Making spells with a mix drink.

It was just another quiet evening at the bar. The amber light of the setting sun filtered through the thin curtains, casting a warm glow over the wooden shelves stocked with an assortment of bottles, glasses, and the occasional decorative trinket from places I'd long forgotten. I stood behind the counter, my fingers busy with the motions of preparing drinks—a quiet meditation in the art of mixing flavors, extracting memories, and creating that unique spark of magic that turned ordinary cocktails into something more.

I loved this life. The steady rhythm of bottles clinking, the hum of distant conversations, and the feel of a cool glass against my skin. There was nothing quite like it. And for me, it was all about precision. But that calm was shattered the moment the glass broke.

The sound of it cracking filled the air with a violent shriek, and I turned just in time to see the glittering shards scatter across the floor. I froze.

"What the hell?"

Before I could react, the voices came—a chorus of shouting, taunting, and chanting from outside my window.

"SING! SING!" they yelled in unison, their voices raw and demanding.

My eyes narrowed. These idiots again? I thought to myself, gripping the edge of the counter to keep my composure. It wasn't the first time they'd come around trying to get me to sing. I didn't know where it started, but it had escalated into this ridiculous spectacle. Apparently, they believed I had some sort of hidden talent, despite the fact that I'd made it clear on more than one occasion that I didn't sing. Hell, I wasn't even a musician. I was a bartender. That was my craft, my purpose, my art.

And they weren't going to change that.

With a sigh of frustration, I stalked toward the window, my footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. I pushed open the window with a sharp creak and glared down at the growing crowd gathering outside.

"HEY! ASSHOLES!" I shouted, my voice echoing into the street. "WHO THE HELL BROKE MY WINDOW WITH A ROCK?! AND I DON'T SING! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT? I ONLY DO BARTENDING!"

They didn't even flinch.

The crowd only seemed to grow more energized by my frustration. They shouted again, "SING! SING!"

I clenched my fists at my sides. This was ridiculous. These people had no respect for personal space, privacy, or basic human decency. The glass, which had once been perfectly intact, now lay shattered on the ground, a constant reminder of their stupidity.

I leaned further out the window, my voice turning cold with anger. "I WANT TO SLEEP! YOU PULLED ME OUT OF MY REST AND WOKE ME UP WITH THIS BULLSHIT! YOU WANNA HEAR A SONG? TOO BAD! I'M NOT YOUR DAMN ENTERTAINER!"

But the mob didn't care. They just stood there, staring up at me, chanting that damn word over and over again like it had some kind of magic. "SING! SING!"

I felt my blood boil. "WHO THE FUCK BROKE MY WINDOW?! YOU'RE ALL JUST STANDING THERE LOOKING STUPID, WAITING FOR ME TO COMPLY—WHO THE FUCK IS GOING TO PAY FOR IT, HUH?"

Not one person moved. Not a single soul responded.

It was at that moment that I realized—this wasn't about the singing. This wasn't even about the window. They just wanted to see me crack, to get a reaction. They wanted to push me, poke at the one thing I'd sworn to keep hidden from the world: that I wasn't as unbreakable as I tried to appear.

I gritted my teeth. The silence from the crowd was deafening, like they were all waiting for something—waiting for me to give in, to give them what they wanted. But I wasn't about to let them have that satisfaction.

With a sharp exhale, I slammed the window shut. The last thing I heard before I turned away was the continued chanting from the crowd. It followed me into the bar, ringing in my ears, relentless and unforgiving.

I should've just cleaned up the mess. I should've taken the moment to calm down, to restore the peace of my bar. But all I could think about was the absurdity of the situation. There had to be a way to fix this.

I started sweeping up the glass, each shard scraping against the broom with a screech that matched the one in my mind. The evening wasn't going how I'd planned. I wanted quiet. I wanted peace. But I was getting neither.

I was about to throw the broom into the closet when I heard the door to the bar creak open. A figure entered, casting a shadow that stretched across the floor.

"Do you need any help?" a soft voice asked.

I froze. For a moment, I thought the mob had somehow made it inside. But then I saw her—standing just inside the threshold, a gentle smile playing at the corners of her lips. She looked… different. Her features were sharp, but not in a harsh way. More like the edges of a painting that hadn't yet been filled with color. Her eyes were dark, almost black, with a glimmer of something underneath, like she knew something I didn't.

I blinked a few times, still half-entranced by the sight of her.

"Uh," I muttered, completely thrown off guard. "You're… not part of that group, are you?"

Her smile widened slightly. "No, not at all. But I was hoping you might have a drink for me." She glanced at the bottles behind the counter, her eyes glimmering with interest. "I've heard you make magic with your mixes."

I raised an eyebrow, still a bit suspicious. "Magic? You got the wrong guy. I don't do magic. I just make drinks."

Her gaze met mine, and there was something… unsettling about it. But in a good way. Like she was challenging me without saying a word.

"Well, I believe you can do more than that," she said softly, her voice carrying an edge that felt almost like a dare.

I didn't know what she was getting at, but something in me knew that this wasn't just any customer. She wasn't here to yell at me for singing, and she wasn't here to make my life harder. There was something else, something deeper about her.

"You come for a drink, or… something else?" I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral, though I wasn't sure why.

"I've come to see what you can really do," she said, her smile growing into something more playful. "I think you have more magic inside you than you realize."

And just like that, my entire world shifted. Maybe it was the way she said it, or maybe it was the quiet certainty in her eyes, but I knew she wasn't here just for a drink. She was here for something far deeper. Something that would change everything.

I stared at her for a long moment, my thoughts racing. The magic that I had always said there was none of? And now, she says I have more magic inside me than I realize? Was her objective just to find someone with magic and got distracted by me?

I brushed it off. "No, I don't have any magic. And I don't know if you're being arrogant or just saying some fantastical words that I can't even begin to manage."

She got silent for a moment, that smirk still there. I didn't care. I knew she was arrogant, like a mage.

So I stepped behind the counter, grabbing a glass. "Alright," I said, voice low. "Let's see if you're ready for a real mix."

She enjoyed her drink, a quiet smile curving her lips as she finished it, then left without another word.

Her words echoed in my mind: "You have more magic inside you than you realize." But I didn't have any magic. I was just a bartender, mixing drinks and keeping the chaos of the world outside.

I didn't think much of it anymore. I told my colleague to take care of the things, got home, ate, bathed, and finally fell into bed, hoping for some peace and quiet in the morning.