Chapter II - The Emperor

Thirty-five years ago, the deafening roar of raindrops captured the cool atmosphere of that respective morning. Inside the walls of the municipal hospital, the rhythm of the rain was accompanied by chaotic howls, like instruments out of tune. In the Ban family, Maxim was born, the only son of the tailor, Victoria Ban, and the carpenter, Albert Ban. It is rumored through the hospital's walls that Maxim's cries woke up the entire medical staff as well as the unfortunate patients who happened to be in the institution on that day.

...

The newborn was resisting nursing, against his mother's insistence to breastfeed. The toys had no effect on pacifying this beast's commotion, but songs and rocking were his weaknesses. The first words he had spoken were " 'Nough! 'Nough!" in response to the violent manner in which his father would noisily strike the hammer against the processed wooden boards as he worked.

...

On the first day of school, Maxim got sent home for repeatedly sitting at the teacher's desk, much to the tutor's complaints. This custom continued until Maxim was forced to change schools. To the discontent of his parents, who lacked both the time and the nerve to look after him.

...

In childhood, the young boy enjoyed planning hikes through the forest in the company of his few friends, usually guiding them. Evenings were reserved for bedtime stories his mother used to read, an activity that would come to an end the moment Maxim succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep.

...

Due to not cultivating any hobbies in particular, though, as he grew up, he, most of the time, found himself procrastinating about everything and nothing, contemplating in the shade of old trees on breezy, starry nights.

...

Maxim's days had a monotonous nature to them. In adolescence, the spirit of rebellion that comes with this age pushed him to run away several times, yet to little avail. No one paid any more attention after a dozen attempts. In high school, Maxim met the mayor's daughter, for whom he fell. Some dates later, he couldn't possibly get over the idea of her talking to other people other than him. In a brief episode of anger, a fight followed, leading to the encounter inevitably turning cold.

...

Going to college, his father advised him, "Whatever you decide to do, don't embarrass us!" Thus also marking their last interaction for that matter, for seemingly thereafter, Albert Ban passed away due to the precarious conditions at work. Two years later, Victoria followed in his footsteps. Her condition significantly worsened after her spouse's death.

...

An advertising agency had set their sights on Maxim's potential, offering him an internship. After many considerations, he accepted, thus initiating his first job. And as the years passed and the receding hairline thinned, he kept climbing up the ladder, slowly gaining notoriety among the bourgeoisie. Absorbed by the alarming speed at which his career is progressing, alternately at which the flight of time seems unremarkable, he found himself celebrating his thirty-fifth anniversary between four walls, in the office chair, surrounded by stacks of papers, and accompanied by keyboard clicks. What a splendid way to celebrate and eat cake!

...

At last, seemingly pulled out of a long-lasting trance that lasted years, Maxim ultimately faced a notion unheard of to this day: introspection. Several hours have passed since the meeting's appointed term, yet the flow of time was of least concern for him.

Amidst the cars' ear-piercing resonance, typical of rush hour in a large city, Maxim paced through the streets, at first glance without a clear direction. He had long since debated whether he should perhaps reconsider his rash actions, so lost in thought that now and then he would mutter indiscernible half sentences out loud, a rather comical view for passersby. But what was there to do? It was too late to be consumed by "what-ifs", now that the clock would soon strike 11 a.m. By now, his supposed presentation was supposed to receive its final round of applause, but even so, Maxim seemed unaffected by the matter. On such a sunny, still humid, warm morning, he couldn't help but want to relish it endlessly. There was nothing left to do but have his way and deal with the aftermath later.

Continuing to be marked by some doubts, he cleaned his still-soaked suit to the best of his capabilities and stepped up the pace towards Rose Cafe.

His ex-coworker, Karla, owned this cafe. While still working for the company, she used to mention how, when her place finally opens, everyone is invited to pay a visit and try her assortments. Initially, the plan was to manage a cafe part-time out of sheer passion, alternatively, keeping her job. But Maxim had gotten her fired, simply minding his benefits and has not visited or come into contact with Karla ever since. He desired a tasty cup of energizing coffee, as he didn't find the chance in his haste.

...

On Logue Street, opposite the post office and the glass factory, Rose Cafe was situated. A distinct fragrance of hot cement and industrialization, with a vague tint of residual rain, could be distinguished without mistake. Maxim made his way into the cafe with leisure, occupying a secluded seat in a corner near a couple of pots with indoor plants. The place's aesthetic left a strong impression on Maxim; admittedly, he wasn't really fond of green spaces mixed within wooden backgrounds. It was around noon, so the cafe wasn't crowded.

After five minutes or so of waiting, a middle-aged lady who appeared much younger approached the table Maxim was sitting at with a notebook and a pen in one hand. An irritated look in her blue eyes.

"Are you planning to ruin this job for me too?" Glancing exactly into his eyes.

He let out an anxious laugh. "Karla, heheh, I haven't seen you in a minute." He unconsciously stiffened his posture. "Didn't know you work in a cafe now. Tough times, huh?", to which he put on an unnatural smirk.

Karla's expression changed. "Moron. I own this place. It's my cafe." An aggravating sigh could be heard. "I feel like I've been talking to a brick wall for all the times I mentioned it. It's not like you ever had ears for anything other than flatters." She gestured with her empty hand, like a facepalm.

Maxim scrutinized those words for a moment, to no avail. Embarrassed, he said.

"Have you? I'll be damned if I remember. Must be my precarious memory. Anyway, bring me an Espresso. Big cup (I don't know how large the cups here are), without sugar. I've reconsidered, and I'm not going to work today."

In a teasing tone, she remarked. "Oh, so you're skipping? Didn't think you were capable of it. I'll bring you a large Espresso." And she turned away, giving to leave.

"I'm not skipping. It's just that I'm changing my ways, approaching myself from a different angle."

"And does the boss know? – Why do I still call him 'boss' – Does your boss know? Surely there won't be praise awaiting you this time."

His stare was adrift. "Well... I was in the process of telling him. I can't just do it on a dime. I was supposed to hold a conference today."

She faced him again, seemingly with confidence. "Ha! Got it. You lost it for good. What'd I give to witness his reaction right now. Perhaps you should consider changing careers in advance? We lack a chore boy at the moment; may you strike your fancy." And she turned her back for good, steeping away, satisfying her laughter.

"Tsk. Forget it!" Maxim bore a frown, punched the table indecisively, and stood up.

As he was approaching the exit, Karla inquired, with a hint of guilt. "Aren't you waiting for your coffee?"

"No." And he pushed away the door and took his leave, stood still in the door frame, sighed gravely, and reopened the same door again. Karla stared at him.

He took a pause. "Bring me my Espresso."

...

After another thirty-minute conversation that ended with a loud argument, Maxim left the place and was about to pursue his matters. As he was walking out of the building and entering Logue Street, he heard the ringing of his phone. Searching his pockets thoroughly, he glanced at the screen. That number evoked a vague familiarity, but its name cleared any doubt.

It was his boss's number.

His boss was calling!