A new café has sprung to life in the heart of Blazewood, though its existence owes little to the Overlord’s so-called oversight and everything to the tireless efforts of Kasa and Burniace. From their dedication, the cheesetapoka was born—a café that, while humble, carried the weight of their vision and perseverance.
To the average passerby, the café was little more than a forgotten relic, a structure clinging to existence despite its evident decay. It lacked the opulence of New Eridu’s grand eateries, offering no dazzling décor or indulgent luxuries. Blazewood’s people were accustomed to living within their means—no frivolous indulgences, no unchecked desires. Yet even by their humble standards, the café barely qualified as presentable, its weathered exterior and threadbare interior teetering on the edge of neglect.
Outside, a faded and chipped sign hung askew, its letters barely decipherable after years of wear. The awning, once vibrant, drooped lifelessly, its fabric stained with rain and time. A flickering neon "Open" sign struggled against its inevitable demise, its glow inconsistent and weak. The front window, clouded with dust and faint streaks from failed cleaning attempts, offered a murky glimpse inside.
Stepping in, one was greeted by the stale aroma of burnt coffee mixed with a vague mustiness that clung to the air. The linoleum flooring curled at the edges, exposing cracks in the concrete beneath. Scattered tables, their surfaces scarred with coffee rings and deep scratches, wobbled uncertainty. The chairs, a mismatched collection of salvaged remnants, creaked under the weight of patrons who seldom lingered.
A dusty glass case by the counter housed a pitiful selection of weary pastries—croissants reduced to brittle shells, muffins hardened to the point of near-fossilization. The espresso machine, fickle and temperamental, let out pained sputters and hisses, as if protesting each use. Overhead, a sluggish ceiling fan groaned through its rotations, its weak breeze doing little to cut through the oppressive heat. In the corner, a battered radio crackled intermittently, caught between stations, offering only a ghostly blend of static and fragmented tunes from another time.
But to them, it was something. Their new home. Their passion. Their business. Their lifeline in the desolate remains of the forgotten.
And against all odds, it was growing.
By day, the café was a quiet, unremarkable space, drawing in only the occasional visitor. Wandering stragglers drifted through the door, some exchanging lazy conversation with Kasa, others hesitantly ordering from the sparse menu, more out of habit than enthusiasm. The atmosphere was sluggish, the hum of existence barely audible beneath the slow ticking of the clock.
But by night…
Dear God, that was a different story entirely.
The place transformed into a roaring celebration, a sanctuary of laughter and life. The families of Blazewood gathered in full force, children darting between tables, their shrieks of delight cutting through the air as exasperated parents struggled to rein them in. Weary workers, shoulders heavy from a long day’s labor, found solace in good company, swapping stories over drinks and plates scraped clean.
And then there were the unexpected guests—the new Overlord herself and her ragtag band of misfits, survivors of the wastelands. They blended into the chaos with surprising ease, their presence commanding yet oddly welcome. It didn’t matter where anyone came from or what burdens they carried; for a few fleeting hours, under the café’s flickering lights, everyone belonged.
For Lighter, however, the background was where he belonged. He had always preferred it that way. While the rest of the café buzzed with life, he remained on the sidelines, watching the revelry unfold without stepping into the light. This night wasn’t about him, after all—it was Caesar’s birthday.
Everyone had gathered in her favorite café to celebrate another year, not just as the Overlord, but as a leader, a comrade, and a friend. The air was thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses, voices overlapping in a symphony of joy. Even Big Daddy was here—the towering, broad-shouldered boar theirn. His presence was impossible to ignore, his massive red hand ruffling Caesar’s short hair with a mix of pride and affection. He grinned down at her, a smirk tugging at his tusked face, seeing in her something far greater than he had ever been—a daughter who had surpassed him, carving out a legacy of her own.
As the party carried on, Lighter watched with a quiet smile, content to remain on the sidelines. And yet, despite himself, the mouthwatering aroma of Kasa’s cooking became increasingly difficult to ignore with each passing second. His gaze followed her as she set down a special dish—the Cheesetopia—a feast so indulgent it was impossible to overlook.
At the center of the wooden platter sat its star attraction: a sandwich nestled within a soft, golden bun, crowned with a fried egg whose yolk gleamed, slightly runny. Beneath it, layers of crispy bacon, fresh lettuce, and a velvety sauce peeked through, promising a perfect balance of flavor and texture.
To the left, two thick-crusted pizza slices rested invitingly, their golden edges crisped to perfection. The cheese melted into a gooey blanket, stretching over toppings of savory ham or bacon, speckled with dark hints of olives or mushrooms.
On the right side, crab legs, drenched in a rich, golden cheese sauce, lay cracked open, their tender meat exposed and ready to be devoured. Scattered throughout the platter, small, round potatoes—roasted or fried to a flawless golden-brown—glistened with the sheen of oil or melted butter, completing the indulgent spread.
Lighter swallowed, his resolve wavering. Ignoring the tempting sight and scent was becoming an impossible battle.
His stomach growled—a long, drawn-out ache that had plagued him since morning. But, as always, Lighter ignored it. He had a job to do. Taking up the role of the silent guardian, he kept a watchful eye on the festivities, ensuring that nothing disrupted the night. If trouble were to slither in, be it an unruly guest or an unseen threat lurking in the shadows, he would handle it before anyone else even noticed.
That vigilance came at a cost. He hadn't eaten a single bite all day, his only sustenance being water—taken in extra amounts to stave off both hunger and the humiliating sounds his stomach made in protest. But water did little to satisfy the gnawing emptiness inside him. After hours of fighting off Ethereals and dealing with yet another reckless band of would-be usurpers testing their luck, his patience had worn thin, and his body was running on fumes.
Still, he pushed through. By the time the party arrived, every detail had fallen into place, the preparations complete. The tables were set, the lights flickered warmly against the walls, and the laughter of the townsfolk filled the air. Lighter stood in the background, unseen yet ever-present, watching it all unfold.
And as he took in life, the energy, the sheer warmth of the atmosphere, he knew it had all been worth it.
For the people of Blazewood.
And, most of all, for Caesar.
Another growl rumbled from his stomach, louder this time, and Lighter instinctively pressed a hand against his abdomen, as if the simple act could somehow silence the protest raging inside him. His body was betraying him, voicing its demands with embarrassing persistence.
Thankfully, the noise of the party masked the worst of it, the chatter and laughter blending into a hum that spared him from drawing unwanted attention. But no amount of noise could drown out the emptiness he felt. It was a hollow, gnawing sensation, as if someone had taken a blade and carved out his insides, leaving behind nothing but an aching void.
That was how hungry he was.
“Damnit,” Lighter muttered under his breath, frustration creeping into his voice as his hunger gnawed at him relentlessly. He shifted his weight, clenching his jaw in an attempt to push the feeling aside, but it was a losing battle.
“You know you should eat something.”
Kasa’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him from his stubborn reverie. He looked up just in time to see her approaching, balancing two plates with effortless ease. And on them was his favorite meal—City Life.
His eyes immediately locked onto the star of the dish: a massive double-patty cheeseburger, practically a work of art. A glossy, toasted brioche bun sat atop the mountain of ingredients, its surface adorned with an adorable bunny face—most likely Eous—imprinted into the golden bread. A tiny checkered flag was perched on top, almost as if marking it as the ultimate prize. Beneath it, layers of thick, juicy beef patties glistened, their melted cheese spilling over the edges in perfect, gooey cascades. Crisp lettuce peeked out, along with fresh, ruby-red tomato slices that added just the right touch of vibrancy.
Beside it, the rest of the feast was just as tempting—golden-brown crispy fries, a refreshing red cocktail glistening with condensation, and a pile of perfectly fried chicken nuggets, each piece a bite-sized promise of crunchy, savory goodness.
Lighter hastily wiped the drool from his lips, his stomach unleashing another loud protest. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to forget his stubbornness, grab that burger, and devour it whole.
“Oh no, I possibly couldn’t—” Lighter started, but Kasa swiftly cut him off.
“Oh, don’t be like that. I already said it’s on the house,” she said with a playful wink. “And besides, you already look like you’re going to need dinner.”
Lighter exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. Of course she’d heard his stomach—who hadn’t? The damn thing had been protesting loud enough to be its own guest at the party.
Lighter wasn’t the type to get embarrassed easily, but this? This was a little too much. It wasn’t just about the noise; it was the reason behind it. He was broke—flat-out, dirt-poor broke. He couldn’t afford a meal like this, much less a gourmet spread that looked straight out of a high-end diner. And the last thing he ever wanted was to be pitied for it.
As the resident cool guy, he had an image to uphold—unbothered, unfazed, always in control. That included pretending that his stomach wasn’t currently staging a full-scale rebellion against him.
But still… she had said it was on the house. He couldn’t exactly turn down a meal that was freely given, especially not one that smelled this damn good.
With that in mind, Lighter slid into the booth, settling in before finally giving in to his hunger. He wasted no time, zeroing in on the burger first. Plucking the checkered flag from the top, he barely hesitated before sinking his teeth into the soft, toasted bun.
The moment the flavors hit his tongue, he nearly faltered. He tried—really tried—to keep his expression neutral, but there was no stopping the way his brows lifted slightly in pure, unfiltered satisfaction. The juices from the thick, perfectly seasoned patties flooded his mouth instantly, mingling with the melted cheese, crisp lettuce, and the slight tang of the sauce. It was divine.
Leave it to Kasa to create absolute perfection.
His taste buds were on fire, every bite sending a wave of warmth through his body. After that first bite, there was no going back. He kept eating, barely pausing to breathe. And at the same time… he didn’t want to stop.
Plate after plate disappeared before him, devoured in record time. Lighter didn’t care about his surroundings, nor did he pay any mind to the growing number of eyes watching him. All that mattered was the food—each bite overwhelming his senses, each dish too good to resist.
Kasa, with a suspicious grin plastered across her face, kept the meals coming, effortlessly balancing boatloads of plates as she delivered them to his table. And Lighter? He didn't hesitate, didn't second-guess. He wiped each plate clean, barely pausing between bites, driven by a hunger that had been left unchecked for far too long.
At first, only a few people spared him a passing glance, but as the plates stacked higher and higher, more heads turned. Murmurs filled the café, some amused, some downright bewildered. Even Caesar let out a low whistle, crossing her arms as she observed the full spectacle of Lighter’s unchecked greed and gluttony.
But eventually, his initial fervor began to wane. His stomach, now stretched beyond comfort, signaled its protest. His pace slowed, each bite taking more effort than the last. By the time he reached his final fry—his ninth or maybe even tenth plate, he’d lost count—he leaned back against the booth with a heavy sigh.
His stomach ached from overindulgence, the pressure settling in like a dull, relentless weight. The satisfaction of a full meal was there, sure, but so was the undeniable shame of having let his hunger, his greed, get the better of him.
He hadn’t indulged like this in a long time. His appetite, while nothing to scoff at, paled in comparison to Caesar’s sheer, almost inhuman ability to put away food. Next to her, he might as well have been a picky eater.
Make no mistake—Lighter could easily devour ten plates if he was pushed to the brink of starvation. But to Caesar? Ha! That was nothing more than a light snack, child’s play in the grand scheme of things.
The feeling that settled over him was a strange mix of triumph and shame. On one hand, he had shattered his own record, managing to consume more food in one sitting than he ever had before. A twisted sort of pride flickered within him at that achievement.
But at the same time, there was no ignoring the disgrace that followed. He had let himself be ruled by hunger, by greed, and now he was paying the price, his stomach stretched painfully full. The satisfaction of a feast well-enjoyed warred with the quiet humiliation of knowing he had lost control.
“Damn, Lighter!” Caesar laughed as she strode up to the booth where he sat, looking thoroughly defeated by his own gluttony. “I never knew you had it in ya!”
Before he could even think of responding, she clapped a hand on his shoulder—one of her signature hard-hitting yet affectionate pats. The impact nearly jolted him forward, but he only chuckled, shaking his head at her usual display of enthusiasm.
Leave it to Caesar to find a way to spin anything into a positive. With that infectious grin of hers and an attitude as bold as it was unshakable, she had a way of making even his overindulgence seem like some grand accomplishment rather than the embarrassing spectacle it had been.