Crimson stains faded. Smiles softened. The hostility drained away like ink washed from paper. For exactly three seconds.
Then, every single paper person raised their menu at once.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound was deafening.
Ah'Ming winced. "Aw come on."
Egg tarts.
They all wanted egg tarts.
Ah'Ming barely even had a second to let his heart beat before the aura of the room once again plunged into freezing temperatures. The tension in the cafe seemed so thick, almost as if one could cut it with a knife.
If only the paper people accepted a Slice of Tension in place of an egg tart. To be fair though, a dish with tension in the name probably wouldn't be very good for health anyways, so perhaps the paper people would be in the right for not accepting.
It wasn't as if Ah'Ming could cut the air anyways.
By the time he had broken out of his musings, the paper people seemed to have snapped out of their trance. It had been a good trance while it lasted, he thought sadly. It hd been a brave attempt, by a rather weak and bedraggled girl.
The paper people exuded a strong sense of grace and nobility, sitting primly and poised at their little chairs and little tables, frankly out of place in the 80s style Hong Kong Egg-Tart Emporium.
They sat, demure.
Then, every single paper person raised their menu at once.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound was deafening.
Ah'Ming winced. "Aw come on."
Fiddlesticks.
Egg tarts.
They all wanted egg tarts.
"And not just one," Zhaoying said, peering through the kitchen doors. "They're… all ordering."
Before panic could fully set in, the front doors of the café banged open.
It connected to a dark room, one that remained blurry no matter how hard Ah'Ming squinted.
System lock?
People spilled in, very much alive, very much loud. It was miraculous. Living people? Perish the thought.
"WOW," a woman's voice boomed cheerfully, "THIS PLACE SMELLS LIKE TRAUMA AND DESSERT. MY FAVORITE COMBINATION."
Ah'Ming blinked at the loud, and sudden, intrusion. Honestly, as thankful as he was for the new support, could they not at least read the room and pretend to be frightened? War touched? Just a little bit, to play along with the frankly entertaining and somber mood of the cafe.
The woman though?
The one who had just broken in?
The one who had barged the door down, seemingly disrupting all of the sub-story's carefully crafted plot?
She was short. Aggressively so. Bright red hair tied back messily, a coat splattered with stains that might have been blood or sauce or both. A massive cleaver hung at her side, humming faintly with magic. She was cheerful, yet her eyes were creepy. Not wisened beyond age, but with a gaze that seemed as though it was tracking everyone's joints, calculating the best way to separate limbs from sockets for the best cut, the best cook, the best meal. Her gaze was heavy.
Yet, it was her smile that truly sent shivers down Ah'Ming's spine. Little fanged teeth, reminiscent of his own, used to tearing apart food both tough and prickly. Little Fanged teeth, that were pulled into a crazed, somehow still cheerful, grin.
She seemed rather strong, but Ah'Ming couldn't tell if it was strength at her craft, or strength at her martial prowess. Though, he could be rather certain of the fact that he did not want to be on the receiving end of that cleaver.
Behind her were two younger people, both taller, both trying very hard to look unobtrusive. Introverts. Ones that Ah'Ming related to painfully. Both of them around college age, decent looking yet still average, but carrying a subtle strength, a subtle aura. One of them was a guy, not quite as tall as Ah'Ming but making his way there, with glasses and a soft/shy demeanor. The other was a girl, no glasses with a matching vibe.
"We failed the Cashier route, too many ghosts" the loud and brash woman announced happily. "Hi! I'm Chef Hongmei. Who's in charge?"
Ah'Ming pointed weakly at Bianheng.
Hongmei grinned. "Perfect. You look stressed. Are we cooking?"
"Yes," everyone said at once. Well, everyone except for Ah'Ming. To be honest? He didn't quite think that the sub-story would pose such a... not easy, but not really imaginative route? Though, if it worked, it worked.
Her eyes sparkled.
"This," she declared, cracking her knuckles, "is my moment."
The café's stockroom opened like it had been waiting for her specifically. Shelves of magical ingredients revealed themselves; eggs that glowed faintly, sugar that chimed when poured, flour so fine it floated like mist. Ah'Ming stood in shock. His mouth gaped open. Eyes wide as saucers.
What even was this favoritism? Normal people met with gross counters, disgusting beating
hearts, and yet when a chef comes in? The whole place cleans itself? Becomes spectacular?
Hmm…
Maybe Ah'Ming should become a chef too.
Hongmei took one look and nodded approvingly. "Good produce. Weird vibes. I can work with this."
Her disciples sprang into action.
The boy with glasses crouched immediately, scooping a pinch of flour and rubbing it between his fingers, then tasting it. "High spiritual saturation," he murmured. "Residual resentment, but it's passive. Should bake out."
Why would you eat evil flour? Well, sure, Ah'Ming had been about to lick an evil and bloody table earlier, but he was old enough (and probably had a gut strong enough) to handle it. Ah well, he'd give the kid the benefit of the doubt.
The girl in the cozy sweater summoned a whisk from thin air, then a bowl, then, after a moment's concentration, a fridge, which she immediately shoved aside to make space. "I'll handle assembly," she said softly.
Egg tarts began to take shape.
Dozens of them.
The kitchen transformed into controlled chaos; heat, motion, clatter, the comforting rhythm of people who knew what they were doing.
Which was why it was deeply unfortunate that another kid about Huipao's age was also put on delivery duty. A lot shorter, a lot more nervous. It was annoying, but understandable. There were over twenty paper people to treat, and for some reason HongMei had insisted on serving three egg tarts each. Thus, many people had to be dispatched.
The newbie held the tray with shaking hands, staring at the paper people who had all turned to look at him.
They smiled at him.
He stepped closer, to the paper person who had originally wanted the heart too. Greedy, much?
Its smile twisted even wider, distorting the whole face. Really ugly. Definataly the Head Honcho of the group.
The kid's nerves snapped.
"Y-you're—" he blurted, voice cracking, "you're a ghost!"
Silence fell.
The paper person's smile twitched.
Everyone groaned at once.
That's what you get when you give a newbie a mission, hmm?
(To be fair though, he couldn't really blame the kid. That was what the entire sub-story was about, no? Finding the ghost? Why were these people so boring-)