Chef for the Fallen [Niles]

Zafír Gate was both a respectable bow toward Miha’s heritage, and the means to get as far away from his roots as possible. The amount of money he managed to gather before he moved to Japan was more than enough to get by in the country, and also a step to establish an information network and gauge the interest of quirkers around.

Miha envisioned his bar to be a place where the more mature, higher standing people of the quirker or non-quirker society could gather, and so, he established certain rules to be strictly held. He would escort underage people outside, as obviously stated by law; he would also forbid the use of harmful drugs and stop any possible dirty fight to break out. He hired two security guards for that purpose and educated his baristas accordingly as well. They all wore elegant clothing; black ironed pants, pristine white button-up shirts and black vests, with a thin golden chain adorning the pocket just above their hearts and connecting to the pin that showed Zafir Gate’s sign and the employee’s name.

Zafír Gate stood in the slightly less busy streets of Tokyo. It took up the first two floors of an apartment building, and advertised itself by pale blue lights and darkened windows. Inside, the entrance hall had the same bluish lighting dimmed to a comfortable shine, basking the place in a serene atmosphere. On one side, the bar was taking up the whole of the wall, the counter curving around to give more space for the guests to sit around. Elegant, high legged chairs spotted its curve. The wall was lit with white light, filled to the brim with drinks of various quality and price, as well as a handful of snacks for peple who desired something salty or sweet. No matter what a person would want to drink, they would be able to get it here. Especially since the barista was practiced in making cocktails, and confident enough to show off their skills. Opposite of the counter were various tables with couches and comfortable club chairs. The walls were littered by colorful paintings of various artists.

Past the bar, on the other side of the entrance, were smaller backrooms, reserved for people who wanted to have privacy for themselves, either to plan some shady business, or just have a quieter time with their significant other. A winding staircase led up to the second floor, where more couches surrounded two billiard tables and a set of table football. The sign on its side read “csocsó”, and one would have to wonder what it actually meant.

Miha was proud of what he managed to start with the opening of the bar one year ago. He had a stable visitor base, some of them leaders of smaller crime groups, some of them just higher-classed businessmen and CEOs. Half of them were on his list of possible targets to be eliminated later, but all of them were useful sources of information at the current time.

Considering his own mutation and busy schedule, Miha wasn’t often at the bar. Occasionally though, he could be found either handling the bar counter itself, or just mingling with the patrons, taking his time to greet the ones he already knew or getting familiar with new faces. It was his job to run the bar, and make sure to go out of his way to listen to the wishes of his guests and develop the establishment accordingly. For the day, he was in one of the back rooms, meeting with the heir of a small business family who runs a line of convenience stores. Later, he might go and greet new faces to gather new acquaintances.

There was one security guard sitting near the entrance quietly while the other one was watching the backrooms, but the young female barista would greet anyone with a polite, firm voice. “Welcome to Zafír Gate! How can I serve you?” Her nameplate read Yukiri Kirika, and she was a decorative, light-haired young woman with animal ears that showed obvious mutation. She didn’t seem to be bothered by possible stares or racists appearing, and she was confident that even if trouble would appear, the security and her boss would deal with the problems.