Jun stood at the machine, hands hovering, not moving. The steam hissed softly—like it was asking if he still belonged here.
He hadn't touched the certificate since the throwdown. It was folded once and slid into the back of a notebook. He wasn't sure why he hadn't thrown it away. Or framed it. Maybe both felt wrong.
Third was enough to be seen.
But not enough to believe it.
He pulled a shot.
Too sour.
Tried again.
Too flat.
[System Notice: No buff active. Emotional sync: Inconsistent.]
He reset. Again.
Behind him, Mina leaned against the sink.
"You brew like someone trying not to disappoint themselves."
Jun paused.
"Maybe I am."
She didn't respond at first. Then:
"You're not the only one who saw that cup on stage, you know."
He turned slightly, but she wasn't looking at him.
"You still open this place every morning. Still pour like it matters. That's enough to believe in."
Then she pushed off the sink, quiet as ever, and moved to the storage shelf.
She didn't press.
But she didn't walk away either.
That night, Jun sat on the floor, staring at his gear. He didn't hate it.
But he didn't love it either.
Not tonight.
> "Sometimes the grind isn't about improvement. It's about holding on. Thanks for reading."