The tea house didn't look like a front.
That was the first thing Leon noticed.
Tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store, it had a faded wooden sign with hand-painted kanji, a red paper lantern swaying gently above the door, and glass windows so fogged with condensation they looked etched from the inside.
Warm light spilled out. Quiet. Inviting. Peaceful.
Leon stood on the sidewalk for a good thirty seconds trying to convince himself that this wasn't going to end with him in a trunk.
It was raining lightly. Not the dramatic kind of rain that screamed plot twist, just a soft drizzle that soaked your hoodie before you noticed. Leon shoved his hands into his pockets, took a breath, and stepped inside.
A bell above the door chimed as he entered.
Steam curled in the air. Not the sharp hiss of boiling water—this was thicker, heavier. Scented. The kind of steam that carried jasmine and oolong and things he couldn't pronounce. The whole room smelled like patience.
The floor creaked beneath his shoes.
There were only five tables. Three occupied. All quiet. Men in suits. One woman with a book. An old man with beads around his wrist, sipping from a cup so slowly it looked like he was waiting for time itself to pause.
Leon walked to the counter.
A girl stood behind it. Young. Early twenties. Pale skin, sharp eyes, hair tied up in a loose bun. She wore a modern qipao, black silk embroidered with silver cranes. Elegant, but efficient.
Her gaze swept over him the moment he entered.
And lingered.
Leon felt it. Like being weighed on a scale he hadn't agreed to stand on.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
Her voice was soft, but clean. Like the break of ice in clear water.
Leon cleared his throat. "I'm here to talk to… someone. About some crates."
The girl tilted her head slightly. Her expression didn't change.
"No tea, then?"
"I mean, sure. If that's part of the code."
"No code." She gestured to the counter. "Sit."
Leon hesitated, then pulled out a stool and sat.
She moved like a shadow across the back wall, reaching for a ceramic pot and two cups. Her hands were precise, but unhurried. Every action deliberate. The steam that rose as she poured was fragrant, carrying floral notes and something faintly earthy, almost bitter.
She slid a cup toward him.
He stared at it.
"It's not poisoned," she said.
"That's exactly what someone who poisoned it would say."
Her mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
He sipped.
It was good. Ridiculously good. Smooth, a little smoky, not the grocery store kind. The warmth hit his chest like a subtle drumbeat.
"You said crates," she said after a pause.
Leon nodded. "Yeah. A certain Mira said they needed to stop moving out of here."
Her hands paused over the pot. Just for a second.
"You work for her?"
"That's... complicated."
She studied him for a long moment.
Then: "You don't dress like her usual runners."
"Thanks. I try to disappoint expectations."
"You didn't come with backup."
"Nope."
"You're not armed."
"Unless you count sarcasm."
Now she smiled. Just slightly.
She leaned forward, elbows on the counter, lowering her voice.
"What exactly are you supposed to do if I say no?"
Leon blinked.
"...Honestly? I was going to awkwardly finish my tea and leave."
She laughed. Genuinely, this time. A low, smooth laugh that didn't echo but lingered.
"You're not bluffing, are you?"
"I literally don't know what the hell I'm doing," he said, and it came out a little too real.
Her eyes flickered with something. Interest. Amusement. Maybe even... respect?
"Sayaka," she said.
"Leon."
"You're not from this world, are you?"
"I barely know what this world is."
She poured herself another cup.
"You walked into a known transit point alone. Without fear. Without a threat. Just a name and a message. Either you're stupid, or you're untouchable."
"Can't I be both?"
"That's dangerous."
She sipped.
Silence settled between them for a few seconds. Not uncomfortable. Just thick, like fog before sunrise.
Finally, she looked up.
"I'll pull the crates."
Leon blinked. "Wait, really?"
"For now."
"You're not even going to argue?"
She shrugged. "It's not worth losing my roof over. Or my fingers."
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Sayaka stood, walked around the counter, and stopped beside him. Close enough that he could smell the faintest trace of something herbal on her skin. Mint, maybe. Or green tea.
"You're strange, Leon Vale."
"So I've been told."
She stepped past him and whispered as she passed, "If you're not who they say you are, be careful. If you are... be careful anyway."
She disappeared into the back.
Leon sat there, staring at his tea, steam rising gently from the cup.
He hadn't raised his voice.
He hadn't pulled a weapon.
He hadn't even finished the sentence Mira told him to say.
And yet, somehow, the crates were being pulled.
He took another slow sip.
Maybe the world had lost its mind.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was starting to believe he was the one holding the leash.