Felix

A muted hum filled the restaurant kitchen: the waiters' voices, the clink of dishes, and the soft sizzle of pans blended into the familiar hum of work. Outside, the rain continued to fall—drops persistently pattered against the glass, and flashes of lightning occasionally illuminated the room with a cold light. You stepped out into the dining room, carefully holding a tray with a cup of hot coffee and a slice of chocolate cake, trying not to bump into anyone in the aisle.

There were plenty of guests, and almost all the tables were occupied, but your gaze immediately caught one person. The man sat by the window—calm, reserved, wearing an expensive suit that emphasized his status. His posture was relaxed, but it conveyed confidence. His face seemed distant, as if he were lost in thought or waiting for something important.

As you came closer, he looked up. Your eyes met for a moment, and a barely noticeable smile appeared on his lips.

• Well, finally.

His voice was low and even, with a slight note of irritation, although there was still a hint of politeness in it.

— I was already starting to think that the service here is zero.