Deep within Yumenotobari—the hidden realm that unfurls behind the mind of every sleeping creature—lies Nakatsuji, where countless dream-paths converge. At its center stands a small, warmly lit café: Tobari-tei. Open "whenever someone is asleep," it welcomes wandering dreamers with the scent of coffee and the quiet comfort of a place that has existed since the very first creature ever dreamed.
Its master, Belmond Banderas—Bel to those who know him—has tended this counter for five hundred million
Belmond Banderas Tends the Bar Today, Too - Café at the Crossroads of Dreams
The cobblestones glowed a pale indigo.
This was Yumenotobari. A mysterious realm that stretched behind the consciousness of every living creature the moment they dreamed. And at its heart lay Nakatsuji—the place where countless dream-paths intersected. There, standing alone in the very center, was a small café.
Tobari-tei.
A wooden establishment with a warm, inviting feel. A moon-shaped lamp hung from the signboard. Its business hours were "whenever someone is asleep"—which meant it was almost always open.
Inside, the faint mingled scents of coffee and citrus drifted through the air. Six leather-upholstered stools lined the counter. In the back, there were four raised tatami seats. The walls were decorated with faded movie posters, seashells, and small plush toys. All of them left behind by someone who had once visited.
A man stood before the counter.
Jet-black hair swept back. Every so often, a streak of pale blue light ran through it. His deep amber eyes held a gentle glow, narrowing slightly when he smiled. He stood 185 centimeters tall—slender, broad-shouldered, with a solid frame. Black vest over a white shirt, a crimson bow tie. Black slacks below, polished leather shoes. When he stood behind the counter, he always wore a dark red apron.
A small moon-shaped earring hung from his left earlobe. His fingertips sometimes shimmered faintly silver.
This was the master of the café—Belmond Banderas. Everyone called him Bel.
"…Hm."
A low, handsome voice.
Bel slowly wiped the counter with the cloth in his hand. A spot he'd already wiped countless times. But he did it carefully, slowly, tracing the grain of the wood. Everything in this café was precious to him.
His gaze drifted to the posters on the wall. *Casablanca*. *Roman Holiday*. *Seven Samurai*. All of them posters for films screened using reels extracted from visitors' memories. The projector sat in the corner of the café. He could project any film he liked onto the wall at any time.
"This place has been around a long time, after all."
He let out a wry chuckle.
A long time—that didn't even begin to cover it. This café had stood here since the very first living creature dreamed. Roughly five hundred million years ago. He'd simply found himself here one day. Bel himself couldn't properly explain anything beyond that—who he was, why he was here.
But that was fine.
As long as there were creatures that dreamed, someone would come to this café. He would welcome them warmly, serve them a drink, and listen to their stories. That was his only job.
"…Quiet tonight."
Friday night. Usually, his friends from Nijisanji would drop by casually. They'd chat about nothing at the counter, poke fun at his puns, and get worked up talking about movies. It should have been a lively evening.
But tonight, no one came.
Outside the café, the plaza of Nakatsuji was silent too. A circular plaza two hundred meters in diameter. The faintly glowing cobblestones changed color with the mood of its visitors. Right now, they were indigo. A deep, sunken indigo.
"Maybe it's a day off today."
Muttering to no one in particular, Bel began brewing coffee for himself. He ground the beans. The aroma bloomed softly. He poured the water. Let it bloom. Let it drip. The whole sequence of movements was as natural as breathing.
He set the cup of coffee on the counter.
"…Mm, not bad."
Brewed it himself, drank it himself. The aroma was good. The taste wasn't bad either. But it couldn't compare to coffee shared with someone else.
"Huh, it's Friday already? I'm losing my sense of the days."
Well, there were no days of the week in the dream realm. The days of the real world only filtered through faintly via visitors' memories.
Even so, Friday nights were special. Someone who'd worked hard all week in reality would come by to catch their breath. That kind of night.
"Well, I suppose days like this happen sometimes."
Bel smiled softly and took a sip of coffee.
His gaze dropped below the counter.
There sat a blue ceramic jar. The Oyasumi Jar. A vessel for sealing Night Seeds—miniaturized forms of Nightmares, the manifestations of frightening dreams. It currently held about 340 Night Seeds. Nightmares had begun multiplying in the dream realm several hundred years ago. Bel figured the cause was likely the growing complexity of human anxiety and fear.
That was around the time he'd started using this jar.
"They're behaving themselves today."
Normally, the Night Seeds would sometimes pulse faintly. But today they were still. As if holding their breath.
…A strange stillness.
His hand, wiping the counter, stopped.
He looked out the window. The plaza of Nakatsuji. Each entrance to the dream-paths had an arched gate. Roughly twelve thousand of them, arranged radially. Gates of flowers, gates of starry skies, gates of thorns. Beyond them stretched the dream worlds of the visitors.
Tonight, far, far beyond those gates—at the very edge of the dream realm, around Hatenokasumi—something was churning.
A thick gray mist, slowly undulating.
That place held the "something" that existed before dreams were born. Sound and light were swallowed there; visibility was less than two meters. Even Bel had never been there.
"…Haha."
Forcing a smile, Bel resumed wiping the counter. His hand moved the same as always. Slowly, carefully.
(*Don't let it shake you. That's what being a master is all about.*)
He told himself this inwardly.
The color of the cobblestones flickered.
From indigo to gray. From gray to pale purple. Flickering unsteadily, like someone's nightmare passing nearby.
*Clunk.*
A sound came from beneath the counter.
The Oyasumi Jar was trembling faintly. The Night Seeds inside were resonating. With the presence outside.
"Whoa there."
Still smiling, Bel reached beneath the counter. He lightly touched the lid of the jar.
"It's all right. It's not your turn yet."
The jar trembled for a while, then eventually went still.
He glanced out the window once more.
The vortex at Hatenokasumi was still going. Whether it was heading toward the café, or toward somewhere else—he couldn't tell.
But the presence was definitely drawing closer.
"…What a bother."
Bel drained his coffee.
It was a quiet night.
He looked up at the movie posters on the wall. Rick Blaine, the protagonist of *Casablanca*. A man running a bar in Morocco while carrying memories of Paris. In the end, he puts the woman he loves on a plane and stays behind.
"…A masterpiece, isn't it."
Bel smiled at the poster.
This café had seen countless dramas of its own. Someone fell in love, someone cried, someone gave up on a dream. And yet, in the end, everyone returned to reality just a little bit stronger.
The master's job was to give them that push.
"…I've still got plenty of refills in me."
That was his catchphrase.
No matter what trouble came, he got through it with those words.
He looked at the clock. There were no accurate clocks in the dream realm. But he could faintly sense that the end of the night was approaching. Someone in reality was about to greet the dawn.
It was nearly closing time.
Today, truly no one had come.
It was a lonely night.
Bel removed his apron.
"…I suppose I'll do some prep for whoever comes tomorrow."
He reached for the shelf behind the counter. Crescent Dew. Memory Cider concentrate. Laughing Sugar. The ingredients for his special drinks sat lined up in silver and rainbow-colored bottles. These were things he'd gathered naturally from the springs of Nakatsuji and the dream-path zones.
To make Moonlight Ramune, you needed Crescent Dew, Memory Cider concentrate, and a pinch of powdered cobblestone from Nakatsuji. A drink for drawing out the gentle fragments of a dream.
"All right, I've got the ingredients."
He touched each bottle, one by one, confirming.
That was when it happened.
*Creeeak…*
The café door slowly began to open.
There was no sign of anyone entering.
Outside, where no one should have been.
Bel held his breath.
Cold air flowed in between him and the door.
He quietly put his apron back on.
And then, with a smile, he called out.
"Welcome."
A low, handsome voice.
The voice of a man who had protected this café for five hundred million years.
The door still wasn't fully open.
Just barely ajar.
Who was beyond it? What was coming?
He didn't know yet.
But Bel didn't flinch.
"Come on in. It's not scary."
The cobblestones of Nakatsuji glowed just a little brighter.
Their color shifted from pale indigo to a soft cherry-blossom pink.
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