Chapter Text
Behind the counter, Shadow wiped the wooden surface over and over with mechanical movements, keeping his gaze fixed on it to avoid looking at the line of people already leaving the shop. He had no patience that day, and the crowd of impatient customers wasn’t helping either.
A man in a beige trench coat and dark sunglasses planted himself in front of him. He rested both fists on the counter, leaning forward with a clear expression of superiority before even opening his mouth.
“Hi! I want a lactose-free latte with cold-pressed almond milk,” he said, tapping the edge of the wood with his index finger in rhythm with his words. “Three drops of Madagascar vanilla syrup, the foam exactly at sixty-four degrees, and a swan drawing on top. But make sure the swan is looking to the left at a perfect angle. You’ll excuse me, but I can’t tolerate ruined symmetry.”
Shadow nodded with a completely blank expression.
“Name for the order.”
“Gervasio,” the man replied, adjusting his glasses.
Shadow mentally noted it and turned to fulfill the order and get rid of him. However, the man cleared his throat loudly, interrupting him before he could take the first step.
“Oh, right. I have a complaint,” the customer added, crossing his arms. “Last time I came, the heart on the latte I ordered was tilted seven degrees instead of the nine I asked for. Can you believe it? It completely ruined my morning.”
A heavy silence settled over the counter. Shadow stood still, back turned, eyes squeezed shut. Internally, he had to mentally prepare himself and count to ten in three different languages to avoid committing murder right then and there. He regulated his breathing, clenched his teeth, and slowly turned around.
“…We’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
The customer nodded, satisfied with his display of authority. Shadow let out a sigh of relief and turned to focus on the order again, but the man knocked on the wood once more.
“By the way! Make sure not to use the green cup.”
Shadow slowly turned his head, eyes narrowed.
“Why…?”
“It doesn’t match my vibes today.”
Shadow blinked once. Then twice.
I have to put up with all this for minimum wage…
He gave a stiff nod and turned around again to continue preparing the drink, but the customer interrupted him for the fourth time in a row, this time with an urgent, indignant tone.
“Hurry up, please! You’re already taking too long! I have a meeting in ten minutes.”
Shadow’s fists were already trembling with pure frustration. His knuckles turned white around the cleaning rag. He limited himself to nodding without looking at him and got to work. He grabbed the almond milk, but before he could open the carton, the customer opened his mouth again.
“One more thing! I ask that you…!”
Shadow spun back toward the customer abruptly, slamming both hands on the counter with a loud thud that made the cookie display shake.
“LISTEN TO ME. IF YOU ASK FOR ANOTHER STUPID THING, I SWEAR I’LL SHOVE THE LATTE UP YOUR—”
“Good morning, sir!” Amy suddenly intervened, practically appearing out of nowhere and stepping between them with a flawless, corporate smile.
With a practiced move, Amy gave Shadow a subtle but firm elbow to the ribs, pushing him back a step while shooting him a warning look that screamed shut up or I’ll kill you myself. Then she turned back to the customer with helpful politeness.
“I’m so sorry, my coworker is having a technical issue with the machine calibration and sometimes gets a little stressed,” she said, clasping her hands together. “Let me take your order personally. You wanted the foam at exactly sixty-four degrees, right? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s perfect and without any green cups ruining your day.”
The customer narrowed his eyes, sizing up the situation with a disdainful look that moved from Amy’s fake smile to Shadow’s still-tense fists. For a moment it seemed like he was going to make a bigger scene, but he finally adjusted his trench coat with a huff.
“Fine, I’ll let you serve me,” he said in a condescending tone. “But you should keep better control over your employees. A temper like that is a danger to the public. That guy clearly isn’t qualified to deal with people.”
“You’re absolutely right, sir. We appreciate your patience,” Amy replied, keeping her sweet voice while subtly stepping on Shadow’s foot under the counter to make sure he kept his mouth shut.
Shadow didn’t move, simply staring fixedly at the man’s dark sunglasses with a look that promised violence.
Amy let out a sigh of relief as soon as the customer stepped back to wait. She moved with the speed of years of experience, handling the almond milk pitcher and thermometer with skill. In less than five minutes, she poured the foam with a perfect, clean flick of the wrist, creating a stylized bird figure on the surface. She placed the cup on the counter delicately, without spilling a single drop.
The man leaned in, examining the drink with surgical precision. He frowned almost immediately.
“This is unacceptable!” he protested, pointing at the foam. “The swan is looking to the right, not the left like I specifically requested. And let’s be honest, this looks more like a deformed duck than a swan. I’m not drinking something that completely lacks visual harmony.”
Amy blinked, her smile freezing on her face from pure confusion.
“I’m sorry… I tried to follow your instructions to the letter…” she said, nervously clasping her hands. “If you’d like, I can remake it. I really apologize for the angle issue…”
The customer continued complaining loudly, gesturing toward the cup and drawing the attention of the three people waiting behind him in line.
Shadow stepped forward, a sharp reply already on the tip of his tongue to send the guy straight to hell, but a massive shadow fell over the counter before he could speak. Omega emerged from the side of the bar, making the floorboards creak under his metallic weight. His optical lights moved from the customer’s pale face to the rejected cup, emitting an electric hum.
“CUSTOMER DETECTED REJECTING PRODUCT,” the robot announced in his flat, mechanical voice that echoed through the café. “REASON: DISSATISFACTION WITH FOAM DESIGN AND LACK OF RESPECT TOWARD STAFF. SUGGESTED SOLUTION: EXTERMINATE THE INDIVIDUAL TO OPTIMIZE WAIT TIME IN LINE.”
The man was completely stunned. His jaw dropped slightly as he looked first at Omega, then at Amy (who was staring at the ceiling pretending the robot didn’t exist), and finally at Shadow, who maintained an indifferent expression. The customer processed the mechanical threat for three silent seconds.
Without saying another word, he stretched out a trembling hand, grabbed the cup by the handle, and with the other hand pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his trench coat, dropping it onto the counter.
“K-keep the change…” he stammered, taking three steps back before turning around and hurrying out.
Shadow took the folded bill without changing his expression, slammed the cash register open with the palm of his hand, tossed it inside, and immediately shut the drawer.
Amy leaned against the counter, letting out the breath she’d been holding and rubbing her temples in frustration.
“I hate customers like that, seriously. What an insufferable guy,” she complained, turning to look at Shadow with her arms crossed. “But you don’t help at all, Shadow. One of these days you’re going to get us shut down. It wouldn’t kill you to smile or at least pretend you care a little about the job…”
Shadow picked up the damp rag again and went back to scrubbing the counter with slow movements.
“But he paid,” he replied simply. “That’s the only thing in my contract. Charisma isn’t my department.”
Amy swallowed the urge to answer him and went back to her tasks, leaving him alone with the damp rag and his bitterness.
Shadow continued cleaning the wooden counter, though his attention subtly drifted toward the back of the shop. The bustle of the café was a constant reminder of why he hated morning shifts: the annoying clinking of cups… the overlapping conversations that didn’t interest him… and the exasperating energy of people first thing in the morning.
The creak of the kitchen door interrupted his thoughts. Rouge came out dragging her feet, holding an empty porcelain cup with an expression of pure boredom. Her café uniform was impeccable, but the way she leaned against the counter made it clear she had no intention of lifting a finger unless absolutely necessary.
“If I have to hear the lady at table four complain one more time that her pancake isn’t organic enough, I swear I’m going to dump the cold coffee pitcher over her head,” she declared, letting out a yawn and glancing sideways at Shadow with a sly smile. “By the way, darling, the delivery girl kept asking about you. I think you scare her… or maybe she likes you. She gets that kicked-puppy look every time you sign the receipt. Are you going to keep ignoring her or are you going to break her heart?”
“I just make her sign the receipts, Rouge,” Shadow replied, not stopping the movement of the rag. “But tell her that if she blocks the emergency exit with the milk crates again, the next receipt is going to be signed by Omega on her forehead.”
A few meters away, Omega’s heavy silhouette remained motionless beside the espresso machine, though his optical lenses never stopped scanning the environment with a constant hum.
“ENVIRONMENTAL ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS,” the robot’s voice rumbled in a suspiciously low tone. “ESTABLISHMENT CAPACITY: EIGHTY-FIVE PERCENT. CUSTOMER FLOW: UNSTABLE. TACTICAL RECOMMENDATION: INSTALL ELECTRIFIED BARRIERS AT THE ENTRANCE TO FILTER SUBJECTS WITH ORDERS CONTAINING MORE THAN THREE INGREDIENTS.”
“Omega, not again…” Shadow muttered, feeling the beginning of a headache.
Before Rouge could come up with another taunt, the crackle of static from the old counter radio cut through the ambient noise. A danceable beat and bright synthesizer filled the space. It was an impeccable, catchy pop melody—the kind that gets stuck in your head after hearing it just once. A few seconds later, a youthful, energetic, and incredibly melodic voice began singing through the speakers.
Amy, who was handing change to a student at the register, let out a small squeal and a clean little jump in place, dropping the coins with a cheerful jingle.
“AAAAAHHHHH! No way! This is my favorite Sonic song!” she exclaimed, her cheeks slightly flushed.
Without thinking twice, Amy grabbed a clean cup and a kitchen towel, humming along to the music as she moved lightly from side to side, serving the next customer in line with a renewed smile.
Shadow tensed slightly. His fingers tightened a little more around the damp rag, freezing over the wood. A strange tightness rose in his chest upon hearing that familiar voice echoing throughout the shop, but he forced his muscles to relax before anyone noticed. He kept his eyes fixed on an invisible stain on the counter, focusing on his breathing.
Rouge crossed her arms, leaning her back against the back shelf while tapping her foot to the beat.
“I have to admit the guy has talent,” she commented casually, looking at the ceiling as if analyzing the notes. “His songs are really good and incredibly catchy. Even a grouch like you has to admit he has a nice voice.”
Shadow shook his head firmly, sliding the rag with calculated slowness.
“It’s insipid, empty music,” he replied without looking up, forcing absolute contempt into every syllable. “It’s a lab-made product designed specifically to sell cheap twenty-dollar-plus merchandise to fourteen-year-old girls who have no idea what real music is. It’s pure soulless marketing.”
Rouge let out a snort, narrowing her eyes with a smile full of pure sarcasm as she observed him closely.
“Wow. You sure put a lot of passion into hating something that supposedly ‘doesn’t matter’ to you.” She tapped the counter with her nails. “You should buy a voodoo doll of him if his existence bothers you that much. At least then you could channel all that aggression into something productive instead of ruining the shop’s rags.”
Shadow ignored her and turned around to leave the cloth near the sink.
The tinkling of the entrance bell interrupted the reply he had ready, immediately followed by the dry sound of several folders and loose papers scattering across the floor near the door.
Shadow looked up. On the floor, on his knees and cursing under his breath, was Silver. He was desperately trying to gather a tower of university notes that had just fallen for the second time in a row before he could even take three steps toward the counter. His quills were so messy and flattened from lack of sleep that, to Shadow’s eyes, they curved in a way that made him look like a palm tree.
Shadow didn’t even wait for the silver hedgehog to stand up. He knew him too well; he was such a regular customer that his study-induced breakdowns were predictable. Without saying anything, Shadow moved toward the espresso machine and picked up a medium cup. He started preparing the latte with a double shot of vanilla and three packets of artificial sugar that Silver always ordered to survive his exam mornings. At this point, his hands moved on their own from pure muscle memory.
Behind the paper disaster, the door opened again and Blaze crossed the threshold. She had a firm, straight, and neat posture that completely contrasted with the chaos that was her friend. She gracefully bent down, picked up the last loose sheet floating near her boots, and handed it to Silver with a kind gesture. Shadow barely knew her; he only knew her name from the countless times she’d had to come to the café to drag Silver out because he had fallen asleep on his world history books.
Silver finally reached the counter, dropping the mountain of papers with a heavy thud and letting out a sigh that seemed to take three years off his life.
“Shadow, hey, good morning… uhhh, the usual please,” he said quickly. But before he could take out his wallet, his ears twitched. The radio melody filled the space between them. Silver blinked, leaned forward over the counter, and his golden eyes widened. “Hey, hey, hey—did you see what Sonic posted on his stories? I mean, it’s not that I—Blaze, SHUT UP—it’s not that I care that much, but…”
Blaze immediately held back her laughter, covering her mouth with one hand and letting out a small clearing cough to disguise it.
“No one said anything, Silver,” she replied, glancing at him with imperturbable calm.
“I’m just defending myself preemptively…” Silver muttered, readjusting his tower of loose papers before looking back at Shadow with eyes shining with anticipation. “Seriously, Shadow, you have to see it. He uploaded a short video rehearsing with a new electric guitar and—”
“I’m not interested in posts from empty singers, especially when their fanbase is full of obsessed people,” Shadow cut him off in his usual monotone, turning toward the coffee maker.
Inside, he was dying to comment, to demand that Silver show him the screen, or to pull out his own phone and check the update that very second. But he forced his face to maintain the perfect mask of indifference.
“He’s not an empty singer, he’s a super talented artist!” Silver protested, indignant. “And besides, I’m not obsessed like everyone thinks. It’s a purely healthy and educational interest in his musical career.”
Blaze raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.
“Yesterday you cried because Sonic changed his profile picture.”
“IT WAS A VERY SUDDEN CHANGE!” Silver exclaimed, waving his hands dramatically.
“Silver, It was just the same photo.”
“BUT IN HIGHER RESOLUTION, BLAZE. YOU COULD SEE THE STITCHES ON HIS DENIM VEST! That shows a level of commitment to his fans that few people appreciate.”
Behind the espresso machine, Shadow slammed the ground coffee into the filter with a sharp thud.
Pathetic, he thought, feeling a deep wave of moral superiority at Silver’s obvious lack of dignity. What a pitiful, pathetic creature.
However, in the hidden storage of his own phone, buried under three layers of passwords, there was a camouflaged folder named: “Taxes 2025.” A folder that contained exactly four hundred and forty-seven high-definition screenshots of Sonic, organized chronologically by year and month, including fourteen identical photos where the singer only changed the angle of his head by three millimeters. But of course, Silver’s thing was clearly an obsession. His own was just… a meticulous record.
Shadow placed the portafilter in the machine and pulled the lever, letting the dark stream begin to fill the cup while he continued catching fragments of the conversation.
“Anyway,” Silver continued, lowering his voice to a dramatic tone as he leaned over the counter. “It’s just that… sometimes I feel like Sonic understands me better than anyone else in this world. It’s like he’s speaking directly to me through his songs.”
Blaze stared at him with icy intensity, not blinking.
“Are you aware that Sonic doesn’t even know you exist?”
Silver froze in place. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and looked at the cat with an expression of extreme offense, as if she had just insulted his entire bloodline.
“That was low…” he murmured, his voice trembling with betrayal. “That was a really low blow, Blaze. This isn’t over.”
“Look, I’m just bringing you back to reality—”
“NO, NO, NO, YOURE FUCKED UP!” Silver shouted, spinning around toward the rest of the café. “Now I’m going to tell the pink hedgehog what you told me last week… what was her name…?” He started snapping his fingers desperately, searching for the name in his sleep-deprived brain. “I remember now! AMYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! BLAZE WANTS TO TELL YOU SOMETH—”
Before the last syllable could fully leave his throat, Blaze lunged across the counter with lightning speed and slapped her palm directly over his mouth, silencing him instantly. The impact made Silver’s eyes bulge as he tried to babble against his friend’s hand.
Blaze maintained a very strange panicked expression, her ears completely flattened back and her tail slightly bristled.
From the pastry display, Amy looked up sharply when she heard her name, holding a metal tong in mid-air.
“Huh? Did someone call me? What’s happening?”
Blaze forced a stiff smile, keeping Silver firmly pinned against the wooden counter.
“Nothing, Amy. Everything’s under control,” she asserted in a suspiciously high-pitched voice. “Silver was just… choking on his own saliva. It passed already, right, Silver?”
Silver turned visibly paler than he already was, as if his soul had been drained in a second. He nodded repeatedly at high speed, swallowing his panic, and raised a trembling thumb toward Amy while forcing a nervous little smile.
Amy smiled back with total naturalness, completely unaware of the mutual breakdown that had just occurred at her own counter, and returned to arranging the pastries. She leaned slightly toward Rouge, lowering her voice to the standard morning gossip tone.
“Oh my Chaos… Silver is SO obvious about his crush on Sonic!” she laughed, shaking her head and resting her chin on her hand with a dreamy sigh. “He reminds me so much of myself at twelve, when I thought that if I sang Justin Bieber songs in front of the bathroom mirror he would magically appear and ask me out… though maybe I still do it with Sonic.”
Rouge slid along the counter until she was close to Amy, wearing a mischievous smile and eyes sparkling with pure malice.
“Oh please, Amy, don’t blame yourself. Yesterday I saw the behind-the-scenes clip his label uploaded and that blue leather vest he’s wearing for the new tour is a low blow for anyone,” she added, adopting a melodramatic confidential tone. “Sonic knows exactly which angles look good on camera. Even I had to pause the video for a second—he looks exquisite!”
Shadow was holding the milk pitcher in one hand, completely frozen while pretending not to hear anything.
“That’s what I’m saying!” Amy agreed in an excited whisper, leaning closer to Rouge. “And the way he fixes his quills before singing… it’s ridiculous how attractive he is.”
Rouge let out a low laugh, nodding.
“Sonic looks way hotter than usual in this new campaign. I don’t know if he changed trainers or finally understood the concept of wearing clothes that actually fit him, but that jacket cut he wears on TV shows is an attack on my mental health. Half the internet is begging for his attention.”
“Yes, yes, exactly!” Amy let out a small excited squeal. “He has that unreachable rock star aura but with that same charming smile. It’s an unfair combination.”
“Right?” Rouge laughed behind her hand. “Plus, in the behind-the-scenes you can tell he’s using a different conditioner. Look at that shine.”
“I KNOOOW RIGHT??”
Shadow narrowed his eyes slightly.
Different conditioner?
No.
It was impossible. The shine was exactly the same as it had been throughout the previous tour.
He knew because…
SPLASSSHHHHH.
A freezing jet of water hit him square in the back of the neck. Shadow let out such a sharp gasp that he nearly dropped the steel pitcher to the floor. The cold water ran straight down his back, soaking the fur on his nape and sending a chill through his body.
He slowly turned his head, with a violent tic in his left eye and an expression that promised medieval torture.
“WHO THE FUCK WAS THE SON OF A—”
In front of the counter, Silver took a sudden step back. His ears were slightly lowered, a blue plastic tumbler in one hand and an expression caught between total regret and mortal terror.
“I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY! I’m really sorry!” he exclaimed, raising his hands defensively. “I’ve been calling you for like three minutes straight and you were just standing there frozen, you wouldn’t answer!”
Shadow stared at him, water dripping from the quills on his neck onto his apron. Then he looked at the plastic tumbler. Then back at Silver’s eyes.
“And your most logical solution was to THROW WATER AT ME?”
“But it worked!” Silver justified himself, shrugging with a nervous smile. “I just wanted to know if my coffee was ready… I have to start studying soon and Blaze is already giving me the evil eye.”
Shadow let out a heavy snort through his nose, looking away so he wouldn’t use his fists. He took the coffee cup he had abandoned who knows how long ago on the metal counter and slammed a plastic lid on it. He slid the cup forcefully toward Silver.
“It’s ready. Now get out.”
“Thanks, you’re seriously the best!” the hedgehog thanked enthusiastically, grabbing the burning cup with both hands.
However, before turning around, curiosity got the better of him. Silver tucked the tower of notes under his arm, glanced sideways at the TV in the background where the entertainment segment was still playing, and turned back to Shadow with a genuine question on his face.
“Hey, Shadow… quick question. Have you ever had a fictional crush? You know, on a celebrity or something? Because Blaze says it’s something I should have grown out of by now…”
Shadow took barely two seconds to answer, but when he did, he turned slowly, maintaining a posture of absolute disinterest and coldness, arms crossed.
“No. It’s a complete waste of time to chase after someone who will never know anything about you. It’s absurd and irrational behavior.”
Silver nodded slowly, absorbing the harsh answer with a resigned grimace.
“Well… I guess when you put it that way it makes sense. Thanks again for the coffee,” he said, turning around.
Blaze said goodbye to Shadow with a brief nod, sharing one last “sorry about my friend” look before following Silver to help him carry the three folders that were about to slip from his arms again down the hallway.
Shadow watched them leave with evident apathy. Meanwhile, Rouge and Amy remained glued to the display case, completely absorbed in their fangirl bubble.
“YESS! And did you see the rumor that he might collaborate with Sally Acorn for the winter single?” Amy was saying, eyes sparkling as she arranged the metal tongs without looking. “They would be the couple of the year! Everyone on the internet is losing their minds.”
Shadow, who had picked up the rag again, stopped dead. Sally Acorn? That stuck-up woman who was supposedly from the music high society? A ridiculous yet violent pang of annoyance rose in his throat. He felt a sick urge to jump into the conversation and deliver a three-hour speech about why Sonic’s style would never fit with Sally’s boring classic pop, but he managed to control his tongue.
“Oh please, Amy. That’s just smoke from his manager to get free publicity,” Rouge intervened, dismissing the idea with a wave of her hand. “Sonic has too free a spirit for that aristocrat. Although… well, I guess from a marketing standpoint, a fake romantic scandal always sells millions in merch.”
“Exactly! It’s a completely insipid and senseless commercial strategy!” Shadow jumped in, unable to hold back any longer.
Both of them turned to look at him.
Silence.
Amy stood with the metal tongs in mid-air, blinking a couple of times, genuinely confused. Rouge, on the other hand, froze her smile and stared at him, processing the fact that Shadow had taken the time to comment on a rumor from the pop world.
Shadow felt the blood freeze in his veins for a second as he realized the incredible mistake he had just made. He cleared his throat loudly, trying to regain control of his voice, and abruptly turned his back to both of them.
“The… the espresso machine,” he said awkwardly, grabbing a random knob on the coffee maker and pretending to inspect it with extreme concentration. “The steam pressure is failing. It’s making too much noise and I can’t hear the orders.”
“Shadow,” Amy began slowly, “the machine has been turned off for ten minutes.”
“Then the ventilation,” he muttered without turning around, feeling his ears starting to burn.
Amy looked at Rouge, searching for an explanation, but Rouge was no longer listening. A spark of pure malicious amusement lit up in the bat’s eyes. She relaxed her shoulders, rested her elbows on the wooden counter, and held her chin with both hands, staring at the back of Shadow’s neck like a predator who had just watched its prey trip over a rock.
“Well, well, well…” Rouge drawled, leaning further over the counter toward him. “Someone is very invested in the artistic purity of the music industry today. Are you sure it’s the marketing that bothers you, darling?”
Shadow felt a knot in his throat but kept his gaze hard, squeezing the rag tightly.
“It bothers me that my team is incompetent,” he snapped brusquely. “If you have so much free time to dissect pop star gossip, I assume the kitchen floor must already be spotless. Get moving. Now.”
Amy let out a soft giggle, grabbing her tray to head back to the tables.
“Coming, grump! Seriously, you should listen to the lyrics on the radio. Maybe it’ll soften that stone heart of yours a little.”
The two of them walked toward the back, leaving Shadow alone in front of the counter. The pop song was reaching its final chords and the melody began to fade into the ambient noise of the café.
༺｡° .ᘛ𓆩♡𓆪ᘚ. °｡༻
The clock read ten at night when Shadow finished locking the deadbolt on the main door. The silence that remained in the café after closing was always his favorite part of the day, though this time his lack of desire to socialize was more obvious than usual. Amy dragged the chair legs across the floor, stacking them on the tables with a constant scraping sound, while Rouge cleaned the dessert counter at a snail’s pace, using the rag more for playing than actual cleaning.
“TOO MANY ORGANIC RESIDUES DETECTED BEHIND THE COUNTER,” Omega announced from the kitchen hallway, carrying three black trash bags with a single metallic hand. “RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE INCINERATION OF THE ESTABLISHMENT TO PREVENT THE PROLIFERATION OF UNICELLULAR BACTERIA.”
“Use the outside dumpster, Omega. If you burn the place down, I won’t have anywhere to work tomorrow to pay rent,” Amy replied with a yawn, pushing the last chair before stretching. “Though I won’t lie, the idea of getting free weeks off is tempting. Right, Shadow?”
Shadow didn’t answer. He was focused on drying a porcelain cup with slow movements, completely ignoring her while keeping his eyes fixed on the window overlooking the dark street.
In the upper corner of the shop, the old television they used to entertain customers remained on at minimum volume, broadcasting a local channel. Suddenly, the screen exploded with bursts of colored lights, camera flashes, and giant shiny lettering that cut into the background program to switch to the entertainment segment.
“BREAKING NEWS” announced the bottom ticker.
The energetic face of a blue hedgehog appeared in a clip from his latest music video, followed by an interactive map that began marking red dots across the country.
“And in the news everyone’s been waiting for! Attention all fans of the world-famous Sonic the Hedgehog! Just a few minutes ago, the official label of the global pop phenomenon confirmed the international dates for the ‘Sonic Cyclone Tour.’ That’s right! Get your wallets ready because the official itinerary includes one unique and unrepeatable date in our city next month…”
CRASH.
The sharp sound of porcelain shattering against the tiles cut off the TV announcer’s words.
Shadow froze, his hand suspended in the air and his fingers still open in the exact position he’d been holding the cup just a second earlier. His heart lurched violently, slamming against his chest with a force that left him breathless.
His city…
He was coming to his city.
Amy, who had gone completely still with the broom in her hand while processing the words on the screen, completely ignored the sound of breaking glass. She let out a high-pitched scream that nearly pierced everyone’s eardrums and started jumping in place, throwing the broom to the floor.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! NO WAY, NO WAY! HE’S COMING HERE!” she shrieked, pulling her phone out of her apron pocket at the speed of light, her fingers trembling hard against the screen. “TELL ME I’M NOT HALLUCINATING, ROUGE! Open the page, open the app, the presale is probably crashing right now! BY CHAOS, THERE ARE ONLY THREE DATES IN THE WHOLE COUNTRY AND ONE IS HERE!”
Rouge, however, didn’t even look at the TV. Her eyes immediately locked onto the floor, where the fragments of the cup surrounded Shadow’s boots, then slowly traveled up to the black hedgehog’s face.
“What happened?” she asked, narrowing her eyes with a mix of curiosity and direct suspicion.
Shadow reacted. He blinked hard, forcing himself to look down at the mess on the floor to keep Rouge from reading the panic in his eyes. He crouched down abruptly and began picking up the larger pieces of porcelain with clumsy, hurried movements.
“Nothing,” he replied, his voice a little lower than usual, without looking at her. “It just slipped.”
“Hm? Something slipped from you?” Rouge insisted, crossing her arms. “That’s new.”
Shadow didn’t give her the satisfaction of answering. He finished gathering the broken pieces in deathly silence, ignoring Amy’s screams as she continued fighting with her phone’s internet in the back of the shop. He tossed the remains of the cup into the trash with a sharp motion, untied the café apron strings with a brusque tug, and dropped it on the counter.
“I’m taking out the kitchen trash,” he announced curtly, grabbing the black bag Omega had left nearby.
He needed to get out.
He needed the cold night air, needed to be alone, and above all, needed to process the fact that the source of all his sleepless nights was going to be just a few kilometers away—without either of those two idiots seeing his mask of indifference crack. He pushed through the back door into the alley before Rouge could say another word.
The cold night air hit his face full-on, acting like a bucket of ice water for the chaos in his head. He walked quickly, dragging the black bag with one hand, and dropped it into the metal dumpster with a dull thud, not bothering to check if it landed properly.
He made sure the alley was completely deserted. Only the hum of the café’s exhaust fans broke the silence. He ran a hand through the quills on the back of his neck, still damp from the water Silver had thrown at him hours earlier, and let out a shaky sigh, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.
“Calm down. It’s just a concert. Nothing more…” he told himself quietly, forcing a stern tone that even he didn’t believe. “It’s not a big deal.”
With fingers stiff from nerves, he pulled out his phone. His hands, which could normally calibrate an espresso machine perfectly, failed twice while entering the password. He went straight to the browser, straight to the official ticket distributor’s page. The website was on the verge of collapse thanks to thousands of hysterical fans, but after refreshing the tab three times, the price section finally appeared on the screen.
Shadow scrolled with disdain past the general admission and grandstand passes, heading straight to the top of the food chain: the VIP “Meet & Greet + Front Row” pass.
He looked at the exact figure.
Silence.
Shadow stood completely petrified, the white light from the screen illuminating his wide-open eyes. He felt his blood pressure drop straight to the floor and a cold void invade his stomach. He nearly had a massive heart attack right there. He had to lean his back against the cold brick wall so his legs wouldn’t give out.
He stared fixedly at the four-digit number, blinking to make sure there wasn’t a speck in his eye.
“Well…” he muttered to himself, swallowing hard. “It’s not that expensive.”
He looked at the price again. The numbers hadn’t changed.
“With this money I could buy another motorcycle…” He paused, feeling a cold sweat run down his neck. “Two more motorcycles. Or a house.”
He stared at the screen for another second, processing the level of corporate robbery he was witnessing.
“A kidney…” he whispered, eyes fixed on the zeros. “At least not legally.”
With financial panic settling in his chest, he started making desperate mental calculations. The miserable café salary, the overtime hours putting up with pretentious assholes, the cost of his apartment rent, transportation… If he wanted to pay for that damn VIP ticket before it sold out, he’d have to spend the next few months without buying food, without paying utilities, without breathing, and basically stop living like a functional being. The final conclusion punched him right in his pride: by serving mediocre cappuccinos, he’d manage to scrape together the necessary dollars around the year 2035. And the concert was next month.
He ran a hand down his face in pure frustration and cursed under his breath. He was cornered.
“Wow, that’s quite the face, darling. You look like you’ve seen a ghost or like the price of eggs just went up again.”
Rouge’s voice echoed from the back door frame. Shadow locked the phone screen at lightning speed and shoved the device into his pants pocket with a brusque movement, immediately straightening his posture to recover his classic stone mask. The bat was leaning against the alley wall, arms crossed and wearing that classic smug smile.
“It’s nothing,” Shadow said, forcing his driest, sharpest tone. “I finished with the trash. I’m coming in to close up.”
“You’re paler than usual, and you don’t get like this from carrying a bag of garbage,” Rouge took a couple steps toward him, heels clicking slowly as she examined him with analytical eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Shadow felt a real pang of panic run through his gut. His mind worked overtime to fabricate a quick exit, any stupid lie that would steer her away from his intentions of seeing the blue hedgehog in person.
“I need extra money,” he blurted out, trying to sound as flat and disinterested as possible. “My motorcycle’s engine is failing. I need to buy a replacement part urgently and the imported pieces for that model are ridiculously expensive. That’s all.”
Rouge stopped a meter away from him. She narrowed her eyes with dangerous focus, scanning from the stiffness in his shoulders to the way his hand was still pressing the pocket where he hid the phone.
“Uh-huh. Sure,” she murmured, tilting her head. “And that motorcycle part is from the ‘limited blue edition’ or…?”
Shadow went completely tense. The quills on the back of his neck bristled slightly with humiliation, but he held her gaze, injecting every bit of hostility he could muster to force her to back off.
“It’s just a normal replacement part, Rouge. Don’t start with your stupid theories.”
Rouge looked at him for one more second, visibly enjoying watching the world’s most serious hedgehog sweating in an alley. To Shadow’s surprise, the bat let out a small sigh and dropped the subject for the moment, breaking the tension with a lazy wave of her hand. She adopted a more practical posture and shrugged.
“Well, if you really need the money that badly for your… ‘normal replacement part,’ a friend of mine is looking for people for a part-time job this season. His agency handles luxury limousines for corporate events and private transfers in the upscale part of the city. The pay is usually good and the hours are flexible, so you could keep your café shift if you really want to destroy what’s left of your mental health.”
Shadow stayed silent, arms crossed. The idea of spending hours locked in a giant vehicle dealing with stressed executives or spoiled rich kids sounded like a personal nightmare he’d barely escape without a physical assault lawsuit. But then he remembered the four-digit figure on his phone screen. He had no other choice.
He mentally noted the information, swallowing his pride and keeping his facade of reluctance so as not to show even a milligram of genuine enthusiasm.
“Send me the contact later,” Shadow replied, turning toward the door to end the conversation. “If the pay is as good as you say, I guess I can tolerate driving a long car for a few weeks. All for the motorcycle.”
“I’ll send it to your phone in a bit,” Rouge said, following him with a low, malicious chuckle. “But get ready; from what I’ve heard, that environment is way worse than high school. You’ll end up missing the guy with the deformed swan.”
༺｡° .ᘛ𓆩♡𓆪ᘚ. °｡༻
Shadow arrived at his apartment at midnight. He inserted the key into the lock, pushed the wooden door open, and closed it behind him with a sharp thud, sliding the deadbolt twice. He walked down the dark little hallway straight to his bedroom, opened the door abruptly, and flipped on the light switch.
It was only then, under the white light of the bulb, that his state secret was revealed.
His room was completely infested with merchandise of the famous Sonic. There wasn’t a single free centimeter. The walls were covered with official tour posters, special edition music magazines, and high-definition printed photographs. On the main shelf, dozens of collectible figures rested in perfect alignment, obsessively organized chronologically by their exact release date. In the corner, a bookcase held vinyl records, collector’s cassettes, and autographed CDs that Shadow had managed to get through online middlemen. The place looked like the shrine of a deranged fangirl—a violent contrast with the serious, bitter hedgehog he pretended to be during the day.
Shadow took off his black coat with rough movements and tossed his backpack onto the floor. Without waiting another second, he moved toward the bed and let himself fall face-first, smashing his face directly into one of his pillows.
He buried his face in the fabric and finally broke.
He let out a long, muffled, heartbreaking scream into the pillow while kicking the mattress frantically with the same frustration as a fourteen-year-old girl throwing a tantrum.
“AAAAAHHHHGGGGGG, FUCKING CAPITALISM I FUCKING HATE YOU!!!” Shadow screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice muffled by the fabric. “FOUR DIGITS?! FOUR FUCKING DIGITS JUST FOR FRONT ROW?!”
He rolled onto his side violently, hugging the pillow to his chest as he continued thrashing from side to side in rage, staring at the ceiling with indignation.
“It’s a scam! Working double, sacrificing my mental health just to see him in live! Chaos, I hate this miserable city, I hate serving coffee, I hate that his damn tickets cost the same as a house! Injustice! It’s a fucking injustice!”
After five minutes of kicking and complaining, silence returned to the room. Shadow slowly lifted his face from the pillow, breathing heavily. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes slightly glassy from the mix of contained anger and humiliation.
He wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand. He reached down, groped around in his pants pocket, and pulled out his phone. His pride was in pieces, but the need was stronger.
He opened Instagram. He searched for the verified official profile. His fingers moved automatically toward the bright circle of the stories—the same one Silver had been rambling about at the café.
The screen lit up with a vertical video. There he was…
Sonic appeared in a rehearsal room with poorly lit acoustic walls. He was wearing a loose white t-shirt, slightly sweaty from the effort, and carrying a metallic blue electric guitar slung over his shoulders. In the barely fifteen-second clip, he ran a hand through the quills on the back of his neck to fix them (that damn gesture Amy had complained about) and then looked straight at the camera with that sly, brilliant smile that Shadow knew by heart. He played a quick, dirty, perfectly executed riff and let out a little chuckle toward the lens before the video cut off.
Shadow remained frozen, his breath caught and his eyes fixed on the screen, completely hypnotized. His stomach twisted violently. An absurd, stinging warmth rose from his chest to his ears, making him lose track of his own thoughts. His eyes traced every pixel on the screen with obsessive intensity. He paused the story at the eighth second, zooming in on the reflection in the quills.
“Coconut extract,” Shadow thought, feeling a heavy flip in his stomach while the phone light reflected in his wide eyes. “Rouge is an idiot. The shine is the same as the previous album, they just changed the lighting in the recording set.” He stared at the perfect curve of that mouth, the way those gloved fingers pressed the strings with a confidence bordering on arrogance…
What would it feel like to be touched like that by him?
It was a stupid, highly destructive magnetism that made him feel insignificant in his own bed. How could someone look so fucking perfect while sweating? The obsession burned inside him—a mix of adoration that embarrassed him and a fierce resentment for the distance that separated them.
Then, a gray notification appeared at the top of the screen, abruptly breaking the trance and making him jump in fright.
It was a message from Rouge. It only contained a short text:
Rouge (22:34 pm): Here’s the contact for my friend’s agency, darling. Don’t make me look bad. Try not to punch any rich clients before they pay you, please.
Attached was the image of a digital business card that read: Premium VIP Transportation Agency.
Shadow let out a long, heavy sigh and dropped his head back onto the bed. He glanced sideways at the giant poster from the previous tour hanging right next to his closet.
He was going to take that chauffeur job. He was going to put up with the executives, the idiot millionaires, the shitty hours, and the uncomfortable suits. He’d sell his own motorcycle if necessary. He’d do double shifts at the café and spend his nights awake driving a limousine through the upscale part of the city if that meant getting the money for a front-row spot.
It would be worth it.
Every single second of torture would be worth it if he could have that bright blue just a few meters away.
He wasn’t obsessed. Of course not.
He locked the phone and left it on the nightstand, closing his eyes as the image of Sonic’s smile remained burned behind his eyelids.
I don’t need him to look at me. I already look at him enough for the both of us.