At 7 PM, the coffee shop was already 80% full, with some people reading books or magazines while others pulled out original texts and started reading.

  I put on my white uniform apron and, taking advantage of the quieter moment with fewer customers, followed Albus to learn how to extract the right proportions from single-origin coffee beans in order to create a stable blend with consistent fvor through the right brewing and roasting techniques.

  For example, the Golden Coast Blend uses a combination of top-quality Latin American coffee beans and Indonesian coffee beans, then roasts them Italian-style to bring out a slightly sweet fvor. The Florona Blend, on the other hand, blends 80% of a premium Yukin blend with 20% Italian roasted beans to add yers to the fvor.

  Of course, there′s also Albus′s own special blend, which she generously shared with no secrets kept.

  "You're amazing! How do you blend such fragrant coffee?"

  I took a sniff of Albus's exclusive recipe—an exquisite mix of five different beans with a drizzle of caramel.

  "Bme it on those boring customers," Albus said. "They're always shouting out weird drink names, so I just went ahead and mixed up new fvors for them, treating them like free test subjects. Turns out, some of these spontaneous creations actually smell pretty good." She pced the waffles into the oven and set the timer.

  "I see." I took a sip of Albus's special blend.

  Though I'm still far from being able to write a professional coffee review, at the very least, I can tell the difference between good and bad coffee. The fvors were distinct and yered.

  "Albus, do you believe that a person's choice of coffee is connected to their personality?"

  I asked, thinking of Ze Yu, who was obsessed with Kenyan coffee.

  “I do,” Albus replied with a cool expression. “Just by hearing the random coffee names they order, you can already tell what kind of nonsense is going on in their heads.” Her eyes shifted toward the “King of Random Orders,” sitting at a 75-degree angle to the left.

  The “King of Random Orders” ordered a cup of “Urban Horror Disease Coffee” today. When he noticed us staring at him, he proudly raised the coffee Albus had mixed up and threw us a flirtatious wink, trying to annoy her.

  “I'm serious though,” I whispered, “Those boring people who love ordering random stuff don't count.” I continued, “Since you've been here for so long, have you noticed any patterns? Like, do people who always order chocote chip cookies seem more childish? Or maybe people who still order iced coffee during winter have more stubborn personalities? Stuff like that.”

  “How would I know?” Albus replied nonchantly. “I don't have time to study what kind of personalities the people who drink my coffee have.”

  She remained cool, taking the muffins out of the oven and sprinkling mint powder on top.

  I scooped up a ball of ice cream and pced it on the muffin, then drizzled caramel on top to form a golden smiley face.

  "What a pity. If you were willing to observe more, you could definitely write a bestseller called Reading People Through Coffee." I said this on purpose, just to hear the coffee genius Albus's insights.

  Albus only frowned slightly at my words, then carried a pte of waffles over to a couple's table.

  "Hey, do you know what kind of person Albus is?"

  The boss dy, who had been carefully assembling a gingerbread house in front of me, finally couldn't resist joining the conversation.

  "Cool. Extremely cool. A natural deadpan comedian—kind-hearted and considerate, but she'd never admit it." I answered without hesitation.

  "But do you know what kind of coffee Albus likes?" The boss dy nodded in agreement.

  I was stunned.

  Thinking carefully, what kind of coffee does Albus like? … I can't remember any particur preference.

  "Maybe she doesn't have a favorite?" I guessed. I was always absentminded and never really paid attention.

  "Wrong," the boss dy said with a mischievous grin, like a thief revealing a secret. "Albus never drinks coffee."

  My eyes widened in shock.

  Albus returned with some used ptes, and I took them to wash.

  "You don't drink coffee?" I asked, still in disbelief as I absentmindedly scrubbed the dishes.

  "My stomach isn't great. I don't like it, and I can't drink it," Albus finally showed some expression, grinning like a thief who had just stolen the king's crown. "So I enjoy coffee with my nose—just smelling it, never drinking it."

  I clicked my tongue in amazement. Albus could analyze coffee purely through scent with such precision—it was practically an art. If a Japanese TV show ever held a Coffee Nose Champion competition, Albus would definitely be Taiwan's representative.

  "So judging a person by their coffee choice is completely baseless and boring," Albus said coolly, pointing at their own nose. "People are people, coffee is coffee, and Kenya is just Kenya."

  My face flushed red—so Albus had already figured out that I liked Ze Yu.

  "Reading coffee is easy, but understanding a person is not."

  The boss dy held her breath, carefully attaching a cookie to the chimney of her gingerbread house with icing.

  I pouted. These two women had no imagination.

  Of course, there's a connection between a cup of coffee and a person.

  Every coffee bean originates from regions along the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, but the beans from each pce are distinct. I had looked into it—Kenyan coffee beans were introduced from Ethiopia, Africa's oldest coffee-producing country and one of the world's most ancient. The most common Kenyan beans include Bourbon, Kent, Typica, and Ruiru 11. Kenya's ndscape is incredibly diverse, with deserts, grassnds, canyons, and highnds. The coffee-growing regions are situated between 1,000 and 2,500 meters above sea level in the central and eastern parts of the country.

  Such a distant nd, yet its unfamiliar winds carried the fragrance of coffee into our little café.

  Ze Yu had a particur love for Kenyan coffee. On some level, that must symbolize a connection—between him and faraway Kenya, between him and a pce over a thousand meters above sea level, maybe even between him and a single coffee tree.

  This connection, though spanning thousands of miles, was as close as the rim of his cup. Kenya was tied to something deep within Ze Yu, some hidden quality within him.

  "Or perhaps they reflect each other in some way," I concluded my long-winded expnation.

  "You should consider majoring in philosophy when you apply for college," the boss dy chuckled.

  I neither agreed nor disagreed. Understanding something like this takes a certain kind of talent.