A few minutes trickled by like cooling coffee before Nana Toki reached the café where Yuzuki worked part-time.

Yuzuki stood at the door like a paper lantern in a night breeze, and when Nana Toki, newly dressed, drifted in like a fresh gust, she almost didn’t recognize her.

“G–good evening,” her voice fluttered like a moth around a lamp, and Yuzuki, in a maid outfit, stared at Nana’s face flushed like dawn over cherry boughs.

It felt like a boy’s hidden dirty magazine getting fished from under the bed by a cleaning mother, dust flying like startled sparrows.

Her expression was a tangle of shame and heat, summer thunder trapped under cloud.

“Please… inside,” she murmured, bowing like a reed in wind as she stepped aside like shifting shade.

Nana Toki gave a small nod, her glance skimming Yuzuki like a swallow over water, then slid straight in like a swan onto still lake.

Just days ago, this place was wrecked like a garden after hail, yet now it looked whole again like streets washed by rain.

So the hidden-quest targets are all heavy hitters, mountains tucked in fog?

A sigh rose in her chest like mist at dusk.

Overpowered cheats belong to protagonists, crowns set on heads beneath sun.

And me, I’ve only got a stupid System clinging like a stone at my ankle.

System: “…”

Its silence fell like ash in a cold hearth.

“You’re that girl who came looking for Yuzuki last time, right?” a gravelly voice rolled in like pebbles down a streambed.

She was taking in the fresh Western-style décor, wood gleaming like honey under light, when a rugged, bearded man with a big gold chain lumbered over like a bear from the alley.

Nana had seen that boss a few times, the memory foggy like moonlight through smoke, and she figured he was the owner.

A prickle of caution rose like a cat’s fur—what does he want?

“Little miss, you changed your look today, and I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said, words clinking like coins on a table.

Nana Toki blinked, a question bubbling up like air from deep water.

“Oh—my bad! Forgot to introduce myself,” he laughed, slapping his head like a drum under rough hands.

“I’m Zhao Si; folks call me Zhao Laosi,” he said, grin bright as noon sun on brass, “I own this café. Where are you from, little miss?”

“Suo Sen,” she replied, cool and clipped like frost on glass at dawn.

Her self-introduction was brief, a winter blade clean as ice, and distant as starlight on a clear night.

Zhao Laosi didn’t mind, years on Black Street rubbing him smooth like river stones, and he’d seen all kinds of customers wander in like street fog.

Cold types like Nana Toki showed up often, and as long as they didn’t cause trouble, he treated guests warm as a brazier in winter.

“Sorry about last time, for the mess,” he said, apology rolling gentle like spring rain.

Nana didn’t need it spelled out; Chen Yi had brought people to smash the place, a memory sharp as broken glass on the floor.

“It’s fine,” she said, tone flat as still water under moonlight.

She did feel a touch embarrassed, guilt prickling like nettles, since she’d done nothing but watch the show and sip a free coffee sweet as melted sugar.

With the owner apologizing now, even her thick skin felt warm like coals hidden under ash.

“I got hot-headed that day,” Zhao Laosi said, voice rough like wind through old pines, “and I didn’t realize they came for Yuzuki.”

Only after brawling with the troublemakers, fists and curses like thunder and sparks, did he learn their target wasn’t him but a female server.

He went still, shock dropping like a stone into a pond.

By then, Yuzuki had vanished like a firefly slipping into grass.

The shop lay in shambles like a battlefield at dusk, and Zhao thought Yuzuki got taken, regret gnawing like winter rats.

If Yuzuki hadn’t called later to say she was safe, he would’ve torn those thugs apart like a tiger in a storm.

“Small stuff,” Nana said, flicking her hand like a leaf shaking off dew, telling him not to dwell on it.

Inside, she clicked her tongue, suspicion curling like smoke behind her eyes.

Zhao Laosi cares so much about Yuzuki; it smells a bit off, like sugar hiding a bitter rind.

System: “Host, as the saying goes, a filthy mind paints mud on every wall, and you’re showing your own grime like stains in rain.”

Her brow arched like a bow, curiosity glinting like starlight. “You mean Zhao isn’t into Yuzuki?”

“Of course,” the System replied, confidence ringing like steel on stone.

“You guarantee?” Her words hovered like a falcon on wind.

“This System guarantees!” it declared, pride swelling like a drum.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, sweetness dripping like honey with thorns.

“Eh?” the System faltered, surprise flickering like a candle’s sputter.

For a beat it was stunned, mind blank like snow-covered fields.

Then it snapped back, sharp as a whip: “You tricked me?”

“How can a scholar trick anyone?” she said, innocence smooth as polished jade. “You said it yourself, like a bell ringing on its own.”

Nana’s mouth tipped up, a small smile opening like a petal under sun.

If the System says Zhao isn’t into Yuzuki, then the hidden prince in this quest isn’t him, a possibility falling away like a leaf.

What a hassle, she thought, annoyance buzzing like a fly—trash System, got any clues?

“You still want to trick me?!” the System sputtered, outrage crackling like sparks.

It was shocked—was she shameless?—indignation rising like steam from a kettle.

You just tricked me and now again? its thought stamped like boots in mud.

You think I’m an idiot? it snarled, pride stiff as frost.

Don’t even think about it, Host! From now on, I won’t answer you, it declared, doors slamming like shutters in wind.

The System played dead, no matter what Nana asked, its silence a locked well under stone.

That left Nana helpless, frustration lapping like waves against a pier.

“A System that won’t help its host,” she muttered, teeth on edge like grit, “parasiting my body and eating for free.”

No response, just emptiness stretching like winter sky; the System was set on ignoring her.

“Tch—” she clicked her tongue, the sound sharp as a pebble flicking from fingers.

She pouted, a ripple crossing her face like shade under leaves, then turned back to Zhao Laosi. “Boss, why do you care so much about Yuzuki?” she asked, words direct as a spear.

She didn’t bother hiding it, her approach clean as a blade, quick as rain.

It’d have to be asked sooner or later, so better now, cutting through fog like sunrise.

Zhao Laosi seemed to expect it, his expression steady like a rock by the road.

“Why care about Yuzuki?” he echoed, voice steady like a drumbeat.

He looked toward Yuzuki, his gaze soft as sunlight on a river, some longing drifting like pollen.

Then he turned back and answered, the words heavy as earth: “After rolling in mud too long, you get filthy. When you see something clean, you can’t help wanting to protect it.”

“Really?” she asked, head tilted like a sparrow, not quite catching his drift.

Her confusion lingered like mist on a hill.

“Anyone with a bit of conscience would,” Zhao laughed, warmth spilling like tea from a clay pot. “Sounds boastful, sure, but I’m not a bad guy.”

Nana just stared, her silence hanging like fog between lanterns.

“Suo Sen… what brings you?” Yuzuki asked, her voice soft as rain, stepping over like a cat from a sunny windowsill.

It was a slow hour, customers sparse as leaves in winter, so Yuzuki had time drifting like smoke.

She finished her tasks and edged closer carefully, movements light as a breeze among cups.

“Got bored at home,” Nana said, lying as easily as a cloud, “came to see you.”

The words came casual, her tone thin as paper, but Yuzuki’s cheeks colored like peaches under spring light.