Western Pork Cutlet and Shakerato
"Um, sorry, but I think we need to halve this deal..."
"...Why is that?"
I lock eyes with the employee from the client company. He breaks into a cold sweat, gesturing wildly as he replies.
"Well... you know how it is. These things are just fads that flare up and fade fast."
"I know you have plenty of uses for it, though."
"They say they've been playing it too safe and need a fresh challenge now. Yeah, that's what they told me... I mean, said."
This is bad. We'd stocked up quite a bit for this regular contract. Well, nothing to be done. It's a steady seller anyway, and being such a familiar product, finding a new client shouldn't be too hard.
"So, will this amount of lemon juice work for this quarter?"
"Ah, yes, that's plenty!"
"Just so you know, if you stick to this volume next time, the unit price might go up a bit. As you know, small orders—"
The client's face, drenched in sweat like he might shrivel into a mummy from dehydration, suddenly lights up.
"Of course! Thank you so much!"
The employee bows deeply again, his face on the verge of tears. But worry still clouds his eyes.
Was it a horror attraction company? They'd gained a cult following with the Lemming Paradise series, blending bright vibes with creepy scares, or the Liminal Shift series using optical illusions for terror. But lately, rumors swirled that the president, drunk on fame, was spouting nonsense and churning out only pretty characters to cash in. Is that why this contract got slashed in half?
One client might vanish soon...
Losing a client hurts. Sure, like the saying goes, even if the rich fall, three generations endure—as long as a horror attraction doesn't flop too hard, it'll limp along somehow. But will they still be trading with us by then?
I feel this every deal: watching a client self-destruct from the sidelines is heartbreaking. Anyway, today's work is basically done. There's a report due tomorrow, but I can wrap it up in the morning and plug in a couple more numbers.
So, plenty of time left today...
...Maybe I should change up my mood a bit.
Still some time till quitting hour—might as well grab a quick coffee.
...There are about 72 cafes within 100 meters of System Industry HQ. Practically one per alley. One 17-story building even has a different cafe on every floor. It's more famous as the Tower of Caffeine than by its actual name.
"Nothing appealing today."
Plenty of cafes, but my options are limited. System Industry draws all sorts of races, which is why the cafe variety explodes. That one's for golems only, that for androids. Step into the wrong one, and you might end up with "Treno Espresso"—engine oil infused with coffee aroma—or "Coffin Roasting," where they spark the charger in a coffee-dusted port till it smokes. Neither's fit for living beings.
Any good spots around? Somewhere cozy to sit, sip coffee, enjoy a dessert...
"Hm?"
Hold on. Back up seven steps. Something in that alley I just passed...
"...Charcoal?"
Coffee, booze, and charcoal.
...Why charcoal here?
I wander into the alley like I've been hypnotized. There's a warehouse piled with coal, briquettes, and charcoal... attached to what looks like a restaurant. No, not quite. Coffee machines, cocktail shakers, cheese and bread... What even is this place?
"Cafe Charbone?"
Charbone? Carbon? Carbone? Carbonne? How do you pronounce it?
...A cafe, at least. But not just a cafe, apparently. Quirky. Very quirky. Now I'm curious. Let's check it out.
"...Hm."
The door chimes cheerfully as I enter—tring-a-ling—but the chameleon beastkin owner barely glances over. No reaction, just apathetically polishing a glass.
Inside reveals more: scorched oak barrels steeped in coffee scent, glassware like alchemical gear, and... briquette delivery flyers? Details below: addresses, contacts, names. Stamps mark them delivered.
They deliver briquettes too? Quirky. So quirky... Never seen a cafe like this.
"...Order something?"
Ah, shoot. Stared too hard. The chameleon fixes me with a steady gaze.
"Uh, could I see the menu?"
"If you need it."
I bury my face in the menu to hide my embarrassment.
Whoa. Interesting. Menus here have stuff you won't find elsewhere.
"Western pork cutlet? Neapolitan? Prosciutto melon... Hmm..."
Solid meal lineup. This is more bistro than cafe.
"Coal, charcoal, briquettes, activated carbon...? What's this?"
"Got a briquette boiler?"
"Ah, no."
...Feels like ages since I got talked down to like that. Fitting for a quirky cafe with a quirky owner. Anyway, skip the coals and charcoals. Not for me.
"...Oh."
Flip the page—booze galore. Right, signage mentioned alcohol outside. But inside? No sign of it. Coffee beans everywhere behind the counter. Doesn't look like they stock this much...
"Oho."
The chameleon shelves the glass, then flips the wall. Rotating bookshelf! The glassware rack sinks away, replaced by a booze-filled one.
Using space like that? Feels less like a cafe, more like a magician's lair.
I stare openly; he stares back blankly, sensing it.
Eek. Too rude. Time for...
"I'll orde—"
"One western pork cutlet... and what's this ancient coffee?"
"It's unroasted red beans ground and brewed. Don't recommend it. For hardcore fans only."
"Ah, I see."
"Pairing with a meal? Go for these acidic varieties—grades listed next to them. After? I'd suggest a latte or shakerato."
"Shakerato... Mind explaining?"
"Coffee and ice shaken cold in a shaker. More dessert than coffee, really..."
"Then one of those, please."
"Two varieties here—"
"Mm... the sweeter one, please."
Phew. Sweating bullets. Picking one item shouldn't be this tough.
System Industry handles coffee beans, but not my department. Experts there run it smoothly. Me? I only know instant post-meal coffee or iced to wake up. Asked for something tasty, but maybe this isn't my scene.
"Western pork cutlet."
"...Oh ho."
Pork cutlet and a big bowl of rice. Cutlet looks standard: pounded thin, light batter. Big but paper-thin. Might turn out tough despite frying.
But the sides steal the show: two smiley hash browns, canned peas galore, mayo-tossed macaroni... Rare sights these days.
"Let's see..."
I slice the cutlet to size with fork and knife. Everyone has their style; I like four or five long chunks. First bite: center piece. Stab the edge, slide knife through the tines, lever it free...
"...Better than expected."
Delicious! Thought it'd be tough from the thinness, but the texture's perfect. Light, crisp chew—artistry. Still crunchy under thick sauce? Freshly fried, probably. Delicious. Pork cutlet, so delicious. Why are well-fried cutlets always this good? Reliable, craveable flavor.
"Rice portion's generous too..."
These days, cutlet rice comes in ice cream scoop sizes. Here? Heaping bowl from the cooker, fresh. Wide but shallow; plop a cutlet chunk on top like a whale devouring plankton. One bite: crumbling cutlet, sauce and crumbs mixing into rice perfection...!
Heartiness upon heartiness. One plus one equals not two, but three, four, five—this combo screams it through every cell.
"Never imagined it'd taste like this."
Cafe pork cutlet this good? What's this place's deal? Utterly unpredictable whimsy! But the good kind of chaos. Like a magic show. A space you want to linger in forever, savoring the endless tricks. An allure that's utterly untamable.