Azara Town wasn’t vast, but it was noticeably larger than your average small town.

Thus, the town boasted over a dozen eateries. The most popular one routinely served hundreds of customers daily.

For the restaurant’s waiters and chefs, brief lulls after busy shifts were always spent slumping together in exhaustion.

But ever since the boss’s failed pursuit of a girl from a poor family, a new pastime had been added to their downtime—

observing the shabby little eatery across the street, laced with scorn and ridicule.

If remarks were nasty enough and drew laughter, a shiny gold coin reward might even come from the boss.

After all, that run-down eatery was run by the girl and her grandfather.

Staff knew it was unethical—but against a gleaming gold coin, conscience always came cheap.

Even though the boss was old enough to be her father; even though his haughty attitude was utterly grating.

“Hehe, look—it’s that penniless guy again. A regular across the street ’cause he can’t afford anywhere else! Hahaha…”

“Same few faces every day. They’d be better off selling the place. In this location? Should sell fast. Probably take over a decade of business just to cover the property cost. Are their brains moldy, or do they not have brains at all?”

After pondering a moment, the bill collector chimed in: “Sell the house? Nah. Drop the ‘restaurant’ part. Clear the tables, put in a big bed. Rest by day, operate by night—men only. Let that old man sit at the door collecting coins.”

Laughter erupted. Clearly, he’d won this round, earning a gold coin with his cruelest jab.

An hour later, the customer who’d entered the small eatery left—steps hurried, expression torn between excitement and sorrow.

“That guy must’ve been so disgusted he wanted to cry!”

But soon, the “penniless customer” rushed back with several others and re-entered.

Curious murmurs spread—yet the bill collector, ever quick-witted, quipped: “Brought folks back to smash the place ’cause the food sucked! What a fool—she works part-time with the guard squad. You can’t strong-arm her! Else we’d have torn that eyesore down ages ago!”

Laughter flared again… then faded. No crashing sounds came.

Instead, an hour later, those customers emerged—same hurried steps, same flushed excitement. Some still had breadcrumbs clinging to their lips, too absorbed to wipe them.

An eerie silence fell. Even the boss went quiet.

Sure enough, the departed customers returned—each dragging over a dozen people! The crowd swelled beyond the eatery’s capacity, spilling into a queue outside.

“Maybe the food was so bad it sparked outrage!”

No one was that naive. Only the boss’s face—ashen as if poisoned—drew a choked snort from an employee.

No reward followed. Just a docked day’s wages.

That night, the girl helped the old man leave the eatery. From their radiant smiles, the boss sensed something off.

He slept burdened by worry. By dawn, things had worsened.

Before his own restaurant opened, the entire street was packed with a waiting crowd.

Worse, breakfast customers here were yanked away by friends, chattering about some long Spirit Card ad—“so good you can’t sleep!”

Though paid for, the half-bitten bread left on the table felt like a thorn in his side.

“Go see what the hell’s going on across the street!”

At the boss’s command, no one dared refuse.

The employee finally queued in with coins—but never returned.

When the girl seemed to leave the eatery, the boss seized his chance.

He flung coins to part the crowd and squeezed inside.

The sight nearly made a vein in his head burst.

His own waiter—supposed to be working his shift—shouted with raised arms: “Homura is the best!”

“Bullshit! Madoka rules!”

“Stop it! Mami-senpai is my wife!”

“Your wife’s head got bitten off!”

Seeing his staff bewitched, the boss boiled with rage, ready to roar—

—but then, the Spirit Card display in the shop began a new playback cycle.

Puzzled, the boss turned his gaze toward it…