On this exceptionally cold night, a flurry of white is slowly but surely overtaking the pavement. As a child, it always excites me to see a pile of snow gathering in the frontyard. I’d run around, throw a couple of snow balls, and build the world's ugliest snowman. However, as a grownup who has finally reached the point of tending to my own daily life, the first thing I think of is how to get rid of these snow piles lounging in front of my door. 

There was once a time where a blizzard struck Cathures, the capital of Caledon, a nation in the remarkable Isle of Albion, surprising everyone and especially me with a pile of snow the size of my door. Checking it was my biggest mistake back then.

Still, it boggles my mind to know it’s still ridiculously cold even though we’re at the end of March. Or maybe we’re under that seasonal transition where weather goes awfully chaotic before finally calming down.

"The store better be warm when I get in." 

"The Chic", as the store plate says, is in fact a rather chic establishment, especially knowing the structure of this pub is among the oldest in Cathures. The rustic interior absolutely did not match its red brick outer walls, however, warm and cozy, like returning to an old home. 

The antique gramophone plays a familiar tune, one that any Eurus citizens——Eurusian, will recognize from the intro alone. A classic orchestra-esque piece of music, accompanied by mellow lyrics, sung by a renown diva, Ariel the Prima Donna. She is no opera singer, but it's remarkable how her voice can match any kind of music without sounding weird. It seems there's a reason why she was nicknamed as such. 

The second I step from the door threshold, the strong scent of alcohol, a welcoming air of warmth embraces me, washing away all the cold that’s been clinging on to me. I’m not a fan of alcohol that much due to…err… past experiences, so I don’t visit pubs often, but I’ve always loved this one, even though the customers are currently screaming at each other with their eyes glued to the television. Whether they might be Annwyn, Faes, or even Selikes, everyone in Albion has one thing in common, and it's to get rowdy at football matches. 

Well, all of Eurus agreed that all forms of art and entertainment are paramount to their lives, but only in Albion where football matches are akin to clinging for dear life. 

"Some guys just can't hold their alcohol." A familiar voice greets me, and a glass is shoved to my side. Mineral water, not alcohol. A pub, and I'm drinking mineral water. Yes, it's bizarre, and I took it without reservation.

The owner of The Chic, oftentimes referred to as Master by both colleagues and customers. oozes a certain aura of elegance that only bartenders could. He has dark skin, and his curly hair is intricately tied to a high ponytail, providing him with some style to compliment his default work look. 

"Master——"

"I wonder what sort of business does a woman with dark blue, long hair, tied with a delicate bun has in this very pub tonight? If not for this." 

Before I could say anything, I was shoved with a flyer titled "Twilight Art Museum Grand Opening, Show Start at 17:00".

A lump gathered in my throat at the sight of it.

I haven't done anything yet, but it seems my death certificate has already been signed in advance.