Rust And Routine

Reaching the bar—which was still closed, not yet 6 PM—Myth knocked on the door.

Riff's house was connected to the bar, so he was the one who'd open it.

Myth and Sira waited a few minutes. As expected, Riff eventually opened the door.

"You're early," Riff said flatly.

"I am. It's my first day of work—why would I start off insincere?" Myth replied, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Besides, I've got a lot to learn about mixing, don't you think?"

Riff stepped aside, letting them in. Myth and Sira followed him into the dim interior.

"Good. You two should start by cleaning up the bar," Riff said over his shoulder.

"Isn't that her job?" Myth asked, pointing at Sira without shame.

"Customers don't show up till seven. So there's no need to come in early."

'This again… What is wrong with this guy? Does he not get how conversations are supposed to work?'

"Your bar only has one chef, right?" Sira asked.

"Yeah, just the one. His name's Togan. Shows up late—around 7:30 or 8. Until then, just serve packet snacks."

'What... he just answered her. No snark, no pushback. What's his beef with me? I seriously don't get it.'

"Hey, so when do I get to learn the Rustbrew recipe?" Myth asked. "I'm kind of interested in this whole drink-making thing."

"The bar counter also needs cleaning," Riff said, walking off.

Myth gave him a side glance, barely concealing his glare.

'This bastard... he's doing it on purpose. Ugh, this is so damn annoying.'

Myth didn't say another word. He stepped behind the counter and got to work, wiping down shelves, dusting bottles, and cleaning the surface with quiet efficiency.

Just as he was finishing up, Riff strolled over.

"You need to memorize the name of every single bottle here," Riff said flatly.

"Alright… that shouldn't be a problem," Myth replied, not giving it much thought.

What seemed like a simple task turned out to be a real pain. He wrote the names down again and again, trying to memorize both their positions and labels.

There were at least 50 to 60 different bottles.

By the time he was done, he was exhausted and decided to take a short break. But as soon as he spotted Sira walking toward him, he immediately veered away and headed toward Riff—looking for another task to keep him busy, anything to avoid that conversation.

'Now I get why some people just want to work.' he thought.

He found Riff sitting at a corner table, reading a folded newspaper under the warm light of a desk lamp.

"So... can you teach me something now?" Myth asked, trying to keep it casual. "I'd rather not look like a complete idiot behind the counter. Especially not in front of a bunch of drunks."

Riff looked up and nodded. "Alright... I'll show you how to make a Rustbrew. You'll sip it for the taste—understand how it works."

Riff walked toward the counter.

"So, first—we take 30 ml of vodka or spiced rum," he said, reaching below and pulling out a jigger. "Measure it in this. Even the cheap stuff's got some vanilla or caramel notes."

He poured the liquor into a mixing glass.

"Then we add 30 ml of cola," he continued, grabbing a chilled bottle from the fridge."Sweetens it up and smooths out the burn."

He opened a small thermos next. "Now for the depth—10 ml of strong black coffee, 5mg caffeine, unsweetened. Adds bitterness and kinda mimics rust."

He took out a bar spoon, dipped it in a dark bottle.

"Next, 2 ml of soy sauce—just a dash for umami. You don't want to overdo it."

Then he reached for a small vial. "And 2 ml of lime juice for acidity. Helps cut through the sweet and bitter."

He stirred everything gently, then poured the drink over a few ice cubes in a lowball glass. Sliding the dark brown drink across the counter, he said,

"That's how you make Riff's specialty—Rustbrew."

He looked at Myth.

"Now taste it. When you make it—I expect the same damn flavor."

Myth was genuinely curious about the drink Riff was so proud of.

He lifted the glass to his nose and inhaled. There was definitely a smoky scent.

Then, he took a small sip.

Cough... cough...

His eyebrows shot up, his eyes squinted like he'd just licked battery acid, and his throat made a visible effort to push the liquid down.

'Ugh... this is awful...' Myth thought grimly. 'Who in the hell drinks this? It's not made for human taste buds—maybe for machines.'

'Maybe this drink isn't for enjoyment... it's a damn dare.'

"Well, I really wonder who the genius was that came up with this idea," Myth muttered, still grimacing. "I mean seriously—destroy the taste buds of your customers so they never complain again. Or maybe just ruin them so bad that every other drink starts tasting exponentially better."

Despite how utterly unsatisfying the drink was, he followed Riff's instructions and made another Rustbrew. Surprisingly, it turned out exactly like the first—equally terrible. But that only confirmed one thing.

Making drinks wasn't hard.

Riff nodded in approval and told Myth he'd teach him more recipes as customers came in.

It was around 7:15 p.m. when the first group finally arrived—a handful of men, all rough-looking and likely in their 30s. From the grease on their clothes and the tired heaviness in their steps, they looked like factory workers.

Sira stepped up to take their order.

She wasn't as classically striking as Ashley, but she had her own charm—tall, strong build, and beautiful features. There was a cheerful, earthy beauty to her. That, paired with how she carried herself, made her presence magnetic.

A few of the men stole glances at her.

From the way she kept her posture straight and expression neutral, it was clear that she had not noticed.

Riff had handed both Myth and Sira small stun guns earlier—just in case.

Not that Myth was planning to stay here long. Once his information channels were running, bartending would become unnecessary.

Same for Sira.

As time passed, more customers—both men and women—trickled in. The bar reached about half capacity. Riff continued teaching Myth how to make more drinks. A few women at the counter seemed particularly interested in Myth, some even trying to strike up conversations.

Myth didn't mind—especially when it came to gossip-prone ladies. They tended to give out more than they realized.

"What can I get you young ladies?" Myth asked the group of women sitting on the stools.

"I'll have some gin," one replied, staring at him.

The others seemed a bit dazed. They didn't see Myth as hot or someone to flirt with—he just looked young. Cute, maybe.

They gave their orders and soon started chatting amongst themselves.

Myth kept an ear out for anything interesting.

Nothing useful.

Eventually, his and Sira's shift ended. The result of the day: absolutely nothing valuable.

But one thing Myth did learn—this job was far more exhausting than he had expected. Listening to meaningless chatter for four hours was its own kind of hell.

Meanwhile, Walker, Ashley, and Victor had picked up the groceries.

When they returned to the house, everyone gathered for dinner.

Myth and Sira freshened up while Victor set the table. There were only four chairs, plus a makeshift stool Victor had picked up earlier in the day.

Myth walked over, pulled out one of the proper chairs, and looked at Sira.

"Here, Sira. Please have a seat," he said politely.

Sira blinked in mild surprise before slowly sitting down.

"Thank… you… Myth," she said, stammering slightly.

"My pleasure," Myth replied casually, moving to the only seat left—the wobbly stool positioned on the shorter side.

Dinner was ready and placed at the center of the table. Everyone took their portions. Victor had cooked—somewhat cooked. His food barely passed the 'edible' threshold. But no one really complained. No one had the right.

As they ate, most of the conversation flowed between Sira, Ashley, and Myth.

Walker and Victor chimed in here and there, but they were quieter.

After dinner, Myth raised his hand slightly to get everyone's attention.

"Can I have a few more minutes of your time? We need to go over tomorrow's plan."

He turned to Ashley.

"You have the names of the VIPs, right?"

He knew she did—just wanted to ease into it.

Ashley nodded. "Yes, I have them."

"Great. Can you name them, please? And share whatever you've got on them."

Ashley scanned the table, still calm, and began.

"Right now, Myth and I only managed to gather surface-level info—mostly while Walker was fighting. There were five VIPs present that day.

The first was Korin Bell. He owns a construction company that mainly builds structures in the Inner Lowden district."