Nestled on a quiet street, a café blended seamlessly into the everyday rhythm of the city. Its exterior was modest but charming, embodying a classic design with a comforting familiarity that made it easy to overlook. The building stood calmly across from a local hair salon, its presence neither loud nor dull—just… ordinary.
Above the entrance, a delicate wooden plaque bore the name "Benjamin's Cloud Cafe," its letters inscribed in elegant cursive, the kind that evoked a sense of nostalgia. The orange-painted walls, though faded in some areas, still held warmth, their waxed and smooth wooden corners catching glints of the bright afternoon sun. Everything about it whispered: this is a normal café.
It was a normal day.
Children in school uniforms ambled past in noisy clusters, their laughter and chatter rising and falling like waves. Couples rode side-by-side on bicycles, the occasional squeak of wheels blending into the ambient hum of the city. Judging by the foot traffic, the café was clearly close to a school—young energy buzzed faintly in the background.
A plain café. A normal street.
Or so it would have seemed.
Walking calmly toward the entrance was a man dressed in dark blue slacks and a crisp, smooth white linen dress shirt. His posture was relaxed yet poised, like someone who belonged anywhere. His face remained hidden until he stepped inside.
Only then was he revealed—it was Elias.
His once jet-black hair was now dyed a subtle dark grey, styled neatly to help mask his identity. A pair of thin, frameless glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, softening the sharp angles of his expression.
The disguise could fool many. To a casual onlooker, he seemed like just another middle-aged office worker grabbing a drink after work. But to those who truly knew him, there were still traces—posture, demeanor, the way his gaze swept the room—small but telling signs that this man was not who he appeared to be.
He was Elias.
Inside, the café was as carefully kept as the outside suggested. Smooth, polished tables reflected the gentle light pouring in through wide front windows. Patrons sipped their drinks quietly. Some tapped away at laptops, others read, while a few chatted with friends in hushed tones that lent the space a tranquil, shared atmosphere.
Elias made his way to the front desk.
Behind the counter stood a teenage waiter. The young man had a mop of blond hair that flopped lazily over his right eye, giving him a sleepy but mildly rebellious appearance. He leaned slightly on the counter, waiting.
"What would you be having today, sir?" the blond young man asked Elias with a casual tone.
Elias looked at him and replied, "Hey Will, I'll have a black coffee, just as—"
Before he could finish, the boy cut in with a knowing smirk.
"Same as usual, right?" William said, smirking confidently.
Elias remained unfazed.
"...Yeah…"
William gave a knowing tilt of the head.
"Is your time at your job that bad?" William asked, his voice laced with casual sarcasm.
"You've been coming here ever since your so-called 'demotion,'" he added with air quotes in his tone.
Elias said nothing. Just silence.
"..."
William sighed audibly, letting the moment hang.
"Mister, you're always free to complain here, you know," Will said as he lazily wiped down a small teacup with a rag.
"Just look around. There are others who come here—heartbreak, breakdown, take your pick. Even though they should be at an ice-cream parlor instead, ha." His voice carried humor, but also a strange kind of observation. As he spoke, Elias glanced subtly at the other customers.
A woman sipping a latte while scrolling through her phone, a man reading a novel in the corner, two friends laughing quietly over muffins. Each of them, like Elias, might've had stories to drown.
"I've been meeting ends lately, though," Elias said.
William didn't respond.
"…"
"I'm going to the restroom," Elias added.
Without another word, he rose and walked toward the back hallway, leaving the warmth of the counter behind. The hallway led to the men's restroom, which was as spotless and minimal as the rest of the café—one urinal, one stall, one sink, all with freshly scrubbed tiles and the faint scent of pine disinfectant.
As Elias entered the stall, he closed the lid of the toilet and sat down. His face, once so carefully blank, now reflected something more introspective. A whisper escaped him:
"No matter how many times I do it, I find it disturbing…"
His voice was low, barely audible.
Reaching behind the toilet, his hand moved with practiced familiarity, feeling around the back panel. He reached beneath it—and there, beneath the porcelain curve, his fingers found a small, fingernail-sized button. He pressed it and held it.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the world began to change.
The sleek, white cubicle shimmered like a mirage. The tiled floor gave way to dark, wooden planks. The stall walls vanished, replaced by rich burgundy panels that framed a space now resembling a private outhouse rather than a public bathroom.
Gone were the clean scents and white lights—replaced by musty wood, the faint aroma of tobacco, and something older, deeper. The room had grown dimmer. The only source of light was a sliver spilling in from beneath a crimson door ahead.
Elias stood, stepping toward the door.
He opened it slowly.
What met him on the other side was no café.
It was a bar.
Not the kind brimming with rowdy drunks and music, but a more subdued, shadowy kind. A calm bar with worn booths, half-filled glasses, and quiet voices echoing in the low hum of the atmosphere. Dim golden lighting spilled across stained wood, casting long shadows over the people seated in twos or alone.
But this was no ordinary bar.
This was a bar where vigilantes came to drink beside villains, where masks hung heavy in the air, even when faces were bare. A sanctuary carved from the cracks of society—free of surveillance, rules, and judgment.
This was the Liar's Bar.
Here, one could exist without explanation.
There were many inside, dressed in casual clothing—hoodies, jackets, worn coats. They sipped their drinks like regulars. The silence in the room wasn't heavy, but rather content, even cheerful in its way. It was the silence of people who had seen too much… and had found one of the few places left where no one would ask why.
Elias stepped in, letting the door close behind him.