Chapter 1180: Rose Café
The reliability test ran for several days.
When he wasn’t monitoring the Magic Power Unit, Roland took the witches to the Dream World — the most reliable form of stress relief he’d found. There was something restorative about watching a group of people who had lived through civilizational catastrophe encounter a convenience store for the first time and treat every aisle as a discovery worth debating.
In the meantime, there was also the coffee shop.
A month and a half after he’d signed the lease, Rose Café opened.
Roland had scheduled the ribbon-cutting for ten in the morning, deliberately threading the gap between the breakfast rush and the midday crowd. Students and office workers would already be at their desks; elders would be at the market. The neighborhood would be as quiet as it ever got. Low profile: that was the aim.
The shop occupied two storeys, wall to wall with the warehouse, connected by a passage Roland had negotiated directly into the lease. The rent was ¥3,500 a month — above average for the area — and he had signed without haggling, paid a full year in advance, and promised to restore the dividing wall when he surrendered the tenancy. The landlord had agreed within the hour.
None of that was the real reason he’d done it this way.
He was not trying to build a business. The Taquila witches had no interest in serving the public, and the public, Roland hoped, would have no interest in being served. The café existed for its own sake — for the ancient witches, for the cooking smells and the round tables and the candles, for the simple fact of having a room that was theirs.
He had done one thing to discourage walk-ins: the menu outside listed prices ten times the going rate. A regular latte was listed at ¥260. A small caramel macchiato, ¥300. The soy milk stand next door charged ¥1.50. No sensible person would step through that door.
Unless they were looking for it specifically. Unless the sign in the window — Rose Café — was the sign they had been searching for.
He wasn’t entirely sure this was the right place. But if someone had left that note, and if they came, Roland would know them by the fact that the price hadn’t stopped them.
“Your Majesty, is this all right?” Phyllis held the ribbon at arm’s length, frowning slightly at the bow.
“Once you cut it, Rose Café is open,” Roland said. “Let’s celebrate.”
Downstairs: bar stools, round tables, a candle and a rose on each table, soft music threading through the room. Upstairs: controlled chaos.
Roland had bought them a full set of cooking equipment — stovetop, microwave, barbeque rack — and the witches had discovered, within days of the first buffet, that cooking was a science as worth mastering as any other. Recipes were studied. Techniques were debated. Several of them, Phyllis included, turned out to have genuine talent — their knife work clean and deliberate, their instinct for seasoning surprisingly precise, as if centuries of preserved memory included the chemistry of heat and salt.
“Your Majesty, I’ve just learned braised eel — would you try it?”
“This is pork loin. I made it myself.”
“Your Majesty, where do I find cold dish recipes?”
Their faces wore the same expression Roland had seen when they first walked into a cinema, or stood in front of the ocean: wide open, unguarded, consuming everything. He knew they could not stay. After Elena died, he had searched for her in the Dream World and found nothing — the warehouse unchanged, the apartment as he’d left it. Whatever brought them here and held them here, it was finite. Death in the waking world, or death in battle, would reduce everything they were to a sliver of memory. That was probably why they treated each visit as if it were the last one worth having.
He should sleep more, he thought. Just to let them stay a little longer.
Ding.
The bell above the door.
Every voice upstairs stopped at once.
“Your Majesty.” Phyllis appeared at the top of the stairs. “Customer.”
Roland hadn’t expected anyone this soon — not on opening day. He kept his voice even. “Stick to the plan.” He and Phyllis went down.
The woman in the doorway stood with her arms folded and her brows drawn together, eyes moving from Roland’s face to his collar and back again with the particular suspicion of someone who has caught a person doing something they can’t immediately explain.
Garcia.
Roland exhaled. Garcia knew about the shop; she’d helped with the move. She was not the messenger — but her being here was, for the moment, something he could bear.
He gestured to a table. Phyllis brought two coffees.
“Not a single person at the bar,” Garcia said, sitting down. “Are you really planning to give jobs to your relatives?”
“Of course. I want to get them out of the village.”
“I’m not going to—”
“My treat. It’s free.”
She settled, wrapping her hands around the cup. “Those prices outside are completely unrealistic. They make people wonder what you’re actually doing here.”
“They’re meant to,” Roland said, and he meant it as the truth without explaining it fully. “They just moved from the countryside. If customers flooded in all at once, the chaos would overwhelm them. I don’t care about profits. I care about giving them time to adjust. That’s what Rose Café is for.”
Garcia studied him. “Really?”
“Really. And I should thank you — the invitation card last time made a real difference.”
She let him change the subject. “Everything sorted out for them?”
“Status resolved, school enrollment confirmed. Same school as Zero, but they’re in high school now. The three girls asked me to pass on their thanks.”
Garcia’s expression eased. “Tell them they don’t owe me anything. You did the actual work. I didn’t go to my father. I didn’t face the media.”
“You did what you could.”
A quiet fell between them — not uncomfortable, just present.
“Coffee. Enjoy.” Phyllis set the cups down and withdrew.
Garcia came back from wherever her thoughts had taken her. She held the cup a moment before setting it down, and when she looked at Roland again her expression had changed.
“I need to tell you something.”
“The Martialist Association?” Roland said.
She nodded. “There’s a task. They want you to handle it.”
“Tell me it’s not a performance. The Martial Arts Contest is coming up and I’ve already heard more than enough about—”
“No.” Garcia’s voice was level and serious. “It’s a joint mission. They need you to help eliminate Fallen Evils.”
Chapter 1180: Rose Café
Translator: Transn Editor: Transn
The test lasted for several days. Apart from testing on the Magic Power Unit, Roland also found another way to combat stress, which was to take the witches to the Dream World. Nothing would be more relaxing than being surrounded by a group of witches who seemed to always have an insatiable curiosity about everything they saw.
In the meantime, Roland was also busy with his coffee shop business.
A month and a half later, Rose Café officially greeted its grand opening.
To keep a low profile, Roland decided to hold the opening ceremony and start the fireworks display at around 10:00 after breakfast hours. By that time, students and young professionals would have left for school and work, and elders should have gone grocery shopping. It would be the quietest hour of the day in the neighborhood.
The two-storey coffee shop was right next to the warehouse, with a rent of $3,500 per month. He knew this number was a little higher than the average rent around this area.
However, it was not Roland’s intention to make profits anyway, so he signed the paper without much negotiation with the landlord. His only request was to connect the warehouse and the coffee shop together so that he could more easily manage his inventory. Roland also promised to rebuild the wall before he surrendered the tenancy.
As Roland agreed to pay a full-year rent in advance, the landlord immediately gave his consent.
Nevertheless, this was not the real reason Roland conducted his business in this way.
He was not planning to become an entrepreneur by any means, and the Taquila witches were obviously not interested in serving customers either. In fact, the coffee shop was set up solely for their own entertainment rather than attracting businesses.
If truth be told, Roland rather hoped that nobody would visit his store.
To attain his end, Roland specially put up a sign outside the shop, listing the prices of all the drinks offered in the cafe. All of them were ridiculously expensive, around ten times the normal prices. For example, he put a regular latte ￥ 260 and ￥ 300 for a small caramel macchiato.
It should be noted that the soy milk next door only cost ￥ 1.5.
Roland did not think that any sensible person would choose to order here.
If someone knowingly visited the shop regardless of the daunting prices, then he must be the person who had left the note in the book.
But Roland was not quite sure whether this “Rose Cafe” was the same one the messenger was looking for.
“Your Majesty, is that OK now?” Phyllis asked as she put down the ribbon.
“Yes, once the ribbon is cut, Rose Café is officially open,” Roland replied while nodding. “Let’s have a celebration.”
There was a bar and a few round tables in the coffee shop, each table decorated with a lit candle and a bouquet of roses. Soft music murmured quietly. However, when Phyllis and Roland went upstairs, the romantic atmosphere downstairs instantly gave way to raucous noises that typically existed in a restaurant.
Roland had bought a complete set of cooking utensils and a barbeque rack for the ancient witches. As KFC and the McDonald’s could no longer satisfy the witches’ unquenchable hunger for food that had not been fulfilled for
hundreds of years, they started to cook themselves. The experience at that buffet enlightened them as to the science behind cuisines, so they became extremely excited to try out on their own. It took them a while to learn how to use stoves and microwaves. However, they soon got the hang of cooking and started to follow the steps on recipes.
Many of them, for example, Phyllis, were surprisingly talented. The food they made was indeed very professional. They not only had excellent cutting skills but seemed to just know the secret of brewing and simmering as well.
“Your Majesty, I just learned how to make braised eels. Would you like to try it?”
“This is roasted pork loin I just made!”
“Your Majesty, could you help me find some recipes for cold dishes?”
From their exhilarated looks, Roland judged the witches enjoyed cooking as much as they watched a movie or took a tour.
Roland felt a little sorry that they could not live in this world forever. After Elena died, Roland had made several attempts to look for her in his dream but to no avail. Nothing had changed in either the warehouse or the apartment.
This meant that they would eventually leave him one day.
Death, whether a natural death or being killed in action, would transform everything into a thin thread of memory.
Probably that was why the witches treasured every single trip to the Dream World.
Perhaps, he should sleep more at night, just to let them stay here a little longer if not for himself.
Ding.
Just at that moment, the bell downstairs rang.
The witches instantly fell silent.
“Your Majesty, there’s a customer coming,” Phyllis reminded Roland.
Roland did not expect to see the messenger come that fast right after his opening. He cast a glance at everyone and said in a hushed voice, “Do what I planned.” With these words, Roland and Phyllis went downstairs. Among all the ancient witches, only Phyllis, who had once disguised as a maid in “Black Money”, had customer service experience.
“Not a single person at the bar. Are you really planning to provide job opportunities to your relatives?”
The customer who stepped into the store gazed at Roland suspiciously, her arms folded and her brows knitted. Her eyes lingered on Roland’s cheeks and collar for a few seconds.
This customer was Garcia.
Roland was hugely relieved. Garcia knew about his business and she had actually helped him a lot with the moving. He beckoned Phyllis to bring two coffees and then gestured Garcia to sit down. “Of course. I always want them to get out of their village.”
“Hang on, I’m not going to — ”
“My treat. It’s free.”
Garcia took a seat and said, “Anyway, the prices you list out there are just highly unrealistic. It really makes people doubt your true intention to open this store.”
“You’re wrong,” Roland said truthfully. “The most important thing for them now is adapting to the new environment. They just moved here from the countryside. If tons of customers swarm in at a time, do you think they’ll feel at ease? They’ll probably freak out. I don’t care about profits but more about them getting used to the city life. That’s the reason I opened this Rose Café.”
“R-really?” Garcia asked skeptically.
“Of course. Also, I have to thank you for the invitation card last time. It helped me a lot,” Roland steered away the subject.
“So, all settled?”
“Not only did he fix their status but he also sent them to school. It’s the same school as Zero, but they’re in high school,” Roland explained smilingly. “The three girls wanted to thank you for your help.”
“I’m glad to hear that…” Garcia said, her expression softened. “They don’t have to thank me. You did all the work. After all, I didn’t come forward to confront my father and media.”
Roland shook his head and said, “You did all that you could.”
There was a mute interval.
“Coffee. Enjoy,” Phyllis broke the silence.
Garcia came out of her reveries and picked up the cup. After a moment of hesitation, she said, “I need to tell you something.”
“Regarding the Martialist Association?” Roland asked. He knew Garcia must have some important business to share.
Garcia nodded and said, “Yes, there’s a task, and the Association wants you to deal with it.”
“I hope it’s not a show or anything like that. I’ve heard the Martial Arts Contest this year is drawing close.”
“No… it’s a joint mission to annihilate Fallen Evils,” Garcia corrected him gravely.