I glanced down at the chair again.

Yeah.

No.

Still not acceptable.

I straightened and pointed at it.

"You're cleaning that."

He didn't even look.

"No."

I blinked once.

"...no."

"No."

I stared at him.

He took another sip of his coffee like we weren't having this conversation.

Like he hadn't just bled all over my furniture.

Like I wasn't about to lose the last thread of my very carefully maintained patience.

"...right," I muttered.

I turned and started walking back toward the counter.

Calm.

Slow.

Measured.

Behind me, I could feel his gaze.

Watching.

Assessing.

Probably expecting me to drop it.

Yeah.

No.

Not happening.

"I'm going to say this once," I said, voice still even as I reached under the counter.

"You're cleaning that."

"No."

There it was again.

Flat.

Absolute.

Like this was a negotiation.

It wasn't.

I let out a quiet breath.

"...okay."

I straightened up.

And picked up a small handheld shovel.

Silence.

Heavy.

Immediate.

I turned around slowly, holding it loosely in my hand.

Overhaul's eyes dropped to it.

Then back to me.

"...what," he said slowly, "is that."

"A shovel."

"I can see that."

"Good."

I started walking back toward him.

Step by step.

Unhurried.

Calm.

Completely calm.

And that—

That was the problem.

Because I wasn't annoyed anymore.

I wasn't irritated.

I wasn't even sarcastic.

I was just...

Done.

"You're going to clean the chair," I said quietly.

My voice had lost its edge.

Flattened.

Cold.

"And if you don't—"

I stopped in front of him.

Tilted my head slightly.

Holding his gaze.

"I will get very, very unpleasant."

Silence.

Something shifted.

Not in me.

In him.

Because for the first time since he walked in—

Overhaul paused.

Really paused.

His eyes narrowed, not in irritation this time...

But in calculation.

Because people got loud when they were angry.

People threatened.

Shouted.

Postured.

I didn't.

I just stood there.

Holding a shovel.

Looking at him like he was a problem I was already figuring out how to solve.

"...you are attempting to threaten me," he said slowly.

I shrugged slightly.

"I'm informing you."

A beat.

"You're bleeding on my property."

Another beat.

"And I've been very patient."

I lifted the shovel slightly.

Not aggressively.

Just enough.

"Don't make me stop being patient."

Silence.

The air felt heavier.

Thicker.

Like something just slightly tilted off balance.

Overhaul stared at me.

Long.

Hard.

Searching for something.

Fear.

Hesitation.

Anything.

He didn't find it.

Because I wasn't scared.

Not right now.

Not in my café.

Not when someone was messing with something that was mine.

After a long moment—

He clicked his tongue softly.

Annoyed.

"...you are absurd."

"Yeah."

A pause.

Then, finally—

"...fine."

I lowered the shovel slightly.

Good choice.

He stood up carefully, adjusting his coat.

Then looked down at the chair.

Displeased.

Of course he was.

I stepped aside and gestured.

"Cleaning supplies are behind the counter."

He didn't move immediately.

Just gave me one last look.

"...you are fortunate I am injured."

I smiled slightly.

"Or you're fortunate I'm still in a good mood."

Another pause.

Then—

A quiet scoff.

He walked past me toward the counter.

And I turned, setting the shovel back in its place like this was just another completely normal part of my morning.

Because, honestly?

At this point?

It kind of was.

Chime.

I didn't even flinch this time.

Honestly, at this point?

I was expecting worse.

I turned my head slightly toward the door—

—and paused.

...oh.

Well.

That tracks.

Stain stood in the doorway.

Covered in blood.

Not injured.

Just... covered.

I stared at him for a second.

Then, without a word—

He stepped inside...

...and immediately stopped.

Carefully.

Deliberately.

He crouched down and started removing his shoes.

I blinked.

...okay.

That was new.

Then came the scarf.

The very bloody scarf.

He unwrapped it slowly, making sure it didn't drip anywhere, and hung it neatly by the entrance.

Like this was completely normal behavior.

Like he wasn't currently decorated in someone else's life choices.

I leaned against the counter, watching.

"...you know," I said flatly, "you could just not come in covered in blood."

He ignored that.

Of course he did.

Finished with his little cleanliness ritual and walked in—

Barefoot.

Straight toward me.

No hesitation.

No greeting.

Just stopped at the counter.

"I need cake."

I blinked.

"No coffee?"

"No."

"...rough morning?"

He didn't answer that either.

Figures.

"I require it for my nerves."

I stared at him.

Then glanced at the door.

Then back at him.

"...right."

Behind him, Kai Chisaki—currently wiping his own blood off a chair—went very, very still.

Oh.

This was getting better.

I turned back to Stain.

"What kind."

"Black forest."

Of course.

"Whole slice?"

"Yes."

"More than one?"

A pause.

"...yes."

I nodded.

"Good answer."

I turned to grab the cake, cutting a generous slice.

Then another.

Stacked them neatly on a plate.

Because honestly?

He looked like he needed it.

I placed it in front of him.

"There."

He immediately sat down at the counter and started eating.

No hesitation.

No manners.

Just straight into it like it was a life-saving resource.

I rested my chin on my hand, watching him.

"...you look like you murdered someone."

Silence.

Chew.

"...they were not worthy."

"Mm."

That tracked.

Behind him, I could still feel Overhaul's presence.

Still cleaning.

Still very aware.

Still probably reconsidering his life choices.

I glanced over briefly.

Yep.

He was absolutely watching this.

Good.

He could suffer.

I turned back to Stain.

"You're dripping."

"I removed the excess."

"You're still dripping."

"...it is minimal."

I sighed and grabbed a cloth, tossing it toward him.

"Wipe your hands."

He caught it without looking.

Efficient.

Then kept eating.

"I will return later," he said between bites.

"For more."

"Figured."

A pause.

Then—

"...your establishment remains acceptable."

I snorted.

"High praise today."

First him.

Now Stain.

At this rate I was going to get a five-star review from a mass murderer.

Living the dream.

I glanced between the two of them.

One eating cake like it was therapy.

One cleaning blood off a chair under silent protest.

And me?

Standing behind the counter.

Completely unfazed.

"...yeah."

This was my life now.

Police in the morning.

Villains... whenever they felt like it.

I rubbed my face.

"...I need more coffee."