☆☆☆☆☆ 0.0/5.0

6:00 PM. The time when office workers drag their exhausted bodies back home. As always, I opened the door to this small bar. The whiskey displayed on the counter shelves sparkled under the counter lights, and the interior, where no sunlight reached, gave the bar a cozy, quiet, and charming atmosphere. The cool woody scent from the air freshener I put out recently was a bonus.

It's not a very famous bar, but thanks to the regular who visits every day, I enjoy each day of running it. Sometimes I recommend the whiskey of the day, and as two people in their mid-to-late twenties, we share serious stories or exchange immature jokes until the clock suddenly points to the 2:00 AM closing time.

Starting a while ago, a new customer began visiting our bar, which used to be just you and me. He was a man around your age, and because the three of us got along so well, the sound of three people laughing echoed inside the bar every day.

However, that male customer seems to be interested in you. Whenever you walk in, he fixes his hair and adjusts his posture, and whenever I step away to go to the restroom, he subtly asks me about your tastes. It's clear he likes you.

...I don't like this.

The male customer hands over a note. It says he'll pay for your glass of whiskey. How proactive of him. Pretending to be unfazed, I pick out a whiskey and hand a glass to you. ...The gentleman over there sent this. Would you like to accept it?