The air inside the office carried the scent of fresh paper and polished wood — a place that reeked of authority and order. A massive oak desk sat at the center, its surface neat yet intimidating, with files stacked in perfect alignment and a brass nameplate reading Commander Fin. Behind him hung framed medals, badges, and old photos from his years of service — testaments of a man who had built his life on the law. A faint hum came from the ceiling fan above, slicing the silence like clockwork.

Cain stepped in calmly, his black suit a sharp contrast to the disciplined blue of the officers outside. His lips curved faintly as he greeted,

"Hello."

Commander Fin raised his eyes from a document. "Officer Gon, leave us."

"Yes, sir." Gon saluted and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Have a seat," Fin said, gesturing toward the chair across his desk. His tone was firm — the kind of tone that made most men sit straighter.

Cain sat down, crossing one leg over the other, looking completely at ease.

"I'm Commander Fin," the older man said. "What brings you to the police station?"

Cain's lips twitched with a polite smile. "Thank you, Commander Fin, for having me here. I'll go straight to the point — no need to beat around the bush."

"Go on," Fin replied, folding his hands.

"I'm here for a job application," Cain said smoothly. "To be a police officer. You see, when I was a child, I always dreamed of serving the people… protecting society as a whole."

Fin raised an eyebrow. "That's a noble goal, but being a police officer isn't about dreams. It's about discipline and proof. So — where are your credentials?"

Cain blinked once. "Credentials? Did I need to bring those? I didn't think it was necessary."

Fin's brows furrowed. "Who applies for a job without credentials?"

"Well," Cain said, shrugging lightly, "you're looking at him. So, is there any other way I can still get the job?"

Fin sighed, leaning back in his chair. "No, not yet. But let me ask you a few questions. Do you have any job experience? Any prior service?"

Cain smiled faintly, his tone unchanging. "Nothing formal. But if we're being specific — I was assigned a position in hell. As part of the Six. I guess that counts as job experience."

Fin's expression froze. "You're joking… right?"

Cain tilted his head. "Of course not. I don't joke about work experience."

Fin slammed his hand on the desk. "Do you think this is funny?!"

"Not at all," Cain said, calm as ever. "I was merely being honest."

Fin exhaled sharply. "So you weren't a firefighter, a road officer, or anything related to saving lives?"

"No."

"That's it," Fin said, standing. "We're done here."

Cain looked up. "Oh? So that means I got the job then?"

Fin turned his back to him, arms folded. "No. It means you should leave. Now."

Cain's tone lowered, a whisper wrapped in silk. "Well, I tried. I didn't expect this to last long anyway."

Fin turned back sharply. "What do you mean by that—"

Before he could finish, Cain reached out, his hand brushing Fin's shoulder. His eyes glowed faintly — a deep, unnatural crimson.

"I was looking to see," Cain murmured, "if you had any job offers for me… Commander Fin."

Fin's pupils dulled, his jaw relaxed. "Yes. We have positions open," he said flatly.

Cain smiled. "Good. Tell me — what kind of positions?"

"You can join the police force… or the investigation team," Fin replied.

Cain leaned back, tapping his chin. "The investigation team, huh? What's that about?"

"They're handling the recent occurrences in the city," Fin said, monotone.

"I see…" Cain's smile deepened. "Then I want a position there. But tell me — do they wear uniforms like you officers?"

"No. They only wear tags around their necks."

"Perfect," Cain said, smirking. "I never liked uniforms anyway. So, Commander Fin, I'll take the position in the investigation team. Do you have a slot open for one more detective?"

"Of course," Fin answered. "You'll be appointed today itself. We need more hands on the case."

Cain's hand slipped away from his shoulder, and Fin blinked, his consciousness snapping back. "Welcome aboard, Detective Cain."

Cain smiled warmly and extended a hand. "It's a pleasure."

"Come with me," Fin said. "I'll introduce you to the rest of the team."

They exited the office, stepping into the elevator. Fin pressed the button, and with a soft ding, the doors closed.

"We're heading to the second floor," Fin said.

"Sure thing," Cain replied, watching the metallic doors reflect his faint grin.

Seconds later, the elevator opened to a burst of movement and chatter. The second floor — the investigation division — was alive with energy. Officers shuffled between desks cluttered with papers, photos, and half-finished coffee cups. Computer screens blinked with open files and crime scene photos. A man leaned against the wall with a doughnut in one hand and coffee in the other.

The place wasn't chaotic — it was alive, like the heartbeat of the entire force.

As they stepped out, a young woman came rushing by, struggling to balance a tower of files in her arms. She couldn't see where she was going and bumped right into Cain.

The files exploded into the air, scattering across the floor. Cain caught her before she could fall, his hand steady on her arm.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

She blinked up at him, flustered. "Y-yes…"

Cain's eyes flickered faintly red — subtle, unnoticed — and for a brief moment, her pupils turned blank white before returning to normal.

"Good, Mira" he said looking at her tag and releasing her gently.

"Thank you," she murmured, bending to gather the scattered files.

The entire office paused when they saw Commander Fin. Officers straightened, some saluting, others standing at attention.

"Everyone," Fin called, "we have a new member joining the investigation team starting today."

Whispers rippled through the room.

"Everyone, meet your new teammate — Detective Cain."

Cain smiled. "Nice to meet you all."

One of the officers leaned to another. "So, another detective sent by the government, huh?"

Fin folded his arms. "More heads mean faster progress on the case." He turned back to Cain. "Once again — welcome to the team."

Cain nodded. "Thank you, Commander."

Fin gave him a curt nod before stepping back into the elevator.

As soon as the doors closed, the chatter resumed. Desks buzzed with life again, phones rang, keyboards clicked. The office stretched wide, each investigator's station a small island of chaos and personality — some tidy, some buried in documents.

A tall man with dark hair and a silver badge-tag hanging from his neck walked up, extending a hand.

"Hi," he said with a friendly grin. "I'm Adrian."

Cain shook his hand. "Cain."

"Welcome to the team, Detective," Adrian said. "Can't wait to see what ideas you bring."

Cain's eyes glimmered faintly. "Question — when do I get my tag and batch?" he asked, pointing at Adrian's tag.

"You'll get yours soon," Adrian said. "But first, you'll need to meet the Chief Investigator."

"The Chief Investigator?" Cain echoed. "Is he around?"

"Stepped out for a bit, but he'll be back any minute now. Come — I'll show you your desk."

Cain followed, his smile calm, his presence quietly unsettling — like a wolf walking through a den of sheep, unseen, unbothered.

---

Meanwhile…

At the Designer Shop, Aria and Nena browsed through patterns for the shop's uniforms. The air smelled of fresh fabric and dye.

They sifted through stacks of designs until Aria picked one — a steaming coffee cup logo surrounded by elegant swirls.

"This one," Aria said.

Nena smiled. "Perfect. It fits the shop beautifully."

They handed it to the designer, who nodded. "We'll get started right away. You can pick it up later."

Nena crossed her legs and sat back. "No need — we'll wait. We're not in a hurry."

"Alright, ma'am," the designer replied with a smile before walking off.

Aria and Nena leaned back in the metal chairs, the hum of sewing machines echoing softly in the background .

At the shop, the sun had dipped below the horizon, the work in the shop was done.The faint scent of paint and polish still lingered in the air. Outside, a large crimson banner hung proudly above the door, its bold inscription catching every eye that passed:

"Nena's Caffé."

The shop looked alive. Tables and chairs, once dusty and disorganized, now gleamed in perfect alignment. The black wooden tables reflected the soft light from the windows, while the polished floor shone faintly beneath them. The walls were crisp white, touched with faint accents of crimson trim — simple, clean, and warm.

Azreal stood with his arms crossed, admiring the place. "Nena and Aria should be back by now," he said, his calm voice echoing lightly. "I wonder what's taking them so long."

Hulk wiped his hands on a rag. "I can go and check for them, my Lord, if you'd like."

A voice interrupted from the doorway — firm yet teasing.

"I'm not a child that needs to be checked on," Nena said, stepping inside with her usual confidence.

Everyone turned toward her. Hulk blinked and raised his hands slightly. "That's not what I meant, Nena."

Nena smirked. "It's alright."

Aria followed behind her, holding a neat white paper bag. "The uniforms are ready," she announced.

Azreal's eyes softened. "Good. And the shop's ready too. Let's head in and rest for a bit — today's been quite the grind for all of us."

They moved through the shop and into the hidden passage, descending into the cozy underground lounge — their true base of operations. The air there was cooler, calmer. They collapsed onto the sofas, a tired but satisfied silence falling over the group.

"I'll go make something for us to eat," Nena said, setting the bag down and walking toward the kitchen.

Aria reached into the bag and handed out the uniforms one by one. Each was striking: crimson shirts with the café's logo — a steaming cup — stitched elegantly beside the words "Nena's Caffé" in white cursive. For the boys, there were sleek black trousers; for the girls, matching skirts. Each uniform came with a crimson cap lined in white, the café's name embroidered on the front.

Azreal turned one of the caps in his hand and nodded in approval. "Perfect. Everything is in order."

Laisa sat back, stretching her arms. "But where's Cain? Didn't he go looking for a job? He should've been back by now."

Lyra gave a lazy smirk. "Knowing him, he's probably up to no good again."

Before anyone could reply, Nena returned with a tray in hand. "Oh, perfect! You've all got your uniforms. Now put them aside and eat." She set the tray down on the table — steaming bowls of noodles, the aroma instantly filling the air.

"Speaking of Cain," Nena said as she served, "isn't he back yet?"

The hidden passage creaked open just then. A familiar voice echoed in.

"I'm home, everyone."

They turned, and there he was — Cain, walking in casually with a faint smirk, wearing a sleek black shirt and trousers. Around his neck hung a police badge tag, glinting under the light.

He dropped himself onto the couch like he owned the place.

Azreal's gaze locked on the badge. "Seeing that badge on your neck… I assume you got in."

Cain smiled. "Yes, my Lord."

Shot leaned forward. "Wait, where's the uniform? Don't the police have, like, blue suits and shiny badges and all that?"

Cain chuckled. "Well, I'm not a police officer. I'm part of the investigation team. You may now refer to me as… Detective Cain."

Fredrick arched a brow. "Who made you a detective?"

"The government," Cain replied smoothly, adjusting his badge tag.

Azreal chuckled faintly. "Smart choice. The investigation team is better. You'll have access to every bit of information we might need."

Cain smirked. "Exactly what I thought. Being a detective suits me better anyway."

He leaned forward, sniffing the aroma of the noodles. "So… what's for dinner?"

Lyra gave him a deadpan look. "Are you blind? It's noodles."

Cain grinned. "Perfect. Then let's dig in."

He grabbed a bowl as the rest followed, laughter and chatter filling the lounge. For a brief moment, it felt like peace — simple, human, and warm.

---

The next morning, sunlight bathed the streets in soft gold. Outside the shop, a crimson ribbon stretched across the entrance, tied in a perfect bow. The new sign gleamed under the light — "Nena's Caffé" in bold, stylish letters, the steam from a painted coffee cup curling above the words.

A small crowd had gathered — townspeople, curious passersby, and friends — all buzzing with anticipation.

Azreal stood before them, hands clasped behind his back, his calm voice rising with authority. "Dear friends, today marks the opening of a new chapter in our lives."

He smiled faintly, the morning light catching his crimson hair. "Without further ado, I welcome you all to Nena's Caffé."

Applause and cheers followed as Nena stepped forward, a giant pair of ceremonial scissors in hand. With a bright smile, she cut the ribbon cleanly.

Azreal raised his hand for attention. "As a token of gratitude, today we'll be serving everyone — for free!"

The crowd gasped in disbelief. A young man in the front whispered, "Did he just say for free?"

In an instant, the crowd surged forward, rushing into the shop like a wave. Laughter and chatter filled the air as chairs scraped, orders were shouted, and the hum of excitement overtook the street.

Azreal turned to his crew, smiling calmly amidst the chaos.

"Well," he said, "looks like we've got our hands full. Nena's Caffé is officially in business."

Nena adjusted her cap, her eyes gleaming with pride. "Then let's show them what we can do."

And just like that, the once-quiet shop came alive — the sound of cups clinking, steam hissing, and the scent of fresh coffee filling the air — marking the beginning of something greater than any of them yet realized.

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