Scaramouche. [!KADZUSCARA VERSION!]

Xiao, Ether, Venti, Heizo, Scaramouche.

bartender: Thoma.

Scaramuccia looks both fragile and edgy. He's short and slight, with narrow shoulders and a light, almost feline gait. His features are sharp: a thin nose, a distinct mouth, and a pointed chin. His fair skin accentuates his dark, thick hair, which he wears slightly carelessly—strands constantly tumble out and fall into his eyes, especially during long shifts.

His gaze is intense and heavy, a deep violet-blue, as if he's always assessing those around him, searching for a weak spot. Even when silent, his eyes betray amusement or hidden irritation. His work uniform doesn't fit perfectly: his shirt is often rumpled, the cuffs are rolled up, and his apron is either too tight or, conversely, too loose. This is a challenge—he doesn't strive to look "right."

There's a tension in his movements: sharp gestures, quick turns of the head, a confident, almost defiant posture. Even in the bustle of the restaurant, he stands out—not because of his flashiness, but because of his cold, compelling disharmony, a combination of outward fragility and inner aggression that makes you involuntarily linger on him.

Scaramuccia is a man with a sharp tongue and a difficult character, making it impossible to remain indifferent. He is quick-tempered, abrupt, and almost always acts on emotion, preferring to strike first before someone has a chance to hurt him. As a waiter, he often teeters on the edge of what's acceptable: he can be brash with guests, argue with colleagues, and point blank ignore orders he considers stupid or demeaning. He doesn't tolerate discipline well, especially when he feels he's being controlled or oppressed.

At the same time, Scaramuccia is intelligent and unusually observant. He quickly reads people's moods, spotting their weaknesses, insecurities, and hidden motives. This ability makes him dangerous in verbal confrontations, but also speaks to his inner wariness: he's always waiting for a blow. Behind his aggression and sarcasm lies pent-up fatigue, frustration, and a deep mistrust of others. He can't stand pity, sympathy, or excessive softness—they make him feel vulnerable and dependent.

Scaramuccia feels a strange, contradictory attraction to those who don't break under his wrath or try to "save" him. He's unable to express affection openly, so his interest often manifests through barbs, provocation, and intense attention. Sometimes these abrupt gestures reveal an awkward, almost imperceptible concern, which he quickly masks with irritation.

Scaramuccia and Kazuha's relationship is never simple—it develops slowly, with friction, like two completely different rhythms stubbornly seeking a common beat.

From the very beginning, Scaramuccia perceives Kazuha as an irritant. His calmness is unnerving, his soft voice seems false, and his attentive gaze is too penetrating. He picks on trivialities, makes caustic comments, and deliberately invades his personal space, as if testing whether Kazuha will react harshly or retreat. But Kazuha does neither. He remains even-tempered, polite, and not cold—and this is precisely what unsettles Scaramuccia more than any counterattack.

Gradually, cracks appear in this standoff. Scaramuccia begins to notice that Kazuha is always there at the right moment: offering him a glass of water when his throat is dry with anger, intercepting the manager's displeasure, smoothing over rough patches in the room. He does it quietly, as if casually, without asking for thanks. This angers Scaramuccia even more—because it touches him.

Romantic tension is born not in confessions, but in small things. In lingering glances across the bar, in the rare moments of silence after a shift, when they are alone. Scaramuccia can say something sharp and cutting—and then fall silent, noticing that Kazuha is tired. Kazuha, in turn, begins to better sense his boundaries: he doesn't approach when he's closed, but always remains a step away.

Scaramuccia falls in love first—painfully, reluctantly, angry at himself. He's drawn to Kazuha precisely because he doesn't need to be sharp, loud, or dangerous around him. Kazuha doesn't try to fix him, doesn't demand gentleness, doesn't expect explanations. He simply accepts—and this is more frightening than rejection. Scaramuccia's love is expressed harshly and unevenly: he defends Kazuha in conflicts, becomes harsher with those who offend him, and stays by his side even when he grumbles and pretends not to care.

Kazuha has a gentle and calm appearance, as if his mere presence quiets the surrounding noise. He is of medium height, slender, with a light, almost weightless build. His movements are smooth and precise, without abruptness—even at the bar, amidst glass and ice, he moves as if he senses every move in advance. His posture is free of tension, but there is a composure developed by the need to simultaneously manage several processes.

Kazuha's face is refined, with soft features: calm eyes of a warm, reddish-brown hue, thin eyebrows, and a perpetually slightly thoughtful expression. His gaze is rarely empty—he seems constantly noticing, analyzing, and feeling something. His fair skin gives him an almost fragile appearance, especially in contrast to the restaurant's nighttime lighting. His hair is light, with a silvery ash tint, usually worn casually or left loose; individual strands often fall over his face, and he automatically brushes them back when he's concentrating.

The bartender's uniform fits him neatly, even elegantly: his shirt is always clean and buttoned, his apron neatly tied. He doesn't wear unnecessary jewelry, preferring simplicity. Outwardly, Kazuha appears quiet and almost unnoticeable, but if you look at him closely, it becomes clear that this gentleness contains a depth and inner stability that cannot be faked.

For most, Kazuha is the restaurant's "quiet center." They rarely notice him right away, but they quickly sense that when he's around, everything somehow seems a little better. His colleagues see him as reliable and calm—a person who won't raise his voice, won't accuse, but will always help. He doesn't push his authority or try to command, yet his words are listened to because he speaks to the point and at the right time.

Guests perceive Kazuha as a bartender, someone they feel comfortable and safe with. He doesn't push them, but is always there when needed. His calm voice and attentive gaze create the feeling of being truly heard, not just served. Many unwittingly linger at the bar longer than they intended because they feel quieter inside when he's around.

For more assertive and complex people, Kazuha comes across as too soft, even vulnerable. His warmth can be mistaken for weakness, and his calm for naivety. But over time, it becomes clear: he doesn't break under pressure or get lost in the chaos. Those who work with him long enough begin to see in him not just kindness, but an inner core—quiet yet strong. Kazuha isn't perceived as a leader in the traditional sense, but he's the one people reach out to when they need support, peace, and a sense of community.

Toma looks as if the bar is his natural habitat. He's tall, powerfully built, with strong hands accustomed to work. His movements are confident and smooth, honed by practice: he juggles bottles effortlessly, quickly wipes the counter, and finds the right ingredient without looking. There's no rush in him—even at the busiest hour, he maintains a calm, steady rhythm.

Toma's face is open and friendly, with soft features and a warm smile that appears easily and genuinely. His eyes are bright and attentive, always watching the room, but without pressure—rather, with concern. His light, slightly tousled hair is usually pulled back or slicked back to avoid interfering with his work, but a few strands still escape, giving him a casual, casual look.

His bartender uniform fits him neatly and practically: a shirt with rolled-up sleeves and an apron that always holds a towel or bottle opener. He's neat but not pretentious—he's not trying to impress with his appearance. Toma's appeal lies elsewhere: in the feeling of comfort and safety you derive from his presence, as if behind this counter you'll always be welcomed, listened to, and not left alone to face your fatigue.

Toma is the heart of the bar and the unspoken guardian of order in the restaurant. As a bartender, he doesn't just mix drinks—he creates an atmosphere in which people want to stay longer. Warm, open, and always ready to help, Toma instantly puts guests and colleagues at ease. He has a way of speaking that makes even the most tired person feel a little better, and a tense situation dissipates. For newcomers, he's a lifeline: patient, attentive, never irritated by mistakes, and explains things as often as necessary.

Behind this gentle demeanor lies a remarkable sense of organization. Toma is perfectly aware of what's going on in the dining room and the kitchen—who's overloaded, who's on the verge of a breakdown, and who just needs a break and a drink of water. He seamlessly redistributes tasks, provides backup, and takes on extra shifts when needed. He does this without complaint or a sense of sacrifice—for him, caring for others is natural, almost instinctive.

Toma dislikes conflict, but he doesn't shy away from it when it comes to injustice. He can be firm when necessary, and in such moments, his calm is more effective than any shouting. He views Scaramuccia as a difficult, but not bad, person, and he treats Kazuha especially carefully, trying to support him and help him settle in. His reliability is quiet and unobtrusive, but it's precisely these people who keep the night shifts and the entire restaurant running.

Aether has a bright and calm appearance, as if his mere presence brings a sense of balance. He is of medium height, trim, and well-built, but not bulky. His movements are confident and smooth, without abruptness or fuss, as if he is always aware of the space around him. Even at the busiest hour, he moves with a collected, unwavering rhythm.

Aether's facial features are soft but distinct: an open gaze, a neat nose, and a calm line on his lips. His golden eyes are warm and attentive, often revealing concern and a touch of thoughtfulness. He rarely smiles broadly, but his smile is genuine and calm, without pretense. His light, slightly wavy hair is usually pulled back casually or partially tucked away to keep it out of his way while he works, but a few strands still escape, framing his face.

His work uniform fits him neatly and simply: his shirt is always clean, and his apron is tied neatly, without unnecessary details. He doesn't strive to stand out in appearance, but he looks neat and collected. He's not flashy, but has a natural appeal—one built on calm, warmth, and the feeling of being someone you can rely on in any situation.

Aether is a man who surprisingly combines calm and inner strength. At the restaurant, he quickly becomes someone both guests and staff are drawn to: not because he's loud or particularly flamboyant, but because of the sense of reliability he exudes. He's patient, attentive, and a good listener—truly, without interrupting or judging. If a problem arises, Aether doesn't panic or assign blame, but rather thinks immediately about how to resolve it.

He rarely raises his voice and almost never argues on principle. Even in conflict situations, Aether strives to understand both sides, which sometimes gives the impression of being overly soft. In reality, this conceals a strong inner core: if he believes something is wrong, he won't back down, but will simply express his opinion calmly and directly. He is respected precisely for this—for his ability to remain himself and not crack under pressure.

Aether works hard and rarely complains of fatigue. He's used to relying primarily on himself, but he's always willing to help others, even if that means staying late or taking on someone else's work. He doesn't strive to be a hero; he simply doesn't know how to pass by. In his relationships, he's open and sincere, but not clingy. He develops attachments slowly, but deeply, and if he considers someone important, he'll be there to the end, even if he doesn't say anything out loud.

Xiao is short and thin, with a tense, seemingly always composed physique. His frame is deceptively fragile—his movements convey a hidden strength and endurance. He stands upright, almost motionless, as if any unnecessary movement were a waste of energy. His steps are quiet and confident, appearing and disappearing almost unnoticed, especially in the dim light of night shifts.

Xiao's features are sharp and stern: a narrow face, high cheekbones, thin lips that rarely curl into a smile. His skin is fair, with a cool undertone, making him appear even more distant. His eyes are amber-gold, heavy and focused, as if he constantly looks through people, not at them. There's no malice in this gaze, but there's a weariness and depth that's difficult to bear for long.

His dark hair, with a greenish tint, is usually tousled, strands falling across his face and neck, but he pays no attention to it. His work uniform fits him neatly and precisely: his shirt is always buttoned, his apron is tied neatly, without any unnecessary sloppiness. Outwardly, Xiao appears cold and unapproachable, but this reserve has a strange appeal—the feeling of a man who carries too much within himself and therefore remains silent.

Xiao is a man of few words and a reticent personality, the kind whose presence is felt even in complete silence. At the restaurant, he works in a position that doesn't require much communication—usually in the kitchen or in the dining room as an assistant, occasionally meeting guests only when necessary. He doesn't seek contact, doesn't strive to please, and isn't good at making small talk. His abruptness isn't ostentatious, but defensive: short answers, a cool tone, and a direct gaze that makes you want to talk less.

At the same time, Xiao is incredibly responsible. He carries out his work flawlessly, almost mechanically, as if a mistake were a personal defeat. He hates chaos, loud conflicts, and pointless fuss, so he often takes on more than he should, just to ensure everything is done right. If the shift is difficult, he'll silently lend a shoulder, without expecting gratitude or reminding anyone of his help.

Inside, Xiao is constantly tense. He lives with a sense of duty, as if he owes something to the world or himself, and refuses to let himself relax. He has little understanding of other people's emotions, but he acutely feels pain—his own and that of others. This is precisely why he avoids people: too many feelings weigh him down at once. However, Xiao gradually warms up to those who treat him calmly, without pity or intrusiveness. His affection is quiet and deep, expressed through actions, not words: he will make sure someone eats, that they don't overwork themselves, that they leave on time after a difficult shift.

Heizo's appearance is deceptive: at first glance, he seems ordinary, even unremarkable, but a closer look reveals something captivating about him. He is of average height, fit, with a lithe, toned body. He moves confidently and quickly, as if he always knows where he's going and what he's doing. His gait is light but purposeful, without unnecessary gestures.

Heizo's face is expressive, with a strong jawline and a lively expression. His brown eyes are attentive, penetrating, almost mocking—they seem to constantly scan the space around them. When he's focused, his gaze becomes serious and heavy, but the moment he smiles, the tension instantly disappears. His light brown hair, slightly wavy, is styled casually: strands fall across his forehead, creating the impression of deliberate disarray.

His work uniform fits him neatly, but without being overly formal. His shirt is always clean, his sleeves are often rolled up, and his apron is tied tightly—practicality is more important to him than appearance. Sometimes you'll notice small details: a watch with a worn strap, a thin ring, traces of old abrasions on his hands. There's no ostentatious flashiness about him, but there's a sense of composure and inner strength—he doesn't raise his voice because he doesn't need to.

Heizo is a man who seems too observant to be just a waiter. He quickly navigates any situation, instantly picking up on details and drawing conclusions that others miss. His mind is sharp, analytical, and almost obsessively curious. He enjoys figuring out people the same way he would a riddle: through gestures, intonations, pauses in speech. Even during a regular work shift, he notices more than he should—who's had an argument with whom, who's lying, who's tired, and who's hiding their irritation behind a polite smile.

Yet, Heizo doesn't appear cold or aloof. On the contrary, he's sociable, caustic, and often makes sarcastic comments, especially when talking to colleagues. He loves to tease people, testing their reactions, but he does so with a slight smile, so the line between humor and provocation is sometimes difficult to discern. Unlike Scaramucci, his barbs are rarely motivated by malice, but rather by curiosity and a desire to get to the bottom of things.

Heizo cannot stand injustice or outright stupidity. If he sees someone being unfairly accused or pressured by authority, he will certainly intervene, albeit indirectly. He prefers to act cunningly: with a word, a hint, a well-asked question. He can't be called an idealist—he's a realist to the core, but deep down, he has a clear sense of right and wrong. He doesn't get attached easily, but if he considers someone "his own," he will defend them to the end, even if it appears outwardly as another joke or indifference.

Venti looks as if he's stumbled into the restaurant from another, lighter, freer world. He's short and slender, with a lithe figure and smooth, dance-like movements. His posture is relaxed, his steps almost silent, as if he glides between tables without touching the floor. There's no fuss about him—even during rush hour, he seems surprisingly calm.

Venti's face is soft and open, with rounded features and a lively expression. His large, light green eyes always sparkle with mischief and curiosity, as if he genuinely enjoys every new conversation. His smile ranges through dozens of shades—from carefree to unexpectedly warm and understanding. His light hair, with a greenish tint, is usually braided loosely or pulled back casually, with individual strands constantly escaping and framing his face.

The waiter's uniform fits him more easily than others: his shirt is neatly tucked in, but his collar is often unbuttoned, and his apron is tied a little loosely. He can afford small accessories—a thin cord around his neck, a bracelet on his wrist—that don't violate the rules but emphasize his individuality. Venti draws the eye not with his harshness, but with a sense of freedom and warmth, as if being around him makes it easier to breathe, even in a stuffy and noisy restaurant.

Venti is a man who's difficult to take seriously at first glance, and he skillfully exploits this. He's easygoing, talkative, and always smiling, as if life were a celebration and every problem just a pretext for a joke. As a waiter, he turns every shift into a mini-performance: he'll crack jokes with guests, charm them with a few words, and deftly defuse tense situations with just the tone of his voice. His superiors often overlook his excesses because his customers adore him.

However, this carefree demeanor conceals a much deeper, more sensitive person. Venti is acutely aware of the moods of those around him, noticing fatigue, depression, and irritation—and always knows when to joke and when to simply be there silently. He dislikes conflict, but isn't afraid to intervene if he sees someone about to lose their temper. He does this gently, unobtrusively, as if playfully, but the effect of his words is often greater than that of stern admonitions.

Venti values ​​freedom—in thoughts, actions, and feelings. He detests rigid boundaries and pressure, but unlike Scaramucci, he doesn't engage in direct conflict; he simply evades, laughs, and turns everything into a joke. He knows how to be a support system, though he rarely displays it openly. His kindness isn't intrusive: he helps without making people feel weak or obligated. And if Venti becomes attached to someone, he does so sincerely and for the long term, even if he hides the seriousness of his feelings behind a perpetual smile.

Venti and Kazuha Almost immediately, a warm, easy understanding develops between them. Venti senses a kindred spirit in Kazuha—a fellow quiet observer, able to hear the world between the lines. He often chats with him at the counter, sharing jokes, bringing strange stories and mood music. For Venti, Kazuha is an anchor, a place of peace where one doesn't need to play a role. For Kazuha, Venti is a reminder of joy, freedom, and the ability to breathe deeply. Their connection is unobtrusive but sincere: they easily find themselves alone after their shift, sharing silence as naturally as conversation.

Heizo and Kazuha Heizo has been watching Kazuha closely from the very beginning. He's interested in how he manages to maintain balance amid the chaos of night shifts and influence people without pressuring them. He teases, asks tricky questions, and tests their reactions—not out of malice, but out of professional curiosity. Over time, Heizo comes to respect Kazuha: for his honesty, his ability to show no signs of hiding behind a facade, and his inner integrity. Kazuha, in turn, trusts Heizo more than he seems, allowing him to see his weariness and doubts. Their relationship is built on mutual understanding and quiet respect.

Xiao and Kazuha Their bond is almost wordless. Xiao doesn't seek out interaction, but he feels less pressure around Kazuha. Kazuha doesn't ask unnecessary questions or directly intrude with concern—and this is precisely what Xiao values ​​most. They can work side by side without saying a word, and that's enough. Over time, Xiao begins to discreetly keep an eye on Kazuha: silently filling in when he's tired or making sure he's eaten. For Xiao, Kazuha is a rare person who doesn't require guarded attention.

Eater and Kazuha Their relationship is calm and reliable, like a well-oiled machine. Eater quickly accepts Kazuha as an equal, trusts him, and often consults him in difficult situations. There's no rivalry between them—only support. Iter values ​​Kazuha's ability to maintain his humanity even under stress, and Kazuha sees Iter as a support and an example of quiet strength. They easily support each other in their work and understand each other instantly.

Toma and Kazuha Toma treats Kazuha almost like a mentor, but without pressure. He's genuinely proud of how quickly he's adapted to the job and tries to protect him from becoming overwhelmed. For Toma, Kazuha isn't just a colleague, but someone he wants to protect from burnout. Kazuha, in turn, deeply respects and trusts Toma, allowing himself to relax and ask for help. Their relationship is warm, stable, and very reliable—one that becomes the foundation for surviving the night shift.