I Became a Cafe Manager
Ding-a-ling~
"Welcome in,.................huh?"
The greeting slipped out on autopilot, the same way it always did, and then died halfway through.
Standing at the counter, her dark brown bob swaying around her face, was Yoo Harin—my childhood friend, and the daughter of this cafe's owners.
"What, what brings you here?"
"What, am I not allowed to come?"
"No, you are, but..."
Normally she'd have come trailing after her dad or mom. And her expression was oddly serious, too.
Huh. So she can even make a face like that.
Honestly, it was fascinating to see. Ever since we were kids, Harin had never been the type to wear her worries on her face. She was usually all sunshine and giggles... which made the sight of her, lips pressed firmly shut, feel strangely unfamiliar.
"What... why are you staring at me like that?"
"No reason. You're just too ugly."
"You wanna die?"
"A customer, are we? Then kindly place your order."
"I'm not a customer."
"Then what are you?"
"The boss."
"The boss is your mom and dad."
"...Not anymore. It's me now."
For a second, I was sure I'd misheard. Her expression was far too serious for a joke. Normally she'd have cracked something like 'Boss, then I demand a raise first,' but this time, her mouth stayed shut.
"Just like that?"
"Yep."
"You're joking, right?"
"Nope."
"Hidden camera?"
"Nope."
"......Seriously?"
"...Yep."
The girl who would normally have cackled, called it a prank, and milked my reaction for all it was worth simply gave a flat nod. Only then could I bring myself to ask, seriously this time.
"Your mom and dad aren't sick or anything, are they?"
"No, nothing like that."
Harin let out a small sigh.
"Haaah... They say they want to move down to the countryside and take it easy from now on."
"Then what happens to the cafe?"
"...They're handing it to me."
I stared at the ceiling for a while.
Well, we're screwed.
Her coffee-brewing was solid, I'd give her that. Some days her latte art even came out prettier than mine.
The problem was...
...absolutely everything else.
She put off inventory checks because they were a chore, and bolted from the ledger claiming that numbers gave her a headache. I still remember, vividly, the day we left her alone on counter duty and she ordered three extra crates of milk, nearly bursting the fridge at the seams. And when I told her to use the cartons nearest their expiration date first, she delivered her truly legendary line: 'It's all milk anyway, so does it matter which one I grab?' I have never forgotten the sight of her mom clutching her head that day.
"...Why that face?"
"No reason. I was just seeing the future."
"What future?"
"The one where this cafe goes under."
"Hey!"
"It won't last a month, I'm telling you."
"...You wanna die?"
"Two months, tops, if it's lucky."
"....."
No, honestly, a month would be impressive. Even now, this place scraped by on three people—her parents and me—with nary a part-timer in sight. Pull the owners out of that equation, and the outcome didn't take a fortune teller to read.
"No, I mean, it's not like I'm wrong, is it."
"......Ugh."
She couldn't muster a single rebuttal—just stuck her lips out in a pout. So even she knew, at least in part, that she was guilty as charged.
But there was a bigger problem than all that.
"What about your university?"
"...I still have to go."
"And the cafe?"
"That's exactly the..."
Harin fiddled with a saucer, pointlessly. For someone who normally fired off answers without a second's thought, she was hesitating an awfully long time—so she'd evidently been agonizing over this more than I'd given her credit for. At last, after staring at me in silence for ages, she bit down hard on her lip. Then, as if arriving at a decision, she looked me dead in the eye.
"So... what if you took the manager job?"
"No."
"Eek... sharp as a knife, that answer."
Somehow, I'd figured this was coming.
"You didn't even think about it, did you?"
"I did."
"When?"
"Just now."
"That was 0.2 seconds!"
"It was plenty."
"Think it over one more time."
"Just finished my second round."
"...You're seriously the worst."
Anyone who's worked in a cafe long enough knows the truth: the job is far harder than it looks. You open up early, check the stock, take orders, wash dishes, and close out with the end-of-day cleaning. And it's not as if the slow stretches buy you a break, either. No customers means cleaning; the cleaning done means restocking the shelves; the restocking done means the dishes have piled up again. Snap out of it and the day's already over. By the time you lock up, your legs barely feel like they belong to you.
And she wanted to hand the manager title to me, on top of all that? Refusing out of the gate was simply the sane response.
Harin, naturally, refused to give up. She sidled around the counter toward me, wearing the most pitiful expression she could manufacture.
"Pleeease... oppa, won't you do it, just this once~?"
"That trick stopped working on me ages ago."
When I didn't budge so much as a millimeter, her lips shot straight out into a pout. She slumped back with a look of deep disappointment.
"Tch."
"That trick expired years ago."
"Liar. You wobbled just now, I saw it."
"...Did not."
"It's all over your face."
"You're imagining things."
"I even saw your pupils shake."
"That's dry eye."
"An excuse that flimsy doesn't even count as an excuse."
Watching her grin like the cat that got the cream set my teeth on edge for no good reason. Teasing people—one thing about her that hadn't changed a bit since we were kids. Back then, that single look had been enough for me to run her errands, hand over my homework, buy her ice cream.
"...Dad told me to ask you himself."
"...Your dad did?"
"Yeah."
This time, my hands truly stopped.
"...He said he wouldn't feel easy about it unless it was you."
Old memories surfaced, one after another.
The first time I'd worked here, back in high school. I'd shattered a cup by accident and stood there wound tight as a wire—but far from scolding me, her dad just smiled and said, 'Cups can be replaced. Just don't hurt yourself.' It might have been that single sentence that kept me coming back to this job, even after I got out of the military.
When my allowance ran dry, he'd quietly add a few hours to my shifts. When exams rolled around, he was the one telling me to rest first. On the day I enlisted, he pressed a drink into my hand, smiling—'Come back for a cup of coffee when you're on leave.' He wasn't family, not by any blood I knew of, and yet he'd looked after me like one all the same.
Maybe that was why those words—your dad asked—landed with such unusual weight.
"...I'll help out as much as I can until the semester starts, too."
"..."
"On my own, I really... don't have a clue what I'm doing."
Watching the resident prankster show such a helpless side of herself made my chest twinge in a way I couldn't quite name. And besides, this cafe was familiar ground for me too. I'd been running in and out of it since I was little; I'd dropped by on leave from the army, come for a coffee after every exam season, met every stripe of customer imaginable while working here. The job had given me plenty of good memories and plenty of grueling days. But when each shift ended, what stayed with me last was always the same: customers, smiling. And her dad's parting word at the door—good work today.
Without thinking, I let my eyes wander around the cafe. The familiar tables and chairs. The counter we wiped down like clockwork, the cups lined up neatly at one end. By the window sat the regular who practically lived there. An unremarkable scene, honestly. And yet somehow, today, every bit of it looked a little different. The thought crept up on me: if this place disappeared, I would never see this view again.
Losing this cafe... I wasn't thrilled about that idea myself, actually.
I heaved a long, long sigh.
"...Fine. I'll do it."
"So what I'm saying is, just think it over one more t—wait, REALLY!?"
"Yeah. I don't want this cafe to disappear either."
Harin practically rocketed out of her chair.
"Really? You mean it? You're actually doing it?"
"I literally just said I was."
"Yeah, well, in case you change your mind."
"Have I always been this untrustworthy to you?"
"A little?"
"I'm wounded."
"Hehe."
Her face had turned so bright so fast that I had to wonder if this was really the same person who'd been wearing a teary pout a minute ago. Beaming from ear to ear, she said:
"Admit it—you're only doing this because I called you oppa back there."
Absolutely not.
...Really. I mean it.
"...As if."
"It is, though."
"No, it's not."
"Your face is telling on you, though?"
"You are gravely mistaken, Boss."
"Then as Manager, you might want to work on that poker face?"
"And the Boss might want to start with some business classes?"
"Eek..."
"Inventory management."
"......"
"Bookkeeping."
"......"
"Cleaning."
"......"
"Better start relearning all of it, one thing at a time."
"...Yessirr."
That deflated little answer pulled a laugh right out of me. Still, she bounced back in no time, flashed a grin, and thrust her hand out at me.
"Looking forward to working with you, Manager."
I looked at that hand for a moment, then snorted a laugh of my own. Until a few minutes ago, I'd been just another part-timer. From now on, though, this cafe was mine to answer for. It still hadn't sunk in. Even so... somehow, it didn't feel half bad.
"Why are we even shaking hands?"
"It's about the atmosphere!"
"You watch way too many dramas."
"Just shake it already!"
In the end, I clasped her outstretched hand.
"Pleased to be working with you, Boss."
Harin broke into a wide, toothy grin.
"Manager Han Doyoon?"
"...Yes, Boss?"
"One coffee, please?"
"Please place your order at the kiosk."
"Hey!"
"Bosses pay for their drinks like everyone else."
"What about an employee discount?"
"You're not an employee."
"Then a boss discount!"
"That's even less of a thing."
"Wow, stingy much... You hand my little sister anything she wants for free."
"She's a high schooler. Also, this is how the cafe stays alive."
"...I literally cannot argue with that."
Harin glared at me for a moment longer, then burst out laughing—and I laughed right along with her.
And just like that, I became the manager of the cafe my childhood friend had taken over.
I really had no idea, back then—that this one choice would turn my perfectly ordinary daily life into the loudest, most joyful everyday routine I never saw coming.