Luna eagerly bounded up the loft steps, her excitement practically glowing off her like heat from a sunlamp.
The loft space above the cat café had once been a quiet reading nook—now it was transformed into an airy retreat with plush bean bags, hanging egg chairs, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves arranged like a maze of literary wonder.
Milo followed, tail flicking with regal judgment, hopping softly beside her as if accompanying a royal inspection.
"Oh my gods, there's a hammock chair!" Luna called out down the spiral staircase, her voice high with delight. "And look—Milo! There's a whole sun patch just for you!"
As if understanding, Milo halted near the corner of the loft where a plush, cloudlike cat bed was placed directly under a wide skylight that flooded the spot with golden sunlight.
The cat gave a pleased meow, kneaded the bed for exactly three seconds, then flopped dramatically, basking in the beam like a spoiled sun deity.
"Milo's moved in permanently," Luna declared, hands on her hips, then called down again. "Ken! There's a bookcase shaped like a cat tail up here!"
No answer.
"Ken?"
Downstairs, Ken was completely silent—his usual flamboyant chatter halted as he stood frozen in the doorway of the newly designed staff break room.
The space looked more like a modern lounge in a five-star hotel. A massive flatscreen TV dominated one wall, flanked by shelves of every game console imaginable.
A gleaming coffee machine stood beside a minibar stocked with premium snacks, with a neon sign blinking cheerfully: "No limits. Staff only."
Bean bags and ergonomic couches invited instant napping. And then—he noticed them.
"Shower rooms," Ken whispered, eyes wide, one hand gripping the doorframe like he'd found paradise. "Actual. Shower. Rooms."
He peeked at the signs—"Gentlemen" and "Ladies."
"Wait a minute," Ken blinked. "Luna's the only girl here."
He broke into a smile so big it practically wrapped around his head. "She's gonna own that shower room. Lucky brat."
Meanwhile, Luna was skipping down the stairs again, eyes sparkling with childlike glee.
She passed George and Leroy mid-conversation—though calling it that was generous.
George stood at the base of the stairs, arms crossed, brow furrowed in deep concentration as he slowly turned in place, surveying the space. "Hmph."
"Good, huh?" Luna said, nudging his arm.
"Hmph," George grunted again—but now with a slight nod, his eyes caught on the smooth integration of built-in feeders, the polished counter, and the cat cubbies lining the window ledges.
His eyes narrowed at a touchpad on the wall. "Is that a... digital schedule interface?"
Luna beamed. "Yup! Ken said it updates in real time and even tracks customer reviews per shift."
George gave one long, solemn grunt. "Acceptable."
Across the room, Leroy stood by the cashier's station, looking like he was simply scrolling through something on his phone. But his eyes flicked between feeds as he discreetly tapped into the café's newly installed surveillance network.
Every corner of the establishment had discreet high-grade security cameras installed—interior and exterior. Facial recognition tagging. Emergency pinging to their network.
When his gaze flicked up and landed on Luna, happily showing Milo how the treat dispenser worked, a small knot of tension finally loosened in his chest.
She was safe here.
She was safe, and she was smiling.
He closed the hidden app and slipped the phone into his pocket.
"Hey," Luna called to them all from across the café, cupping her hands like a megaphone, "Did you guys see the enchanted glass panel by the pastry case? You write your name, and it auto-logs your favorite drink order. It remembers you! This place is magical!"
Ken strolled past her, looking like he'd just ascended from a dream. "I've seen the afterlife, and it's called the staff break room."
George passed them both with his usual grunt. "Tell me when the system crashes. I want to see it cry."
Leroy, adjusting his blazer and quietly content, gave Luna a rare small smile. "Welcome back to work, boss."
Luna grinned wide. "Let the cats reign supreme."
Ken nearly melted into the lounge couch as the in-house massage chair finished kneading the stress out of his back. "This place," he sighed in pure bliss, "is not a cat café—it's a divine reward for surviving corporate hell."
Just then, his eyes fluttered open, and he spotted a gleaming metal sign on the side wall labeled: "Locker Room →"
Ken bolted upright.
"Locker room? Locker room?!" he gasped, all relaxation gone in an instant. "Wait—do we have our own lockers now?! Like personal lockers?!"
Before anyone could answer, he scrambled toward the side door, shouting as he went, "You guys! Come look! I think we got locker upgrades!"
The door slid open with a subtle hydraulic hiss, revealing a pristine corridor lit by soft overhead lights. One wall was lined with sleek matte-black lockers—each one labeled with their names in crisp, minimal font: Ken. George. Leroy. Luna.
"Oh my god," Ken breathed. "This place really is heaven."
Luna was the first to follow, Milo perched lazily on her shoulder like a furry parrot.
"This is unreal," she said, laughing as she opened her locker to find a neatly folded set of stylish new uniforms in earthy tones and soft fabric—clearly custom-made.
Her name was embroidered in elegant cursive on the apron pocket. "We're gonna look like elite barista assassins."
Leroy opened his locker silently and gave a satisfied nod at the contents. A fresh security badge was tucked into his pocket flap—an unspoken sign that their old café truly had undergone a transformation.
George grunted, eyes flicking across the lockers before settling on the scent wafting from the lounge. "If the espresso machine is using those beans from Sumatra, I'm making a double."
Ken opened his locker like a kid on his birthday, gasping at the apron's quality. "Look at this embroidery! This isn't a uniform, it's art. I'm gonna cry."
Luna wandered back into the break room and slumped on one of the beanbags next to the wall-mounted console shelves. Her eyes widened like a child in a toy store.
"Is that... every game in the 'Bladewind' series?" she whispered. "Oh no. Oh no. Leroy."
He arched a brow. "Yes?"
"This break room," she said gravely, gesturing around them, "is the worst idea. How are we supposed to concentrate on work with this much temptation?!"
Leroy chuckled, folding his apron over his arm. "That's why it's break room. You're not supposed to work in it."
George strolled back in with a steaming cup of espresso, took a slow sip, then nodded approvingly. "Coffee's good. Real good. Alright. I approve."
Ken gave a thumbs-up, apron already tied with flair. "Café to Café Nirvana is officially a success."
As the others chatted and marveled, Luna quietly took mental notes. Leroy liked espresso with a pinch of nutmeg. George gravitated toward dark roasts.
Ken loved anything flashy, from embroidered initials to high-tech tea dispensers. They were happy. They were comfortable. They were back.
She hugged her clipboard to her chest, smile subtle but warm. She'd have to thank her dad again at dinner. All these small joys—he'd made them happen for her team.
And the best part?
They still thought the mysterious, distant café owner was some rich eccentric with a soft spot for cats.
Not her.
Luna smirked, leaning back into the beanbag as Milo curled up in her lap. The secret felt delicious, like a bite of rich cake no one saw her sneak.
She was just the clumsy barista. The cheerful, recovering girl who loved cats and coffee.
And for now, that was more than enough.
Luna stepped through the gates of the estate just before sunset, the quiet hum of security sensors barely audible as the iron archway closed behind her.
Milo jumped from her shoulder and trotted toward his favorite cushion by the grand hall, tail flicking with satisfaction at being home.
Still buzzing with energy from the café visit, Luna didn't even bother heading to her room. She marched straight to the stairwell leading down to the underground training ground, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail as she went. Her uniform jacket hung over her arm, and she slipped on the gloves she'd brought just for sessions with Cherry.
The familiar chill of the underground space greeted her like an old, unkind friend—bare stone, padded floors, the faint scent of leather, sweat, and discipline. It was quiet for now. Cherry hadn't arrived yet.
Luna took a breath, stretching her arms and warming up, as footsteps echoed behind her—her father's.
"You're back early," Emmerich said, voice calm and as steady as always, dressed in his usual suit with sleeves rolled just enough to suggest he hadn't quite taken a break today.
"Wanted to warm up before Cherry arrives. She always ambushes me when I'm not prepared."
He gave a soft huff of amusement.
"Also," Luna said, glancing over her shoulder, "I wanted to say thank you."
"For?"
"The cat café," she said, walking backward to face him, hands still circling through shoulder stretches. "Everything about it. The renovations, the upgraded break room, the espresso machine that George is now married to, the gaming corner that is both a blessing and a curse to my soul."
Emmerich chuckled lightly. "I take it you approve?"
"I more than approve. It was amazing seeing everyone happy again. Ken practically cried. Leroy smiled. George didn't scowl as much." She let out a soft laugh. "It's great seeing them all back together. Like a little misfit family."
She hesitated a moment, then looked up at her father with a warm, sincere smile.
"It really means a lot to me, Dad. You didn't have to do all that, but you did. For me. Thank you."
Emmerich's eyes softened, a rare shift in his typically unreadable expression. "Of course I did. You're my daughter. And I'll always put effort into any place that keeps you happy. And safe."
Luna's heart fluttered, touched. Then she grinned mischievously. "Well, for all that effort, I guess I owe you breakfast."
Emmerich raised a brow. "Breakfast?"
"Homemade," she said proudly. "The fluffy eggs, buttery toast, maybe even that cinnamon coffee you like."
"That sounds promising."
"I could do a whole week of it if you want—"
"I'll hold you to that."
Luna paused. "Wait, wait, wait. A whole week might kill me."
Emmerich smirked. "Then I suppose coffee every morning might suffice."
Luna laughed, light and genuine. "Deal. A fresh cup, made with love, every morning."
Cherry's voice suddenly echoed from the far end of the training hall, sharp as ever.
"Less talking. More moving, princess."
Luna groaned, rolling her eyes toward the heavens. "And that's my cue."
"Good luck," Emmerich said dryly, hands folding behind his back.
She gave him a quick salute. "Thanks, Dad."
As she turned to jog toward Cherry, gloves tightening and heartbeat steadying, Emmerich lingered a moment longer—watching her, the way her movements had grown more fluid, the spark returning to her stride.