Kiernan McBean

In the misty alleyways of Dublin, where rain kissed the cobblestones and espresso steamed in pub windows, patrolled one of the finest beans ever roasted. Kiernan McBean, a rich, dark Irish coffee bean with a badge worn crooked and a stubborn twinkle in his eye.

Kiernan wasn’t your average beat bean. Raised in a burlap sack on the north side, he knew early on that life wasn’t just about getting ground up by the system. So, with a proud slouch and a gift for sniffing out trouble, especially if it came in a cup, he joined the Dublin Roast & Grind Division.

His biggest case? The Caffeine Cartel.

A ring of smooth-talking smugglers that were sneaking high-octane Colombian espresso blends into Irish cafés, bypassing the Bean Union tariffs and driving local brews out of business. The public was jittery. The cafés were in chaos. And Kiernan… well, he was already five cups deep.

He cracked the case during a stakeout at an underground latte lounge known as The Steamed Shamrock. After a tense foamy confrontation, Kiernan single-handily busted the ringleader, a bitter ex-barista named Froth Malone—and earned the nickname: “The Bean of Dublin.”

But heroism comes with a cost.

Weary from the grind and tired of drinking his life in double shots, Kiernan retired early. He packed up his disheveled uniform and his last clean mug, then booked a one-way flight to Columbia, seeking warmth, peace… and maybe just a decent sunrise.

That’s where he met Bridget, a spirited local bean who ran a flower stall in the mountainside town. She had the scent of roasted cinnamon and laughter like bubbling brew. Kiernan knew he was done searching. They were married under a sun-dappled coffee tree, surrounded by family, friends, and the soft hum of roasting drums in the distance. Soon after came their two beanlings, William and Mocha. 

Now, Kiernan spends his mornings sipping mild brews on the porch, watching the mists roll in over the Colombian hills, reminiscing about his days on the Dublin force.

And though his badge hangs on the wall collecting dust, every once in a while, he’ll tap it and mutter with a grin,
“You can take the bean outta Dublin, but never the brew outta the bean.”