Reopening Day

"The last step before opening the door: inspection."

At 7:30 a. m., Zhou Yu stood in the center of the store, pointing to the newly posted work schedule on the wall.

The table was drawn with straight lines, and the title read: Train Conductor Café - Opening Day Schedule.

Cashier, Chisa. Front Desk and Accounts, Sigelica. Tasting Officer, Dania. Supervisor, Bozai.

"Why is the supervisor listed last?" Sigelica asked.

"Because it doesn't have to do anything, and it still gets paid," Zhou Yu said. "That's called management."

"Has the supervisor's contract been drafted as well?"

"Drafted." Zhou Yu pulled out the last document, which contained only one line of terms: Bozai, supervisor, salary settled daily, priced in the form of dou da fu (a type of tofu). The signature column contained his paw print, the ink of which was mud dug from a flowerpot.

Is this contract legally binding?

"There's no capybara labor law in Ashihara." Zhou Yu put the paper away. "In uncharted territory, convention takes precedence."

Bozai lay down on the softest cushion on the bar counter, patted its tail twice to indicate that it had no objection.

Sigelica's contract was the second batch signed this morning. Last night, Zhou Yu went back and reformatted the official version, adding a cover page and supplementary clauses, and presented it to her this morning. She opened it, first looking for her own name, then for that string of numbers.

The name is there. The numbers are there too.

She stared at the string of numbers, read it from left to right once, then from right to left once, and finally read it aloud a third time.

"Really paid monthly?"

"It's a labor law," Zhou Yu said. "If it drags on for even a day, you can take the contract and sue; the compensation will double."

"Good law." She put the contract into her document holder, pressed it several times, and said, "I want to become Sunspeakers,' but first I need to be someone who gets paid."

At exactly eight o'clock, the roller shutter door slammed up to the bottom.

Before the first guest even entered, the aroma preceded them. Grandma, a neighbor from Sakuramachi, stood at the door with a bamboo basket piled high with daifuku (mochi).

"Here you go, freshly steamed." The old woman placed the basket on the counter. "I knew it! I'd been passing by for three days, and it smelled like ash every day. Finally, the street smells of coffee again."

"Thank you, Grandma." Chisaki took the basket, her ears turning slightly red.

Where are your parents?

"Inland China, collecting beans."

"Oh, so the shop is yours now?" The old woman looked around and saw Sigelica in her apron and Chisa wiping cups. "You hired someone? You've made something of yourself."

Sigelica puffed out her chest. "Regular employment, contractual employment."

"Work hard," her mother-in-law patted her arm. "This shop hasn't raised prices in ten years, so don't complain about being poor."

"Not at all," she answered quickly, then paused for a moment afterward.

The first order after opening was a tasting. Dania sat in her assigned seat, Sigelica brought out the reheated red bean bread.

"Taste tester, give us your conclusion." Zhou Yu waited with a pen in hand.

Dania took a bite, chewed carefully, swallowed, and then took a second bite.

"And the conclusion?"

"Heating it for another thirty seconds will make the crust even crispier," she said. "The inside will be hot and delicious."

"Valid suggestion, adopted." Zhou Yu wrote in his notebook, "This is the first formal business opinion from the taste tester."

The first batch of customers entered one after another, most of them familiar faces. One uncle came in and first looked at the price list. After looking at it for a long time and confirming that the price hadn't gone up, he finally felt relieved and ordered an Americano.

Chisaki stood behind the coffee machine, tilted the latte art pitcher, and the milk foam fell into the espresso.

The pattern that came out was all of a little train. The locomotive was square, and a wisp of crooked cloud was sticking out of the chimney.

"Chisaki," Sigelica examined the cup, "Do you have a tutorial for this latte art?"

"My dad taught me," she said. "He drew trains, and I drew little people. Later, he lost his job, and I took over, drawing trains instead."

"What kind of inheritance is this?"

"Exclusive to our store."

When it was Dania's turn to drink, Chisaki's hand paused for half a second, then her wrist flicked.

The milk foam finishes off, and what floats out of the cup isn't a little train, but a fish. It's crooked, with a particularly large tail, like a tadpole that's lost its way.

Dania held the cup and stared at it for a long time. "What is this?"

Chisaki glanced at Zhou Yu; that glance was rather quick.

"It's a hidden gem," she said. "Only one person ordered it in this shop."

Who ordered it?

No one answered her. Zhou Yu flipped through the ledgers behind the counter, so intently that the tips of her ears turned red.

Dania glanced down at the Xiao Yu again, then suddenly leaned close to Zhou Yu's ear and whispered in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, "I want another Xiao Yu tomorrow."

"I heard it," Sigelica raised her hand. "The whole store heard it."

"That's perfect." Dania was pleased. "It saves us from having to order again."

At 3 PM, the terminal on the counter beeped, a video request, with the Black Shores area code.

After the call connected, a hand squeezed into the screen, holding a piece of purple coral, and pressed it directly against the camera lens.

The entire screen is coral.

"Encore, move to the back." Aimis's voice drifted from the side, and she squeezed into the frame, "Hey, can you see that? The tide's going out! It's gone out twice today!"

"I can see it." Dania held up her cup to the camera. "We're at work. I get paid, starting next month."

"Wow." There was a moment of silence on Aimis. "I don't get paid."

"You should sign one too," Sigelica said. "There are plenty of vacant positions."

A barrage of text floated across the bottom of the screen; it was Aalto's message: "Don't forget to claim your tea expenses." A smaller line followed. "List the details."

Chisa, carrying a tray, walked by, paused half a step in front of the screen, and nodded at the camera.

There was a noticeable lapse in concentration on the other end of the screen. Aimis leaned closer. "Did she just greet me? Aalto, did you see that? She greeted me!"

Aalto's reply consisted of only two words: Recorded.

Dania shook her cup at the camera. "Next time I'll cook purple coral porridge, I'll save seats for you."

"Keep two." Encore's voice finally came from behind Coral.

The store closes at nine o'clock in the evening. After the last customer left, the store became quiet, with only the sound of chair legs hitting the floor.

Chisaki was flipping chairs around the shop all by herself, one after another, her movements so practiced she didn't even need to watch. She flipped the chairs up, aligned them with the tabletops, swept the floor to the corner, wrung out the rags, and draped them neatly. No one had taught her this whole process; today, she did it as if she'd done it a thousand times.

Sigelica stood to the side holding a dishcloth, watched for a while, and then suddenly noticed a cup placed inside the bar.

Black coffee, no latte art.

Chisaki made it for herself; she left it there all afternoon, but didn't drink a drop, and it's long since gone cold.

"What about your own cup?" Sigelica asked. "Why didn't you put some latte art on it?"

"I don't need mine." Chisaki flipped up the last chair. "The train is for the passengers."

She spoke casually, then turned to turn off the coffee machine. Sigelica opened her mouth but didn't say anything, instead taking the cold cup to wash it.

Zhou Yu was settling accounts behind the bar. There was a line of red text in the notebook today, and he picked up his pen and wrote four words on it: Strategic Loss.

After thinking for a moment, I added a small line: Reason for the loss: The boss hasn't raised prices in ten years.

After finishing writing, he closed the ledger. "Losses are reasonable. Continue to lose money tomorrow. Meeting adjourned. Go to sleep."

"What time do we open tomorrow?" Sigelica asked.

"7:30. Breakfast is provided at the morning meeting; latecomers will be penalized with bean curd and daifuku." Zhou Yu added, "Except for the supervisor; it counts as clocking in no matter where it sleeps."

Everyone returned to their rooms. The lights in the hallways dimmed one floor at a time.

Chisaki's room was the last to have its lights turned off. Before turning off the lights, she sat on the edge of the bed and set her alarm clock to 5:30.

She didn't know why, but she just wanted to get up early so she could hear that voice again.

At 5:44 a. m. tomorrow, amidst the sounds of the entire city, there will be a very small voice waiting for her to hear it.