Waaah—why are you suddenly about to cry?
The moment Zhou Zhuang saw the front-desk girl's eyes redden, a bad feeling crawled up his spine.
Seeing her tears about to fall, he hurriedly cut in.
"Wait—wait. Don't cry."
Unfortunately, that was the worst possible thing to say.
The instant the words left his mouth, Li Na completely lost control. Tears spilled like pearls off a snapped string, sliding down her cheeks in a steady stream. The sob she'd been holding back cracked open into quiet, trembling whimpers.
Ah. Great. This is bad.
Zhou Zhuang stared at the crying cashier, utterly out of his depth.
Still—at least she hadn't broken down into loud wailing. This looked more like the delayed collapse after the adrenaline wore off, now that the "I almost got killed" part had finally caught up with her.
…Well. What else could he do?
Since she clearly wasn't stopping anytime soon, the only reasonable move was to let her vent for a moment.
"We'll wait out front," Zhou Zhuang said to Faust.
Faust nodded, accepting the plan without comment, and followed him back toward the dining area.
In the seating area, Malkuth—having already thoroughly inspected the restaurant layout—was now bored enough to toy with the table decorations, glancing toward the kitchen every few seconds.
"Ugh! Where did the Manager go?" she complained, stretching forward across the table. "Why's it taking him so long just to find a server?"
"Maybe… the Manager just went to the restroom?" Hod offered delicately.
"Restroom?" Malkuth grinned. "Sure—but would he bring our dear Faust with him?"
Hod froze.
Malkuth leaned in, clearly about to say something worse—
"Ilyia. Stop speculating about the Manager," Angela cut in.
"Yes." Malkuth immediately sat up straight, as if she'd been snapped into attention by a disciplinary beep.
"Still," Hod said with refined posture, "it has been a while. Do you think something happened inside?"
Then she shook her head.
"…No. If the company opened a passage to this restaurant, it should mean the location is safe."
Malkuth pointed at Hod like she'd found an ally.
"Angela, look—Hod also thinks the Manager's taking too long!"
Nearby, Anna and the others sat stiffly, crushed by the "leaders chatting casually" atmosphere. The hierarchy in the air was so obvious it was practically physical pressure.
Just as the three of them were about to develop stress injuries—
The restaurant door opened from outside.
All three turned toward the entrance like drowning people seeing a lifeboat.
The first person to enter was the owner.
The moment he stepped into the familiar environment, the fatigue that had kept his body tense all morning finally began to loosen—
And then he felt three unfamiliar gazes loaded with gratitude and relief hit him at once.
That loosened "relief" got stuck halfway through his muscles like a jammed gear.
And then his body betrayed him.
Cramps hit.
His face instantly became a mask of pain.
"Why are you blocking the doorway?" the chef behind him grumbled, seeing the owner freeze in place right after opening the door. "Move."
The chef shoved him.
That finished the job.
The owner's legs went soft, and he folded into a defeated kneel at the entrance—like a man performing the world's most involuntary bow.
"Look at you," the chef said, stepping over him while adjusting the unconscious person on his back. "If you're not going in, at least make room."
"Nice new posture, by the way. Keep it up."
He walked straight into the restaurant.
Then he saw them—six strangers.
He looked from Anna's group to Angela's group at the window, then nudged the owner still on the floor with his foot.
"Why didn't you tell me there were customers?"
The owner slowly rose, breathing in the cold air, voice weak.
"You didn't ask if there were customers."
"…Fair." The chef nodded solemnly, like this was flawless logic.
Then he glanced at the still-wincing owner.
"I told you your exercise is lacking. It's only been one morning and you look half-dead. Today's workload wasn't even half of what it used to be on an easy day."
He shifted the unconscious passenger on his back again.
"I'm putting Mei Zhen down first, then I'm starting work."
With that, he gave Angela's table a polite nod and headed for the kitchen.
After the chef left, the owner finally managed to pull himself together. He forced on a professional smile and approached Angela's group.
"Honored guests—my apologies for that unsightly scene."
Seeing the empty table, he understood immediately.
"Before you order, please allow me to step away and bring you drinks and appetizers."
He bowed slightly and retreated toward the kitchen.
The moment he turned away—out of the guests' sight—the pain mask returned.
Damn… did my physical condition really deteriorate like he said? I need to start training again…
Then another thought struck him.
Wait. Where's Li Na?
He remembered: the chef had given her the kitchen key and told her to hide in the back if anything happened.
Don't tell me she's still in the freezer…?
The owner sped up.
Before he even reached the kitchen, he saw the scene.
The chef—still carrying the unconscious Mei Zhen—had one hand on his weapon, blade leveled at two strangers.
Between them stood Li Na.
That composition made the owner's stomach sink.
He remembered: after he locked the door earlier, a strange group had appeared inside the shop.
A fresh surge of unease rose in his chest.
Meanwhile, Zhou Zhuang—standing behind Faust, who was positioned protectively in front of him—stared at the chef in the white uniform.
"I already told you—I didn't bully her!" Zhou Zhuang shouted. "Hey! Li Na, right? Explain! We're here to eat!"
Li Na, still shaken from seeing Mei Zhen unconscious on the chef's back, finally rebooted her brain at Zhou Zhuang's plea.
She quickly explained:
"Yes, Chef. He really is a customer. And they didn't do anything to me."
The chef didn't look convinced.
"No?"
He kept the blade raised.
"Then why are your eyes red?"
Li Na stiffened, suddenly awkward.
"Ah… that…"
She hesitated.
"This…"
A shout came from the dining area—fast, furious, and closing in.
"Hey, cook! Why are you pointing a knife at our honored guest?!"
A figure sprinted into view—
Then dropped low, sliding forward—
A full-on tackle-slide aimed straight at the chef.
....
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