“The weather is nice, isn’t it?”
Noona slowly continued the conversation. It was hard to guess why.
Although she was kind to everyone, I had never seen her talk so warmly to a complete stranger before.
Then again, the Noona I knew was only the one I spent time with; I had no way of knowing how she lived outside my sight.
Although we headed in the same direction to school, we never actually attended the same school.
Noona was three years older than me.
When I was in elementary school, she was already in middle school.
When I moved up to middle school, she became a high schooler.
Naturally, by the time I entered high school, she had already started college.
It didn’t seem like she had a boyfriend during that time… but the only way to know about her school life was through occasional encounters with her friends or directly from her.
I glanced down at the coffee in front of me.
A large glass was filled with dark brown coffee.
The liquid between the ice cubes was a similar color to cola, but there were no rising bubbles, and the scent was different.
Of course…..it was coffee, not cola.
“I’m paying, so don’t worry about the money.”
Noona spoke with her usual smiling face.
I tried once again to think of a reason but couldn’t come up with anything.
Maybe I looked like I needed something to drink.
After all, I had bought three kinds of bread but no beverages.
Cream bread and custard bread might be fine, but soboro bread could make you choke without something to drink.
Even so… there didn’t seem to be a reason for her to offer me a drink like this.
“Ah, yes… thank you.”
Well, it’s impolite to question someone’s kindness too much.
I decided to accept the coffee quietly.
To be honest, I’m not someone who usually drinks coffee.
I rarely even bought beverages for myself.
Spending money on drinks felt less economical than spending it on food.
Especially coffee—I had only ever tried sweet canned coffee, and that was rare.
I knew this kind of coffee would be bitter.
Only after I grabbed the coffee cup did Noona leave her seat.
I felt a little disappointed.
It would have been nice to continue the conversation.
Yes, the weather is really nice.
But it’s a bit hot. Isn’t that right? Well, it’s cool in here because of the air conditioning…
Repeating the unfinished conversation in my head, I picked up the glass.
The cold glass, meeting the air, was covered in condensation.
Packed with ice, the coffee was freezing. I took a sip through the straw.
The coffee was slightly bitter and sour on my tongue.
Still, it wasn’t unbearable.
I had consumed potions in the other world that were much more bitter—and downright disgusting.
Compared to those, the subtle flavor of this coffee was surprisingly decent.
After all, I had once shared tea with His Majesty the King in that world.
At first, it was dreadful, but later, I came to somewhat appreciate the tea’s aroma.
Of course, I could never truly enjoy it like those who genuinely loved tea.
Holding the bitter coffee in my mouth, I rolled it on my tongue and frowned.
No matter how much I had grown to appreciate flavors, I still preferred simple, strong tastes.
Sweet, salty, maybe a little spicy… No, I wasn’t fond of salty foods anymore.
I’d eaten enough salted and smoked meat to last a lifetime.
I swallowed the coffee.
At least it didn’t leave the stickiness that sweet drinks often did, which was nice.
I took another bite of the bread.
The rich cream inside melted in my mouth.
Perhaps because I had just tasted something bitter, the sweetness of the cream spread throughout my mouth.
The texture complemented it as well.
The coffee’s clean finish contrasted perfectly with the creamy sensation.
The sweetness in my mouth was vivid.
It was delicious.
Not just because I hadn’t eaten it in a while the bread itself was excellent.
Far better than what I had as a child.
If this were the other world, I would’ve called the chef to praise them.
Praise from a hero like me was considered an honor in itself, and restaurants I complimented often saw their business double.
Of course, as a hero with a normal palate, my compliments weren’t exactly an objective measure, but people always believed my words.
Here, though, I was just an ordinary person.
I represented no one and spoke for no one.
No one recognized me walking down the street, nor did royal guards or companions follow me around.
I was simply an ordinary person like everyone else.
That truth felt liberating yet a bit lonely.
No, bittersweet was more accurate.
Like the coffee I was drinking now.
Why did I buy coffee for that person with my own money?
Why did I approach them and start a conversation with, “The weather is nice, isn’t it”? I had been indoors since the morning and couldn’t even feel the outside weather, but that person had been out in the blazing sun.
They weren’t sweating, but it must have been very hot on their way here.
I couldn’t remember the faces of all the customers who visited.
I didn’t even know most of their names.
Only occasionally, when someone was exceptionally distinctive or frequently bought the same bread or drink, did I remember them.
Even then, I still didn’t know their names.
In that sense, this customer was no exception but they were certainly “distinctive.”
Because they seemed pretty? Because they looked younger than me? Because they were taller than me yet oddly awkward?
Sure, those were traits.
But they weren’t memorable.
Even if I thought, “Oh, they’re pretty,” that kind of impression would usually fade into “I saw someone pretty” by the next day.
Unless they came here again, it would be hard to recall them.
No, it wasn’t that.
It was their demeanor.
That person’s demeanor stood out starkly.
As if dealing with others was immensely awkward for them.
When they entered the bakery, they looked around like it was their first time in such a place.
When our eyes met, they froze as if frightened.
After a while, they realized they were blocking the entrance and stepped aside in a fluster.
Plenty of people avoid eye contact with strangers.
Some customers stare at the bread they’re buying without glancing at me during checkout, and some don’t say a word from entering to leaving the bakery.
But… that person’s demeanor was different somehow.
If she had avoided making eye contact altogether, I would have simply thought she was shy.
But she tried several times to meet my gaze.
Even as she stammered, she made an effort to respond.
It felt like she was trying.
A strange sense of déjà vu washed over me.
Somewhere, at some point… I had seen that kind of behavior before.
Slowly, as I rang up the bread she had brought, I searched my mind for the source of that feeling.
Where had I seen this…?
…Ah.
And then, it came to me.
That behaviour, it was mine.
After I lost him.
After he died because of the things I had said.
For a long time, I was just like that.
I shut myself in my room and didn’t come out.
I couldn’t bear to face his mother, so I ignored all her calls.
Back then, I was already living alone in a small studio apartment.
If it hadn’t been for the friend who grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out, I might still be living that way even now.
No, I would have come out eventually.
I had to, to survive. Because that kind-hearted person wouldn’t have wanted me to end up like that.
That behaviour, her behaviour rwas the same as mine when I was forcibly dragged out by my friend and taken from place to place.
Avoiding eye contact out of guilt for having caused his death.
Feeling like I shouldn’t be doing anything, like I had no right to.
And yet, trying to live somehow.
Trying to regain something that had been lost.
Back then, I had my friends by my side.
But now, that person had no one with her.
It had been years since then, and much of the wound had healed.
I had spent a long time reflecting on why he made the choice he did.
Back then, we were just terribly unlucky.
It wasn’t something I could entirely blame myself for, and I understood that now.
The scar would last a lifetime, but I could at least remember him fondly.
With that realization, I found myself making a cup of coffee.
Why iced Americano? I’m not sure.
Maybe because it was one of the best-selling and cheapest drinks this time of year, and I had gotten used to making it.
Or maybe, it was simply because it was the cheapest option.
I filled the glass to the brim with coffee and then thought briefly, “I should’ve made something better.” But I shook my head.
It might’ve felt burdensome for her.
No, this whole gesture was entirely my interpretation, my decision.
If she found out my reasoning, she might even be offended.
Even so, I just wanted to do it.
“The weather is nice, isn’t it?”
I handed her the coffee and asked with a smile.
She looked up at me in surprise.
I had hoped to continue the conversation.
Maybe even suggest she come back again someday.
But when I saw her trembling eyes, I realized I shouldn’t say anything so casual.
You can’t pry into someone’s wounds without knowing their story.
It wasn’t until I saw her eyes that this truth dawned on me.
In the end, she simply thanked me, and the conversation didn’t continue.
I returned to the counter and quietly watched her eat.
Her expression softened when she ate the sweet bread.
But when she drank the coffee, her brows furrowed slightly.
Did she not like bitter flavors?
…He used to make a similar face when eating something bitter.
After I entered college, I began drinking coffee more often.
Not the expensive café coffee, but instant coffee from the supermarket.
At first, I drank it with sugar and cream, but during exam periods, I drank so much that it upset my stomach.
After that, I switched to the unsweetened kind.
I once absentmindedly made coffee for him.
He frowned, looking utterly incredulous, and asked how I could drink such a thing.
I laughed so hard that day.
…It’s been five years.
If he were still alive, he would’ve graduated from college by now.
Would he still furrow his brows while drinking coffee? Would he still have a sweet tooth?
If, by chance, I meet that customer again, I’ll prepare something sweeter for her.