The next day after being epically ghosted by Mrs. Henderson -I'm still offended, by the way-, things started to feel a little... off. At first, I thought maybe it was just me. Maybe I had too much soy sauce the night before and it was messing with my internal vibe detector. But nope. It wasn't just me.
Fried Chicken Heaven felt... quieter.
Too quiet.
You know that eerie kind of quiet where even the fryer sounds like it's whispering secrets about the end of the world? Yeah. That kind of quiet.
Usually, the restaurant would be bursting at the seams with teenage girls squealing and asking for photos like I was some kind of fried-chicken-themed K-pop idol. Occasionally, I'd get those confident young adult ladies with their flirty winks and barely-veiled attempts to ask for extra napkins -me- on the side. But lately? Nada Zip.
Our tables weren't empty-empty. Kids still came in with their families. Little tornadoes asking for extra gravy and chicken nuggets. But that spark, that weird popularity boost I had? It was fizzling out like a soda left in the sun.
Even Mr. Mustache, our glorious manager-slash-local-detective-on-the-side, noticed it.
"Shiwei," he said one morning while examining the empty tables like they insulted his ancestors, "have you stopped conditioning your hair or something?"
"Excuse me?" I blinked.
"The ladies. They're disappearing. You're the main attraction, remember? Fried Chicken Heaven's beloved Prince of Poultry. What gives?"
I could only shrug, flipping a chicken thigh in defeat. "Maybe they all finally realized I'm broke."
He hummed, stroking his majestic mustache like it held the answer to life. "Highly unlikely. Women like mysterious men. And you're practically a human cryptic crossword puzzle."
I took that as a compliment. Probably.
Still, the shift was undeniable. And honestly? It kind of freaked me out. Not that I wanted to be the center of attention or anything—okay, maybe just a little—but the sudden change gnawed at the back of my mind like a raccoon with commitment issues.
But I shook it off.
I had more important things to worry about.
Like money. Aka, the elusive currency that vanishes faster than my sanity every time Akari smiles at me.
We're not even officially a couple yet and she's already draining my life savings one date at a time. Don't get me wrong—it's worth every penny. But also, I'm broke again. My wallet sobbed last night. I heard it. It wept quietly in the corner.
So work. Focus. Money. Fried chicken. Time warping. Love.
Normal days.
And of course, being Akari's unpaid guardian angel. Because naturally, despite working across the street at Ricebowl Haven—her turf—she still somehow manages to flirt with chaos like it's her day job.
The other day, she slipped while carrying a bowl of curry. I caught her and time-froze the curry mid-air to avoid an international incident. No one even noticed. Except for one guy in the corner booth who blinked like five times too fast. I think I accidentally made him a believer.
And then there was the soy sauce spill she nearly skated on. I had to rewind five whole seconds just so she wouldn't break her neck performing an unintentional triple axel.
Love, they say, is patient.
Love, they say, is kind.
Love, I say, is waking up at 6 a.m. to reheat chicken for a paycheck that evaporates the moment Akari texts, Let's get ice cream.
Still. I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Even if it feels like I'm walking on thin temporal ice, one clumsy Akari-induced moment at a time.
Back at work, Mr. Mustache did his rounds like a suspicious detective in a sitcom no one asked for. He kept poking his head into the dining area and whispering theories to himself.
"Maybe it's the lighting... or someone cursed the fryer. Maybe we need a new dipping sauce..."
I left him to his conspiracy board and focused on not burning the wings.
But in the quiet moments, I started to feel it too.
That little thrum of anxiety. Like something was coming. Like time itself was holding its breath.
Nah. Probably just indigestion.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that the world was shifting again. Subtle, slow... like the first gust of wind before a storm.
I looked out the window across the street. Akari was in her usual spot, smiling at a customer as she handed over a perfectly balanced rice bowl.
My chest did that stupid thing again—thump-thump, like a drum being played by caffeinated squirrels.
I smiled.
Even if something was coming, even if the world was about to tip over sideways again, at least she was here.
And so was I.
Probably broke, definitely tired, emotionally fried, but here.
And ready.
Even if I had no idea what was about to hit us next.
...Still not over being ghosted by Mrs. Henderson, though. Just saying...
***
It was like that until the weekend rolled in, again. The holy land of breaks. The promised land. My sanctuary. Aka: Saturday.
Finally. A break from frying chickens into oblivion and dodging time-induced catastrophes caused by one overly curious ricebowl magician named Akari. I was just starting to drift off into my well-deserved coma on the sofa—one leg hanging off the side like I've melted into the furniture—when I heard it. A knock.
A soft one. Rhythmic. Almost like it had manners.
"Ughhh... who in their right mind—" I muttered, dragging myself to the door like a sleep-deprived zombie with bad posture.
And there she was.
Akari.
All dressed up.
Like, cute-outfit, smile-that-could-end-me, hair-twirl-level dressed up. My heart? Gone. My brain? Running in ten different directions. My soul? Ascending.
This is it. This is the moment. She's gonna ask me out again. Another date. Another moment of bliss. Shiwei, stay cool. Play it smooth.
"Hey, Shiwei! Just wanted to say goodbye real quick!"
...Goodbye?
"I'm heading back to my hometown for two days. I won't be around till Monday. See ya!"
And just like that—just like that—she smiled, waved, turned, and skipped off like it didn't just feel like someone ripped my hopes in half and stomped on them with glitter-covered boots.
I stood there, blinking, processing.
And I said the only thing I could say in that moment of emotional whiplash.
"Ah... Take care."
There goes my weekend.
Now I had the whole day. The entire weekend. And what did I have to show for it?
A quiet apartment. No dinner plans. No chaotic emergency to save Akari from. No flirtatious ricebowl energy.
Nothing.
So I did the only reasonable thing a man could do with free time: I wandered.
First stop. Mrs. Henderson's house. Time to do some neighborly redemption after the cold-shoulder incident.
Knocked once. Knocked twice.
Nothing.
"Maybe she's out... attending some elite gardener gathering," I murmured, staring at her flower army. "Or she's ghosting me. Again."
With nothing left, I trudged back home and flopped on the sofa like a sad burrito. Stared at the ceiling. Rethought my life. Twice. Even questioned if Silver Fang needed a repaint. That's how bored I was.
Then, hunger hit. The kind of hunger that echoes into your soul.
And with Akari gone, I realized something tragic... no one could cook for me.
So I set out to survive.
And that's when I saw it, a local ramen stall tucked between a bookstore and a convenience store. Hidden gem type beat.
I approached, all hopeful and empty-stomached. The owner, an old guy with a bandana and the aura of someone who knew broth magic, stood there cleaning bowls.
"Yo, one miso ramen please," I said with a hopeful grin.
...
Nothing.
I cleared my throat. "Hello? Ramen guy? One miso, please."
Still nothing.
He didn't even look at me.
Am I a ghost? Did I die in my sleep?
I waved a hand.
He just kept scrubbing bowls like I was an inconvenient gust of wind.
"Wow. Okay. That's cool," I muttered and turned to leave.
And as I did, I saw it.
Another customer—a dude in a suit—walks up behind me and instantly gets served. Ramen guy smiles at him. Smiles.
What. The. Actual.
"Is this... personal?"
I stormed off, wounded in pride and stomach.
Next stop, Ricebowl Haven.
Akari's domain. My safe haven. And the home of the Majestic Gyudon. Surely they wouldn't reject me.
I stepped inside, sat down at my usual spot, and ordered the blessed bowl.
The moment it hit the table, I practically dove in. Delicious. A hug in food form.
And that's when it happened.
Someone sat in front of me.
Didn't say a word.
Didn't even look at me.
Just sat. And ate. Like I wasn't there.
Now, I know I have main character syndrome, but this felt off.
"Uhh... Hello? Dude?"
No response.
He just kept eating like he was alone at the table.
I blinked. I leaned in. Still nothing.
A shiver ran down my spine.
No. Nope. I'm not doing this.
I stood up. Left my Gyudon half-eaten -I NEVER do that- and rushed outside.
Outside, I felt eyes.
Some people looked at me. Briefly.
Some didn't look at all.
Some passed by like I wasn't there. Not a glance. Not a flinch. Just... nothing.
And that's when my brain caught up with everything. The missing looks. The silent treatment. The thinning crowds. The old lady ignoring me. The ramen guy ghosting me. The table ghost.
Everything.
All of it.
It all clicked.
And I whispered, heart pounding, eyes wide—
"T-This can't be..."