Chapter 6

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After making coffee, I sat back in my chair and spent a long time thinking over the last match. To be honest, the first half of the game I played was frankly feeble. There was even a moment when I was lost and didn't know what to do, or how to bring the most value to the team. This is the first sign of fuss. I always considered my strength to be my ability to feel the game. This time I did not feel this rhythm. Accordingly, I was not with the team as one unit. Maybe that was because of my inner turmoil, but more likely it was my playing in randoms at a low level, where you rely only on yourself, and your team are not helpers but rather nine potential enemies who can do tricks that would ruin your efforts. The game is different with good partners.

Kronus! How I'd missed this - playing to my fullest potential. Truth be told, what I did at the end of the match was unbelievable and at least an order of magnitude above my actual level. It's called "jumping over my head," and that's exactly what I did today.

After I finished my coffee, I turned the game down and spent the rest of the night running training programs. I'll get over this injury, if I have to train ten hours a day, I'll train. If only all these efforts would bring results... The Face of Aphrodite, please...

The alarm rang at fifteen to five. A quarter of an hour was enough time to clean myself up, massage my aching jaw, and apply healing cream to my cheekbone abrasion. I looked at my slightly battered face in the mirror and was satisfied. I'd had a lot worse. Then I got dressed and went down to the hall of the restaurant. There was Daas, as cheerful as always, waiting for me. Before I took my bag from him, I told him about yesterday's incident. He promised to straighten things out with "Denim Cool", and in the meantime, for a couple of days, to take a different route to the market, one that skirted the gang's block.

I didn't object because of the lengthening of the path. Apparently, the change, like yesterday, will be left to me, which is a very strong argument in favor of "shut up and do". Especially this night I decided to save up for surgery. At my current income level, it would take me about twenty years to save up the right amount. Nightmare, of course, I'm younger than that number! But if you keep putting things off until the moment is right, you are likely to spend your whole life waiting for that moment but never really doing anything about it.

At the market, I haggled like Hermes, because the profit was my own. I bought half of Daas's list at half the initial price. It wasted half an hour more time than yesterday's purchase. But I didn't care much for such a time-wasting.

I returned to the restaurant, thanking ThreeFaced, without any adventures. I walked around the building in a circle to look at the facade again, but didn't notice any changes, except for a small advertisement printed on a plain piece of paper:

Opening tomorrow.

As I went into the hall and laid out my purchases, I clarified when the notice had been put up at the entrance, last night or this morning.

"As you came out, so you put it up," the boss explained, without taking his eyes off the pick of the sea cucumber knife. "The inspector's got his leg fixed, he'll come in today, sign everything, and we're ready to go."

"After sampling the food, am I free until tomorrow?" If so, it will be possible to go to the Temple today.

'No. What is he doing?" Who cuts up a sea cucumber like that?! It looks like he's never done it before in his life. "You'll be training the staff today."

My desire to correct his actions immediately evaporates.

"Will a lot of people need to be trained?"

"Aloya and Vera, our waitresses, will work in shifts. And Jiro, he and I will take turns at the bar," he thought about it and scratched his chin with the blade of his knife: "But no... I'll take care of Jiro myself. Just the girls on you."

Peeling the sweet yams at Daas's request, I pondered whether or not I should be happy about this news. On the one hand. Girls!!! And looking at the setting of the restaurant, and in light of my presumed purpose for the place, well... Beautiful girls! Which is always nice. On the other hand, I firmly associate beautiful girls with problems, and the more beautiful the woman, the more problems follow her around. The ancient legends also confirm my observation. One Helen the Beautiful is enough as an example. Although, unlike many of my peers, I do not stutter at the sight of a girl's beauty, nor do I slip into vulgar aggression, like the other antipode of insecurity.

Not that I am particularly popular with girls, which would be an exaggeration, but I am not an ugly duckling, either. In any case, it is always nice to have beautiful girls around, at least from an aesthetic point of view.

Having calmed myself down with these thoughts, I continued to help the boss in his culinary experiments, which ended, as yesterday, in failure. I did not dare to try any of the dishes prepared by Daas. It's good that he sees everything himself and doesn't insist on obligatory sampling. At the end of this, as I now understand, morning ritual, we cleaned the kitchen and had a breakfast of pizza, and then I went to bed until noon.

I slept very well after the nearly twelve-kilometer walk in the morning. I dreamed something pleasant, so when a demanding knock on the door pulled me out of the captivating embrace of Morpheus, I woke up in a bad mood. Besides, it was only eleven o'clock! Since no one but Daas could be at the door, I jumped out of bed, wrapped my blankets around myself, and opened the door, prepared to speak rather harshly about what I thought of such wakes.

"Good day, Utis." There was no Daas on my doorstep, but Illea, with a bundle in her hands. "You're so strong to sleep!"

The chief looked completely different today than the day before. Only one detail had changed, her hair was not in a ponytail, it was in "artistic disarray". Her hair was just slightly different, but the contrast was striking. The first time I saw her I thought she was pretty, but not beautiful, but now I realized I was wrong. Her beauty is not that which is shown on catwalks or demonstrated by models, she has it different: playful, feminine, lively. And her look from under the falling bangs. Only very smart people know how to laugh like that, with just their eyes.

The small wrinkles in the corners of her eyes because of this habit not only do not tarnish her but give Illea a kind of reality and depth and life. Her clothes are simple, but they form a unified stylistic ensemble: a bright white T-shirt with a deep neckline, over it an unbuttoned down black sleeveless jacket, like the moonless night, on her feet thick dark tights and light blue denim knee-high shorts, simple sneakers, not fancy sneakers, surprisingly harmoniously complement the image she has chosen for today.

"Th-th-th-thank you," it's all I could say in response. blushing rapidly and trying to wrap myself tightly in what had become an incredibly slippery blanket.

"Try it on," she offered me the roll but I couldn't take it, because otherwise I would have let go of the edge of the blanket and been left in front of her in just my underwear. "Oh, come on." She could barely contain her laughter as she watched my struggles. "Don't be shy."

Mocking. Definitely. And the smile is so kind and compassionate. But the eyes, splashing with amusement do not let me believe in this compassion.

And then I was angry. For the wake-up call, for her cavalier attitude, for yesterday's day, for everything! No, I didn't swear or shout something angry, but just decided to "burn it all with Promethean fire"! No one invited her, she did not warn me about her visit, so why am I standing there blushing while she has fun? Feeling like my older sister had caught me watching pornography.

I unclenched my hands as if they were cramped, and let the blanket slide to the floor. I was wearing decent-looking underwear that covered more than the swim trunks no one was embarrassed to show up in front of a crowd of people during a swim.

"Thank you for the advice not to be shy, it helped me a lot," and with a ceremonial half-bow, I take the package from the hands of a frozen woman.

The expression on her face makes it clear that she had not expected such a development.

"Try it on. Here are your overalls. And I'll wait outside the door," says the chief, but these words, spoken in a calm tone, were not easy for her.

Having said that, Illea took a step back and gently closed the front door.

I look at the package and think, maybe that's the way to behave when people get impudent? Don't look for guilt or blush for something that wasn't your fault, but just like this, ignore the conventions and let those who created the uncomfortable situation get out of it on their own.

In the thick paper wrapping was indeed a set of clothes. I wondered how they had ordered them for me since no one had taken my measurements. Because of my excessive thinness the standard clothes bought for my size end up either hanging baggy in the belly area or, if that's all right, the sleeves are always too short.

What is it that Daas or his bosses are so attracted to the color green? And who designed it?! What nonsense, these things are incompatible with each other! Basically! The overalls consisted of a green, short kimono sporty rather than casual, a t-shirt also green but a slightly lighter shade, and... trousers! Yes, yes, Slavic, the color of the T-shirt, linen trousers. No one had worn them for a hundred years! The last part of the set was a headband, with the image of a smiling smiley face, of course, it was also green.

Since there was no full-length mirror in my apartment, I had to turn on my computer and point the camera at myself, and then I changed my clothes. The result was surprising: the kimono successfully concealed my thinness and underdeveloped pectoral muscles, while emphasizing the width of my shoulders and waist. If I straightened up and didn't slouch, I could easily be mistaken for a young man who was into sports. The trousers also hid the excessively thin legs and were not as wide as they seemed at first. Sly, buying such clothes, you can not think about the peculiarities of the figure of the staff, enough to know the height of the employee, and that he was not overly fat.

It was all spoiled by that bad, saturated green. What could have prevented me from picking a different color, more pastel? It would have looked so much better!

After knocking on the barely covered door and not bothering to wait for an answer, Illea entered the room, crossing the threshold of my house without even a hint of invitation on my part.

Kronos! It's kind of my apartment, not a backyard! Or am I missing something globally, something obvious to everyone but unclear to me for some reason?

"I thought it would be worse," the chief said, and she smiled with a judging tick of her tongue. "You're even cute when you're not slouching."

"Chief Illea, would you mind answering me one question?"

"I'll answer two, yeah." No, I can't be fooled by her smile.

"I am in a very difficult position..." I wasn't allowed to finish.

"Yes, I see you don't know how to tie a kimono belt." Why would she think that's my problem?! "Let me help you." When she said that, she unceremoniously started tying my sash.

Since I was considerably taller than she was, my gaze, directed downward, lingered involuntarily on the rather open neckline of her T-shirt. And she had a very nice bust, about B+, and her skin was so clean and probably nice to the touch...

"That's it," she looked up as she tied my belt, and I didn't have time to look away.

Even the tips of my ears turned red with embarrassment.

She waited for a short pause, letting me know that I was caught red-handed, and then suddenly flicked my nose with her index finger.

"If the second question is about that, I like boys a little older..."

I'm ready to fall into Tartarus right now, just so I don't burn with embarrassment. But then I noticed that her eyes were full of amusement. Kronos, I've been played like a child. She knew exactly where my gaze would stop in this position of our bodies. She was laughing, frankly laughing. Why, even when I realized she was mocking me, I felt guilty?!

"What did you want to ask me?" Shaking off an invisible speck of dust from my kimono, this incarnation of the Echidna asks. But before I could answer, he winked and flicked my nose again. "Or have I already answered your question?"

"Uh-uh." Did she really think that's what I was going to ask? No, she didn't. Utis! Pull yourself together, stop blazing like a torch in the dry wind, and calm down! "I'll ask you later," I said the phrase in what seemed to me to be a calm voice.

"All right," Illea nodded. -"Here's a note." Our palms touched as she passed the folded piece of paper, and I felt myself blushing again. "Go to Master Fyce's shoe store and hand it over. He will find you a pair of work shoes. You don't have to pay."

"Where is this store?"

"Go around the high brick fence on your right, behind it is an alley, you'll see the sign right away."

"Gotcha."

"Don't wear those clothes outside, they're only for the hall." I gesture to show that I understand.

I closed my eyes for half a second as I nodded, and when I opened them, I didn't find Illea in the room. That's right, I blinked for no more than half a second, and she was gone! How?! I looked out into the hallway, but it was empty. What kind of magic is that? I must have blinked a little slower, though, immersed in trying to get the redness out of my face, which was the only way to explain it. That pairing, Illea, and Daas seemed odd to me. On the other hand, I'd lived in a small town my whole life, and this was my first time in the Capital, so maybe it should seem that way.

As I walked to the shoe store, I remembered the question I wanted to ask: "Is it customary in the Capital to enter other people's houses as if they were your own? Or is it just that you and my boss don't know such a thing as tactfulness?" Since I'm guessing that my second assumption is probably correct, it's probably a good thing I didn't ask after all. Who knows how Illea would have reacted to this veiled insult. A funny, open-minded, and kind-faced woman with a peculiar sense of humor who, after this visit, scares me times more than any thug in the neighborhood.

Master Fyce turned out to be an elderly Vietnamese man of few words, who spoke Slavonic a little but understood everything perfectly. The note from Illea was really enough to ensure that I would not be asked for money. The salesman had a good eye, without asking my size, he immediately brought a pair that fit perfectly. It was a classic shoe, black, not green, thank ThreeFaced! After thanking the shopkeeper, I took the box of shoes and went outside.

In the ten minutes I'd been in the store, the clouds had cleared away, and the rare winter sun shone into the city. I froze on the sidewalk and looked around in amazement. Our neighborhood, which I usually only saw when the weather was overcast, was not so gray and monotonous. The box houses that had seemed monotonous were now seen in a different light. Each building had its unique individuality, and even if they were built for the same project, the locals still managed to give their houses some features. For example, the house with the shoe store was painted in two different shades of beige, and in this painting, there was a hint of the sea waves. The next building down the street had a blue plastic window façade of the same type, which gave the house a strange but appealing look.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

For the first time in months, I looked at the world around me with my eyes wide open rather than through a blanket of dark and bitter thoughts. I found myself smiling in a way that made the abrasion on my cheek ache, and I walked lightly and broadly to my room.

By twelve, after changing clothes, I went down to the restaurant hall.

"You're punctual," Illea greeted me with these words. To my surprise, she was the only other person in the room.

She had changed, too, and was cooking something on the stove. The aroma coming from the frying pan she was working on was so inviting that it made me a little dizzy. I wanted to eat so badly that my stomach let out a long groan.

"Are you hungry?" without taking a break from stirring, she asked.

"Yes, it smells very tempting."

"Vera called the other day, they're staying at the atelier, they're getting the girls' uniforms made to fit. They'll be there in about an hour. So I'll have time to feed you."

"Thank you!"

"You can thank me later if it tastes good. In the meantime..." The chief poured some water into the pan and continued. "You do obey me while Daas is absent, don't you?"

"That's right," I say, but I have a very bad feeling about this question.

"Then stand with your back to the wall... Right there," the agitator pointed to the narrow gap in the wall between the door to the back room and the kitchen block. "Aha... Here," Illea confirmed as I took the indicated place. "No, not like that... Stand straight with your heels, the back of your shins, your buttocks, your shoulder blades, your shoulders, and the back of your head touching the wall at the same time. Look straight ahead."

After following all of her prescriptions, I felt as if I had been put on a stake and crucified on a cross at the same time.

"Just like that?" What's all this for?

"Yes," the chief replied with a faint glance at me.

"How long do I have to... stand like this?"

"Half an hour."

"What?" After about thirty seconds of maintaining this position, my muscles were aching.

"Am I hard of hearing?" Illea took her eyes off the stove and gave me a look that made all my objections magically evaporate.

"I'm sorry," I said involuntarily in that piercing gaze.

"Stay straight... I'm watching you!"

No doubt, despite all her busyness and enthusiasm for the cooking process, she is watching.

"If you slack off, I'll feed you a store-bought pizza!"

Hmmm?! Does she really think that's a scary threat?! I love pizza! But then my stomach reasserted itself and I remembered the divine taste of her mushroom soup. I guess it really is a threat.

"But what for?" She's certainly got a mind of her own, but she doesn't look like a sadist, so what's behind her instruction?

"You're a hall consultant, as much the face of the place as the waitresses... And you're so slouchy, you look like you're sick. Besides, correcting your posture would be good for you, too. So for half an hour every morning, the cadets of the naval corps stand by the wall. It helps them, and I think it helps you."

"Thank you for your care," I tried to put as much sarcasm into my intonation as possible, but she let it pass her ears and turned defiantly toward the stove.

After about five minutes, my body became accustomed to this position. Still, it was getting harder and harder to stand still like that. It wasn't the muscles, it was the immobility. Being like a statue, doing nothing, staring at the same point with every passing second was getting more and more boring. Besides, I wanted to scratch something nose, ear, or hands. I don't think the cadets don't care, I read that they're driven so hard in training that they can fall asleep at any time, in any position. I think that's what they do, they lean against the wall and sleep for pleasure.

The second hand on the clock hanging on the wall opposite, as if sensing my condition, moved more slowly than a fly that had fallen into honey. Posture! What a problem! By the fifteenth minute of this torture of inaction, I was ready to snap and fight with Illea. The only thing that stopped me was the memory that Sensei had also urged me to straighten my back. I understand it's good for my health, it's good for me, but it's boring, unbearably boring to stand like this! I never thought it would be so difficult to just stand still and not move, even for such a short period of time. To distract myself from my bad thoughts, I went over yesterday's fight in the Arena in my head.

When the clock struck twenty minutes past one, I heard footsteps and the distinctive noise of a locker opening behind the door leading to the back rooms. I remembered the sound of Daas' footsteps; the girls just couldn't stomp like that, so who was coming?

"Don't get so stressed out." Illea had already moved away from the stove and was now finely chopping celery. "Only our people have keys to the staff quarters."

And the chief is observant, I just barely, involuntarily twitched at that sound behind my back, and yet she not only noticed it but also correctly assessed the course of my thoughts.

If Daas told me about all the workers in the restaurant, he only mentioned one other man, the bartender. He must have been the one who came in. And anyway, someone came in through the service entrance, so there must be keys, so why am I bothering?

"Hello, Jiro," Illea greeted him with a broad smile and a swing of her knife. "It's been a long time since I've seen you."

"I've been busy..." the stranger said unfriendly not even bothering to make a hint of greeting.

When Daas said the bartender's name, my imagination immediately pictured a Japanese man. I'd never been so wrong about nationality by name before. Jiro was a half-breed, and his Aboriginal blood was clearly evident in his large features, broad nose, and dark skin. He was also a very big man! He was six feet tall, and if he stood on the scale he would weigh at least a hundred and fifty kilograms. In addition, all this mass was not fat, but muscle, and I think that his biceps were as big as my thigh. And that's despite the fact that, despite my obviously unsportsmanlike form, I walk a lot and my legs are strong.

The characteristically broken ears hinted at his passion for wrestling or rugby. His general appearance could be described by roughly the following epithets: terrifying, frightening, dangerous. And his face... No, it was not disfigured by scars or other deformities, but when I looked at it I wanted to look away at once, because I had a feeling that if I met his eyes he would immediately pounce, taking it as a challenge.

"Utis, I'd like you to meet Jiro, who will be in charge of the bar in Ten's absence. Jiro, this is Utis, he's a consultant on all this newfangled technology. " What's the chief's habit of pointing at people with the point of a knife?

Slowly, like a massive battleship, the bartender turned in my direction and looked me over from head to toe with a heavy stare. Since I was still standing against the wall, I felt now like a rare butterfly pinned by pins being examined by an entomologist.

"It's nice to meet you," I say hello, trying not to meet his eyes, looking just above the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah..." I heard him say, instead of saying hello. "The new guy..." He turned to Illea and stopped paying attention to me. "Where did Daas leave the booze?"

"Where before," waved off the chef, busy with the dressing sauce.

"I'll go and have a look."

"Don't be too long, I'm almost done. Or aren't you hungry?"

"When have I ever missed a meal prepared by you?" The bartender answered on the fly.

When Jiro disappeared behind the door, Illea broke away from her business and came up to me and whispered:

"By the way, he is your fellow unfortunate... Jiro studied on an athletic scholarship, but he tore his crosses and couldn't recover. Only he had it even worse, he was expelled from his senior year. He dreamed of a career as a professional rugby player." I wasn't wrong! "Only it didn't work out here either. It's hard for him now. Be nice to him..."

What?! Should I go easy on him? Do you mean me with him, not him with me and everyone around him? And anyway, who hires a man with such a repulsive, aggressive appearance as a bartender? A bartender is not just a drink pourer, he is the face of the place, just like a waiter, and even more. And a lot of customers like to talk behind the bar. I can't imagine a customer who would not only want to talk to Jiro but just order a drink from him.

When Illea invited me to the table, it was hard to get away from the wall. It was strange, of course, just standing there without any other strain, but I felt as if I had been working out for a long time. My muscles got used to the new position for thirty minutes and I walked to the couch as if I had swallowed a stake, even my head was difficult to bend down. And what was this perfect posture for, if it's simply uncomfortable to walk like this? It's like someone pinned a board on your back and you can't even bend.

"You'll get used to it," Illea said as if she had read my mind when I sat down. "Do you want chopsticks or a fork?"

On the wide plate in front of me, a small portion of Maribor-style goulash is artistically laid out. The dish seems to be simple, not requiring any complicated ingredients and a lot of time to cook but demanding for the skill of the chef.

"Fork, please."

"Take it."

Just as I took the cutlery in my hand and broke off a piece of bread, Jiro burst into the hall, nostrils flaring wide.

"What a smell!"

"You're right on time, as always," the chief said. "As usual?"

"May I?"

"Yes, yes... I've already saved for the others."

Noisily stamping his feet, the bartender ran to the stove like a rhinoceros, grabbed a huge wooden spoon in one hand, took the saucepan from the stove with the other, and began noisily consuming food right out of it without transferring it to his plate. It was absorbing; the word "eating" had little to do with the way he sent the goulash into his mouth.

"Divine! I've missed this so much," he said with a full mouth, rolling his eyes and praising the chef while chewing hard.

I tried it too...

When my father returned from his trip, on the first day of his vacation he always took us to the best restaurant in Kitezh. Well, the chef of that restaurant, I can responsibly say, is not even worthy to sweep the floor where Illea went. Her goulash wasn't just delicious, it was... Yeah, Jiro's right. Divine. As the fork began to catch the last bite, I realized that I wanted more and more until I would burst.

"I am honored to work with you," I stood up from the table and bowed deeply to this talented woman.

"Pfft." Only a slight blush on her cheeks after my words show that my praise is pleasant to her. "Is your bent again? March to the wall!" Illea, noticing that she's blushing, immediately raises her voice.

Again?! But her gaze was adamant. Since she is my direct superior in Daas's absence, I obey.

"Can I have more?" Licking the spoon, Jiro asks.

"No."

"Plea...:

"No."

"How could you eat such a small portion?!" Like a wounded hippo, the bartender roars back. And this is what he says after he ate half the casserole? But for his size, maybe he really didn't have enough.

"Would you like a ladle between the eyes?" Illea grinned as he looked at the giant, who was pretending to be a victim of a hunger strike.

"It was delicious!" Jiro immediately responds to the chef's suggestion and, with the customary stomping noise, disappears behind the door.

"The clown... He should have gone to theater school, he would have been worth it," Illea said indignantly, wiping the stove. "We'll go broke on the groceries..."

If he always eats this much, then I totally agree with her!

The chief wiped down the stove, cleared the table, and put the kettle on. Then she stopped right in front of me and pulled a tube of cream from her apron pocket.

"I noticed this morning that you got it yesterday," she said. "Stand up straight," she said, applying some cream to my cheekbone and rubbing it gently into my skin. "It will help."

As soon as she had completed this procedure, a taxi stopped at the entrance.

The first to enter the hall was angry and irritated Ten Daas, in his customary overalls. He caught my gaze, glanced at Illea, and when he saw that she had turned away, he spoke quietly, using only his lips:

Oh, those women... and rolled his eyes.

"After the boss, two girls of about eighteen literally barged into the restaurant, talking loudly. They chirped merrily until they saw Illea, and when they saw her, they were instantly silent and somehow even smaller."

The girls were the same height, about Daas' shoulder height, but that was where their resemblance ended. The one to the left of the boss was a slender, even a little skinny brunette. Her hair accentuated her graceful neck, and her blue eyes, like the purest sapphire, attracted her like a magnet. The second waitress, a sporty girl with long, light-brown hair, stood out because it was not her eyes that drew the eye, but her gorgeous bust, which even a tight-knit sweater could not hide.

"Where the hell have you been?!" The chief grabbed the towel in the manner of a lash and moved toward them.

"We..." said a slender girl almost stammering and took a step back behind Daas, "We tried it on..."

"Illea..." My boss stepped forward with a longing look on his face. "Let's not make a scene. I was the one who said, without thinking, that we would try it on until they liked it!"

"You are,,, so... idiot..." I don't think even I would make that kind of mistake if I were Daas, so I'm totally on Illea's side.

"Don't start..." The boss said this and sprawled out on the nearest couch.

"The truth has always eaten your eyes," grinned the kitchen mistress.

In response, Daas bites his nose into the sofa corner, it is impossible to make out his speech, but it is clearly obscene.

"What's in it for you?! A free show?!" Kicking the boss lightly in the foot protruding in the aisle, Illea turns to the girls with the most fierce look. "Change...! And if I don't like it..." The towel in her hand snaps as if it were a whip.

Like frightened ducks shot by a hunter, the girls immediately ran into the locker room, almost dropping the bags they were holding in their hands. As they ran past me, the brunette dropped her eyes to the floor, and the brown-haired girl, on the contrary, gave me a very appraising look. After seeing them off, the chief winked mischievously at me and, kicking Daas again, said:

"Jiro's already here, sorting out the assortment."

"I'm on my way," the boss got to his feet, stretched, yawned, and smiled broadly at Illea. "Never a dull moment!"

"You love to make a monster out of me in other people's eyes," our chef mutters back.

"You'd think I'd have to put a lot of effort into it," Daas replies with a chuckle. Okay, I know the girls got kicked out, but I'm standing here, and I'm obviously not wearing Hades' helmet. They don't care that much if someone else sees these scenes, do they?

"I'll check on Jiro," the boss adjusted his overalls and headed for the entrance to the staff quarters. As he passed me, he slowed his pace. "Working on your posture? Well done... Maybe you should start jogging in the morning, too?"

Before I have time to respond to this remark, he is hiding behind the door.

After looking after him, Illea pretended to sigh, wiped the smile off her face, and came to me and said:

"I'll go and see what our maidens have chosen."

"And I?!"

"And you stay, stay... It's really good for you. And don't rub your cheekbone," she threatened and walked out of the hall.

Damn this work ethic...

In this aspect, the culture of Avalon learned a great deal from the Japanese. During the Great War, the North Island was under Japanese occupation for four years. And after the victory, about one million Japanese prisoners of war were left on the islands to do reconstruction work. After five years, many of them decided to stay and were allowed to move their families. According to the last census taken three years ago, just over five million citizens indicated Japanese nationality.

It's been seven decades since the victory, and in that time, the Japanese mentality toward work and superiors has become natural for us as well. That is, no matter what job you have, no matter what position you hold, if your boss tells you to stand on your head or jump on one leg, you must do it, even if it is not in your job description. So I have to stand against the wall without complaint. Then again, since I'm a handyman, the boss might have ordered me to mop the floors. Yeah, she did. So just standing, even if unaccustomed to standing up straight, is not such a difficult order. Still, I am inwardly indignant for nothing. I stand and stand, I even got used to it, and if I had had the experience of sleeping standing up, I could have fallen asleep.

To distract myself from boredom, I started thinking about girls. Not about any abstract ones, but about those with whom I would now have to work. I was not wrong in my assumptions, both girls are certainly beautiful, and each in her own way. Completely different types of female charm. I liked them both, that's for sure! The dark one is so slender and thin like a reed, and her hips and bust stand out, and her eyes! And even a little longer than usual by beauty standards, with a hint of a hooked nose, does not spoil it, but rather adds individuality

The brown-haired girl is so shapely that, despite the nice face, the male gaze does not linger on it, immediately sliding lower. And those thighs, that butt! If you choose between them, I liked the brown-haired girl more. And not just because of the figure, but also because she seemed to be more open and cheerful than her partner. I think of her in my thoughts, and then I remember Daas' rolling eyes and his mute, "Oh, those women..." And it let me go. I don't have time for girls yet, I have too many other problems that need to be solved to be distracted. But... I can still dream. Just a little...

A few times Daas and Jiro ran back and forth, arguing about what to buy and what was enough, and swearing about cocktail recipes. Neither of them paid any attention to me.

It's strange, such a setting, such equipment, an amazing chef hired, but questions about such little things as filling the bar and the uniforms of the waitresses are still unresolved. It seems that whoever is in charge wants everything at once, but is too lazy to pay attention to details.

"There..." Illea looked out of the backroom and fixed her gaze on me. "I'd forgotten all about you. Get off the wall and put the kettle on," she said, and went over to the table and got some scissors. "They wanted lace... Teens..." I pretended not to hear anything, and she left.

Yeah... Easy to say! But my legs even seem to be used to being in the same position and don't bend at the knees well. And my back?! It doesn't bend at all, absolutely. I walked to the teapot like a wooden puppet being pulled from above by strings. I started squatting and waving my arms to get the blood flowing.

As I squinted at the door to the back room, I thought the girls had been remiss in their desire to embellish their uniforms in some way. Why hadn't Daas warned them against this? But perhaps he simply distanced himself from the question, since it was not his job to deal with the appearance of his staff? Well, I don't know, but that's none of my business.

When I finished my workout, I felt much better. My body wasn't so wooden anymore, but I still felt a little tightness in my usual movements. I tried to reach my fingertips to the floor, and that's what Daas and Jiro caught me doing when they brought the kegs of beer from the back room.

"Stop fooling around," the boss called out to me. "You're the smallest one here... Get under the counter and help me fix it."

"What for?" Jiro interrupts him. "I can manage on my own as if it were the first time..."

"And will you install the sensors?"

"What sensors?"

"That's what I mean..." Daas sighed in response to the surprise. "Utis, get in there. Why do I have to tell you everything twice?"

I had to climb in. What sensors the boss was talking about became immediately clear as he inspected the place where the kegs were installed. The "smart" bar could monitor the pressure level, temperature, and carbon dioxide content of the kegs. It didn't take long to connect these sensors, and they were labeled informative enough not to get confused. In addition, the sensors had to be installed once on the supply hose, and then it was possible to change kegs, just like in a regular bar.

After running the test, Daas was satisfied with the result, and we hooked up all the barrel stations to the restaurant's digital control system. The whole time Jiro was grumbling that he didn't need it for "Kronos," and that he was experienced enough to do without this "newfangled crap."

"Boys!" As she pushed the two waitresses into the hall, Illea called out to us. "Well... What do you think?"

In response to this suggestion, Jiro muttered that he had his hands full and left, while Daas ran off after him into the back room. When I tried to repeat the trick, I was caught by the chief and forced to assess the girls' attire.

The first thing that struck me personally was the glaring, unfair fact that the girls' uniforms were NOT green! How could that be?! It was white. Other than that, the waitresses' uniforms were a creative reworking of the high school girls' uniforms. The revision consisted in reducing the number of buttons on the blouse and, as a consequence, a deeper cleavage, as well as significantly shorter skirts to mid-thigh. The outfit was completed with a snow-white apron and black tights. The shoes chosen were beige shoes without heels. This outfit looked especially advantageous on the dark, as advantageously emphasized her slender and long legs. However, it looked more than appropriate because of the cleavage on the brunette.

"Girls, this is Utis Irzhec, he works for us as a hall consultant. If you have any questions about the new equipment, ask him. Besides, he's a student of the Technological University, so don't pester him too much, he still has to study," Illea introduced me. "Utis, this is Vera," the chief points to the slender girl. "Next year she plans to enter a teacher training college. She will work at our school on odd days. The girl is smart, so I think you have no problems with her education," shifted a little to the left, and Illea switched her attention to the brown-haired girl. "Aloya, my apprentice, dreams of becoming a cook, will work in the hall on even days and help me the rest of the time. The girl is bright and responsible, but don't let her talk, she will talk a lot." Aloya's cheeks flushed a little at these words. "Utis, they are at your disposal. Make sure that by the end of the day they understand how not to break things here

"Nice to meet you," I bow in greeting.

"We are glad to work with you, Irzhec-san," the girls said together and also bowed.

Are they talking to me "Irzhec-san"? I felt very uncomfortable with that detail. Apparently, noticing my embarrassment and some confusion, Illea defused the situation by giving the girls a clipboard and seating them at the nearest table.

Taking a seat in front of the girls, I asked for their tablets to stall for time. Pretending to rummage through the settings, I was actually more tuning myself than the tech./I'm a consultant, just a consultant, and they're not girls, they're like customers. Take it easy, don't be nervous, it's like helping your classmates study.

"Vera, Aloya, do you have smartphones?" How was it taught in "management methodology"? Do you call people by their first names more often? I think so. I hope they taught it right...

As I thought, they knew how to use smartphones. Based on the examples they were already familiar with, it didn't take much effort to teach them the "smart restaurant" interface, which was understandable and simple enough. Yes, the girls had questions and some things had to be repeated, but, thanks to ThreeFaced, none of them was a pacifier in a pretty wrapper. The main difficulty for me was that my gaze kept slipping involuntarily to the cut of Aloya's blouse... Good thing the girl wasn't as attentive as Illea, and my glances went unnoticed. No, I'm not a pervert or a maniac, but, honestly, how can one not look?

"So, let's the recap." Two hours of training passed for me completely unnoticeable. During this time, not only did I explain everything, but at the insistence of Illea, the girls processed more than a dozen queries modeled by me. "What did you get?"

"The customer orders on his desk. We get an alert on the tablet," Aloya answers for both of them. And I catch myself that I like her voice, deep and lively, but without excessive ringing. "We sort out the order we have received. We bring ready meals at once and throw the ones that need to be cooked on the kitchen information panel... We send a request for ordered drinks to the bar. From there, our work is not much different from the usual work of waitresses."

"And?.."

"In case the client has any questions about the technique, we call you, Irzhec-san." This "Irzhec-san" really stings my ears.

"I would prefer "you" or just Utis." Still, in my native South Island, the influence of Japanese formalism is not so strong. So I wasn't used to being addressed this way by girls only a year younger, and it really would be easier for me.

"Okay," the brown-haired girl immediately replies and smiles broadly. "We'll call you." Vera, on the other hand, apparently doesn't like it very much, and she hides her sapphire eyes behind her tablet.

"Let's process a couple of more complicated orders, and we'll consider you ready. I'll be here full-time for the first two weeks, and if I have any questions, I'll help you."

While Vera took my offer for granted, Aloya, apparently deciding that since we switched to "you," we could behave less formally now, mimicked a dissatisfied face. Then, glancing at Illea and sighing heavily and in many ways pretendingly, she agreed.

We practiced for another half hour, and then the girls went off to change and help in the kitchen, and Daas excused me until tomorrow. He reminded me to be there at five in the morning...

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