"Hello, how can we—"
Vincent strolled in, moving with all the carelessness in the world, and plopped onto one of the wooden chairs.
The attendant froze for a few seconds before a deep frown marred her otherwise perfect face.
"This guy again…"
She moved toward him, her glossy black hair swaying slightly despite the airless restaurant.
Even in casual tight jeans, a simple polo, and an apron embroidered with the Chicken Chicken logo, she radiated an effortless beauty.
Her smooth, flawless skin looked like a goddess had decided to take on a part-time job.
And her eyes...
Black as a bottomless abyss, they pierced into Vincent with strident force.
She reached the table and slammed her palm down.
When she pulled her hand away, three dollar notes remained.
"You came all the way here just for three dollars?! How can you be so petty after acting like you didn't know me?"
Vincent stared at her deadpan.
"...I don't know you."
He had tried to sound polite. Instead, he just sounded lost.
The lady's frown darkened.
Vincent glared back.
For a moment, they locked eyes in a silent battle of wills.
Then—her face turned red.
She snatched the money off the table and stormed off to the counter, bowing her head unseen for a couple of minutes.
Vincent blinked, confused.
"...What?"
"Excuse me!" he called out. "I'd like to order ten bowls of chicken soup!"
The lady's head shot up.
Her face was still pepper-red, but her eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
"TEN bowls?! Do you have the stomach of a freaking elephant?!"
"I bet even an elephant is better…" Vincent muttered under his breath.
If there was one thing he was going to hate about this new life—it was this eating habit.
It drained money.
It made him look like a glutton.
...Then again, considering his Gluttony attribute, maybe it wasn't far from the truth.
'Curses!'
The girl huffed.
"It's gonna take a while to make ten bowls. So wait."
Her voice was sharp and demeaning before she turned on her heel, disappearing into the inner chambers where the food was prepared.
Vincent exhaled and glanced around.
This wasn't a fancy restaurant—just a small local joint by the road near his house.
The interior was simple, except for the random posters tacked onto the walls:
Politics: Vote blah blah blah!
Advertisements: Chicken Chicken – Don't Chicken Out Now!
And lewd anime waifus, which seemed to be the owner's personal taste.
Vincent glanced at the empty tables arranged in neat rows.
He was the only customer.
After eating, he planned to visit a pawnshop and sell the shoes.
Trying to sell them at expensive malls would be a hassle.
Bored, he turned his attention back to his status window.
Nothing new.
Still, seeing those skills lined up gave him a certain satisfaction.
After a few minutes, the hostile girl reappeared, balancing two trays—one in each hand—each holding two steaming bowls of chicken soup.
She set them down before leaving for another round.
Vincent sat there awkwardly, watching her go.
'Am I supposed to stand up and help…? I'm the customer, right?'
Yet, she still had to carry two more rounds… all because of his damn stomach.
'It's not like I wouldn't pay…'
Still, watching her struggle made him feel weird.
'Where the hell is the owner?'
Reaching the peak of awkwardness, Vincent finally shot up just as she was turning back around.
Unfortunately, in that moment, his eyes accidentally caught a glimpse of her curves and bouncing—
He immediately averted his gaze.
"...What?" she asked, looking over her shoulder with a grumpy expression.
"I was just wondering if I could help."
Her face lit up.
"What a nice customer you are!" she grinned—then thrust both trays at him with a dark scowl that sent chills down his spine.
"You're going to serve yourself."
Vincent took the trays, dazed and confused.
Shouldn't a normal person only hand over one tray?
Resigned, he walked toward the counter, where she prepared the last round of servings.
"There. Have a nice meal." She shooed him off before leaning on the counter, pulling out an expensive-looking smartphone.
Vincent noticed it immediately.
'How does a part-timer afford a phone like that…?'
As he walked back to his seat, he stole another glance at her.
She was still leaning on the counter, her bangs shadowing her eyes as she operated her phone with unnerving focus.
And then it hit him.
'Now that I think about it... she looks familiar.'
His brow furrowed.
'Have I seen her before?'
He smacked his lips, muttering to himself as he set the trays down.
"I doubt it."
Still, after returning the empty trays, he took one last look at her—just to be sure.
The familiarity was both close and distant at the same time.
But he couldn't place it.
Shrugging it off, he returned to his seat and ate in silence.
The restaurant remained eerily quiet, the only sound being the clinking of his spoon against the bowl.
When he finally finished, he paid the lady and walked out without another word.
—
Vincent headed straight to the nearest pawn shop.
He managed to sell both pairs of shoes for $1,500.
It should have been more.
But the pawnshop owner kept insisting that they were stolen goods—so he refused to pay full price.
At first, Vincent considered turning around and leaving.
But then he thought about it.
The shoes weren't exactly his in the first place.
So, in the end, he conceded and sold them.
Still, he was sure the man had cut almost half the actual value.
But whatever.
With the money, Vincent bought a cheaper pair of shoes and some basic necessities that he had been itching to get.
That left him with $900.
And that $900?
It was going straight to the bullied kids at school tomorrow.