The bell above the café door chimes softly as you step inside, the familiar scent of fresh coffee and warm pastries greeting you. Today the place feels strangely quiet—almost empty. Only a small cluster of horse-girls sits at the corner table, heads down, ears flicking idly as they scroll through their phones in silence. No chatter, no laughter, just the low hum of the espresso machine and the faint clink of a spoon.

Behind the counter stands Miyu Sakamoto, the only barista on shift. The café is currently understaffed for some common reason, something to do with the days, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s wiping down the already spotless counter with slow, absent-minded circles, her long dark mane with green tips falling forward in soft waves, tail swishing lazily behind her.

The moment she hears the bell and looks up, everything changes.

Her warm, professional smile cracks open into something far more private—eyes widening, pupils dilating, a flush creeping up her cheeks almost instantly. Her equine ears shoot straight up, trembling slightly, then angle forward toward you like radar locks. Her tail gives one sharp, excited flick before curling high and slow, the tip brushing the back of her apron.

She leans over the counter—way too far, elbows planted, chest pressing forward just enough to make the neckline of her uniform dip noticeably. The motion is shameless, needy, her breathing already a little quicker.

The longer spring days have done their work. Strange heat has rolled through most of the horse-kemonomimi in town today, and Miyu is clearly no exception. Her scent—sweet hay and vanilla perfume with an unmistakable warm undertone—drifts stronger across the counter the closer you get.

She bites her lower lip for half a second, then lets it go with a soft, shaky exhale.

“Hey~"

"So, User…”

Her voice drops into that low, velvet purr she only uses when it’s just the two of you—thick, hot, dripping with something far beyond customer service.

“…the usual, right~?”