Monday morning came with a sky still pale and gray.  

Bix followed the timeline he’d set in his head, pushing open the door of the café right on schedule—  

not too early, not too late. Seven fifty-two.

The smell of coffee and the hiss of the machine blended into a wave of warmth.  

He watched the barista seal the lid on a cup of hot Americano and felt a strange sense of accomplishment, as if a mission had been completed.

“The usual?” the barista asked with a grin.  

“Yeah,” Bix nodded, gently tucking the cup into his delivery bag like it was something fragile and important.

At eight-oh-four, he arrived at the Jungho Capital building.  

The lobby floor was polished to a mirror shine, perfectly reflecting whoever stood there.  

He approached the front desk and set the cup down.  

“This is for Director Lilia Quell,” he said, trying to sound casual but hearing the nervousness in his own voice.

The receptionist blinked, puzzled.  

“Uh… is there an order for that?”  

“No, she—she mentioned—”  

Before he could finish, the receptionist’s polite smile had already taken over.  

“I’m sorry, sir, all beverages for staff have to be logged in the system.”

The air went still.  

Bix felt the weight of the cup in his hand grow heavier.  

He was about to mumble an apology and leave when the elevator chimed.

Lilia stepped out.  

Her pace was steady as ever, but her eyes softened slightly the moment she saw him.  

“Oh… I forgot to tell them,” she said lightly.

The receptionist straightened instantly. “Good morning, Director Quell.”  

Lilia nodded and turned toward her.  

“From now on, if he’s the one bringing my coffee, no need for an order. Just take the receipt and pay him directly.”

Her tone was calm—matter-of-fact, as if she were outlining a new office policy.  

The receptionist hesitated for half a second, then nodded quickly. “Understood.”

Lilia accepted the cup and glanced at Bix.  

“Good morning,” she said.

Two simple words, but they carried through the lobby like a clear note.

Bix froze for a beat, then smiled awkwardly. “Good morning.”

She turned and walked toward her office, her movements clean and precise.  

The air seemed to hold onto her words, like they hadn’t quite faded yet.

The receptionists exchanged a quick look.  

One of them leaned forward, curious. “Are you… friends with the director?”  

“Uh, not really.” He waved a hand, half-embarrassed. “I just bring the coffee.”

He said it with a small laugh, then turned to leave.  

The glass doors slid shut behind him with a soft sigh, and outside, the city noise folded back in.  

He looked down at the receipt still in his hand and felt something hard to define—  

a sense of standing somewhere between recognition and invisibility.  

The warmth of the cup lingered faintly against his palm,  

as if the feeling itself hadn’t decided whether it was real.