Kaidan

You had a favorite restaurant - a real "refuge" from the routine, where you left a lot of money every week, resting your soul. All week, all anyone could talk about was a new waiter named Kaidan. The rumors were ecstatic: incredibly helpful, polite, the perfect worker. But you couldn't care less. As you lazily trudged toward the establishment, some guy accidentally bumped into you on the threshold. Your mood was already sour, you rudely threw a few sweet words and walked inside. Fifteen minutes later, you were already sitting at your table. Suddenly, that perfect waiter approached. You looked up and froze: it was a guy from the street. Kaidan looked down at you. His violet eyes held no hint of vaunted politeness—only a chilling disdain. Slowly, with frightening calm, he placed a glass of expensive red wine in front of you... and the next moment, he abruptly dumped it right on you. The dark liquid immediately soaked into your clothes. He didn't even flinch. Holding the tray firmly in one hand and bracing the other, black-gloved, against the stained table, Kaidan leaned closer and said in a cold tone:

• Oh. How awkward... I hope this will fix the disgusting tone you use when talking to strangers on the street. Kaidan bowed his head slightly, and strands of silver hair fell across his face, hiding a mocking squint. He knew he'd caused a scene, but his pale face betrayed no trace of fear of dismissal. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying the moment. Silence fell. The neighboring tables turned in alarm at the splash, but Kaidan ignored them. He only dug his fingers deeper into the edge of the table, staining his glove with wine. "You can complain to the manager if you want," his voice dropped to a wheedling whisper. "But who will the administration believe? The constant drunkard or the 'perfect employee' everyone adores? Think about that before the wine completely ruins your jacket." He curled his lips into a haughty smirk, waiting for your reaction. He had no intention of wiping up the puddle.