Kimihito couldn’t help but wonder if the reason she knew so much about the underworld was because she was a demon. Before he could finish that thought, though, he was interrupted by a commotion out in the street.
“Sir, please stop,” the manager said, wedged firmly in the doorway.
Kimihito turned to look and saw that he was blocking a customer from entering the bar. A huge, red-faced man with an impressive mohawk loomed in the entrance. Even from a distance, the sheen on his nose and cheeks made it clear he’d been drinking.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed tonight for a private event. My apologies.” The manager made it clear he wouldn’t budge.
The man was unfazed. “You’re open, so let me drink! The evening’s barely started!” With a single giant hand, he pushed past the manager and entered the bar. Big as he was, everything else about him made it clear he was one of Lilith’s small-time punks. “Check it out! Empty seats and everything!” Sauntering around like he owned the place, he picked a free sofa and collapsed into it.
He’d left the smell of cheap beer in his wake, and now the other customers’ moods were rapidly turning.
“Ooh, you got nice girls with big titties on tap today, huh? Hey, girl! You one of them lime—limey—lime animals? Gimme a drink, now!”
“Excuse me?” Miia’s voice went colder than her blood, taking a tone Kimihito had never heard before.
“Seriously…?” Rachnera sighed.
“He’s gotta be kiddin’,” Zombina said.
The trio glared at the punk, who didn’t seem to understand how much trouble he’d landed himself in, and just laughed in response. “C’mon! It’s your job to serve customers!”
“What kind of place does he think this is?” Kimihito gaped at the man. Maybe he was so drunk he’d mistaken it for a different type of bar—this was the red-light district, after all. Kimihito never would’ve agreed to let the girls work here if it were that kind of place, though.
“Terribly sorry, everyone, but if this continues, I’m calling the police,” the manager said. Though he’d physically withdrawn, his eyes remained hard. He was determined to get this man out of his bar at any cost.
“Miia, feel free to stay in the back for a while,” Kimihito told her quietly.
She smiled in response. “Hey, Darling?” If her smile was usually megawatt gorgeous, this one was as blindingly beautiful as the sun—which Kimihito suddenly realized meant she was furious. “Leave that customer to me.”
“No. No. No way. What’re you going to do to him?”
“Would it be better for Spidey or Zombina to handle it?”
He paused. “Huh.”
“Hey! What’re you whispering with him about? Why bother with that shrimp when there’s a big catch over here?” the punk yelled, patting the seat beside him.
“Hmm. ‘Shrimp’?” Kimihito muttered to himself.
Miia’s smile was interrupted by her lips twitching. She was about to go off.
“Looks like you want to handle this,” Rachnera said. “Go give him the help he deserves, Miia.”
“R-Rachnee…” Kimihito said.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got her covered. Let us take care of this, won’t you, Honey?” Rachnera said with a wink. It wasn’t clear what the girls had planned, but they seemed confident.
“That’s right, Darling. Leave it to us.” Miia slid from behind the bar and slithered towards the punk.
Kimihito watched, frozen in place.
“Aw, you’re worried.” Zombina slapped his shoulder from behind. “Worse comes to worst, I’ve got a solution prepared.” She adjusted her suit jacket to show—a handgun?! Was it real? Zombina was skilled with a gun, sure, but it was against the Interspecies Cultural Exchange Accord for her to harm humans. It must be a fake she carries to intimidate people, Kimihito reasoned. Yeah. It’s got to be.
“Miia,” he said to himself as he watched her approach the punk with that fake smile plastered on her face. As bright as it was, he could tell that was just the scorching hate within.
“’Ssscuse me,” Miia hissed as she slid into the spot he’d indicated, “I’m Miia. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Concerned that their presence would start a fight, the manager escorted Kimihito back through to the kitchen where he could watch discreetly over the serving counter. Then, he took his position at the register to process the mass exodus of customers.
“It seems they have some sort of plan,” he said quietly to Kimihito through the kitchen door.
“Do they, sir? This is bad, and it doesn’t seem to be getting better.”
“Hmm…” The manager gripped his chin thoughtfully. “It’s better if we don’t get the police involved. Everyone’ll be happier if that man leaves of his own accord, and whatever Miia has in mind is likely our best shot.” He tried to reassure him with a shallow nod and a forced smile.
Kimihito nodded back. In addition to the manager’s reasons, failure to resolve this situation would be a failure of the work experience trial as a whole. That would reflect badly on everyone involved. They had to trust the girls to get through this.
The punk reached for his whiskey—but at the last minute, he moved his arm behind Miia’s shoulders instead. That trick was too old to work on her; before he completed the motion, she caught his arm and put it back at his side.
“Bastard—!” Kimihito stuck his torso through the serving window, prepared to leap out and throw down. Under the Interspecies Cultural Exchange Accord, Miia couldn’t harm the punk—but Kimihito could and would. Whatever doubts he’d had were gone. They’d settle this humano-a-mano.
Or would they? He noticed Rachnera moving in his periphery, shaking her head slowly. She seemed to be saying, “Don’t step in, Honey. ♡ Control yourself.”
Meanwhile, the punk continued to try to touch Miia, but she was way too fast for him, snaking from his grasp or returning his wayward limbs to him politely. “Aw, c’mon,” he protested, “when do I get the goods?” His anger was returning as he realized this wasn’t a cute game of keep-away.
“Oh? Weren’t we clear? This is a normal bar—no touching allowed.” Miia responded. Her smile never faltered, but it also never reached her eyes.
Not that the punk noticed that or her unprecedented tone of voice that sounded like she was talking to a precious, disobedient pet. That tone might’ve been the biggest sign she’d reached a transcendental level of anger.