Chapter Text
The rowdy campus woke each morning like a dramatic theatre production. Students poured through the gates in stylish cliques, athletes thundered across the quad, couples clung to each other like ivy while sucking each other's faces off with sappy smooches and silly cheek kisses, and somewhere in the distance the odd new Mexican exchange student with a philosophy major was probably cussing out a dog in aggressive spanish.
And then there was Kibum.
Kim Kibum, age 21, Fashion major, professional eye-roller, and—according to the highly respected authority of his own internal monologue—the most underappreciated individual on this entire campus!
If life were a short 12 episode anime, Kibum was certain he would be the protagonist.
Unfortunately, College appeared to disagree…
Kibum marched across the courtyard with the posture of someone carrying the invisible burden of the world. News flash! He most definitely was!
…In his head.
His bag was slung over one shoulder like a war veteran returning from battle and marching towards the wife he hadn’t seen in 2 years. His coffee was tragically lukewarm. His hair, which he had spent a good twenty minutes styling that morning, was already falling victim to the wind.
“Fantastic,” he muttered under his breath. “The universe wakes up every day and chooses violence.”
Around him, students moved with suspicious levels of happiness.
There were the business majors loudly discussing internships, the art students dramatically sketching buildings that had been standing there for fifty years, and the athletes—oh yes, the athletes—strutting through the courtyard like they owned oxygen itself.
Kibum narrowed his eyes.
Look at them, he thought darkly. Walking around with their functioning social lives and their stupid symmetrical faces.
He adjusted his bag and continued his noble quest toward the library, the only place on campus that respected the ancient and sacred art of leaving people alone.
Unfortunately, the universe had once again chosen violence.
A group of cheerleaders burst past him in a cloud of glitter and enthusiasm.
One of them bumped his shoulder.
“Sorry!”
Kibum froze dramatically.
He stared after them as if he had just been personally betrayed by humanity.
“Of course,” he said to absolutely no one. “Why wouldn’t my morning begin with a drive-by sparkle attack.”
Ugh, incels.
He continued walking, muttering under his breath like a villain in the early stages of their origin story.
People passed him constantly.
None of them knew his name.
None of them stopped him in the hallway.
No one whispered rumors about him in class.
In fact, if someone made a list of “Top 100 Most Noticeable People at College,” Kibum suspected he would not only fail to make the list but might also somehow be placed on a separate list titled ‘Uhhh sorry who?’
He sighed the sigh of someone deeply burdened by their own misunderstood greatness.
“Tragic,” he murmured.
A freshman nearby glanced at him with concern.
Kibum noticed.
He immediately straightened, flicked his hair back, and continued walking like a dignified prince suffering from mild inconvenience.
Because that was the thing about Kim Kibum.
To the rest of the campus, he was just another student.
But inside his own head?
He was the main character.
A dramatic one.
A sarcastic one.
A slightly sleep-deprived one.
And if fate had any sense of narrative structure at all, something interesting would happen to him soon.
Preferably before his 9 AM lecture.
Because if there was one thing Kibum hated more than being a campus nobody…
…it was being a campus nobody with attendance requirements.
God screw his stupid chud life.
Kibum approached the lecture hall like a soldier approaching the battlefield.
By battlefield he meant Introduction to Media Theory, a class held at the ungodly hour of 9:00 AM, which Kibum firmly believed violated several human rights conventions.
He adjusted his bag and pushed through the hallway crowd with the grim determination of someone who had accepted that destiny was cruel and coffee was overpriced.
Students streamed past him in chaotic waves.
Phones ringing. Backpacks swinging. Someone laughing too loudly at something that absolutely did not deserve that level of enthusiasm.
Kibum sighed dramatically.
“Wonderful,” he muttered. “Another day of intellectual suffering.”
And then it happened.
Thud.
Kibum collided with something.
No.
Someone.
But not just any someone.
The impact was like walking into a brick wall that had taken up a side hobby in competitive athletics.
Kibum stumbled back a step, clutching his coffee like a wounded soldier protecting the last medical supply.
Slowly… very slowly… he looked up.
And immediately his eye twitched.
Choi. Minho.
Of course.
If Kibum were narrating his life, ominous music would be playing right now.
Choi Minho stood there in all his infuriating, golden-boy glory. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing the college athletic jacket like he’d personally invented sports. His hair looked effortlessly good. His posture screamed confidence. The hallway crowd seemed to naturally part around him like he was some kind of campus celebrity.
Which, disgustingly enough, he was.
Several girls nearby were already whispering.
One of them actually giggled.
Giggled.
Kibum internally recoiled.
Pathetic, he thought bitterly. Have you people never seen a tall man before?
Minho looked down at him.
Not angrily.
Not apologetically.
Just… mildly unimpressed.
Like Kibum was a mildly inconvenient piece of furniture that had wandered into his path.
The silence lasted two seconds.
Three.
Four.
Kibum narrowed his eyes.
Look at him, Kibum ranted internally. Standing there with that stupid perfect posture and that stupid athlete aura. Probably drinks protein shakes for fun. Probably jogs voluntarily.
Minho’s expression did not change.
He didn’t apologize.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t even look particularly interested in the situation.
Instead, he simply stepped around Kibum.
And walked away.
That was it.
No words.
No acknowledgment.
Nothing.
Kibum stood frozen in the hallway.
His eye twitched again.
“That—”
He spun around dramatically, staring at Minho’s retreating back like a betrayed rival in a soap opera.
“—that son of a bitch!.”
Two freshmen walking past glanced at him with confusion.
Kibum pointed accusingly at Minho’s disappearing figure.
“Did you guys see that!”
They had not.
They hurried away.
Kibum scoffed loudly.
“You’re all blind. Everyone here is.” he muttered.
Because the thing was, Kibum knew Choi Minho’s type.
The campus adored him. The athletes respected him. The professors liked him because he somehow managed good grades on top of everything else.
Hundreds of female students practically melted when he walked by.
Kibum did not understand it.
Not even slightly.
“He’s just some stuck-up, arrogant golden athlete,” Kibum grumbled, storming toward the lecture hall. “What’s so amazing about him?”
Across the hallway, two girls were whispering excitedly.
“Did you see Minho just now?”
“Oh my GOD, you know how weak his button-ups make me. I think I’m dreaming— pinch me—OW not actually you bitch!”
“Eek!—Sorry Suzy…”
Kibum gagged internally.
Unbelievable.
The worst part?
The most infuriating, soul-crushing, deeply insulting part?
Choi Minho wasn’t even aware Kibum existed.
To Minho, that entire interaction had likely registered as:
Object in hallway.
Move around object.
Continue walking.
Meanwhile, Kibum had already categorized him as Public Enemy Number One.
Which, if anyone had been keeping score, made Kibum’s intense grudge…
slightly.
Just a little.
Possibly.
Ridiculously stupid.
“You fucking what.”
Kibum was sitting on his bed like a man who had just secured a million-dollar investment deal.
Across the dorm room, His very beloved roommate/hyung sat frozen in his chair, staring at him with the wide, haunted eyes of someone trying to assemble a very confusing puzzle.
Jinki slowly raised his hand.
“Okay,” he said carefully. “I just need you to repeat that.”
Kibum sighed the sigh of a genius forced to explain his brilliance to the masses.
“For the third time,” he said, clearing his throat with a smug ceremony, “I got a job at the maid café downtown.”
Jinki nodded.
“Yes. I know that part.”
A pause.
“…I just have questions. Who What When…How???”
Kibum leaned back on his bed, arms folded, radiating the energy of someone who had absolutely won at life.
“What? Just fire your questions away.”
Jinki pointed at him.
“First question. Why are they paying you 35 pounds an hour?”
Kibum lifted a finger.
“Correction. 35 pounds base pay.”
Jinki’s eyes widened.
“Base pay.”
Kibum nodded smugly.
“There are tips.”
Jinki slowly leaned back in his chair like someone who had just witnessed a financial miracle.
“Tips.”
“Tips.”
“…for being a maid.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Jinki squinted at him.
“What exactly are you doing there.”
Kibum waved a hand dismissively.
“Serving drinks. Taking orders. Being charming.”
Jinki’s eyebrow climbed higher and higher.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Charming.”
Kibum scoffed.
“I can be charming when money is involved.”
“That sounds like emotional manipulation.”
“It sounds like rent.”
Jinki rubbed his temples.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Next question.”
He pointed again.
“Are you wearing the outfit.”
Kibum froze for half a second.
Then he coughed.
“That detail,” Kibum said with great dignity, “is technically part of the uniform policy.”
Jinki slowly lowered his hands.
“So that’s a yes.”
“It is a high-quality uniform.”
“A maid dress.”
“A professional hospitality garment.”
“With lace.”
“Elegant lace. Holy shit.”
Jinki stared at him like he had discovered a rare species of chaotic decision-making.
“You’re going to be wearing a frilly maid outfit and calling people ‘master’ for tips.”
Kibum shot upright immediately.
“I will not be calling anyone master.”
Jinki blinked.
“What do you call them then?”
Kibum crossed his arms.
“…valued customer or sir if I'm feeling nice.”
“That is not better???”
“Well it has dignity.” Kibum grits out.
“You are wearing lace sleeves.”
“Dignified lace sleeves.”
Jinki slumped forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as he processed the situation like a man watching his roommate sprint enthusiastically toward social ruin.
Meanwhile Kibum sat there looking incredibly pleased with himself.
Because while Jinki saw embarrassment…
Kibum saw a swimming pool of notes and expensive branded items to dive into.
Finally Jinki looked up again.
“One more question.”
Kibum gestured grandly.
“Ask.”
Jinki pointed directly at him.
“…what happens if someone from campus walks in and sees you.”
Kibum didn’t even hesitate.
He tossed his hair back dramatically.
“They won’t.”
Jinki stared.
“You sound very confident.”
“I am.”
“Why.”
Kibum scoffed.
“Please. What are the odds someone from College is going to randomly walk into a maid café downtown? Please our students aren't THAT odd.”
Jinki opened his mouth.
Then slowly closed it.
Because statistically speaking…
that did sound unlikely.
Very unlikely.
Almost impossible.
…Right???
We’re not jinxing it right?
Hahaha that would be very funny.
Very…
…
funny.
Kibum stood in front of the staff room mirror and experienced a deeply confusing moment in his life.
Because unfortunately.
Tragically.
Against all odds.
He looked fantastic.
He tilted his head slightly.
The mirror tilted the truth right back at him.
The maid uniform was black with white lace trimming the sleeves and collar. The skirt flared just enough to be dramatic. The little ribbon at the neck sat perfectly. His hair had been styled by one of the senior staff who kept cooing about “presentation.”
Kibum flicked an imaginary strand of hair over his shoulder.
The reflection flicked it right back.
“…Wow,” he murmured.
He turned sideways.
Then the other way.
He did a small spin.
The skirt fluttered.
Kibum blinked.
“…Okay,” he admitted quietly to the mirror. “This is a powerful look.”
Another hair flick.
A pause.
“Terrifyingly powerful.”
Behind him, a voice exploded like a lecture cannon.
“KIBUM-AH!”
He stiffened.
Slowly he turned around.
Standing in the doorway was the café owner. A middle-aged woman with the unstoppable energy of someone who had consumed approximately nine cups of coffee and a lifetime of customer service philosophy.
Her name was Madam Han, and she had been talking for 20 minutes straight.
“…and remember!” she continued passionately. “A maid café is about experience! The customer must feel welcomed! Cherished! Appreciated!”
Kibum nodded politely while internally dying.
“Yes, Madam Han.”
“You must greet them warmly! Smile sweetly! Speak gently!”
“YES, Madam Han.”
“You must embody kindness! Grace! Devotion!”
Kibum smiled.
But inside his brain, a very different speech was happening.
Bitch please.
He already had the system figured out.
Step one: flutter eyelashes.
Step two: deploy weaponized aegyo.
Step three: praise customer ego like they personally invented oxygen.
Step four: tips.
Boom.
Financial victory.
Kibum clasped his hands together and demonstrated his strategy.
He tilted his head.
Blink blink.
“Welcome home, valued customer~”
His voice turned soft and sugary enough to cause immediate cavities.
Madam Han gasped.
“Oh my goodness!”
Kibum straightened smugly.
“Hehehe nonono I know.”
“You’re a natural!”
“I’m aware.”
She clapped her hands together excitedly.
“Oh this is wonderful! Just remember, you must maintain the character at all times!”
Kibum nodded confidently.
“Of course.”
She leaned closer.
“And absolutely no sarcasm with customers.”
Kibum’s smile twitched.
“…obviously.”
Madam Han finally left the staff room, still rambling about hospitality philosophy and emotional engagement and the sacred art of tea pouring.
The door closed.
Silence.
Kibum exhaled.
“Good lord,” he muttered.
Jeez she's annoying.
He turned back to the mirror.
Another hair flick.
The lace sleeves fluttered elegantly.
Honestly?
He looked like the main character of a very expensive anime.
He adjusted the ribbon at his collar.
“Alright,” he told his reflection.
“New job. Easy money. Charming customers.”
He placed one hand dramatically on his hip.
“What could possibly go wrong?”
Sunday mornings at the maid café were… surprisingly peaceful.
For his first day Kibum had expected chaos.
He had expected creeps.
He had expected greasy men who would trap him in conversation about limited-edition female figurines while breathing like malfunctioning vacuum cleaners.
Instead, two hours into his first shift, Kibum was having a perfectly decent day.
Well…This was unsettling.
He placed a strawberry parfait carefully on the table in front of one of the café’s regulars.
The man clasped his hands together with gentle delight.
“My dear,” he said in a very strong French accent, “this looks magnifique, It reminds me of the time I spent in India with my good friend Miraj…oh how I miss my teen years…”
Kibum blinked politely.
The man was apparently a weekend regular. His dear co-worker Goo hara, or what she had requested to be called by, Hara had introduced him earlier that morning with the casual announcement of: “Hehe That’s Henrique. …A bit odd but, He’s sweet, he tips well, and he loves plushies. Like ALOT”
Which had turned out to be the understatement of the century.
“I brought Amélie today,” the man continued proudly, showing Kibum his phone.
On the screen was a Jellycat plush croissant.
With a little face.
“And this is Pierre,” he added, swiping to the next photo.
Kibum leaned slightly closer.
“…the baguette.”
“Yes!”
“Of course.”
Henrique sighed happily and began eating his parfait.
Kibum stepped away from the table, whispering to himself as he walked toward the counter.
“…okay he’s actually adorable.”
Near the window sat another customer.
A massive gym bro.
The man looked like he had just walked straight out of a professional bodybuilding competition. Huge shoulders, thick arms, the posture of someone who regularly lifted things heavier than Kibum’s entire emotional stability.
“Thats Haneul, as scary as he looks, I can assure you he is quite literally just a human sized teddy bear! He enjoys baking and sweet treats and don’t tell anyone but he's my personal favourite! Hehe, he gave me his top secret brownie recipe for free!” Hara’s voice echoes in his head.
He was currently staring at the dessert menu like it held the secrets of the universe.
Kibum approached with a polite smile.
“Would you like anything else?”
The man, Hanuel, nodded immediately.
“…Do you still have the strawberry shortcake.”
Kibum tilted his head sweetly.
“We do.”
Haneul looked genuinely relieved.
“…that frosting is insane.”
Kibum fought the urge to laugh.
Instead he clasped his hands politely.
“I’ll bring it right away~”
“Thanks.”
As Kibum walked back to the counter, he mentally revised his expectations.
Okay.
Maybe this job wasn’t the social disaster he had predicted.
Behind the counter stood Goo Hara, who had greeted him earlier that morning like a stylist discovering a brand new doll.
When Kibum had first arrived for his shift, she had gasped.
“Oh my god.”
Before he could react, she had already grabbed his shoulders and dragged him toward the mirror.
“Your hair needs volume,” she declared.
Five minutes later she had fixed his ribbon, smoothed his bangs, and stepped back proudly.
“There.”
Kibum had stared at his reflection.
“…awww I look adorable.”
“You look dangerously cute.”
Now Hara leaned against the counter, watching him return from the tables.
“You’re doing well,” she said with a grin.
Kibum flicked his hair.
“I know.”
“You winked at that guy.”
“That was customer engagement.”
“You did finger hearts.”
“That was strategic.”
Hara laughed.
“You’re going to make ridiculous tip money.”
Kibum folded his arms smugly.
“Obviously.”
Behind them, another coworker quietly prepared drinks.
Jaejoong.
You see, Jaejoong makes Kibum a bit skeptical…
If Hara was a burst of confetti, Jaejoong was calm rain.
Earlier that morning he had patiently shown Kibum how to make several drinks.
“Steam the milk slowly,” he had explained.
Kibum tried.
The milk shrieked like a distressed kettle.
Jaejoong had calmly turned the knob off.
“…we’ll practice later.”
Now he slid a finished drink toward Kibum.
Perfect foam.
Tiny heart shape.
Overachiever.
“Table three,” Jaejoong said softly.
Kibum picked it up.
“Thank you.”
Jaejoong just nodded and went back to preparing another drink.
Hara leaned closer to Kibum, lowering her voice.
“You’re lucky today.”
Kibum glanced at her.
“Why?”
“It’s a calm Sunday morning shift. Most of the dramatic customers haven’t shown up yet.”
Kibum scoffed.
“Please. I can handle customers.”
Hara gave him a long look.
“…I’m serious.”
Kibum waved a dismissive hand.
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
…ok he needs to stop saying that.
The café door closed with a polite little ding.
Kibum didn’t look up immediately.
He was busy placing whipped cream on the gym bro’s strawberry shortcake with the steady focus of a man who valued professionalism and financial stability.
“Here you go~”
Hanuel looked like someone had just handed him a sacred artifact.
“…thanks.”
Kibum nodded and turned back toward the counter.
And that’s when he saw him.
Time slowed.
The universe held its breath.
Kibum’s soul left his body.
Because standing near the entrance, casually scanning the café like he had walked in by accident, was Choi Minho.
Tall.
Athletic jacket.
Effortlessly handsome in that deeply annoying golden-boy way that had caused approximately half the female population of their College to lose their minds.
Kibum froze.
His brain exploded into seventeen simultaneous thoughts.
No.
No.
Absolutely not.
Ohmygod.
Why is he here.
Why is he in my place of employment?
Why is he inside a maid café.
This is a targeted attack by the universe.
Fuck my life!
Meanwhile Minho simply walked toward the counter like a normal human being who had not just triggered a full internal meltdown.
Hara peeked over Kibum’s shoulder.
“Oh!”
She clapped her hands lightly.
“Kibum, perfect timing!”
Kibum did not move.
His mind was currently screaming.
ABORT MISSION.
HIDE.
FAKE YOUR OWN DEATH.
Hara continued cheerfully, completely unaware that Kibum was internally experiencing catastrophic system failure.
“That’s one of our regulars.”
Kibum’s eye twitched.
“I know.”
“You do?”
“…no.”
She nodded enthusiastically anyway.
“You see, that's Minho. He comes in pretty often.”
Kibum stared at her like she had just said something deeply offensive.
“…Hahaha…sorry he—what?”
“Yeah! Weekend mornings mostly.”
Of course he does, Kibum thought bitterly.
Of course the universe arranged this.
Hara leaned closer and lowered her voice slightly.
“Just a heads-up though.”
Kibum blinked slowly.
“Yes?”
“He’s a little… cold.”
Kibum almost laughed.
Cold.
That was a polite word for it.
She continued explaining.
“It’s kind of funny actually. He’s the one customer who willingly comes to a maid café but doesn’t really play along.”
Kibum stared at Minho again.
Minho had already taken a seat by the window, leaning back casually in his chair.
Completely calm.
Completely unaware.
Completely insufferable.
Hara kept talking.
“He doesn’t flirt, he doesn’t do the whole ‘cute café’ thing, and he barely reacts when the maids do the aegyo stuff.”
Kibum folded his arms.
“Sounds delightful.”
“But!” Hara added brightly, “he’s super popular with the staff.”
Kibum slowly turned toward her.
“…what.”
She grinned.
“I mean look at him! Who cares if a face like that has a stinky attitude.”
Kibum did.
Unfortunately.
Minho was sitting with his arms loosely folded, long legs stretched slightly under the table, looking like the main character of a sports drama who had wandered into the wrong genre.
Even in a maid café, he somehow looked composed.
Unbothered.
Ridiculously handsome.
Hara sighed dreamily.
“He’s so good-looking and dreamy, so of course he's popular.”
Kibum felt his blood pressure rise.
“I fail to see it.”
Hara ignored that.
“And he tips well.”
Kibum paused.
“…how well.”
“Very well.”
Kibum paused longer.
“…continue.”
She laughed.
“But yeah, he’s kind of weird for a regular. Most customers come here to enjoy the whole cute maid experience.”
She gestured toward Minho.
“He just sits there quietly.”
Kibum stared at the man like he was a villain in disguise.
“Suspicious.”
“Right?” Hara said cheerfully. “Anyway, he usually gets coffee and something sweet.”
Kibum’s brain returned to the actual crisis.
Wait.
WAIT.
If Minho was a regular…
Then that meant…
He would eventually be served by…
Kibum.
Kibum’s spine straightened in horror.
No.
Absolutely not.
He grabbed Hara’s sleeve.
“New plan.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“You serve him.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s a very good reason.”
Hara squinted suspiciously.
“…do you know him or something.”
Kibum scoffed dramatically.
“Know him? Please.”
Across the room, Minho casually picked up the menu.
Still completely unaware of the emotional hurricane happening ten meters away.
Kibum leaned closer to Hara and whispered urgently.
“I just think… hypothetically… that someone else would provide a better service experience.”
“You’re literally a maid.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re working.”
“I could do other tables.”
“You already did those.”
Kibum slowly turned his head toward Minho again.
Minho glanced up briefly.
Not at Kibum.
Just scanning the room.
Then he went back to the menu.
He hadn’t even noticed him.
Kibum clenched his fists.
Good.
Perfect.
Stay ignorant, you arrogant golden athlete.
Hara nudged him.
“Go take his order! Come on, it's your first day, what's the deal? Let’s see how the newbie deals with the Ice Prince regular.”
Kibum’s soul attempted to exit his body again.
“Hahaha. How about… no.”
“Kibum.”
“I suddenly have other responsibilities.”
“You’re holding a notepad.”
“Yes.”
“That’s for taking orders.”
“I could drop it.”
“Kibum.”
He stared at Minho again.
The man looked relaxed.
Comfortable.
Like this café was just another stop in his perfectly structured life.
Kibum inhaled slowly.
Alright.
Fine.
Calm down.
He doesn’t even know you exist.
Just take the order.
Smile.
Leave.
Easy.
Kibum approached the table like a man marching toward his own execution.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
This is fine, he told himself.
He doesn’t know you.
step.
He has never noticed you.
Another step.
You are just a random employee.
Another step.
In a frilly maid dress.
Kibum nearly tripped over his own dignity.
He stopped a few feet from the table and took a slow breath.
Then he lifted the menu.
And raised it directly in front of his face.
Complete facial coverage.
Maximum anonymity.
A masterpiece of tactical concealment.
From behind the menu, Kibum spoke in the sweetest customer-service voice imaginable.
“Welcome home, valued customer~”
Across the table, Minho blinked.
Once.
Then again.
Because a maid had just approached him.
A maid who was…
…holding the menu directly in front of their face???
Like a portable wall.
Minho leaned back slightly in his chair.
“Oh…hello.”
The menu did not move.
Kibum’s voice floated out from behind it.
“May I take your order today~”
Minho stared.
He tilted his head slightly, trying to peer around the menu.
The menu immediately shifted position.
Blocking the angle.
Minho frowned.
Is this… new?
He had been coming to this café for months.
He had seen plenty of different gimmicks.
But this was the first time a maid had approached him like a mysterious cardboard cryptid.
He glanced briefly at the menu itself.
Then back at the… menu shield.
“…Are you hiding?”
Behind the menu, Kibum’s eye twitched violently.
“Noooo~”
“Then why can’t I see your face.”
“New service featureeee~”
Minho slowly leaned to the left.
The menu leaned left.
He leaned right.
The menu snapped right.
Minho blinked again.
“…Is this some kind of theme?”
From behind the menu came the faint sound of teeth grinding.
“Would you like coffee todayyyyy~”
Across the café, Hara had completely stopped what she was doing.
She stared.
“…Uhhh what is he doing?”
Beside her, Jaejoong stood calmly at the drink station.
He was very quietly shaking from suppressed laughter.
Hara looked at him.
“He’s covering his face…with our menue.”
Jaejoong nodded once.
Still silent.
Still watching.
Still absolutely entertained.
Back at the table, Minho rested his elbow on the table and studied the menu-maid situation with growing curiosity.
“…You’re new.”
The menu froze.
“Y-Yessss~”
“I haven’t seen you here before.”
“New employeeeee~”
“Right.”
A pause.
Minho tapped the table lightly with his finger.
“Do all new employees hide their faces?”
“…sometimessss.”
Another pause.
Minho leaned forward slightly, clearly attempting to look underneath the menu.
The menu dropped lower instantly.
Blocking again.
Minho’s eyebrows lifted.
Now he was intrigued.
This was easily the most effort any maid had ever put into avoiding eye contact with him.
“…Did I do something wrong?”
Behind the menu, Kibum almost combusted.
Yes, his brain screamed.
You were born.
Instead he spoke sweetly.
“Not at allllll~”
Another small silence settled between them.
Minho studied the menu shield again.
“…Are you shy?”
Kibum’s eye twitched again.
“I’m professionalllll~”
“Professional at hiding?”
Across the café, Hara leaned closer to Jaejoong.
“No seriously. Why is he doing that?”
Jaejoong quietly wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
“A tactic perhaps.”
“Well, he's going to scare the customer!”
Jaejoong shook his head slightly, watching Minho.
“…Hmmm I don’t think so”
At the table, Minho was now fully invested in this mystery.
He rested his chin in his hand.
“…What’s your name?”
Behind the menu, Kibum froze like someone had just pressed the emergency stop button on his brain.
“…”
Minho waited.
“…Maid.”
…
“…Maid?”
“Yessss~”
Across the café, Jaejoong finally lost the battle and turned away to hide his laughter.
Hara whispered urgently.
“He’s going to get fired. Madam Han would kill him!”
Minho slowly leaned back again, studying the strange new maid.
Something about the voice felt oddly familiar.
But the menu shield made identification impossible.
He tapped the table again.
“…Okay.”
A pause.
“I’ll have an iced coffee.”
“Excellent choiceeee~”
“And the strawberry shortcake.”
“Wonderful selectionnnn~”
Minho nodded.
The menu still hadn’t moved.
“…Are you going to keep hiding your face the entire time?”
Behind the menu, Kibum straightened dramatically.
“Yes.”
Minho stared.
“…Why.”
Kibum responded with the calm confidence of a man protecting his entire social reputation.
“Atmosphere.”
Across the café, Hara buried her face in her hands.
“He was doing so well for his first day.”
Jaejoong chuckles despite himself, “This is interesting.” His eyes crease in joy as he stirs the cup of coffee he holds in his hand.
Very interesting.
Ever since that dreadful Sunday, Kibum had adopted a very simple life strategy.
Avoid Choi Minho like the plague.
Not that Minho had noticed.
Because that would require Minho to be aware that Kibum existed in the first place.
Which, tragically, he was not.
Minho continued living his perfectly irritating golden-boy life on campus, surrounded by friends, admirers, and the general glow of someone who had clearly been blessed by the genetics department of the universe.
Meanwhile Kibum spent his days dodging him in hallways like a dramatic ninja.
If Minho turned left.
Kibum turned right.
If Minho entered a building.
Kibum exited that building immediately.
It was a flawless system.
Except for the small problem that Minho had absolutely no idea this silent war was happening.
The only person who had been forced to hear about the crisis was his Hyung.
That very night after Kibum’s first shift, he had burst into their dorm room like a tragic hero returning from battle.
“Jinki hyung,” he had announced dramatically.
Jinki had been sitting at his desk playing Call of Duty.
Without turning around he said, “If this is about the maid outfit again, I’m not emotionally ready.”
Kibum ignored that.
“You will not believe what happened today.”
Jinki fired a virtual rocket launcher.
“Mm.”
“Choi. Minho.”
This got a reaction.
Jinki paused the game and slowly turned around.
“…the athlete guy you hate for no reason?”
“There are many reasons.”
“Name one.”
“He exists.”
Jinki stared at him for three seconds.
“Well what about Minho…?”
Kibum stares.
Jinki burst out laughing the second the words leave Kibum's mouth
Not a polite chuckle.
Not supportive roommate laughter.
No.
This was full-body, tears-in-the-eyes, wheezing laughter. Fucking great.
“So you’re telling me,” Jinki gasped between breaths, “that the guy who doesn’t even know your name… saw you in a maid outfit?”
Kibum crossed his arms.
“He did not see my face.”
“That makes it worse!”
“It does not!”
“You hid behind a menu like a haunted restaurant ghost!”
“It was a tactical concealment!”
Jinki wiped tears from his eyes and turned back to his game.
“Wow.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week.”
“Hyung!”
But Jinki had already resumed shooting digital enemies.
Conversation over.
Emotional support: denied.
Which is how Kibum found himself here.
One week later.
Another Sunday.
Another shift.
Standing in the café’s changing room, staring at himself in the mirror.
The room itself looked like it had been decorated by a five-year-old with an unlimited sticker budget.
Cartoon cats covered the lockers.
Cartoon cats on the walls.
Cartoon cats peeking from behind mirrors.
One cartoon cat was holding a tiny teacup.
Another wore a chef hat.
Kibum stared at them suspiciously.
“…you’re judging me.”
The cartoon cats remained silent but extremely smug.
Kibum adjusted the ribbon at his collar and flicked his hair dramatically.
The frilly maid uniform fluttered slightly.
He had to admit…
He still looked incredible.
Tragic.
Powerful.
Financially motivated.
He sighed.
“Alright,” he told his reflection.
“New shift. New day.”
He pointed firmly at the mirror.
“No Choi Minho.”
Because statistically speaking, the chances of Minho appearing two Sundays in a row at the exact same café during Kibum’s shift were…
…well.
Actually.
Now that he thought about it.
Not impossible.
Kibum stared at his reflection for a long moment.
“…pleaseplease don’t manifest that.”
Kibum stepped out of the changing room and immediately regretted every life decision that had led him to this moment.
The café looked peaceful. Too peaceful…
Sunday sunlight streamed through the windows. Cups clinked gently. Hara was chatting with a customer.
Normal.
Calm.
Manageable.
Hmmm…?
Kibum exhaled in relief.
“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “No disasters today.”
He turned toward the dining area.
And then he saw him.
Choi Minho.
Same window table.
Same annoyingly perfect posture.
Same existence.
Kibum physically jumped.
“—!”
He spun around instantly and tried to walk back toward the changing room like nothing had happened.
Very casual.
Very natural.
Just a maid quietly retreating from reality.
Unfortunately, fate had stationed Jaejoong directly in his path.
“Kibum.”
Kibum froze mid-step.
He turned slowly.
“…yes.”
Jaejoong stood behind the counter holding a tray, watching him with the calm expression of someone about to ruin his day.
“Table five.”
Kibum smiled tightly.
“Hahaha do you feel ill Hyung? I suddenly feel ill!! Gosh how hot is it in here—”
“You look fine?”
“I think I’m experiencing emotional distress.”
“You’re holding a notepad.”
“Yes…?”
“That means you’re working.”
Kibum leaned closer and whispered urgently.
“That customer is a problem.”
Jaejoong followed his gaze toward the window.
Then back to Kibum.
“…why.”
Kibum opened his mouth.
Closed it.
“…uhhh personal.”
Jaejoong studied him for a moment.
Then nodded once.
“Go serve him.”
Kibum stared.
“You’re enjoying this.”
Jaejoong did not deny it.
Across the café, Hara looked over.
“Oh! Kibum, perfect!” she called. “Minho’s table is free!”
Kibum’s soul left his body again.
I hate everyone.
There was no escape.
He shuffled toward the counter, mind racing.
And then he saw it.
A small metal pan sitting beside the sink.
Kibum stared at it.
The pan stared back.
A terrible idea was born.
30 seconds later…
Kibum approached the window table again.
Except this time…
He had the pan strapped over his face.
Full coverage.
Complete anonymity.
Across the café, Hara blinked slowly.
“Not again!”
Jaejoong turned away and quietly lost the battle against laughter.
At the table, Minho looked up from his phone.
And immediately frowned.
Because a maid had just approached him.
A maid with a pan covering their entire face.
Kibum stood stiffly with his tray.
His voice echoed slightly from inside the metal.
“Welcome home, valued customer.”
Minho stared.
Then his expression sharpened.
“…What is this.”
Kibum held the pan firmly in place.
“May I take your order.”
Minho leaned slightly to the side.
Trying to see around it.
The pan moved with him.
Blocking the view.
His frown deepened.
“Move that.”
“…pardon.”
“The thing on your face.”
“It’s part of the uniform.”
Minho’s eyebrows lifted slowly.
“Since when???”
“…recent update.”
Across the café, Hara whispered urgently to Jaejoong.
“He’s seriously going to get fired.”
Jaejoong whispered back through silent laughter.
“Who cares, this is hilarious.”
Back at the table, Minho leaned back in his chair, clearly unimpressed.
“Are you seriously standing there hiding your face.”
Kibum stiffened.
“I’m providing professional service.”
“You’re being rude.”
Kibum twitched.
“Rude?”
“Yes,” Minho said coolly. “If you’re going to serve me, at least have the courtesy to show your face.”
Inside the pan, Kibum’s eye twitched violently.
“Privacy reasons.”
Minho scoffed.
“Privacy.”
“Yes.”
“You’re a maid in a themed café.”
“Correct.”
“And you think the solution is wearing kitchen equipment.”
“…it’s multifunctional.”
Minho leaned forward slightly, clearly annoyed now.
“Take it off.”
Kibum froze.
“No.”
Minho blinked once.
“…No?”
“Policy.”
“There’s no policy.”
“There absolutely is.”
Minho studied him with a narrowed gaze.
Something about the voice felt oddly familiar.
But the ridiculous pan situation made it impossible to place.
“…Were you the maid from last week?”
Kibum responded instantly.
“No.”
“Same voice.”
“Coincidence.”
Minho leaned back again, clearly irritated.
“So I get the one employee who refuses to show their face.”
“Lucky you.”
Minho paused.
“…What did you say.”
“Lucky service experience!!!”
Across the café, Hara grabbed Jaejoong’s sleeve.
“He’s antagonizing the customer! Oppa I can’t just stand here!”
Jaejoong was shaking with silent laughter.
At the table, Minho sighed like someone personally offended by the universe.
“Fine,” he said coolly.
“I’ll have my usual.”
Kibum scribbled on his notepad.
“Excellent choice.”
“You don’t know my usual.”
“I absolutely do.”
Minho crossed his arms.
“You’re bluffing.”
Inside the pan, Kibum panicked.
“…coffee.”
Minho stared.
“…Everyone orders coffee.”
“Strategic guess…?”
Minho leaned forward again, clearly trying to peer under the pan.
“Next time,” he said with faint irritation, “send a maid who actually wants to do their job.”
Kibum straightened proudly.
“I’m doing it perfectly.”
Across the café, Jaejoong wiped a tear from his eye.
Best shift ever.
The moment Kibum’s shift ended, he had one goal.
Escape.
He untied his apron with the urgency of someone fleeing a crime scene, already halfway toward the changing room when a hand suddenly grabbed his wrist.
“Kibuuuum-ah.”
Kibum froze.
Slowly, he turned his head.
Hara stood there smiling.
Not a normal smile.
A terrifyingly curious smile.
Behind her, leaning casually against the wall, Jaejoong watched like someone settling in for a show.
Kibum immediately sensed danger.
“…Uhhh I need to go home.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do.”
“Nope.”
Before he could protest further, Hara dragged him into the staff room.
The door shut.
Click.
Kibum was placed in the middle of the room like a suspicious suspect under interrogation.
Hara crossed her arms.
Jaejoong leaned against a locker.
And Kibum stood there still wearing half his uniform and the expression of someone who had absolutely made several bad decisions today.
Hara narrowed her eyes.
“Explain.”
“…explain what.”
“You know what.”
“I don’t.”
“The pan.”
Kibum looked away.
“That was a creative choice.”
Hara pointed dramatically.
“And the menu thing last week!”
“Also creative.”
“And the way you panic every time Minho walks in!”
Kibum stiffened.
“I do not panic.”
“You almost ran back into the changing room today.”
“That was exercise.”
“You tripped over a chair.”
“It attacked me.”
Jaejoong quietly snorted.
Hara turned toward him.
“You see it too right?”
Jaejoong nodded once.
Then returned to silent observation.
Hara spun back toward Kibum with narrowed eyes.
“So.”
She leaned closer.
“What’s the deal with Minho?”
Kibum opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“…there is no deal.”
“You hide your face from him.”
“Professional reasons.”
“You wore cookware.”
“Strategic concealment.”
“You tried to escape the building.”
“Coincidence.”
Hara stared at him for three long seconds.
Then suddenly her entire expression changed.
Her eyes widened.
Her hands flew to her mouth.
“…Oh my god.”
Kibum blinked.
“…what.”
Hara gasped dramatically.
“You have a crush on him!”
Kibum short-circuited.
“…What?—”
“That’s why you’re hiding your face!”
“N-No!—”
“You’re embarrassed!”
“I’M NOT!—”
“You panic because he’s there!”
“I PANIC BECAUSE HE’S!—”
Kibum stopped himself.
Hara leaned forward with sparkling eyes.
“Oh my god it’s real.”
“It’s not real!”
“This is so cute!”
“I don’t like him!”
Hara clasped her hands together and began pacing excitedly.
“Kibum likes the cold regular!”
“I DO NOT!”
“This is like a drama!”
Jaejoong quietly covered his mouth again, shoulders shaking.
Hara turned back toward Kibum, completely delighted.
“You know what this means?”
“…I go home?”
“You should pursue him!”
Kibum looked like someone had just suggested he fight a bear.
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on! He’s handsome!”
“I’m aware!”
“He’s mysterious!”
“He’s annoying!”
“He tips well!”
Kibum paused.
“…no!”
Hara beamed.
“See? Perfect match!”
“It is not a match!”
“It’s fate!”
“It’s harassment! You guys are harassing me!”
Jaejoong finally spoke, calm as ever.
“He did laugh today.”
Kibum turned slowly.
“…what.”
“When you wore the pan.”
Kibum’s soul left his body again.
“I— he did???.”
“He did.”
Hara gasped again.
“OH MY GOD HE LIKES YOU BACK.”
“HE DOES NOT!”
“This is happening!”
“This is not happening!”
Hara grabbed Kibum’s shoulders enthusiastically.
“You just need confidence!”
“I need to leave!”
“You should talk to him!”
“I should move countries!”
Jaejoong leaned against the locker, still amused.
Hara pointed dramatically.
“Next Sunday you will serve him without hiding your face.”
Kibum stared at her in horror.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Kibum grabbed his bag with the energy of someone escaping captivity.
“I’m going home.”
Hara called after him.
“Think about it!”
“I will not!”
“You and Minho would look so good together!”
Kibum opened the door.
“I’m transferring jobs!”
Jaejoong waved lazily as Kibum stormed out.
Hara sighed dreamily.
“Love is blooming.”
Jaejoong tilted his head slightly.
“…Or chaos.”
Night had settled over the street outside the café, the kind of cool evening air that made the neon lights glow a little brighter.
The shift was over.
Kibum exited the café like a fugitive.
He had already changed out of the uniform, thank God, but he had taken extra precautions. A baseball cap was pulled low across his face, the brim casting a dramatic shadow.
Maximum anonymity.
Minimum humiliation.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and started down the street.
“Sighh…Freedom,” he muttered.
No coworkers.
No frills.
No cookware.
Just a peaceful walk back to the dorms where he could complain to Jinki and eat instant noodles like a normal college student.
He turned the corner.
And nearly jumped out of his skin.
Because leaning casually against a streetlight a few steps ahead…
…was Choi Minho.
Kibum froze.
NO.
Minho looked up at the sudden movement.
Their eyes almost met, but the brim of Kibum’s hat hid most of his face in the dim streetlight.
Still.
Minho squinted slightly.
Even in the dark he recognized the figure.
That posture.
That energy.
That annoying aura of avoidance.
“…You,” Minho said slowly.
Kibum’s brain exploded.
RUN.
Without a single thought, Kibum turned and bolted.
Full sprint.
Zero dignity.
Just raw panic.
Behind him, Minho straightened immediately.
“Hey—!”
Kibum ran faster.
His bag bounced against his shoulder as he practically flew down the sidewalk.
Minho took a few quick steps forward.
“Wait!”
Kibum did not wait.
He turned the corner and disappeared down the street like a very dramatic ghost.
Minho stopped running after a few seconds, more confused than anything.
“…What is his problem?”
Then he noticed something on the pavement.
A small plastic card.
Minho bent down and picked it up.
It was a student dorm access card.
He turned it over.
His eyebrows lifted.
Because the card looked… very familiar.
Same color.
Same layout.
Same College emblem.
Minho frowned slightly.
“Hah?…No way.”
He looked closer at the name printed on the card.
Kim Kibum.
Minho’s gaze shifted to the small ID photo.
A clear image of a sharp-faced student with styled hair and an expression that looked permanently halfway between annoyed and dramatic.
Minho stared at the photo.
“…Kim Kibum.”
The name rolled around in his memory.
Something about it felt familiar.
He studied the face again.
Where had he seen this guy before?
Where had he heard that name?
Then another thought clicked into place.
The voice.
The maid’s voice.
Minho’s eyes widened slightly.
“…No.”
He looked back down the street where Kibum had vanished.
Then back at the card.
The pieces began slowly connecting in his mind.
The menu shield.
The pan.
The running.
Minho let out a quiet laugh.
Low.
Amused.
Then a slow smirk spread across his face.
“Well well well.”
He slipped the dorm card into his pocket.
If Kim Kibum attended his College…
That meant this mysterious, pan-wearing, face-hiding maid was somewhere on campus.
Minho pushed himself off the streetlight and started walking.
Tomorrow suddenly sounded much more interesting.
Because now…
He had someone to hunt down.