Night had already swallowed the city by the time Cain returned, shoulders heavy, eyes dim. He slipped quietly through the hidden passage, the soft hum of the barrier fading as he stepped into the familiar warmth of the living room.

The smell of coffee and burnt wood lingered in the air.

Lyra, lounging on the couch, lifted her gaze and said with a smirk,

"Welcome back, Detective Cain."

He exhaled sharply, voice weary. "Drop it, Lyra."

The man dropped onto the couch, the weight of the day still clinging to him like smoke.

Nena tilted her head. "Rough day? How was your first case?"

Cain rubbed his temples. "Fine. They assigned me a case — a woman's ashes were found earlier today."

Nena's eyes softened. "That bad, huh…"

Across the room, Azreal leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Any details so far?"

Cain's voice was low, controlled. "The woman's name was Layla Bose. She had a daughter — Lisa Bose."

At that name, Jack froze. His pupils trembled — a flicker of memory flashed behind his eyes:

a mall, laughter, a girl's voice.

Lisa.

He shut his eyes tightly, as if trying to block it out.

Cain continued, unaware. "I didn't mention her daughter to the others yet. The department wants to contact the family first — they'll figure it out soon enough."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Her daughter was there when she was attacked. But I didn't see what happened to her. My guess? Whoever killed the mother probably killed the daughter too."

Nena looked horrified. "That's cruel… I hope they find her family soon."

"Yeah," Cain muttered, eyes half-closed. "That's about all for now. After that, it was just the usual boring procedures."

There was a heavy pause — the kind that filled the room with unspoken questions.

Aria broke the silence. "But why would someone want to turn humans into Infernals? What's the goal?"

Fredrick, polishing a glass beside her, frowned. "And the humans are dying in the process. You'd think that would make them stop."

Lexi, with a faint, chilling smile, crossed her legs. "They're using them as live test subjects. Cruel… even by my standards."

Shot, perched on the armrest, tilted his head. "Still doesn't make sense. How are they even turning humans into Infernals? What are they using?"

Cain looked up, his tone distant. "I saw it in her memories — she took something into her body. A liquid, maybe. I couldn't see it clearly. And I couldn't see the attacker's face either."

Azreal's gaze hardened. "No matter what their goal is, we'll find out — and end it. That's the reason we came here in the first place."

The air hung heavy — until Eric broke the tension, puffing a thin cloud of smoke as he raised his hand lazily.

"Speaking of serious things, I'd like to make a suggestion about Nena's Caffé."

Azreal arched a brow. "Go on, Eric."

Eric grinned, cigarette between his fingers. "I was thinking… no competition. Let's make the café stand out — add a bit of artistry. I can paint portraits for customers. Keeps me busy, and it'll attract attention."

Nena smiled warmly. "That's actually a wonderful idea."

Azreal nodded. "Of course. You can do your painting. Every bit of creativity helps the mission move forward."

Laisa leaned back dramatically, placing a hand over her chest. "But first— if our customers are to receive satisfactory portraits, you'll need to prove your skill. Paint me, Eric."

Aria rolled her eyes immediately. "You just want a portrait of yourself under the excuse of testing his skills."

Laisa gasped, mock-offended. "I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about."

Nena chuckled softly, standing up. "Alright, alright. I'll bring dinner. We all had a long day."

Cain let out a deep sigh. "Yes, please. I'm exhausted."

Shot smirked. "You just investigated one case, sat all day, and you're already exhausted? What a lazy detective."

Cain slowly raised his badge, glaring at him. "You're talking to Detective Cain. I hold employment power — you better show some respect."

Lyra stifled a laugh. "Hai, hai, Detective Cain."

Laughter filled the room. For a moment, the darkness of the day lifted, replaced by warmth and the scent of food cooking in the kitchen.

---

Next Morning — Nena's Caffé

The sunlight poured through the large windows of Nena's Caffé, scattering golden warmth across polished tables and steaming mugs.

The air was alive — the hiss of espresso machines, the chatter of customers, the aroma of roasted beans and sugar.

Every table was full — some sipping coffee, others laughing over slices of cake or glazed donuts.

Laisa and Aria, dressed in dark crimson uniforms embroidered with "Nena's Caffé" in elegant gold, moved gracefully through the crowd. Their black skirts swayed lightly as they worked — an oddly charming balance of elegance and chaos.

"Table four — one cup of black coffee!" Aria called out, jotter and pen in hand.

Laisa turned with a smile, tray balanced effortlessly as she served the steaming cup.

Outside, Hulk stood tall and unmoving in a sleek black suit and dark glasses — a mountain of muscle posing as security.

At one corner near the window, Eric sat with a cigarette hanging from his lips, brush in hand. Before him, a line of customers waited eagerly for their portraits.

His strokes were smooth, each face coming alive on the canvas — art meeting coffee.

At the take-away window, Lexi handled a steady stream of customers. A man ordered two cups for the road; she handed them through the glass with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Inside, behind the counter, Lyra worked beside Nena, her fingers quick as she arranged pastries in the display case — golden croissants, layered cakes, sugar-dusted donuts gleaming under the light.

Outside, Shot, also in the crimson uniform, secured a box of deliveries into the crate of his motorcycle. He strapped on his helmet, the engine roaring to life before he disappeared down the street.

Back inside, Jack and Fredrick wore matching crimson shirts and black trousers, their white caps trimmed with scarlet lining as they carried trays, took orders, and greeted customers with practiced smiles.

And at the counter — calm, composed, yet sharp as ever — sat Azreal.

He flipped open the register, typed in another amount, and the counter closed with a satisfying ding.

Outside, a light breeze carried laughter and chatter — the kind of easy calm that filled the café's afternoons.

Eric sat by his easel under the shade of a crimson umbrella. His dark apron was splattered with color, his cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. He brushed the last stroke across the canvas — the portrait of a woman holding a flower — and handed it to her.

She gasped softly. "It's beautiful."

Eric nodded with a half-smile, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "Next," he said, his voice calm and gravelly.

No one stepped forward. He lifted his eyes.

Two familiar silhouettes were standing in front of his table.

Caden and Carl.

Both wore smug grins that practically screamed trouble incoming.

Eric sighed. "Right. Children. What do you want?"

Carl folded his arms dramatically. "We would like to commission a portrait."

"Sure," Eric said, leaning back slightly. "Is your mother with you?"

Carl puffed up his chest. "No, we're big enough to come by ourselves."

Eric raised an eyebrow. "Alright, then."

The twins exchanged mischievous glances.

Caden leaned close to whisper, "So, what's the plan?"

Carl's grin widened. "Just watch and go with the flow. Today, we'll drive these aliens away for good."

Caden nodded. "Okay."

Eric adjusted his canvas. "So, how should I draw the portrait? What kind of visual are we going for?"

Carl cleared his throat grandly. "I'd like you to draw me holding a golden staff, standing over alien creatures I've conquered — their faces beneath my feet as I stomp on them triumphantly."

Caden's eyes widened. "Wait, what—"

Carl whispered quickly, "Let's see if he can stand his people being insulted."

Eric simply nodded, unfazed. "Is that all you want?"

He dipped his brush and began painting.

Caden blinked. "Uh… he's not even upset."

Carl frowned. "Wait, I've got another idea!" He called out louder, "Make me huge — muscles everywhere! And make it vibrant, show my power!"

Eric, still calm, replied, "Anything else?"

Carl smirked and leaned close to Caden. "Time to go all out."

Caden nodded, trying not to laugh. "Add me to the portrait! Give me robotic arms!"

Carl added, "Make me a giant! Towering over mountains!"

Caden said, "And make me ride a shark!"

Carl said, "With laser eyes!"

Eric kept painting quietly, his brush gliding effortlessly.

The brothers exchanged wicked grins.

"And finally!" they shouted together, "Give us wings!"

Eric didn't flinch, his hand steady as he painted.

Caden tilted his head, whispering, "He looks lost in his work. Whatever he's drawing must be grotesque."

Carl chuckled. "Oh, artist! Did you get all that? Can we see it now?"

Eric didn't respond.

The boys looked around — the café patio was packed with customers, people waiting in line for portraits, others sipping coffee nearby.

Caden smirked. "Perfect. Once the painting turns out awful, we'll call him a scam artist in front of everyone. No one will ever come here again."

Carl nodded confidently. "Exactly. There's no way he could draw all that nonsense — wings, laser eyes, robot arms. He'll make a mess of it."

Caden snorted. "Robot arms, heh."

Carl held up a finger. "Alright, time to play the trump card."

Caden leaned forward, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Oh my, what a bad artist! It's been ages, and he still can't finish a simple portrait!"

People in line turned, murmuring among themselves.

Carl joined in, raising his voice. "True, true! This artist lacks style! People, don't waste your precious money on—"

Eric's voice cut through calmly. "The portrait is ready."

Carl froze mid-sentence. He blinked. "…It's ready?"

Caden crossed his arms skeptically. "I bet it's terrible."

Carl stepped aside with a mock bow. "Witness this scam artist's so-called masterpiece, everyone!"

Eric turned the canvas around.

And silence fell.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Even the chatter from inside the café seemed to fade.

Before them was a painting that seemed alive — breathtaking in its absurd perfection.

Carl stood tall at the center, muscles sculpted in radiant gold light, his golden staff raised high as waves of alien creatures knelt before him. The defeated aliens weren't grotesque — they looked majestic, otherworldly, painted with reverence rather than ridicule.

Beside him, Caden soared above the scene astride a gleaming silver shark, its body shimmering like starlight. His robotic arms gleamed under a celestial glow, and behind them both, great feathered wings spread wide — pure, luminous, divine.

Donuts rained faintly in the background like blessings from heaven, and a faint trail of coffee steam rose from the dragon-shaped clouds, framing the entire painting in warm amber light.

It was ridiculous. It was grand. And it was stunningly beautiful.

Carl's mouth fell open. "H–How… how can it be this magnificent?"

Caden's eyes shimmered with awe. "What a masterpiece… how did he get all that?"

Eric tilted his head slightly, cigarette still between his lips. "Judging by your expressions, I'll assume you like it."

Carl snapped out of his daze, clearing his throat and forcing a scoff. "The painting… didn't meet my taste."

Eric smirked faintly. "Is that so?"

Caden couldn't take his eyes off the portrait. "No — it's good! It's really good!" he said, grabbing the portrait eagerly. "Carl, this is amazing!"

Carl tugged on his sleeve. "Let's just go, Caden!"

They hurried off toward their mother's shop, the portrait clutched tightly in Caden's arms.

Eric exhaled smoke, eyes half-lidded. "Next," he said quietly.

The next customer stepped forward, awe still written across their face.

Eric dipped his brush again, calm as ever — as if he hadn't just silenced two troublemakers with art alone.

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