Chapter Fifteen: The Bountiful Harvest

A few hours later.

As the medley of the adapted “Für Elise” and “My Heart Will Go On” came to an end, the café was silent for a moment before a wave of enthusiastic applause broke out.

Under the eager gazes of the crowd, Anhe rose gracefully and made his way slowly backstage.

[Just a bunch of men, unworthy of admiring your peerless beauty? You scoffed inwardly, but Ryosuke Kae’s image involuntarily surfaced in your mind. Hmm, if it were him, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad…]

“Are you done playing already?” someone called out curiously.

A maid nearby was already prepared, stepping forward to explain, “I’m very sorry, masters, but the café is closing for the night, so…”

Before she could finish, a bald man in a suit grumbled impatiently, “What’s this? Closing before ten? What kind of business are you running?”

As if he were the ringleader, several others joined in the complaints at once.

“Exactly! Closing before ten—who would ever come back here?”

Seeing the growing chorus of discontent, the maid looked troubled. After a moment’s hesitation, she replied, “I’m sorry, masters, but actually, it’s already eleven thirty.”

As soon as she said this, the bald man exclaimed in shock, “What? You mean it’s already past eleven?”

“Yes, master,” the maid responded politely as ever.

On hearing this, the man’s expression changed. He hurriedly fumbled through his briefcase for his phone. When he saw the sixteen missed calls from his wife, his face instantly went pale. After a moment’s hesitation, he shakily tapped to call back.

A string of distinctly Japanese ringtones rang out, and as soon as the call connected, a fierce, tiger-like woman’s voice erupted from the phone.

“Murakami! You bastard, did you go to a brothel again?!”

At the sound of her voice, the bald man’s knees nearly buckled, but he managed to stay upright and answer, “Dearest, I wouldn’t dare! There was something at the office that ran late, I’ve just finished now, I promise I’ll be home right away.”

He spoke as he squeezed through the crowd toward the exit, all the while frantically explaining into the phone.

But as he reached the café’s doorway, the hostess maid called out sweetly, “Take care, master! Please come again~”

In an instant, the man froze on the spot.

At the same time, silence fell on the other end of the call, as if it were the calm before the storm. After a long pause, a woman’s voice spoke, calm as still water.

“Be home in ten minutes.”

At this, the man’s heart clenched. He quickened his pace, continuing to plead, “Honey, honey, let me explain, just now that was—ah! I swear I didn’t go to a brothel, or order any weird waitresses, I was just having coffee at a café…”

The man—and his voice—gradually faded into the Tokyo night.

Yet, it was as if he had opened Pandora’s box; in an instant, the same scene began to play out again and again in the café.

Within minutes, the once lively room had nearly emptied.

Tonight was destined to be a sleepless one.

…

Backstage in the café.

Massaging his fingers, sore from hours of playing, Anhe made his way to the changing room, where he found Sayo Amamiya in conversation with Haruki Sato.

“What are you two talking about?” Anhe asked, approaching with curiosity.

Haruki Sato smiled and explained, “Your little girlfriend wants to work here too.”

Huh?

Anhe looked at Sayo Amamiya in surprise. She met his gaze, lips pressed together, but did not deny it.

Seeing this, Anhe grew even more curious. He knew Sayo Amamiya wasn’t one for conversation with others, so he turned and raised an eyebrow at Haruki Sato. “You’re not tricking her into working for you just because you think she’s cute, are you?”

Haruki Sato blinked in surprise, then immediately put on a pitiful face, feigning grievance. “Anhe, that really hurts, you know.”

At this, Anhe rolled his eyes.

“All right, all right, I’ll stop teasing you,” Haruki Sato said, covering her mouth to stifle a giggle before turning serious.

“Well, Anhe, you worked five and a half hours today. That comes to 22,000 yen, but since you were working non-stop, I’ll pay you 25,000 yen. How does that sound?”

Twenty-five thousand yen?

At the mention of money, Anhe’s eyes lit up. He was instantly energized.

After all, his last convenience store job paid only 4,200 yen for six hours of exhausting work. Here, five hours at the piano had left his fingers tired, but the pay was nearly six times as much.

At this rate, he’d be able to buy an electric bike in less than a week.

With this thought, Anhe’s mood soared.

But his happiness was premature, for a maid soon arrived, balancing a tray piled high with yen.

…

“These are all for me?” Anhe asked in surprise, staring at the overflowing tray of cash.

“Yes, Anhe,” the maid replied sweetly. “This is all the tips you received tonight—14,300 yen in total.”

Her smile was particularly bright, since the rules allowed her to take a tenth of the tips—1,400 yen, nearly as much as her hourly wage.

After a brief silence, Anhe took the tray. Adding this to his wages from Haruki Sato, his net earnings for the day came to 37,900 yen—nearly two thousand RMB.

And that was just for five hours’ work.

Indeed, a fortune could only be made by skill.

[Exactly. Skill is everything. You’ve studied ten thousand masterpieces, mastered a hundred techniques—why not make a living from your talents? With your looks, becoming the top star wouldn’t be hard. Still, before that, you’ll need actual practice, and the woman before you is the perfect candidate…]

Top star, my foot!

Anhe rolled his eyes again, but still couldn’t help glancing at the maid’s chest.

Hmm—modest, yet full of character.

…

When he stepped out of the café, night had fully fallen, leaving only the neon lights of Tokyo flashing in the dark.

A cold wind brushed past, sending a chill through the air.

Anhe instinctively stepped closer to Sayo Amamiya, wrapping their familiar red scarf around both their necks once more.

“Let’s go home,” he said, reaching out his hand.

Sayo Amamiya hesitated for a moment, then placed her small hand in his.

Fingers interlaced, they strolled into the night, their conversation softly rising.

“I want to work here too.”

“Are you serious?”

“I want to earn money.”

“I make enough for both of us.”

“But I still want to earn my own.”

“What about your classes?”

“I’ll work in the evenings with you.”

“Are we forgetting something?”

“…It feels like we are.”