(Maguro's POV)
Hosting events sounded like a good idea at the time.
Actually, everything sounds like a good idea at the time when you've had three cups of espresso and someone tells you, "You should do something fun and not haunted this week."
Spoiler: it still got haunted.
It all started because I saw a poster.
"POETRY NIGHT – Make Words, Not War!"There were birds on the poster. And glitter.
I thought, "That's cute."
So I ripped it down, ran back to the café, slammed it onto the counter, and yelled
"Chiyo, I'm doing THIS!"
She was mid-float, sipping ghost-coffee through a straw for no reason at all.
"I know that look," she said slowly.
"That's your 'I'm about to bring in something chaotic' face."
"Nooo," I said, cradling the poster like it was an adopted puppy.
"This is totally peaceful. And artful! And poetic!"
"You can't even rhyme."
"Yes I can!" I stood tall.
"Beans and dreams, and haunted creams!'"
She stared at me.
"…I stand corrected," she deadpanned.
"You're a threat to the English language."
Still, she let me do it.
Probably because I said I'd clean the bathroom and I technically did. (Using bubble magic. And one crab. The crab's name is Leonardo now, he lives under the sink.)
We prepped all week. I even wrote out signs that said
"POETRY NIGHT TONIGHT @ THE FIN & BEAN!"Snaps only. No clapping. Or summoning.
Takashi handed out flyers with dramatic flair and a smoke bomb. I'm not joking. He walked into a bookstore, shouted "FEELINGS UNLEASHED," and vanished in a puff of incense.
He got banned from three coffee chains, so I consider that a marketing win.
I also made cookies.
It was meant to be a special treat for the event. I found an old dusty cookbook called
"Whispering Whisk: Recipes of the Forgotten Sea" and thought, "Oh! Mysterious cookies! How poetic!"
Chiyo took one look at the recipe page and said, "This has a warding sigil drawn in frosting."
I said, "That's just a fancy sugar swirl!"
She glared at me. "Maguro. That cookie is humming."
"I think it's excited!"
"It's growling ."
"It's friendly!"
We stared at it together as it shivered on the baking tray.
She sighed. "I hate that I have ghost instincts, but fine—keep the creepy cookie batch. But label it clearly."
I wrote
"MAGICAL SEA BISCUITS: Eat at your own poetic risk!"
…That was probably not specific enough.
First up was a bard named Lisa who played the lute and recited a passionate free-verse piece called "Ode to My Dead Wi-Fi."
Then a man in a wizard hat got on stage and whispered emotional metaphors about teabags and time.
I loved it.
I clapped.
"Snaps only!" Chiyo whisper-yelled, flinging a ghost pencil at me.
"Sorry! I forgot! I love emotions too much!"
Then came Lurel.
He was a quiet, pale teenager who came in every day for matcha and just stared at the salt shaker like it owed him money.
He got up slowly, adjusted his hoodie, took a deep breath, and said
"This is a piece I wrote called'I Am the Steam that Screams.'"
Half the café nodded like it was the deepest thing they'd ever heard.
I started crying halfway through and didn't know why.
Chiyo whispered, "You're just dehydrated."
I whispered, "His sadness tastes like matcha."
Everything was perfect.
Until someone ate the wrong cookie.
I think it was Lurel.
He grabbed a Magical Sea Biscuit on his way back to his seat. Took a bite. Sat down.
And then he just… froze.
Eyes wide.
Pupils glowing faintly.
His hoodie began to levitate.
I blinked.
"…Is that normal?"
Chiyo's voice dropped. "Did he just eat the enchanted shell-crumble rune cookie?!"
"Um," I said, backing away slowly, "Maybe?"
Lurel stood.
Opened his mouth.
And in a voice three octaves lower than usual, he growled
"I am… THE CRUMB COLLECTOR."
Screaming.
Chairs flew.
The espresso machine hissed and shot steam like a panicked whale.
Takashi leapt onto the stage, pulling out his fake ceremonial dagger.
"DEMON OF THE BISCUIT DIMENSION, I BANISH THEE!"
"I'm not a demon," Lurel said in a layered, echoey voice.
"I'm just very full and spiritually overwhelmed."
"Same," I muttered.
Everyone in the café backed up as Lurel's hoodie swirled around him like a cloak of chaotic crumbs.
He began to float slightly.
Just… a gentle hover. Majestic, even.
One woman shouted, "He's ascending!"
Another whispered, "This is the most emotional poetry night I've ever been to."
Chiyo facepalmed so hard she ghost-glitched for a second.
Takashi flung a pinch of pretzel salt.
Lurel blinked.
Fell down.
Landed in his chair like nothing happened.
"I'm fine," he said casually.
"Did you just—?" I asked.
"Had a moment. The cookie was intense."
And he calmly sipped his matcha.
Silence.
Then someone at the back clapped.
Then everyone snapped.
Just like that, the event continued like nothing happened.
Except now, three people wanted the cookie recipe and one girl asked if she could be possessed too, "just for the aesthetic."
I leaned on the counter, shaking.
Chiyo hovered beside me with deadpan grace.
"You," she said, "are never baking unsupervised again."
"But everyone loved them!"
"One guy tried to hex the toilet."
"That was unrelated!"
That night, after the café emptied out and the lights dimmed, I sat on the counter hugging a pillow.
"Did we mess up?" I asked.
"A little," Chiyo said. "But in a charming way."
Takashi came in from the back holding a cookie with tongs. "Can I keep this one? It's humming there national anthem."
"No," we both said.
Despite everything—the chaos, the floating, the mild spiritual possession—I couldn't stop smiling.
Because for the first time in forever… I wasn't just surviving.I was creating. Hosting.
Laughing.
I was… a barista.A maybe-magical one.A chaotic one.But one with a café full of weird little stories now.
I looked at the "Poetry Night" sign.
Then I grabbed a marker and wrote underneath
"Next week: Haiku and Haunted Mochi Night."
Chiyo groaned.
But I swear she smiled.
To be continued…