Schadenfreude offers the purest joy, untainted by envy, found only in rejoicing at others' misfortunes.
The green sponge glided across the smooth, ebony tabletop—or at least it had been a smooth, ebony tabletop before yesterday's party, now it was covered in all sorts of grime and goo. If you were lucky, all you had to clean up was the spilled remnants of various spirits or some leftover food—if not, it was someone's dinner from last night.
Around, around, scrub, scrub—I'd been doing this for about ten minutes, but it didn't seem to be getting any better. It wasn't the easiest job, especially as there were inches of unrecognizable material on the tabletop that I'd been struggling with needlessly (?) for a while.
Now, I was grateful for the yellow rubber gloves that Hajnal threw at me with a pink apron when I arrived.
Last night's party must have been very naughty, and the staff certainly took the brunt of it — which included me and the new guy.
Oh, yes, I haven't told you. So, I called Hajnal to hire me again because I needed the money for books—since we planned to go back to school.
First, she told me to fuck off and called me all types of names. Could I help it if trouble always found me? Not that I was looking for it, mind you. So, having decided to work for Hajnal again, I began listing all the reasons why I was perfect for the job. (Spoiler: I was definitely perfect.)
Employers were practically fighting for me!—at which point, I could almost feel Hajnal rolling her eyes at me telepathically. I mean, I could do any job, and I was a fast learner, not picky at all. (Yes, yes, I needed the money)—another eye roll from my boss.
On top of that, I was a magnet for customers with my charming smile—which she couldn't deny. Since I'd started working at the pub, the number of teenagers had shot up. Before that, the place was mostly filled with overworked drunks and slot machine addicts, and on good days, the AA club held their meetings there.
You could say it was thanks to me that the pub hadn't gone bankrupt—though I wasn't brave enough to mention that while begging for my job back.
Eventually, she came to realize just how perfect I was for the job, and she was lucky I liked the place enough not to look elsewhere. So, we agreed I would start that very day.
I showed up with a cheerful attitude... and then I saw him. Hajnal had already hired someone to take my place. My face remained perfectly neutral, of course, though inside, I was fuming. I calmly asked Hajnal who the fuck that was and why the fuck he was wearing our uniform—though I didn't quite phrase it that way, naturally.
Hajnal explained that she didn't trust me anymore and had bet that I wouldn't make it through a week without some excuse to skip work—so she hired the ever-enthusiastic Cecil. Yes, his name was Cecilián! I nearly died trying not to laugh. I stifled my amusement, of course, because if I let out even a hint of a chuckle, Hajnal would hit me so hard in the back of the head I'd never recover properly.
But seriously, who hates their kid so much at birth that they name them that? (Okay, okay, my mother didn't even bother naming me—but still, I considered it a far better outcome than having that name.)
Anyway, as I would later learn, everyone just called him C. Well, if I had a name like that, I wouldn't be too thrilled either... In fact, the kid's parents were probably at least half-shifters, if not entirely, which made him reek of reptile—the unmistakable stench was practically radiating off him.
So, there I was, staring at this kid, C, who'd stolen my job and even had the nerve to smile sweetly at me. I couldn't help but wish he'd go somewhere with a warmer climate... like hell.
Not long after that, Hajnal barked at us to clean up before storming off to her office. That was about an hour ago, and I'd barely finished cleaning five tables, while the cheeky bastard had only managed three—so progress was slow.
I grabbed the bottle of detergent, squeezed out a generous amount onto the desk—at least it smelled like lemon, which wasn't the worst thing. I cursed Hajnal inwardly, swearing I'd kill her the next time she made me scrub tables, though I kept those thoughts to myself. She had a way of popping in unexpectedly, and I wasn't about to risk being overheard.
I figured I deserved a short break, my hands numb from the shoulders down. I glanced at the job-thief at the other end of the room. The little bastard! How dare he take my well-earned place! He'd regret working here—I was sure of it.
Dear Cecil—I almost chuckled just thinking of his name—was loudly swearing and throwing curses at customers. Meanwhile, he had the audacity to grab the detergent bottle he'd left on a previous table. Leaning over to reach it, he slipped on some spill from yesterday, headbutting the table with a satisfying bang. It had been a while since I laughed that hard.
Part of the fun, of course, was that dear Cecil was way too proud to wear the pink apron—which, I'll admit, I looked pretty damn good in. He'd smirked when I'd put it on, but now, with a lovely tablecloth print on his shirt, he was surely regretting his judgment.
He jumped up, and no matter how hard he scrubbed at his shirt with a sponge, he only made the stain worse. He cursed, threw the bottle to the floor, which made me smile even more, then flipped me the bird. I couldn't help but enjoy it. He stormed off to change, and I couldn't help but think: Schadenfreude is the greatest pleasure.
It wasn't until opening time that we finally managed to clean up, so it had been yet another exhausting night. It was well past midnight when I was wiping a glass in quiet satisfaction, and that's when a man in a robe sat down across from me.
"What can I get you?" I asked, my voice betraying the boredom that had settled in.
The man looked up at me, his face mostly obscured by the shadow of his hood. But his eyes... they almost glowed. I think they were burgundy. I couldn't be sure, though—the intensity of his gaze made it hard to focus on anything else.
That unsettling look froze me for a moment. Before I could snap out of it, he threw back his hood, revealing a face that was surprisingly youthful—no older than thirty, at most. He smiled, and even that gesture felt somehow menacing, as if it were hiding something far darker behind it.
He ordered rosé—but not just any rosé. The finest kind, the sort of wine most customers wouldn't even dare to dream of affording. And, of course, it was the kind of wine we only kept one bottle of, hidden away and closely guarded.
I disappeared into the alcohol chamber, then returned with the bottle, uncorked it, and poured the wine into a delicate crystal glass.
The man sniffed the drink first, taking in its rich aroma with a hint of reverence, before tasting it. A low sigh of satisfaction escaped him as he savored the first sip.
Soon enough, he finished the wine, paid, and left. I didn't think much of it at the time, though something about the whole encounter lingered in the back of my mind.
By the end of my shift, I was exhausted. I stumbled home, barely making it to bed before I fell into a deep, almost instant slumber at two in the morning.
I found myself standing in an unusual place, the ground beneath me unnaturally flat. It was so smooth that it mirrored my own shape and the sky above. The sky itself was a strange reddish hue, the clouds an off-white, but the most striking feature was the sun — or rather, the absence of it. The sun's disk was pitch black, a void in the sky, casting a heavy shadow over everything.
I looked around, and it quickly became clear that I was in the middle of nowhere, a vast emptiness stretching out in all directions.
Suddenly, a noise from behind startled me, and I spun around. There, towering before me, was an enormous double-door gate, reaching as high as a church steeple. In the center of the gate, at its halfway point, was a massive reddish gemstone, easily two meters across. Inside the gem, darkness swirled like a storm, and I could almost hear the screams of the countless lives consumed to form it. It was a shard of life—a terrifying, powerful relic.
A figure stood before the gate, cloaked in white. The hood concealed their face, but there was no mistaking the air of authority they exuded. I stepped forward, eager to ask where I was.
"Leave," the voice commanded, cold and distant. "You are not worthy of entry."
The voice was eerily familiar—too familiar. I froze, the recognition hitting me hard. It sounded suspiciously like my own. Then, the figure pulled down their hood, and I staggered back in shock. It was me. Or, rather, it was a version of me. His hair was snow-white, his eyes pitch black, with only his blue irises providing a sharp contrast.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice laced with accusation, though I wasn't sure who I was accusing.
"Leave," he repeated, his tone more menacing. "This is my final warning."
I didn't want to leave. I had to know what lay beyond the gate—what the hell was this place, and why had I ended up here?
Without another word, the doppelganger moved with terrifying speed, appearing in front of me in the blink of an eye. He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me to the ground with brutal force. I gasped for air, my hand instinctively shooting up to grab his wrist.
He raised his other hand, poised to strike. I recognized the movement—it was mine. He was about to pierce my chest. I did not like the idea.
I kicked him off, rolling away from his grasp. But by the time I stood, it was too late. He landed a punch square to my chest, sending me flying backward, crashing toward the gate.
The world spun around me as I tasted blood in my mouth. Struggling to regain my bearings, I scrambled to my feet, only to find him standing there, blocking my escape. He grabbed my neck again, squeezing with inhuman strength, and slammed me hard against the door.
I heard the sickening sound of my bones breaking as the force of the impact reverberated through the door. The cracks spread from the point of contact, snaking toward the gemstone at the center. With a deafening explosion, the shard of life shattered into atoms, disintegrating with a violent burst of energy.
The pressure on my neck increased, and I gasped for air, clawing at his hand in a futile attempt to break free. It was useless. He felt nothing.
In that moment, I thought I was going to die. The weight of his grip, the suffocation, the agony—I couldn't take it anymore. I closed my eyes, wishing that the gate would just pull me in, end it all.
To my surprise, it did.
It felt as though I was sinking beneath the surface of water, the sensation of falling pulling me deeper. The doppelganger, as if burned by the touch of the gate, withdrew his hand.
And I fell through to the other side.