The Bond

Ch 10

"No—yes, yes I'm fine!" Michael nodded quickly and flashed a broad smile, ignoring the dizziness that still plagued him. "I just wanted to go to a cafe in this area," he continued with a grin.

The man nodded. "You just ran into it, sir."

Michael blinked, then stepped around to get a clearer view of the blank wall after the scary ugly alley; Sure enough, this is the cafe. Michael felt his face burn, he turned back to the man.

"Do you want to apply for a job here or just a customer?" The man folded his arms across his chest and asked.

Michael smiled awkwardly. "Yes, I want to work here," he replied nervously.

"To be more like a slave."

"Shut it!"

"Great! Because I still lack one employee!" Michael's smile widened in an awkward direction, waiting for the man to continue his speech. "You don't mind if I have to interview you first as a formality?"

"Ask him a hard question."

"Shh!"

Michael shook his head. "Of course not at all!" he answered enthusiastically.

"Good. The first is, have you ever worked in a cafe before?"

"Yes. Been kicked out a few times for being careless."

"It's your fault, bastard."

A nod was Michael's answer, still brazing a smile to look professional even though in his mind he was cursing Ennard bitterly. "Yes, and I guarantee they are all satisfied with my service."

"Before firing you."

Fuck Ennard.

"Okay, the next thing is are you ready to be placed anywhere? Like taking care of the cashier, serving customers, or cooking."

"He even screamed when the hot oil splashed."

"Can't you just shut up?"

"Yes," Michael replied, slightly nodding his head. "But I'm more skilled at taking care of customers and cashiers, but if it's important I can take part in the kitchen as well."

"Lying is not good."

"For the sake of money."

The man nodded at Michael's reply, looking satisfied. "In that case, if a customer feels disappointed, what will you do?"

"Dousing their faces with water. Ungrateful bastards."

"Dousing—I mean offering them a meal or refunding if they're not satisfied and asking what makes them feel that way." Michael cleared his throat when he was about to say something wrong, Ennard's retorts disturbed his concentration.

"But yes it's really ungrateful."

"Right?"

"Are you willing, if the cafe is busy you have to come home late to clean the cafe after closing?"

"Don't be enslaved, Benedict."

"Oh—uhm," Michael said incoherently, his eyes evading the gaze of the man in front of him. Of course it will be a consequence that he has to face at work, let alone getting a night shift.

"Don't tell me you want? Don't you have your own business at home, assembling your useless toy?"

"Oh shut up, I need money too."

"You can go years without food. This place is disgusting, Benedict."

"Life as a tramp is no less disgusting, you moron."

"Instead of working here, you better work odd jobs. This place is ugly."

"No one asked your opinion, after all—how can you just judge? I think you're more than this, Ennard. It's a shameful thing."

"I do what I want."

"Pft."

"This place is disgusting."

"Oh shut up! I don't care if this place is disgusting or disgusting!" Michael exclaimed in annoyance, gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

Before realizing who he was dealing with now.

Michael gulped, looking horrified at the man standing in front of him now, and his face had a look of surprise slowly darkening. Michael cursed inwardly. He, stupidly and awkwardly, made a clumsy smile and slowly stepped back.

Then run away.

The day ended badly. Thanks to Ennard.