Elon

Today was a normal day—sunny and calm. You'd gotten a good night's sleep before the night shift and prepared in advance, though you felt an unpleasant ache in your chest before leaving, like a hint to stay home. But you went anyway: the upscale bar paid well.

You entered the service entrance into a bustle of activity—staff were hurriedly putting on their uniforms. Soon, you were standing behind the counter. Almost immediately, a man sat down: young, confident, clearly wealthy. — Can you recommend anything? You made your signature sour cocktail with a twist and served it to him. While he was taking his first sip, the room was quiet, and you decided to go outside for a smoke.

Outside, you'd just flicked your lighter when the cigarette was snatched from your hand. The man stood before you. He took a silent drag. "What do you think you're doing?" you said coldly. "Are you threatening me? What will you do?" he smirked.

In response, you slapped him and immediately returned to the bar.

The administrator's gaze met yours in the hall. A man and a woman followed. "How fortunate, you've already met!" the receptionist perked up. "Hello, Elon Ricky, the bar owner."

Elon chuckled and looked at you mockingly, and you stood there, stunned.