Waking up to a familiar yet foreign warmth on my chest, I start the day like I have for the past month — by petting Yurei and staring at the ceiling.
"System, would interacting with characters who appear later in the story affect me when that time does come?"
[Just as I've previously explained, Host, that will be evaluated on a case-by-case basis — factoring in your involvement with the individual. But as long as the plot remains relatively unchanged, you will be free of complications.]
"So you're saying it's technically a risk, huh?"
[Correct.]
I ponder this for an extremely long time — about one second — before a grin finds its way onto my face.
Yurei stirs in response to my excitement, scanning the room as if something had changed.
"Like I care about risks and consequences," I say simply.
After cleaning up in the bathroom and placing Yurei on my shoulder, we head out for the day.
"Do you need to eat to survive?" I ask her as we walk.
She shakes her head.
I smile. "Do you want to eat something with me?"
She nods.
"Then I guess it's time to find a café."
Some time later...
Arriving in downtown Musutafu, I pause outside a modern but cozy-looking café. The sign reads:
Sweet Point Bakery & Café
"Looks like a good stop," I mutter.
The moment I step through the door, the warm smell of pastries hits me, and Yurei perks up. It's clearly a family-run place — clean, comfortable, with just the right amount of polish. Not bad.
"It's a bit far from my place," I muse, "but I can get anywhere in this city in seconds anyway."
"W-Welcome, may I take your order?" says a nervous female cashier, barely concealing her panic at my appearance. Her eye twitches, revealing her thoughts:
'What's a guy like this doing in a café?'
I smirk. Easy read.
'I don't usually visit cafés, but I can tell Yurei likes this stuff. Perks of being spiritually connected, I guess.'
Noticing my smirk, the cashier shifts uncomfortably. I start to order — "I'll get a—" — but get interrupted by a paw smacking my cheek.
Glancing at Yurei, perched on my shoulder like royalty, I hear the mental barrage.
'Hey hey! Get that one! And that one! Ooh—'
"Okay, okay, Yurei. I'll get whatever you want. Just let me order first."
She beams, literally bouncing on my shoulder in anticipation.
Turning back to the cashier — who's now entranced by Yurei's adorable performance — I comment, "She's adorable, isn't she?"
My voice snaps the girl out of her daze, and she blushes slightly. "Apologies, sir. Your pet is just... very cute."
"I know," I reply smugly. "Anyway, I'll take an espresso and a dark chocolate croissant."
I grimace a little.
'It's not about the taste. It's just not as annoying as the rest of this sugary garbage.'
As the cashier inputs my order, Yurei starts to sulk.
"I'll make it easier for you: pick three things and a drink."
She freezes, then immediately adopts the most serious expression I've ever seen on her face. She begins her selection process like she's choosing which world to conquer.
As I wait, I consider a question some readers might ask:
Where am I getting the money for all this?
The answer is simple: my [Convenience System].
It provided me with a card loaded with enough funds to live comfortably without lifting a finger.
Truly, the Convenience System.
[...;;]
Returning to the present, I give the final order: one cup of warm milk, sakura mochi, a plate of macarons, and a chocolate cupcake — all for Yurei, naturally.
She pouts a little, clearly not satisfied with the three-item limit.
"We'll come back tomorrow," I promise.
She perks up instantly, tail swishing.
We take our seat near the window. I sip my espresso while watching her devour her desserts with undying enthusiasm.
"How can you even eat that sugary crap?" I mutter.
'It's your fault you have bad taste buds.' Yurei responds angrily.
'I should probably stop dissing desserts in her presence... lest I incur her wrath.'
'Hmph.' She snorts mentally at me.
After a short while, we finish eating, and I lean back, gently stroking Yurei's fur as she curls up on my shoulder again.
Then something mildly interesting happens.
From behind the counter, I hear a woman call out:
"Sato, honey! How's your work coming along?"
A voice I recognize answers:
"Almost done, Mom!"
'Interesting... This place is owned by Rikido Sato's family?'Not important. Just a fun discovery.
We step out of the café.
"Well... let's see what the world has in store for me," I grin.
One Month Later
I lie sprawled out on a park bench, Yurei once again on my chest.
"Damn you, world. How boring can you get."
People pass by giving me strange looks — half curious, half unsettled. Most just admire Yurei.
Why the stares?
Well, I look like a gangster taking a nap with a mystical fox on his chest. Not exactly normal.
You might want a flashback of what I've been doing this past month. But there's nothing to say.
Wandering the city. Finding cafés Yurei likes. Sleeping. Repeat.
Pure, unfiltered boredom.
"I can't even fight anyone..." I mutter.
Where am I now? Good question.
The great Kensou is currently passed out on a park bench in... Sendai.
Why Sendai? I forgot.
Boredom might be eating away at my memory.At least I haven't forgotten my anime knowledge.It's like having crunchyroll stored in my brain at all times.
As I stare at the sky, I hear shouting in the distance — followed by crunches that sound suspiciously like bones breaking.
It's heading toward me.
"Hey Yurei, that cloud looks like you."
She doesn't respond. She's been done with my nonsense for a while now.
The shouting gets closer — a few dozen meters away now. I glance to the side.
And that's when I see her.
"…Mirko."A whisper. A surprise. Recognition.
She hears me — glances my way briefly — but stays focused on her fight.
She's taking on a small gang of thugs who clearly underestimated her. Idiots.
They get pushed in my direction, one breaking off from the group and heading straight for me, eyes wild.
He doesn't even realize who I am.
"Hey you!" Mirko shouts at me, a grin on her face.
At that moment, the familiar message pops up:
[Detecting hostile intentions against the Host. Permitting limited use of force.]
I rise slowly from the bench, cradling Yurei in one arm while lazily petting her with the other.
The thug keeps coming. I sigh.
One quick kick under his chin knocks him out cold. He drops like a sack of bricks.
"What was his Quirk?" I muse aloud, looking at the shocked faces of the others.
Mirko doesn't waste the opening — she rushes in and wipes out the rest in seconds.
The police arrive shortly after to collect the trash.
Once they're gone, Mirko walks straight toward me — back to her full height, hands on her hips, grin wide and wild.
"Hey you! You're strong," she says, pointing at me.
I stare at her with growing interest.
There's something about her energy that feels... familiar. Like we speak the same language.
Mirko – POV
He doesn't flinch.
Not when I yelled.Not when some meathead thug ran at him full speed.Not even when he kicked the guy into next week with one hand cradling that weird little fox on his chest.
Just stood there — cool, lazy, like the fight didn't even register on his radar.
And now he's petting the damn thing like nothing happened. Like this whole thing was a commercial break in his day.
I grin.
That kind of calm? That kind of strength?Yeah. That's interesting.
I stomp toward him, hands on my hips, sizing him up. His eyes track me, sharp and unreadable. Most guys either cower or posture when they see me. He just watches.
"Hey you! You're strong."
That's all I say — because really, that's all that needs to be said.
He doesn't deny it. Just keeps staring at me like he's evaluating something.
His expression isn't hostile. Not exactly.But there's a tension there. Like a coiled spring wrapped in a smirk.
The fox — no, spirit? pet? — on his shoulder twitches its ears and stares at me too. Its eyes feel smarter than they should be. Almost... human.
I squint at the guy.
He's tall. Muscular, but lean.He looks like the kind of person who's fought to survive, not for sport or recognition. His scars tell stories, and none of them sound pretty.
I've met a lot of strong people.
But this one?
He gives me the same kind of feeling I get when I'm up against someone who's not afraid to die — and knows how to take others with them.
Dangerous.
Fun.
I tilt my head and grin wider.
"Name's Mirko. Rabbit Hero," I say, thumping a fist against my chest.
No reason to hold back. I don't care about rank or reputation — I care about strength, guts, and whether someone's worth remembering.
He doesn't give his name back. Just smirks.
Not out of rudeness — more like he's deciding something.
That only makes me more curious.