He had barely set down his duffel before Kazuma was already at work. Aiko showed him the seating chart written in marker; he memorized it in a heartbeat, as if he were studying a children's puzzle. Within ten minutes he knew where the glasses, menus, and napkins were, and the secret spot where the mother hid the decorated bandages for nicked fingers.
"Table three is Mrs. Yamada," Aiko whispered as she passed him with two beers. "She likes being addressed as 'Mrs. Yamada' in a respectful tone. And she hates artichokes."
"Roger that. Most honorable enemy of artichokes," he replied, already smiling.
On his first lap of the floor, he folded the napkins into perfect triangles, handed out the menus without dropping them (which is not as obvious as it sounds), and broke the ice with nervous customers with half a line:
"Did you choose this place? Excellent call. The captain in the kitchen is strict, but the sea is calm tonight."
People laughed, relaxed, ordered more.
Between tables, he tossed low-voiced quips to Aiko:
"If I survive your father tonight, promote me to lieutenant."
"If you make Mrs. Yamada smile twice, you get the stripes too."
Aiko laughed. A real, throaty laugh. The second came when Kazuma, walking by, blocked a falling napkin in midair with his plate: "Saved at the last second. Technical score 8.2."
The third laugh slipped out when, with a magician's flourish, he stacked three bowls from table five without making a spoon clink. "See? I studied dark arts: pro-level silent service."
From the pass, her father cast an eye over the room and remarked, not quite quietly:
"That one is making my daughter laugh. If he makes her laugh three more times in ten minutes, this one stays."
The mother, straightening a crooked flower, added: "And he folds the napkins properly. I approve."
By the end of the first half hour, Kazuma had already learned the names of the two regulars at the counter, knew that at table seven you had to bring extra pepper "without letting them see," and that the front door always squeaked on the last shove. As she passed, Aiko handed him a hair tie—"In a bit it'll start to bother you"—and he took it as if it were a badge.
"So, commander," he said with a half-smile, "am I doing well or should I row harder?"
"Keep this up and I'll show you the hiding place of the good basil," Aiko shot back, winking.
She laughed. Heartily. And that night, the Tramonto Rosso was humming like a dream.
It was then that Yuji walked in, pushing the door with his forearm. His hair was still damp from the post-practice shower, his dark hoodie open at the neck, loose jeans that fit him perfectly, and—as always—that backpack on his shoulders.
His eyes went straight to the register.
And he saw them.
Close together.
Aiko and that new guy.
They were speaking in low voices. She was holding a bundle of receipts, he said something to her, and she laughed, bringing a hand to her mouth—that short, sudden laugh Yuji had always considered a little prize, all his.
For a second, he didn't move.
Nobara came up behind him. "You in there, or did your brain melt on the way? Megumi already grabbed a seat."
Yuji gave a half-smile without looking at her. "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."
But as he headed for the table, his gaze kept returning, again and again, to that spot behind the register.
To that guy with the perfectly set glasses.
To Aiko's light braid sliding over her shoulder.
And to that laugh that wasn't for him.
Yuji let himself drop into the chair next to Nobara, his backpack still on. Megumi had already set the menu in front of him, as always in silence, his eyes fixed on the list of first courses as if it contained a map for getting out unscathed.
"You've got the face of someone who just watched his food hit the floor," Nobara said, shooting him a sidelong look. "Everything okay, Itadori?"
"Yeah," Yuji answered, forcing a half smile. "Just... a little tired."
But it wasn't tiredness. It was something else, and he felt it, sensed it in his chest and stomach like a knot pulled too tight. A background noise, a barely perceptible tension. Like when you hear a wrong note in a song you know by heart, and you can't listen to the rest without fixating on it.
His eyes were fixed on the water glass, his fingers drumming slowly on the edge of the table-cloth, as if they wanted to be doing something—anything—not to look toward the counter. Not to look at her.
But then, like an involuntary reflex, he did.
And there she was.
Aiko was coming out of the kitchen with an empty tray, her braid swaying lightly behind her, a cream-colored shirt rolled to the elbows and a smiling energy that seemed to give off its own light. Her eyes met Yuji's, and in that instant something clicked.
It wasn't the smile she saved for when they were alone—nor the neutral one for customers. It was somewhere in between, tender and almost embarrassed. As if just seeing him had set a delicate current in motion, made of fresh memories and things unsaid.
Aiko came closer with a light step, balancing cheerfulness with a hint of hesitation. And yet, when she reached the table, she put her hands on her hips and let out a theatrical huff.
"Let me guess: you wanted your usual seats, the usual warm bread, and the usual criminal portions of carbs?"
"And maybe service with your usual good humor," Nobara added with a sly smile.
Yuji said nothing, but he lifted his gaze to Aiko. He wanted to talk to her, rub his temples to chase away the thought of that new waiter, say something to break the ice—but every word seemed like it might come out forced. Might give away too much.
Aiko looked at him for a second longer. And that second carried weight, for both of them. It was their first face-to-face since the night of the phone call. Since words whispered in low voices. Since an intimacy built at a distance, but more real than many brushed hands.
And yet there, under the restaurant's warm lights, neither of them seemed to have the courage to name it.
"The pesto came out especially well today," she said, a little softer, speaking only to Yuji. "I tasted it three times to be sure. You know how it is—important customers need pampering."
Yuji managed to lift one corner of his mouth, but the smile stayed in his eyes for only half a second. Then it fell.
"Thanks," he murmured. "I'll have it."
Aiko nodded, pushing back an impulse—the impulse to lay a hand on his arm, to ask, "what's wrong?" But she held back. Maybe out of pride, maybe out of respect. Or maybe just out of fear of touching something that was still trembling beneath the surface.
She jotted down the orders with a quick motion and turned to go back to the counter. Not before shooting him a fleeting glance over her shoulder.
Yuji was motionless, eyes down, his hand gripping the edge of the table as if it were his only anchor.
And while Nobara's voice was loudly weighing in on the wine choice and Megumi closed the menu with a small sigh, he knew that something in him had cracked. That he couldn't stand the thought of seeing her smile at someone else the way she'd smiled at him.
That the laughs she'd shared with that new guy—nice, innocent or not—had become the exact reflection of his insecurity. One he didn't know how to handle. One that made his jaw clench even when he didn't want it to.
That night, more than ever, he realized Aiko was truly getting under his skin.
And if he didn't do something... he'd lose her without even fighting.
Meanwhile, Kazuma was finishing arranging the tray of glasses when he turned to Aiko, looking for confirmation.
"Sorry, do these go to table six or eight?" he asked, jerking his chin toward the edge of the counter.
Aiko smiled. "Eight. The one by the front window, where there's the lady with the fake dog in her backpack."
Kazuma laughed, adjusting his glasses with a quick motion. "Ah, right. It doesn't bite, but it judges."
"Like all devoted regulars." Aiko winked, then gave his arm a light pat and headed back toward the kitchen.
From the table, Yuji had seen everything.
It wasn't jealousy, he told himself. Kazuma was new, likable, and very good at winning people over. But there was something in the way he spoke to her, or in the way Aiko laughed at his jokes, that scratched at him inside, slow but steady. As if they were erasing him in small strokes—with kindness, but without asking permission.
A few minutes later, Aiko returned with a full tray: two extra portions of focaccia, three bowls of spiced potatoes, and a small plate with a "courtesy" tart cut in half.
"Carb bonus for my favorite sorcerers," she said, setting down the dishes. "Because facing curses on a half-full stomach is for the reckless."
Nobara's eyes went wide. "But that's the tart with the chocolate filling. You hid it on purpose—admit it."
"No comment." Aiko smiled, but her gaze had already slid to Yuji.
He wasn't touching any food. The fork was spinning absently between his fingers. His eyes were down, his shoulders rigid.
Aiko felt her heartbeat quicken for an instant. Something was wrong. And although she'd tried all evening to act normal—to stay light, spontaneous, sunny—that under-the-skin tension was getting hard to ignore.
She bent down toward him, as if to pick up a napkin from the floor, then whispered softly so only he could hear:
"Remember?" she said, barely brushing his forearm. "No secrets between us."
Yuji lifted his gaze, letting the fork fall onto the table. His eyes, usually full of light even in the worst moments, were light shadows this time. And inside there was a battle Aiko couldn't yet see in full—but that she felt very close.
He didn't answer right away. He swallowed, hesitated, then set the fork beside the plate and looked at her.
"I remember," he said quietly. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd kept too many words inside. "I remember it every second."
And for a moment, amid the noise of the tables, the clink of dishes, and the distant laughter, everything seemed to stop.
***
The door of the Tramonto Rosso closed behind the last customer, leaving only the flickering reflection of the neon lights and the weary scent of sauce and freshly baked bread. Aiko had just finished putting the glasses back on the shelves, still feeling the cool glass between her fingers. The floor, damp from the mop, faintly mirrored the signs outside, while the shutter came down with that familiar squeak that marked the end of the day.
Outside, the evening air brushed her face, carrying a smell of distant rain. Yuji was there, leaning against the wall by the door, hands in his pockets and his hood halfway down—enough to cast a shadow over his eyes. He seemed motionless, but the slight shift of his shoulder betrayed a deeper-than-usual breath.
A minute later Aiko stepped out, her apron still tied tight at the waist and a half-loosened hair tie letting a few stray strands fall against her neck. She saw him, and a smile rose to her lips—yet a closer look was enough to catch the tension in his set mouth and in the way his fingers barely moved inside his pocket.
"Yuji?"
He lifted his gaze a fraction from the sidewalk, as if he needed a second to bring her voice into focus.
"Got a second?" Aiko asked, tilting her head.
A brief nod was his answer. They walked side by side to the edge of the sidewalk, where the restaurant's neon no longer reached and the street seemed asleep.
Aiko watched him from the corner of her eye. The hood, the shadow over his eyes, the hands in his pockets. "You okay?" she asked, breaking the silence.
Yuji shrugged, drawing a deep breath that wasn't quite a sigh. "Yeah… more or less."
She wasn't satisfied. "More or less? You seem… different." Her voice was calm, but her eyes didn't let him go.
Yuji hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek. He finally spoke, cautiously. "I don't know how to tell you without sounding like an idiot."
Aiko looked at him, a faint half-smile. "Try."
He ran a hand through his hair, eyes down. "Today… at the restaurant… when I saw you with him…"
"Kazuma?" she cut in, one eyebrow tilted.
Yuji nodded slightly, as if even admitting it was a bit embarrassing. "Yeah. I know, it's stupid. But seeing him there, close to you, with that friendly-guy vibe… it bothered me."
"Bothered you? Why?" she asked, her tone light but with a thread of genuine curiosity.
He let out a short, joyless laugh. "Because you were laughing. Because you already seemed in sync. And… yeah, I know you and I aren't anything official, that we're friends, okay? But last night—" he finally lifted his gaze to her "—that phone call wasn't just a joke to me. And I can't pretend it didn't sting today to see someone else that close to you."
Aiko stayed silent a moment, then shrugged. Her voice was calm, but not cold. "Yuji, I work with Kazuma. It's his first day. He asked me where the napkins are and how to use the POS terminal. It's not a contest about who laughs with me more."
"I know!" he burst out, immediately regretting the tone. "I know, I really do. It's not jealousy… not the usual kind, at least. It's just that… after what we said last night, after how it went… I can't look at you as if you were just a friend."
Aiko's heart gave a heavy thump, but her voice stayed steady. "So? Are you telling me a new guy was all it took to make you doubt me?"
Yuji shook his head. "I don't doubt you. I doubt myself. What I am to you. Whether I'm just a friend you talk to late at night, or whether… maybe… you're starting to like me as much as I like you."
Aiko lowered her gaze, then lifted it again. "Yuji, if it had just been a game… I wouldn't have told you certain things last night."
He stepped closer, his tone finally more fragile. "I know. And I'm sorry I made a mess of it. It's just that… I still don't really know how to do this—feeling this much for someone."
"Me neither," Aiko said, with a faint smile. "But we can learn. Together."
He dropped his eyes. Then he raised them, looked at her. And nodded.