Chapter Text
“Good evening, Mr…. Finn-berg?”
“It’s pronounced Fine, Fein-berg.”
“Ah, my apologies, Mr. Feinberg.” Couriway pushed up his glasses to hide the flash of embarrassment in his cheeks, acutely aware of how out of place he felt in this fancy, stiff suit. “Thanks for coming in today. Can I grab you a glass of water before we get started?”
“It’s fine. We can just start.”
“Very well then.” Couri mumbled, his fingers flicking through the resume handed to him minutes ago, listing a series of job experiences and academic qualifications that he had stopped actively reading by the third line. Why would Ranked send him to this job? Nerdi would have been far better suited for this than whatever improvised routine Couri was currently pulling off, he can bet that on Danny’s life.
“Okay, um. Can you tell me a bit about your background? Anything related to the job is good.”
“First of all, I have extensive experience coordinating and operating within teams of varying size, most recently in a role focused on similar organizational challenges.” Feinberg started confidently and steadily, “I also naturally excel at multitasking, which allows me to manage high-volume rushes and simultaneous orders with a calm approach. While my background isn’t strictly in hospitality, I am a fast learner and confident that my skills will translate seamlessly to the environment.”
Couri nodded, his pen moving smoothly across his notebook, good coordinations, multitasking, confident. “Great. How about your experience on drinks mixing? Any job experiences on that?”
“I learned blending in high school.” The brown haired said, dropping his gaze briefly onto the wooden table. Couri waited patiently for him to continue. Seconds passed.
“...And?”
“That’s pretty much it.” Fein shrugged, his hand moving up to adjust his tie. “But I'm confident I can handle what the occupation requires.”
“You learned blending. In high school." Couri repeated, deadpan. “That’s it?”
“When you put it like that, it sounds bad.” Fein argued, his tone still remaining even and certain. “I had some hands-on experience, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
Couri looked at the man across the table, really looked at him. With his brunette curly hair and sharp, rugged features, he looked to be between his mid-twenties or thirties. But the most striking feature is his eyes, an azure blue on the left, and a hot pink on his right, partially framed by the silver glasses.
Whether Feinberg was genuinely unfazed by the absolute absurdity, or he is just a master at hiding emotions, he still looked as steady and self-assured when he first walked into the room, holding eye contact without hesitation.
Couri dropped his gaze first, his fingers rubbing his forehead in circles as he fought to formulate a response. Think, Couri, think. What would you say if you were Nerdi? Should he reject him? But there aren’t many candidates who have even applied to this job, much less with such a clean background. Couri felt his head was getting increasingly heavy. Let him try it out? He could replace him if he really messed up. He just needs a functional facade for the operation, surely the quality of drinks don’t matter that much?? Get him on as an intern? Would that violate regulation? It would be really embarrassing to get fired over tax issues-
“-I can show you if you’re unsure.” Feinberg interrupted, flexing his hand. “Assuming you have the equipment, of course.”
Couri stared at him as his mind spun at the offer. It couldn’t be that bad, right? As long as the drink was, well, drinkable, Couri could hire him. The man claimed he could learn on the fly, so surely that he could produce something that would slide down his throat without burning, he could improve later on the job. Not that Couri was expecting anything remarkable from the man across the table, you can’t just suddenly master a craft using skills picked up in high school.
Hoooly shit, you apparently can master a craft using just the skills you picked up in high school.
Couri stared at the amber liquid shimmering in the glass, then slowly raised his eyes back to Feinberg, whose expression remained entirely unbothered.
So much for high school chemistry lab blending. The drink wasn’t just drinkable, it was impeccably balanced. Couri is no professional, but this was on par with the cocktails and highballs he had tasted during parties and conferences held in Ranked, the number one hero agency in the whole country. Couri knew just how expensive and high-class those beverages were, thanks Fulham. It was the type of cocktail that usually required years behind high-end bars to master, yet the man had casually whipped it up with whatever random gear was collecting dust in the back room.
Couri cleared his throat, picked up his pen, and tapped it twice against the wooden table as he reassessed the resume in front of him, the one he had practically written off by line three.
“Well, you’re hired.”
“Mr. Fruit-berries, correct?”
“Yes sir!” The lime-haired man in front of him grinned, his smile innocent and genuine. “You can just call me Fruit.”
“Okay, Fruit.” Couri nodded, flipping through his resume, “Can you introduce yourself? Experiences, strengths, personality, anything along those lines is fine.”
“Of course.” Fruit cleared his throat with a slight grunt before beginning. “I have a pretty solid background in the service industry, everything from local spots, fast food chains, to fine dining. I have also worked inside retail stores and hotels, so I am super comfortable with the core principle of hospitality." His tone light and fast, "Honestly, I’m just really in my element when it comes to small talk and serving people, so I feel like I’d fit right in here.”
“That’s amazing.” Couri chirped happily, nodding as he scribbled down notes on the paper, lots of experience, good talker, upbeat. “I noticed quite a bit of consistency in how often you change jobs. Is there any particular reason why? Or you were just experimenting?”
“Um.” Fruit stuttered, his gaze dragging across the wooden table as his mind raced for a suitable answer.
“Yeahhhh. Let’s go with that. I was…trying stuff out. You know?”
Couri watched the man across the table. His lime hair was tied in a pony tail, eyes laced with a matching hue. His features were softer and slimmer than Feinberg’s, yet, he is a good looking guy, someone who would not look out of place wearing makeup. Beneath the table, Couri could tell he was fidgeting with his fingers, his gaze darting everywhere except meeting Couri’s.
Huh. Weird.
“There's nothing wrong with experimenting, especially for figuring out how you make a living.” Couri said calmly, his pen still moving. “You are aware that the working hours are from 8 pm to 3 am, right? It might mess up your sleep schedule.”
“Oh I’m fully aware,” Fruit replied, his voice slipping back into its cheerful tone. “It’s totally fine for me, my sleep schedule is already ruined anyway.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Fruit clicked his tongue, “So don’t you worry. I will be on time, right on the dot, every work day.”
“Isn’t that kinda…unhealthy?” Couri questioned with a hint of concern. “Aren’t you, like, twenty?”
“Well…” The word stretched long as Fruit scrambled for another explanation. “I’m not really a morning person, so I think it doesn’t affect me that much.” He fidgeted with his fingers again, his gaze suddenly finding the damp room far more interesting than the interview. “Besides, I’m pretty adaptable, both physically and mentally, so the sleep thing isn’t as concerning as you think.”
“Sureee…”
Couri flipped over, and jotted another line on the sheet, bad sleep schedule. But that wasn’t his problem, people have freedom to sleep whenever and however they want. It was none of his business to sniff around people’s privacy, least to his future co-workers.
He would just, I don't know, conveniently slip some blackout eye masks into Fruit’s bag while he was working. Yeah, that would work. Couri silently nodded to himself while writing, mind already drifting to what kind of eye mask he should buy after the interview.
Fruit would be a great fit to the team. He was charming, energetic, and most importantly, had the most job experience among the three. Feinberg had noticeably zero background on being a bartender, and as for Couri, the closest thing he had to restaurant experience was the two years he spent as a waiter and manager at a local food stall, almost seven years before he was hired and trained to be a professional hero. Fruit could easily handle the environment and was skilled enough to not set the bar on fire, not that he doesn’t trust Feinberg. Just, you know, as a backup.
“Welp,” Couri clicked his tongue, making a sharp popping sound with his lips. “Congrats, Fruit. You’re hired!”
“Hello?”
“Hello, Nerdi. I'm here for a routine report.” Couri muttered to his phone, his voice hoarse and croaky from hours of back-to-back interviews. He winced, swallowing past the dry irritation in his throat before taking a slow sip of his hot honey tea.
“Great, I assumed you already hired people?"
“Yes.” Couri paused, letting out a soft sigh as he set the ceramic mug back down onto the kitchen counter. “A bartender and server. Both with clean backgrounds and good enough-”
“-Wait, you only hired two?” Nerdi interrupted. Through the muffled static of the line, Couri could still hear his voice spiked with disbelief.
Couri arched an eyebrow in the dim light of his apartment. “I thought you said the fewer, the better? Try not to draw attention?”
“Yes, but we need an actual functioning bar.” Nerdy shot back, the sound of frustrated paper shuffling slipping through the speakers. “You would attract way more attention with a half-dead, understaffed bar. Anyone with a brain would clock that shit from a mile away!”
“Chillax, the bar will function fine with just three people.” Couri defended, rubbing the ache at the bridge of his nose before continuing, “The food stall I worked at back then only had three people, just the owner, the chef and me. We still managed, the pay was decent too.”
“Not even a security guard? You know, the standard for late night bars?
“Bro, who needs security when you have me.” Couri scoffed. “You know, the number three hero on the leaderboard? In case you conveniently forgot??”
“Yeah yeah yeah, of course, Apollo, how would I ever forget.” Nerdi snickered on the other end. Even through the digital distortion, Couri could vividly picture the image of exasperated eyeroll accompanying the words. “If you say that’s good enough, then sure. It’s your bar at the end of the day.”
Couri let out a low grumble, shifting his weight against the counter. “Why can't someone else take this mission? Like, I don’t know, Fulham could open a cassio or something.”
“You want Fulham, who definitely have a gambling addiction, to run a casino?"
“Okay, bad example, but you get the point.” Couri waved a hand dismissively in the empty room, knowing full well Nerdi couldn’t see it. “Why can’t you do it? You’d be ten times better at gathering confidential info than me!”
“The public has seen my face plenty of times before. I was literally on national television.”
“Okay, so have I?”
“You have a mask and a costume, Couriway. It’s different.”
“What about Infume? The number one hero?”
Nerdi let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “That boy would not know tradecraft if it hit him square in the face,” he deadpanned. “Let’s be real. He’s only good for high profile field work and brute force combat, and it's safer for everyone to keep it that way.”
Couri groaned into his phone, his head dropping low as he dragged out his annoyance into a long, lengthy sigh. He knew Nerdi was right, he just didn’t want to face the inescapable reality of his current situation.
“I’m sorry Couri, but you are the only one I could– well, Ranked could trust with this mission.” Nerdi softened slightly, his tone shifting into something more pragmatic. “You are competent, experienced, and nobody would expect you working in a shady bar in the middle of Draftout City. It’s a flawless cover.”
“I know, I know.” Couri muttered, staring up at the ceiling as a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Just so you know, showering me in praise isn’t going to stop me from complaining.”
“Oh fuck off." Nerdi sneered, before a couple of soft crackles leaked through the call, "I could hear your grin from all the way over here.”
“Asshole.” Couri chuckled, finishing his cup of honey tea in one final gulp and setting the mug into the sink. “I’m heading out. I’m going to bed.”
“Of course.” Nerdi replied, his voice slightly distorted through the phone.
“Goodnight Nerdi.”
“Goodnight Couri.”
The line cut off, leaving Couri to stand in the quiet stillness of his kitchen, the residual warmth of the honey doing little to stall the creeping exhaustion settling into his bones.
Tomorrow marked the official opening of the HBG bar (Hops, Brews & Games, in case you’re wondering). With a team consisting of: a mysterious, cocky high school blending prodigy, an experienced, overly adaptable chatterbox with a totally wrecked sleep schedule, and a world known hero with an experience of two years in restaurant management. For an undercover operation run out of a sketchy underground tavern, it was arguably the most dysfunctional lineup imaginable.
At least the drinks will be good, Couri thought dryly as he headed up to his bedroom, ready to salvage whatever sleep he could before the chaos began. He would need that for sure.