It was early morning when I walked up to Anteiku, wearing my most neutral outfit—jorts and a cream-colored T-shirt. I looked like some underachieving college kid who'd wandered in after an all-nighter. Harmless. Unassuming. Of course, I still carried my Quinque on me, just to be safe. I'm not that ballsy. Plus, I've grown attached to my Quinque. Must be Mado rubbing off on me.
Perfect.
The truth? I came here for two reasons: to try their coffee… and to mess with them. Every last one of them.
Because once the CCG raids this place, everyone in it will be either dead or in Cochlea. But hey, that's later. Today's all about vibes.
The bell over the door jingled lightly as I entered. Warm smells drifted through the space—coffee, bread, sugar. Soft jazz played in the background. It was too idyllic. It pissed me off.
And then, fate handed me a gift: Touka Kirishima.
She was working the floor today.
No way. That shitty mole-faced bastard…
The night I tried to avenge Ryoko, when I went after those bastard investigators who killed her—this guy was there too. He wasn't the main one, but he was fast. Smug. Precise. He's the one who cut me. His blade had been cleaner than the old psycho with the whip. Less cruel, maybe, but still cold.
And as if to prove he remembered too, he smiled. That same smug, shit-eating grin he gave me at CCG headquarters, back when I was undercover with Kaneki. The day he looked right at me—looked through me—and said nothing.
And now he's here. In Anteiku. In my space. Wearing jorts and some off-brand T-shirt like he's just here for coffee and vibes.
He smiled, that same smug grin.
My blood boiled.
But I smiled.
Because I had to.
Because one wrong move from me, and I put everyone at risk. Kaneki. Hinami. This entire place.
Is he here to kill us? To taunt me before they raid us? What the hell do I do?
I walked over, gripping the menu just a bit too tightly. "Hey… what can I get you?"
He looked me dead in the eyes, all relaxed and innocent. Like we hadn't traded blows. Like he didn't slice me open and smirk about it.
"I'll have one black coffee," he said slowly, drawing it out. "And what's your best sandwich here?"
He knows. He knows exactly who I am. Why is he doing this? No. He wants a reaction. He's trying to provoke me. Don't give him one.
I hesitated, just for a second. Damn it.
"That would be the egg sandwich, sir," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
He leaned in just a little. "What about your favorite item on the menu here?"
You smug little shit. I should rip your face off and feed it to the birds. Stay calm, Touka. Breathe. Smile. Serve him his damn coffee and get him out.
"I'd recommend the chocolate cake," I said through clenched teeth, hoping my smile didn't look as fake as it felt.
"Oh yeah? Cool. I'll take one of those, too."
I nodded quickly. "So, one black coffee, one slice of chocolate cake, and one egg sandwich. That'll be out momentarily."
Then I turned, walked back behind the counter, and let my hands tremble out of sight.
What the hell is he doing here? If he tries anything—just one thing—I swear I'll kill him. No matter what it costs.
But for now? I had a job to do.
And he had a meal to enjoy.
The coffee was good. Really good.
Not overly bitter, just deep and rich, with a smoky kind of sweetness that lingered on the tongue.
"Damn," I muttered under my breath.
The egg sandwich was solid. Classic. And the chocolate cake? Okay, yeah—pretty much the best slice I'd had all month. Moist, slightly bitter from the dark chocolate layers, not too sweet. Balanced.
Almost annoyingly good.
No wonder they think they can pass as humans.
But Touka—she was stealing glances again from behind the counter. Watching. Analyzing.
I didn't blame her.
We had history, even if we never spoke about it.
But I wasn't here to drag it out into the open. I wasn't here to fight.
I just wanted to taste the coffee.
And maybe—just maybe—annoy her a little while I did.
What does he want? Did the CCG send him? Is he here to watch us before they raid us? Or is he just screwing with me?
She could still feel the pain from that fight. The one after Ryoko died. Her kagune out, fists swinging, trying to protect what little they had left.
And then... Yomo.
He came back with his forearm missing and no explanation. Nothing spoken aloud. Just silence. He wouldn't say who did it. But she had her suspicions.
She wanted to believe it wasn't this guy. But the timing lined up. The way he looked at her lined up.
Still... he didn't feel like a killer. Not right now. He felt like a guy who really just wanted to mess with her and try the cake. Which, for some reason, made it worse.
The door swung open again, bell ringing like a warning shot.
"Welco—"
Touka didn't even get the words out.
"Ahhhhh~ what a divine aroma! My dearest Anteiku, you never fail to embrace me with such... refined ambiance."
A familiar voice. Too loud. Too dramatic.
Shuu Tsukiyama.
Touka froze mid-step, eyes wide. Her brain screeched like tires locking on ice.
ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS—
TSUKIYAMA?! NOW? OF ALL TIMES?!
She hadn't even finished processing the weird non-confrontation with Urie, and here comes this absolute freak, floating into the room like he was attending a red carpet premiere. Silk scarf. Impeccable coat. His nostrils flared like he was sniffing the soul of the café itself.
Kaneki peeked out from the back again, caught one glimpse of the man, and immediately ducked back in like a groundhog on Groundhog Day.
Touka slammed her notepad down on the counter and turned, a vein pulsing in her forehead.
"Tsukiyama. What. The hell. Are you doing here?" she hissed under her breath.
He placed a gloved hand to his chest like she'd just wounded him with her words.
"My dear Miss Kirishima, must you greet me with such hostility? I merely came to indulge in the... how you say... simple pleasures of life." He inhaled again. "Ah! That coffee! That scent..."
Touka's eye twitched. Her hands curled into fists.
She glanced toward the back, where Kaneki was definitely hiding and not helping. Yomo was probably somewhere deep in the storage room pretending this wasn't happening. Probably on purpose.
Touka stepped out from behind the counter.
"You need to leave," she said through gritted teeth. "Now is not the time."
Tsukiyama blinked, then gave a hurt little gasp.
"Touka-chan… is that any way to treat a loyal patron? A connoisseur of Anteiku's culinary grace?" He turned dramatically to one of the empty tables. "Please, at least allow me one cup! A mere taste! Before… well." He trailed off, eyes flicking to Urie. "Before your guests become less... agreeable."
Touka sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. She felt like she was going to scream—or throw something. Or both.
"If you sit down and shut up," she muttered, "you can have one cup of coffee."
Tsukiyama gasped with delight, like she'd just proposed marriage.
"Touka-chan… you do care."
"God, shut up."
She turned and stomped back toward the counter.
From the back, she heard Kaneki mutter faintly:
"…Is it too late to go home?"
Kaneki peeked out from the back when he heard the commotion—just a sliver of his face through the kitchen curtain.
Tsukiyama's gaze snapped toward him.
A moment. A breath. That sharp ghoul instinct flaring in his nose and behind his eyes.
Something about that scent—
…odd.
Familiar and unfamiliar at once. Not fully ghoul. Not fully human. Rich. Complicated. Rare.
Kaneki, startled, locked eyes with him for less than a second before quickly retreating like a startled animal.
Touka saw it. The way Tsukiyama's expression sharpened—not into recognition, but into curiosity. The glint of a predator who had just caught the edge of something new. Unusual.
She stepped in front of his line of sight.
"Table by the window. Now. Sit."
Tsukiyama blinked innocently. "Of course, of course. I live to obey."
But as he floated toward the seat, his gaze flicked one last time to the curtain.
And Touka could already tell:
This was going to be a problem.
Tsukiyama sat at the window table, back perfectly straight, fingers folded with the delicacy of a nobleman awaiting a feast. His eyes scanned the café lazily, but they kept drifting toward the back—toward the curtain Kaneki had vanished behind.
Touka returned a minute later, holding a tray.
A small porcelain cup of coffee, black and still steaming. A plain white napkin beneath it.
She placed it in front of him with practiced grace, a polite little smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes.
"Enjoy."
Tsukiyama opened his mouth, likely to unleash another tirade of poetic gratitude—but paused as his eyes dropped to the napkin.
There, scrawled in clean, sharp handwriting:
CCG.
Just three letters. Nothing more.
But they cut deep. The implication hung in the air like smoke from a fresh fire.
His expression flickered. Just for a second.
Then he smiled.
Slowly.
Folded the napkin once, then again, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his coat with exaggerated care.
"Ah. I see."
He raised the coffee cup to his lips, inhaled deeply. Eyes on her over the rim. The scent no longer held his attention.
Something else did now.
Touka didn't flinch. She met his gaze.
No more words.
She turned and walked away.
Tsukiyama took a slow sip, letting the bitterness of the coffee settle on his tongue like ash.
"Charming, as always," he muttered to no one.