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eliciana · 1 day ago

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Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café

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Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au.

Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Cafe Owner!Reader

Characters: Reader, NPC's, Venti, Nahida

Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. There is a taglist if you want to be tagged.

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Mika, your part-time high school helper, scuttled between tables with three plates of lemon tarts perched precariously along her forearms while the bell above the café door sang its familiar chime. You watched from behind the counter, suppressing a grin behind your coffee-stained apron as she negotiated the crushed floor with all the finesse of a tightrope walker. Over the past two weeks, your once quiet café has changed into something alive, bursting now with the clash of silverware and the hiss of the espresso machine, as well as the warm hum of conversation hanging in the air even after closing time.

Mika had been a godsend. Quiet but sharp-eyed, she'd taken to the rhythm of service like she'd been born for it. Just this morning, she'd caught a customer's spilled latte mid-air without breaking stride.

"Table six needs their check," she murmured as she glided past you, now reaching for the dessert menus. "And the gentleman by the window asked if we could refill the lavender cold brew."

"You'll say yes to him, but only because he said something nice about Lena's macarons," I said as I jotted it down. "And by the way, slip him one of the test batches of her passion fruit ganache-discreetly."

Mika's lips quirked. "Bribery as a business strategy. Noted."

You looked at her smugly and giggled before signalling her to return to her work.

The kitchen doors groaned open and a billow of steam clouded with vanilla came pouring out as Lena carried her tray of perfect éclairs. Hands that moved like a composer-especially every motion being precise, and every garnish placed in intentional elegance-were the magic of this girl, former pâtissier to Le Ciel Blanc. The first time she brought to you a fraisier cake, more perfect than a photoshopped one, you almost kissed her.

"Taste," she demanded again, thrusting a spoonful of silky chocolate toward your face. "The new single-origin blend. Is the acidity too forward?"

You let the ganache melt on your tongue, thinking. "It's bright, but the hazelnut praline balances it. Joon's going to go crazy over this."

And that word summoned Joon to burst through the kitchen doors, his chef's jacket bathed with what seemed to be raspberry coulis. "We need to talk about the sourdough schedule," he announced, waving a clipboard. "The starter's doubling faster since I moved it near the oven. If we adjust proofing times-"

You raised a hand. "Breathe, firecracker."

Joon had reconstructed your entire kitchen within forty-eight hours of being hired. Freshly graduated from culinary school, he had enough raw talent without much common sense. When you had asked him why he chose your café over the Michelin-starred establishments that fought over him, he just grinned and said, "Because you talked to your sourdough starter like it was your emotional support animal. I knew this was where all the real magic happened."

Now, with the three of them settling into their roles, you finally had time to breathe.

Which meant that now you could bring your attention back to that door.

Mika hummed as she mopped the café now quiet without the last customer present. The sound blended well with the jazz record you'd left spinning on the old turntable.

"Are you sure you wouldn't want me to help close up?" she quipped, hanging up her apron with military precision.

You shook your head. "Go study for your chem test. And take these." You shoved a box of leftover madeleines into her backpack.

Mika simply rolled her eyes. "You're worse than my abuela. See you tomorrow, boss."

At that moment she slammed the door behind her, and the air in the café shifted—like the space between heartbeats. You turned slowly.

There, nestled between flour sacks where it had no right to be, was the door.

Ordinary in every way except how it wasn't. The wood grain shimmered if you stared too long, and sometimes—when the café was empty and the moon was high—you swore you heard singing from the other side.

You exhaled, rolling up your sleeves.

Okay. It is time for another experiment.

Experiment #1: The Witness Test

Mrs. Khatri, your regular patron most patient, was sipping her masala chai with polite curiosity while pretending you are reorganizing the storage shelves. You had been brewing tea, talking about her granddaughter's ballet recital, and keeping an eye on the door for two hours.

"Are you expecting any delivery?" she asked as you turned to the door for the seventeenth time.

You nearly spilled a jar of cinnamon. "Just... waiting on a specialty tea order."

The door looks like it doesn't want to open; it didn't want to have a single crease somewhere in it.

The moment Mrs. Khatri cleared out with her parting "The cardamom was perfect today, dear," did the brass knob warm up under your fingertips as a sleeping creature that stirs under the absence of its owner.

So. No witnesses. Copy that.

–

Experiment #7: Teyvat's Objects on Earth

The Mora gleamed innocently on your ledger, its golden surface catching the warm lighting of the café. You learned quickly that not all could survive from the other side and continue living in this world, though.

Mist Flowers disintegrated into puddles of sad water. Valberries wilted overnight. But the Mora—the Mora was different.

The jeweler's loupe did tremble in his hand when you brought it to him: "This shouldn't exist," he'd whispered, turning it around. "This metallurgy is impossible—this purity of gold with this level of detail? And the markings..." His eyes snapped to yours. "Where did you really get this from?"

You'd lied smoothly. "A family heirloom." Wow, you really know how to lie between your teeth, huh?

Still, his offer of $2,300 made your palms sweat.

Note: If Paimon ever finds out I'm sitting on a goldmine, I'm dead.

–

You were making some notes when the freaking door opened on its own.

Your pen froze mid-word.

Wind rushed in, not that stale city air you knew, but something wild and green, smelling of dandelions and distant thunderstorms. And then Venti tumbled through, catching himself hard against the counter.

He wasn't drunk, which was shocking.

The second was the blood matting his hair, the way his fingers trembled around his lyre like it was the only thing tethering him to this world.

"You," he hissed, teal eyes flashing with something ancient and dangerous. "What game are you playing?"

You raised your hands slowly. "No game. This is just my café."

His gaze darted around-the industrial espresso machine, the chalkboard menu, and the glass case displaying Lena's pastries. His nose wrinkled. "It smells like... burned sugar and regret."

"Caramel and ambition," you corrected, then winced. "And you're bleeding on my mahogany." You nudged the first-aid kit toward him.

"Who sent you?" Venti didn't move.

"No one." You kept your voice steady. "That door sometimes connects to other worlds. You're the second to come through."

"Second?" His grip on the lyre tightened.

"The Traveler and Paimon."

Something in his posture eased-just a fraction. "Hah. Should've known those two would find the universe's backdoor."

The antiseptic stung your own hands as you dabbed at his temple. Venti flinched but didn't pull away, his breath warm against your wrist.

"Stormterror?" you guessed.

His laugh was brittle. "Among other things." A pause. "You know much for a... what are you, exactly?"

"Café owner." You pressed the bandage gently. "Part-time interdimensional tour guide."

Venti snorted, then winced. You slid a mug of cocoa toward him-no alcohol this time. He sniffed it like a suspicious cat before taking a cautious sip. His eyebrows shot up. "Oh. That's... not terrible."

"It grows on you," you said. "Like moss."

"Or a fungal infection," he shot back, but the edge in his voice had dulled.

Outside, rain tapped against the windows like impatient fingers. Venti's hands strayed to his lyre, plucking a melody that made your chest ache-something older than nations, older than gods.

You pretended not to notice when his playing faltered.

By the third cocoa refill, Venti had migrated from "hostile intruder" to "annoying housecat," draped across your best booth with his boots on the upholstery.

"Sooo," he drawled, spinning his empty mug. "This 'café' of yours. You just... feed interdimensional travelers?"

"Mostly locals," you said, scrubbing an already-clean counter. "You're a special case."

"Aw, I'm touched!" He grinned, but his eyes stayed wary. "And what do you get out of it?"

You shrugged. "Good company."

Venti's smile faltered. For a heartbeat, he looked lost-then he strummed a chord sharp enough to make your glassware vibrate. "Liar."

You froze.

"Everyone wants something," he murmured, "the Traveler wants to find their sibling." He looked at the archons through narrowed eyes. "Whatever gods seek." His eyes pinned you. "What do you seek?"

The truth clawed at your throat - I just didn't want to be alone - but you swallowed it down. "A five-star Yelp review?"

Venti blinked. Then he laughed, genuine this time, the sound bright as sunlight through stained glass. "Fair enough. Though, what is a Yelp review?"

Soon enough he left.

You looked at the door blankly and took out a ledger.

"I'll put that on his tab." You scoffed. The first mug of cocoa you slid to him was just a welcome gift and free, not including his constant refilling.

Three days later, you nearly dropped the tray of éclairs when walking into the pre-dawn quiet café to find Nahida perched on a barstool and swinging her legs.

"Oh!" She brightened, hopping down. "You're the door's keeper!"

You choked on air. "How-"

"The door told me," she said now, as if there were nothing extraordinary about it. At your shocked silence, she tilted her head, "Not in words, of course. More like... a feeling." Her tiny hands cupped the Cecilia flower Venti had left behind, its petals glowing faintly under her touch. "This remembers you."

"Remembers?" you echoed weakly.

Nahida hummed, those eyes of hers far too knowing for someone who looked like a child. "Memories stick to objects, places, even people." She leaned forward, whisper-soft. "Some of yours smell like us."

Your blood turned to ice.

But Nahida just smiled, sliding off the stool. "Don't worry. I'm just not going to pry." She pressed a crisp recipe card into your hands, Moon Pie, the words flowing with calligraphy. "For when you're ready."

Then she was gone, the door clicking behind her.

The Cecilia pulsed once, twice,

and burst into full bloom.

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Sorry bout the constant "-" throughout the story. Was kinda having a hard time transitioning but like yes. We ignore that hahahhaha....

Taglist:

@kameyo-kumo @esthelily @haru-tofuu @udretlnea @shining-nebula2000 @ifeellikejumpingoffacliff @resident-cryptid @allblognamesaretakenlikereally @leilakaro @stvrbrighttt @chericia @evaline-ethan @ra404 @mmmhyperfixation @original-person @chaoticfivesworld @lexal-amber-rose @floofeh-purpi @time-shardz @animeobsessed56 @fantasyhopperhea @yuan1819