Haruka stood at the café entrance, blinking like she'd just been teleported into another universe.
But how did she get here?
Well. It started with an attempt to be "productive."
She had woken up, declared boldly to Momo, "Today, I shall write in a new environment for inspiration!"
Momo wagged his tail supportively.
Haruka then got dressed, accidentally put her shirt on backwards, tripped over a laundry basket, sat on a pen, and spilled cereal on her sock.
Clearly, the universe wanted her to stay home.
But no. She would not be defeated. Not today.
So she stuffed her notebook, three pens (two of which didn't work), and emergency cookies into her tote bag, gave Momo a pep talk about staying with Yuki. "No chewing her slippers, okay?! Just because they smell weird doesn't mean they're food," and set off on foot with determination in her eyes and jelly in her legs.
Thirty minutes, two wrong turns, and one mini panic attack over walking into a glass door later, she finally arrived at a place that looked… promislegs
Kumo & Beans.
The name sounded like a failed boyband, but the exterior was cute and minimal, with string lights and little chalkboard signs about seasonal lattes she couldn't pronounce.
She hesitated. but hey—there were seats, a gentle hum of jazz, and more importantly: air conditioning.
She tugged at her oversized cardigan and muttered, "I don't belong here. This is where cool people go. People who drink coffee that's not instant. People with eyebrows that are symmetrical."
But she was already here. And her feet hurt. And she needed caffeine to balance out the emotional damage from the glass door incident.
She entered, immediately tripped over the welcome mat, and caught herself on a nearby chair.
"Smooth~," she muttered. "Like buttered socks."
A waiter smiled politely, giving the look "Just leave a tip and I'll pretend I saw nothing". Haruka gave a little bow of embarrassment, her cheeks the color of boiled shrimp, and bee-lined to the farthest table in the corner.
She flopped into the chair, pulled out her notebook like a battle shield, and waved over a waitress.
"What would you like miss?"
Haruka blinked at the menu. Everything had fancy names. Was "drip" just regular coffee? What even was a cortado?
"Um. Just… coffee," she said. "Plain. Normal. Soul-reviving."
The waitress gave a small chuckle. "One plain coffee. Got it."
She tried to look productive as she waited. Pen in hand. Serious expression. Scribbling nonsense like a literary mastermind. Occasionally nodding like she just had a breakthrough.
In truth?
She was doodling angry cats in the margins and wondering how to make her male lead fall off a chair in a romantic way.
And then the door opened again.
Haruka didn't look up at first. She was in the middle of sketching a villain cat with a monocle. But then she heard the swoosh of the door and caught a glimpse of someone passing her peripheral vision.
A guy. Hoodie up. Long strides. Confident but not cocky. The kind of walk that screamed "don't talk to me," which naturally made Haruka want to whisper, rude.
He moved like someone trying to disappear on purpose—which was impressive, considering how dramatically broody he looked. Like a human rain cloud had wandered into the café.
Haruka watched him from behind her notebook like a spy. Her nose scrunched. He hadn't smiled. Not once. Not at the barista. Not at the little chalkboard sign that said "You're Brew-tiful."
He was the type who probably journaled about nihilism. Or wrote deep poems titled Existence is Noise while listening to rain sounds on loop.
"Wow," she whispered to herself. "Sunshine in human form."
She didn't mean it as a compliment.
Still, there was something slightly… familiar about his posture. The way he leaned into his booth and flipped open a laptop. He had the air of someone who'd been here before, or someone who didn't care if he had.
And that annoyed her a little. Not in a "he did something wrong" way. More like a how dare you be this dramatic before noon kind of way.
Haruka furrowed her brows and sketched a tiny figure in a hoodie next to her villain cat. She labeled it: "Doom Guy."
Her coffee arrived, saving her from accidentally drawing an entire comic strip mocking the stranger.
She took a sip. Bitter. Burnt. Perfect.
Okay. Focus time.
She stared at the blank page in her notebook. The blinking cursor of her imagination. This was her moment. A cozy café, mysterious strangers, the scent of beans in the air—every ingredient for literary greatness.
Then she heard it. A low voice. Just one line.
"Just a cup of plain coffee, please."
Simple. Calm. Unbothered.
She glanced up before she could stop herself.
It was the hoodie guy. Of course it was.
Now that she saw his face more clearly—well, sort of, since the shadows still clung to him like a mood filter—he looked… annoyingly good at being unreadable. His expression didn't change. His tone didn't falter. He was practically a statue with a caffeine dependency.
She looked back down quickly, sipping her coffee and scolding herself silently.
Who cared if he had nice bone structure or hair that flopped in that perfect, "I didn't try but look how it fell anyway" kind of way?
He was just a guy. A grumpy guy. A hoodie-wearing, no-smiling, coffee-drinking, emotionless, moody-looking guy. Nothing interesting about that. Absolutely nothing.
Haruka exhaled slowly and flipped to a fresh page.
Time to write. Time to be productive. Time to—
She glanced up one more time.
He was sipping his coffee now, gaze distant, like he was watching a memory float past the window. Maybe he was reflecting on the futility of life. Or maybe he was judging everyone's coffee orders. Either way, his vibe screamed do not approach.
Haruka slouched deeper into her seat and groaned quietly.
"Well," she mumbled to herself with a dramatic sigh, "this is definitely not what I signed up for today."
Her pen rolled off the table. She dove for it.
Smack.
Her forehead hit the edge of the table on the way down.
"OW—!"
A few heads turned.
Hoodie Guy's didn't.
She slowly rose from under the table, notebook in one hand, pride in shambles.
he was about to call it a day—possibly a week—when the barista passed by and accidentally nudged her cup, knocking the coffee ever-so-slightly in the direction of her notebook.
"No—!"
She lunged for it like she was rescuing a drowning kitten.
Success. Sort of.
Her sleeve was soaked, but the notebook survived. Barely.
The barista apologized profusely. Haruka waved them off with a wet smile and a soggy wrist.
And just when she thought things couldn't get any more tragic, her phone lit up on the table—and began playing cheerful ukulele music at full volume.
She stared in horror.
She didn't even like ukulele music. Why was this her alarm tone?!
Frantically, she slapped at the screen like she was trying to extinguish a fire. The music stopped, but the embarrassment echoed through her very bones.
Hoodie Guy?
Still sipping his drink like none of this had happened.
Was he even human?
Haruka puffed out her cheeks in defeat. Fine. If he was going to act like she didn't exist, then so be it.
"Fine."
Two could play at the broody game.
Haruka flipped open her notebook and wrote, in all caps:
"THE LOVE INTEREST IS CANCELLED. HE FALLS INTO A POND INSTEAD."
She underlined it. TWICE.
Satisfied, she leaned back in her chair, her inner chaos momentarily soothed.
But deep down—just beneath the surface of all that dramatic muttering and soggy frustration—Haruka knew one thing for certain:
She wasn't going to forget Hoodie Guy anytime soon.
Not because he was special. Or interesting. Or handsome in that annoyingly understated way.
But because he was, very officially, her new villain origin story.
And as every writer knew...
Villains made things more fun.