---
Max had barely finished wiping the last table when the door opened again.
He glanced up, a little surprised.
It was already **past 1:30 PM**, a slower time between lunch and closing.
Most of the crowd had cleared out.
The man who entered looked to be in his late forties. Tall, a bit heavy, with a sharp gaze behind simple wire-frame glasses. He wore a tan coat over a dark shirt and carried nothing but a small black notebook.
He walked slowly, like someone observing everything: the worn floor tiles, the chalkboard menu, the subtle scent of herbs still lingering in the air.
Then he smiled faintly and took a seat near the window.
---
Max approached. "Afternoon. What can I get you?"
The man tapped the menu with one finger. "I'll try your grilled cheese and soup combo. And a cup of water."
Simple. No small talk.
Max nodded and went to work.
---
As he grilled the sandwich and ladled the last of the soup into a warm bowl, he glanced back at the man. He hadn't touched his phone once. Instead, he just sat, watching. Listening. Taking in the room.
Max brought the tray over and placed it gently on the table.
"Fresh tomato basil soup," he said. "Slow-roasted for three hours. The grilled cheese is a three-cheese blend on sourdough."
"Smells incredible," the man said without looking up. "We'll see if it lives up."
---
The man took one spoon of the soup.
He paused mid-chew. Eyes narrowed.
Then he dipped a corner of the sandwich into the bowl, took a bite, and leaned back in his chair.
For a few seconds, he just sat there.
Then he reached for his notebook, opened it, and began writing silently.
Max, curious, didn't say anything. But his nerves were buzzing.
---
After ten minutes, the man finished everything and walked over to the counter.
"That was…" he started, then stopped. "…Not what I expected."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Good or bad?"
The man chuckled. "Very good. Better than good."
He looked around again. "The place is small. Modest. The sign outside doesn't stand out. The decor's plain. But this food…? It's restaurant-level. No—better than some I've paid thirty bucks for."
Max stayed quiet.
The man nodded toward the tray. "That soup has layers. The acidity of the tomato is rounded by the cream. The basil lifts it. The cheese sandwich—it's crispy outside, gooey inside. Balanced salt. Perfect toast. That's not luck. That's craft."
Max smiled a little. "I just cook."
The man held up the notebook. "Mind if I write about this place?"
Max hesitated. "Are you a blogger?"
"Used to write food columns. Local papers, mostly. These days, just a personal blog and a decent following. Still get picked up sometimes by food apps."
He smiled. "Name's David Lane. I look for hidden gems."
Max folded his arms. "And this is a gem?"
David didn't even blink. "Absolutely."
---
Before leaving, David left a short note on a napkin.
> "If this place keeps food at *this* quality, it won't stay hidden for long. Fix the lighting. Add music. Polish your identity. The food speaks—but let the space echo it."
And with that, he left.
---
Max stood still for a long moment.
He read the napkin twice.
Then looked around.
The lighting was a bit harsh—cheap ceiling fluorescents.
There was no music—just the clatter of plates and footsteps.
The menu board was barely legible if you stood too far.
He pulled out his notebook and scribbled:
> – "Ambient lighting (soft bulbs?)"
> – "Quiet instrumental playlist?"
> – "Redesign chalkboard menu – bigger font"
> – "Repaint walls??"
Then, beneath it:
> "If I want to go global—every detail counts."
---
That night, after closing, Max did his usual routine.
He cleaned the stovetop. Counted the cash. Organized the fridge.
Then sat at the counter with his notebook, calculator, and a cup of black coffee.
---
**📊 Daily Summary:**
* **Revenue:** \$328
* **Expenses:** \$121
* **Profit:** \$207
* **Points Gained:** 207
* **Total Points:** 950 / 1000 (Level 2 Unlock in 50 points)
---
He transferred the money:
* \$100 → **Supply & Ingredient Account**
* \$50 → **Cash-on-Hand**
* \$77 → **Main Business Account**
Tomorrow, he'd need more basil, cheese, and sandwich bread.
He might even test a dessert—if he had time.
---
But for now, he leaned back, eyes closed.
He didn't feel tired.
He felt focused.
Clear.
The kind of focus that only came when your dream started becoming real—and others began to see it too.