It turned out Sharo had used up all the ketchup after making the first plate of fried rice.

She then grabbed a second bottle from the cabinet — an imported one with foreign writing on the label she couldn’t be bothered to read — and just poured half of it in with a careless “whoosh.”

Only it wasn’t ketchup.

It looked like ketchup, but it was actually a fiery chili sauce. The same stuff ended up in the piping bag, too.

Luckily, since she rarely cooks, she didn’t think to make two servings of fried rice at once, and I hadn’t asked for any writing on mine — so the landmine was narrowly avoided.

Owner Shenyang came out holding the half-empty bottle, stroked his beard, and explained what had happened. Once I knew the backstory, I looked over at the only victim this time…

Qinglan looked like she might croak. Her face was flushed bright red, sweat pouring down, tears streaming, and she kept gulping water — her tongue must have been burning too bad to speak properly. She looked like someone nursing a broken heart with too much booze.

I leaned over the plate and sniffed. The spice hit my nose so hard my eyes watered. Where did Sharo get such a taste for heat? That sauce should have been obvious during frying — it would have stung right away!

I asked the owner, “What sauce is that?”

“Devil pepper sauce,” he said. “Way hotter than Tabasco. You normally use a tiny bit on Mexican wraps, just a dab.”

A dab? Sharo dumped half a bottle in… that’s lethal by accident.

Qinglan’s bite must have had at least several drops of that stuff — no wonder she ended up like this.

“I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”
Sharo looked frantic, filling Qinglan’s glass again and again, apologizing as she fussed around. The proud, hard-shelled girl had gone soft — clumsy and worried, totally different from before. Back at the Rakshasa gang hideout she’d already been forced to apologize by Meow Meow; she always looked miserable when she had to beg. Tough act on the outside, squishy core inside.

“It’s fine!” Qinglan managed after downing two carafes of water. She tried to sound comforted: “I’m already happy that Shana-chan cares about me. I hope I’ll get a normal omurice next time though.”

“I, I’ll try harder!” Sharo said meekly — one step closer to a proper maid.

Of course that “Devil Pepper Hell Omurice” was inedible. The owner comped the “ketchup-konjac omurice” too and threw in two free “MoeMoe Manager LoveLove Omurice” (28 yuan) as compensation.

No problem by me — the manager cooks well, far better than Sharo. But Qinglan was grumpy. She wasn’t short of money; for her the point of maid omurice was the maid, not the food.

“Why do I have to eat the bald old man’s omurice in a maid cafe?” she groused, pointing toward the trash can.

“If you’d actually finished Sharo’s, you’d be in the hospital with a burned-out stomach,” I said.

Qinglan cocked an eyebrow. “Sharo? Shana-chan?”

Crap — I’d slipped up.

“You misheard. I meant Shana-chan,” I backpedaled.

“My ears are fine. Wait, you wouldn’t actually know Shana-chan, would you? No — she didn’t look like she knew you… ah!” Qinglan had a sudden flash of insight and reached for my glasses. I dodged the swipe and asked, “What are you doing?”

She pulled her hand back and offered her guess: “Sharo said you look familiar. Maybe you met her before without your glasses?”
Where did she get her Sherlock senses from?

“Yeah, you’re right. But don’t let her recognize me. Keep it secret,” I said. After all, I was the one who’d forced Sharo to take the maid job…

“Oh? You played with her feelings?” Qinglan teased.

“Stop imagining dramas. I only met her once,” I said.

After lunch I finished a manga, Crow and Flash from the Witch’s Workshop finally showed up. Crow brought a box of Gundam kits for downtime; Flash lugged his signature SLR to shoot maid pics, of course.

Flash — the warm, chubby guy he is — waved over and asked, “Is the fracture healing yet? Should be soon, right?”

“Yeah, it should be the middle of the month when I get the cast off.”

“Sorry you got injured helping our club,” he said.

“No, you’re exaggerating — it wasn’t your fault.”

Qinglan wanted to play board games, but four felt short, so I called Xiao Lei over — bringing customers tea and playing with guests is part of the maid service, after all. It’s a paid extra.

Qinglan’s big trait is she’s loaded, so paying wasn’t an issue. But the moment Xiao Lei sat down to play, she practically forgot she was a maid currently — shouting things like, “Commander, give me peaches!” “Commander, I’m bankrupt!” “Commander, you’re the werewolf!” “Master, pour me some water!”

Every other line was “Commander,” the one sided affection towards me ruined the paid experience for Qinglan, who’d spent money for a particular vibe. Owner Shenyang’s face darkened until I quietly nudged Xiao Lei — then only she remembered she was working.

Playing board games and still getting paid? Best job ever.

When Xiao Lei wasn’t looking, Qinglan suddenly grabbed her and started pinching her belly meat, cooing the kind of lines that count as harassment: “Oh my, Xiao Lei-chan’s waist is so slim, her little tummy is so flat~”

Xiao Lei didn’t know Qinglan was female; to her the suited figure looked like a man. If someone that fox-like had grabbed me like that I’d have freaked out.

“Um, Master — intimate contact with a maid gets you blacklisted,” Xiao Lei warned.

Qinglan was a big spending customer, so Xiao Lei only warned politely. But she shot me a little glare as she ran off — like, “You watched this happen and did nothing, Commander!”

I couldn’t help but laugh, which made Xiao Lei even angrier. She stomped off calling me “Commander you big idiot!”

“You scared her off, boy,” Qinglan grinned, trying to pin the blame on me.

“Huh? Isn’t it your fault?” I snapped back.

“Xiao Lei-chan likes you, right? Didn’t you notice?” Crow — the tall thin man silently building Gundam behind us — suddenly spoke up and nailed it. I didn’t know how to reply.

“Of course I noticed. If I had to say — we’re pretty much childhood friends. Being close enough to be lovers wouldn’t be weird. She did confess to me, but there’s something I can’t get over — ow!” I went low, and Qinglan flicked my forehead.

“Xiao Lei-chan confessed? I misjudged you, boy. You planning to be a jerk who rides a donkey looking for a horse?” she scolded.

“No! I’m morally upright, okay?” I protested.

Qinglan put on a big-sister tone and said, “Whether you accept her or reject her, decide quickly. Girls’ youth isn’t something to waste. If you can’t tell, do this — picture her in a wedding dress. Who’s standing next to her? Is it you? If not, can you accept it?”

I… didn’t have an answer.

Qinglan was decisive about feelings. She liked my dad and had no shame about it; she’d been quietly plotting and waiting for the right moment. Compared to her, I was dragging my feet — both about Xiao Lei and Rinka.

“Eh? Xiao Wu’s cross-dressing?” I went over to Xiao Lei with my crutch and filled her in on Qinglan’s real gender, asking her to keep it secret.

“Right, so she’s just teasing you… probably,” I added, not sounding very sure. From what I knew of Qinglan, she was much more likely to jump the chance to take advantage of her than just teasing.

“Commander, you came out here just to tell me that?” Xiao Lei asked.

“Of course. You looked sulky, I had to come out.”

Her face flushed red and I changed the topic. “Oh yeah, you working tomorrow?”

“Still on. The shop’s busy. Why?”

“The notebook has a new feature that’ll help Senior Li Jianlian. Tomorrow morning I’ll test it with Old Yan. Wanna come with me?”

“I’m fine in the morning. My shift is in the afternoon… what new feature?” Xiao Lei asked.

“I’ll tell you later.”