned on the wall and plotted like lines on a Go board.

She couldn’t hide long; time would draw the manager, or draw the other one—worse than the manager, sharp as a winter wind.

She needed a plan, a veil to slip over three pairs of eyes; Yun Shi sank into thought, mind quick as sparrows on seed.

Her mind clicked like beads; if she stayed calm, solutions would rise like bubbles in soup.

“Got it.”

Joy sparked first like a flint; then Yun Shi smacked her forehead and grinned, bright as a sly crescent moon.

Minutes later, a new figure stepped out: a girl in uniform, tea‑brown short hair, wearing a natural pride like a small crown.

Railgun, aka Misaka Mikoto—heroine of a famed anime, a tsundere whose sparks fit Yun Shi like thunder wrapped in silk.

“Guest, here’s your ham sandwich.”

Yun Shi, acting cool as autumn water, set the plate before Sham and angled her face with practiced impatience, no dissonance, smooth as lacquer.

“Thanks—”

Sham saw food and dove in like a gull, while Mizuki and Maya Hanazaka had coffee, sipping with a calmer grace like leaves swirling in black tea.

“Mm... haven’t we met somewhere?”

Maya studied the proud cos‑girl, suspicion folding in like a shadow, something feeling off like a note half a tone sharp.

They’d been hooked the moment the paw-print sign of “Meow Meow Café” winked like a lantern, and seeing the cat-eared Meow-kun inside felt like stepping into a costume-painted dream. So a girl cosplaying the Railgun didn’t raise eyebrows, just a ripple under still water.

Maya Hanazaka thought in swirls and shadows; sometimes a woman’s intuition hits like a bell struck in fog.

“Hmph. Why would I have met you? You’ve got the wrong person,” Yun Shi said, arms crossed like a closed gate, chin tilted away like a bird refusing a hand.

“Alright, Maya, don’t be rude. Sorry—my friend stepped out of line,” Mizuki scolded gently, her voice like rain smoothing rough stone.

“Mm… maybe I did mistake you,” Maya muttered, backing off like a tide that knew the moon’s pull.

Yun Shi kept her face still, but her heart loosened like a knotted ribbon finally tugged free.

Finally, it was covered.

The manager tapped Yun Shi’s shoulder, curiosity flickering like a candle. “So you changed your mind and switched on your own?”

“Uh…”

“You taking initiative is great—looks like my training works,” she teased, smile like a silk fan hiding heat.

“Manager!”

“Hehe, kidding. You fit this outfit like wind fits willow. Keep it up.”

Yun Shi wondered if the manager already knew her secret, the thought drifting like smoke. From the start, the manager hadn’t said her name, which she usually tossed like a bright pebble; it felt like she was shielding something.

The manager was, truly, a good person—warm as tea, steady as a hearth.

“Oh, such a cute girl!” Maya’s eyes flashed like a hunter’s lantern; her desire to chase bloomed like thorns under velvet.

“Mm? Is something the matter, miss?” The manager glanced at the yuri gleam, calm as a pond before wind.

Yun Shi slid back fast, like a fish cutting from net; a yuri hunter wasn’t someone she could provoke.

“This adorable sweetheart, be my friend,” Maya sang, voice sweet as candied haw.

“Eh…”

“It’s fine. Call me Onee-sama. I don’t mind,” she purred, smile like a silk trap.

“Um, I think I’m older than you,” the manager said, a bead of sweat like dew slipping behind her ear.

She was really young, maybe a year or two older than Mizuki and Maya, college still a distant hill. That was why Maya dared to hunt here; working women set roots like old trees, and she knew she’d be pinned under their shade.

“Stop! What are you trying to do to the manager?” Meow-kun stepped up, arms wide like a tiny shield, courage ringing like metal.

“Meow-kun…” The manager’s eyes softened like dawn on glass.

“No matter who you are, you’ll pass me first,” Meow-kun declared, words like tossed stones, posture puffed up like a sparrow pretending hawk.

“Oh, another cute girl,” Maya chimed, delight fluttering like butterflies.

She even thought about sweeping both into her net, greed bright as a summer sun.

“Uh, Meow-kun’s a boy,” the manager said, scratching her cheek, smile wry as bent bamboo.

“Nani? For real?”

“Of course. I’m one hundred percent man. Even dressed like this, my heart’s still a boy,” he said, palm on chest like a steadfast seal.

“Male creature, away!” Maya’s fist flashed like lightning. Meow-kun flew with a scream trailing like a torn ribbon, then vanished behind tables.

The manager went still, face paling like paper, eyes fixed on Maya like frost.

“Hmph. Senpai, you tried tricking me with a fake girl? Too bad—I don’t like traps. Today, you’re mine,” Maya said, grin like a blade wrapped in lace.

“P-please, miss… don’t do this,” the manager pleaded, voice thin as a reed. Customers were gods; she could only yield like willow under storm.

“Ah—”

“Oh, so soft—your chest is like clouds,” Maya sighed, fingers bold as vines.

“Miss…” The manager trembled, a big red-crisis sign flashing in her chest like sirens; she’d never imagined meeting a yuri huntress today—such a loss.

And she couldn’t refuse, or people would say they lacked hospitality; the trap closed like dusk.

“C’mon, let’s—”

“Maya, that’s too rude!” Mizuki’s shout cut like a bell, sharp and clean.

Bang.

“Ow, Mizuki!” Maya let go, eyes wet like rain holding on to lashes.

“Apologize.”

“Yes—sorry, I was wrong,” she sniffled, contrite as a kitten.

The manager vowed silently to never meet Maya again; yuri hunters were terrifying, teeth hidden under sugar.

Yun Shi chuckled, a small dry laugh like pebbles tapping porcelain; she was used to it. Thank goodness Maya backed off after learning she was a girl—that alone felt like moonlight breaking cloud.

“Ah, Yan Er needs me. I’m heading out,” Sham said, voice drifting like wind carrying a leaf.

“Suizaki wants to see me. I’m going too. Bye, Mizuki,” Maya waved, steps light as a bird.

After a while, Sham and Maya left, and only Mizuki sat sipping coffee, steam curling like ghostly vines.

Sham’s presence was always low, like fog that never quite condenses.

“Wait… did I see little Yun in the shop?” Sham, already outside, drifted into late-night thought, mind circling like moths around a lamp.

With two gone, Yun Shi’s breath eased like a door unbolted; with only Mizuki here, things were manageable. That fool shouldn’t notice.

“Manager, quick!” Meow-kun, at some unknown point returned, called out, voice bright as a bell.

“What’s up, Meow-kun?”

“Look—my brother’s on TV!”

Yun Shi followed the voice, eyes pulled to the screen like tides to moon, the stage framed with music like silk and wood. Interest rose; the café was quiet, so she sat where the light pooled and watched.

“Oh, anime adaptation news?” Mizuki sipped coffee, lips curved like a crescent, watching with genuine relish.

On screen, a stage gleamed like lacquer. A banner shouted “Congratulations on the anime adaptation,” while the person in charge sat for an interview, posture smooth as polished stone.

“I’m back.” The door swung open like a fan; two girls stepped in, evening clinging to their hair like mist.

“Welcome back, Yexue, Xiao Wei. Sit and watch. Oh, here’s white jade dango—have some,” the manager said, offering sweetness like little moons on a plate.

“Mm, yay.”

“Thanks, manager. I won’t be polite,” they chimed, settling like sparrows on a branch.

Yun Shi saw the girl named Yexue and flinched like a cat spotting a hound, scooting away with small steps like ripples. That one was worse than the manager—thornier—someone she couldn’t afford to touch.

While Yun Shi’s mind spun fearful circles, the TV rolled on like a drum.

“Nice to meet you. First, congrats on the anime. I’m Zhanqi. Hello, everyone.”

“I’m Xingmeng.”

The two boys finished their opening, words neat as folded paper; the first impression wasn’t bad, like a clean sky after rain. The next person leaned in to introduce himself.

“I’m Ye Liangchen—”

Thud.

He didn’t finish—his companion smacked him, the hit brisk as a ruler on a desk.

“Uncle, if you keep pretending to be Ye Liangchen, I’ll beat you to death!”

“Not an uncle—I’m a fresh pretty boy,” he protested, lips puffing like a carp.

“Anyway, don’t mind those two. I’m Lazy Cat. Hello, everyone,” said another, tone sheepish as a cat caught stealing.

“Blue Cat?”

“Ahem, Lazy Cat, not Blue Cat. Kokohu-san, don’t start. Today’s topic is the anime program lineup—please focus,” he pleaded, forehead creasing like folded cloth.

“I want to ask—are Xingmeng-senpai and the uncle fighting over there really okay?”

“Nani—what are you doing!”

“Don’t stop me, Blue Cat. I’ll kill this clown!”

“I have a hundred ways to make you leave. I love targeting those who think they’re gifted,” the uncle hissed, words cold as a knife’s back.

“I said Lazy Cat, not Blue Cat! Cut it out!” Lazy Cat barked, patience snapping like a twig.

“Ah, it’s chaos—this is live! Kokohu-sis, stop filming!”

“Eh? Didn’t we promise full coverage?” came the cool reply, camera steady as a hawk’s eye.

“In short, the site’s too messy. The show ends here. See you next time, viewers. Hey, senpai—don’t smash things! You’ll have to pay!” the host yelped, panic hopping like sparrows.

The screen fell to black like a curtain dropping, then flipped to another variety show, colors swirling like confetti.

What to say—absurd, a mess in bright paint. Yun Shi watched so deep her teacup tipped with a soft chime and she didn’t even notice.

Meow-kun covered his face, fingers spread like bars. “I don’t know them,” his posture screamed, shame curling like smoke.

The manager could only smile wryly, mouth a thin crescent.

As for who Meow-kun’s brother was—by now, everyone had guessed, the answer like a rabbit peeking from bush.

“Pretty fun,” Yexue said, chewing dango like moonlight melting on tongue.

“Yexue-chan’s turned dark,” Xiao Wei murmured, voice small as a reed.

“What a strange program,” Mizuki said, afternoon coffee warming her hands like a hearth.

“Waiter, the bill.”

“Yes. Including your two friends, that’s 1,200 yen,” said the cashier, a girl in maid dress, face calm as still water, voice poised with a maid’s quiet pride.

Sakuya Izayoi—born from a certain game’s memory—was who she cosplayed, and Yun Shi figured it was just for fun, like trying on a star.

“Have we met somewhere?” Mizuki asked, eyes narrowing like shutters.

“No, you’re imagining it, miss,” the maid replied, tone smooth as lacquer.

“Is that so? Maybe,” Mizuki said, paying in a daze like a sleepwalker leaving the stage, and walked out into the evening.

Only after Mizuki disappeared did Yun Shi exhale, breath floating like steam off tea.

“Busy day. Good work, everyone. Here—some not-so-fresh tuanzi. Let’s share,” the manager said, offering kindness like a plate of little moons.

“No, no. I prefer playing with the manager,” Yexue smiled, eyes glinting like a cat in dim light.

“…Yexue, what do you mean?” the manager asked, nerves tightening like strings.

“Hehe, shall we bond a little, cute Yun Ge-chan?” Yexue crooned, sugar hiding bite like frost under blossoms.

“Stop, stop—I’ll raise your pay. I’ll bump it soon,” the manager blurted, surrender fluttering like a white flag.

“Mm, that’s better,” Yexue said, satisfied as a cat kneading cushions, and sat to savor Mid-Autumn tuanzi, peace settling like soft rain.

The staff could only nod, hearts heavy and amused—our manager has it rough, like a boat in playful storm.

“By the way, Yun Shi—one sec.”

“What is it, Manager?” Yun Shi turned, hope flickering like a lamp.

“Your pay for these days is ready. Here,” the manager said, handing over the envelope like warm bread.

“…”

“Why the daze? Don’t you want money?”

“Manager, you—” Yun Shi’s voice trembled like a note struck in the chest.

“You said you’d ask at Mid-Autumn. Today fits. Go buy what you want. Your temp term can end,” the manager said, smile gentle as moonlight.

“…Thank you so much!” Yun Shi bowed deep, gratitude pouring like a river, then hurried to change and dashed for the door like a swallow released.

The manager watched her go, smiling with quiet eyes like a lantern after guests leave, saying nothing.

Maybe that was the last time; who knew what doors would open again—fortune wandering like wind.

“The manager’s a good person,” Yexue said, chewing tuanzi, thoughts soft as cotton.

“She is,” Xiao Wei agreed, tasting sweetness like a small autumn moon and sighing.

The manager slipped back behind her counter. The phone trilled like a cicada in heat, and when she saw the caller ID, her smile bloomed brighter than a lantern.

“Hey, Miaomiao? Guess what—I made a lot today. I’m amazing, right?”

“…”

“Why so quiet?”

“No, it’s just… thank you. Sorry for making you watch the shop.”

“It’s fine. I’m happy to help. You just do what you need to do.”

Her expression softened like moonlight on water. Warmth flowed through her voice, a quiet tenderness for the person on the other end.

Looks like she carries her own untold story too.

…

She ran down the street like a gust chasing fallen leaves, ignoring every stare. She burst into the store, grabbed flour, honey, and eggs, and sprinted home.

Shoes skittered off like startled fish. Sweat beaded like rain as she plunged into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Mizuki wandered the shrine fair alone. It was Mid-Autumn. Here in Japan, visiting a festival for prayers was custom, so her being there felt natural.

Yun Shi whisked flour and eggs in a storm of motion, hands clumsy yet burning with purpose. The batter swirled like pale clouds in a bowl.

She guided syrup and oil in the pan with a steady wrist, amber threads running like a small river, while the flour mixture held together like soft clay.

Mizuki pressed her palms together before the shrine. Lantern light flickered like fireflies, and a small smile rose to her lips.

Yun Shi pressed the dough into a mooncake mold. Patterns bloomed like stamped moonlight, and the shapes emerged quick and sure.

At last, the microwave chimed, a clear bell after a long harvest. Everything was ready.

Under the fair’s lantern moons, Mizuki had no idea the night wouldn’t stay calm.

Yun Shi ran again, lungs burning like bellows, chasing one destination for one reason only—

—to deliver the heart she carried.

Maybe a shared thread tugged them, or maybe it was chance. Mizuki turned, a leaf turning to the wind.

She saw Yun Shi, breath misting like steam, cheeks flushed like ripe peaches. She wore men’s clothes, but that glow said girl without asking—because she was.

“Xiao Yun…”

Confusion fluttered first—then her heart thudded, a drum under her ribs.

Yun Shi didn’t speak. She held out a warm paper bag, heat seeping through like a hidden hearth.

“For me?”

A nod.

“What is it?”

Silence.

“…”

Mizuki opened the bag. Fragrance rose like a wave. Inside lay a square, golden cake.

“So pretty…”

A mooncake—beauty in the hand, flavor promised by its shine.

She chose mooncakes to honor a past she could no longer step back into, and the roots that once held her like a riverbank.

She couldn’t afford the ones from back home in China. So she bought ingredients and made them herself. Gathering everything was hard; the mold was hardest.

Yun Shi took a job to earn the money, all for this moment, like saving sparks to light one lamp.

“I… don’t have anything good, so… don’t get the wrong idea, okay! It’s just courtesy. Next time you owe me a gift, got it!”

Her thorns showed like a hedgehog’s—tsundere to the end, even now.

But words, once loosed, don’t fly back. Her pointing finger hung in midair like a stalled kite, and awkwardness colored her ears.

Pride sealed her lips. She turned away, sullen as a cat flicking its tail.

Mizuki smiled, tucked the bag close like a secret, and gazed at her with eyes soft as water.

“Then there’s one more line we have to say.”

“…Oh.”

A breath in. Face to face, moonlight between them, they let their feelings settle like falling petals—and spoke.

“Happy Mid-Autumn Festival.”

“Happy Mid-Autumn Festival.”