The apron is your uniform. Your shirt isn't.

(chapter originally by Misayaka on writing.com)

"So, off with that cute top of yours."

Minako looked down, then up at him blankly, her cheerful expression turning an infuriated shade of cherry red.

"W, WHAT!?"

She immediately regretted the exclamation. A few heads turned in her direction.

Minako smiled sheepishly, only in confidence that they couldn't see her, then they looked away.

The man was not pleased. He set both hands on the table and leaned over, making his words perfectly clear, even over the ever-present thrumming beats.

"You help out in this apron, or you go outside in that top. Your choice."

Minako fidgeted nervously. Her choice was clear. She...