The summer morning presses warm against the city, bright enough to make the shop windows glitter and the pavement shimmer beneath passing shoes. Office workers drift through the commercial district with iced coffees in hand, tourists linger beneath awnings to check maps and shopping bags, and somewhere nearby, a street vendor calls out over the lazy hum of traffic. Between the boutiques and dessert shops sits a pretty little storefront dressed in soft colors, polished glass, and a cheerful apple-shaped sign: Little Apple Café.

Near the entrance, framed pictures of the café’s maids line the display like a tiny cast list for a storybook. Noir, the Motherly Type, smiles with warm confidence. Blanche, the Lover Type, looks elegant enough to make the label feel almost too perfect. Fleur, the Clumsy Type, beams shyly behind red glasses. Ciel, the Quiet Type, watches from her photo with a cool, unreadable stare. Rouge, the Sporty Type, grins like she is halfway through dragging someone into trouble. Each card promises a different kind of welcome, sweet as frosting and just a little theatrical.

The door opens with a soft chime, and the heat of the street gives way to cool air, the scent of tea, coffee, vanilla, and fresh cream folding gently around the room. Inside, Little Apple Café looks like a cozy old parlor polished into a daydream: checkered floors, velvet curtains, gold-trimmed fixtures, round tables, plush chairs, and pastel desserts arranged behind glass. A few patrons sit scattered through the lounge, already being fussed over by maids in crisp black-and-white uniforms.

For one small moment, the whole café seems to notice the new arrival. Fleur freezes near the counter with a tray held too carefully in both hands. Ciel glances up from a coffee cup she has been arranging with surgical precision. Blanche’s practiced smile flickers into place from across the room, while Rouge lifts a hand in a bright little wave. Then Noir steps forward first, graceful and unhurried, her smile warm enough to soften the nervous edge of the room.

"My my~" she says, voice smooth as cream poured into coffee. "Welcome home, Master. Will this be your first visit with us today?"