The service began with the familiar sound of knives on the cutting board and the coffee machine puffing away. From the wide-open door came a flood of light: it was Sunday at noon, the kind that makes the glasses shine whether you want it or not. Nobara and Megumi had settled at a little table near the shop window: she with her sunglasses perched like a crown on her head, he glancing around and carefully aligning everything in front of him on the table, in a way that made Aiko smile.
Yuji went back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room with two plates of warm bread "to sample," a non-slip mat under his arm and an apron tied crookedly. Every time he passed by the counter, Aiko straightened the knot for him without giving it much thought, as if it were an automatic gesture.
"Thanks, boss," he would mumble, blushing at a speed that seemed to know only two states: immediately and even more.
The little bell above the door chimed and the air shifted by half a degree. He walked in. A gray "work" suit that had seen too many afternoons, a loosened tie, a slim briefcase. His trail arrived before his voice: the heavy smell of wine layered over cheap aftershave, that sweet-and-sour mix that lingers in dining rooms when the tables are cleared too late.
"Good morning," he said, with a smile just a shade too wide. He paused for a moment to take in the place, as if sizing it up, then stepped forward. Up close, the reek of alcohol was more subtle, as if slipped right into the nostrils; and yet, when his eyes landed on Aiko, his voice came out gentle, almost a whisper. "Miss Aiko, isn't it?"
He had read her name from the small tag on the shelf near the register but he pronounced it as if he had known it all along. Aiko kept the tone she used with customers who tried to get a little too familiar.
"Good morning, sir, and welcome back. Will you sit at the counter or do you prefer a table?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"At the counter, if I'm not in the way. Just a glass, just to... taste the new red."
His eyes slid over her, taking in her figure; then, sideways, they landed on Yuji as he passed with a tray. A quick glance, poorly measured: off-kilter.
Yuji caught sight of him on instinct, without stopping. He didn't know who the man was, but something in him made his back straighten. He set the tray down at Nobara and Megumi's table, then headed back toward the counter, pretending to look for the salt. Meanwhile, Nobara—who had a radar for this sort of tension—slid her sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose and followed the scene with a half-curious smile. Megumi didn't move, but his gaze sharpened.
Aiko placed a small plate of bread and a little dish of oil in front of the man—a neutral gesture, standard courtesy—and kept her body just beyond the invisible threshold line.
"Today there are no tastings, I'm afraid..." she said slowly, still polite but leaving no room. "If you'd like, I can bring you a glass from the wine list."
The man did something odd: he counted the coins in his pocket before even ordering. He placed them on the wood, one by one, as if he wanted to mark territory.
"Just a sip, come on. That way I can get a sense of what the other restaurants in the area are offering..." He smiled, eyes on Aiko, then once again glanced sideways at Yuji. "I don't want to trouble the young man."
Yuji stopped half a meter away—half by chance, half not.
"No trouble at all," he said, all cordiality. "Would you like today's menu?"
The gentleman gave him a polite but cold smile, one that never reached his eyes.
"Thank you. Maybe later." And back to Aiko: "You look wonderful today. Have you changed the lighting, or is it just the place?"
"It must be the sun," Aiko replied, measured. With two fingers she pushed the coins back toward him, without touching his hands.
"We'll settle the bill at the end. In the meantime, I'll get you some bread and if you'd like a glass, I'll repeat—it's from the list. Red or white?"
A flicker of disappointment crossed his face for a split second, then vanished.
"Red," he said. "But small, though."
Aiko nodded. Behind her, the pass breathed life into the kitchen; her father gave a discreet thumbs-up where the customers couldn't see, her mother slid a plate of meatballs to the edge with a nod. Aiko took a full glass—not the thimble he'd asked for—and carried it back over the kitchen line for a moment, as if to check its aroma, then returned to the room and set it on the counter. The gesture, ordinary to anyone unaware, closed an invisible circuit for those who knew how to see.
The man took the glass with measured slowness.
"Thank you." He drank little, then left the glass in place, as if he were waiting for something else—a remark, a hook, an invitation. None came. Aiko moved on, busy.
"Yuji, could you bring water to table twelve, please?"
"Right away."
As Yuji passed by, the skewed glance returned, lingering longer this time. It wasn't an open threat; it was that low envy that pretends to be indifference. Nobara noticed, exchanged a look with Megumi.
"Do you know him?" she whispered.
"No," he answered, barely moving his lips. "But I don't like him."
Aiko came back to the counter with her notepad.
"For food, are you thinking of something?"
The man tapped a finger on the coins without taking them away. "Maybe a taste of the meatballs. Just one, eh! To get an idea..."
"Meatballs are served by the portion," Aiko said, her gaze steady. "If you're not very hungry, I can split them in two and serve them on separate plates. That way you can still say you've had a gentleman's tasting."
He laughed softly, as if he had truly been amused. "You do know how to use words well, Miss Aiko."
"I practice," she replied, handing him the menu opened to the daily specials. "Tell me."
While the man made his choice with studied calm, Aiko gathered the coins and slid them into his open palm—no contact—then closed his fingers over them.
"Keep them here," she said with surgical kindness. "That way, at the end of lunch, everything will be clearer."
That tiny gesture threw him off balance. Just a moment and then the smile returned. "You're right, Miss Aiko." He set the menu down. "The meatballs... And then we'll see."
Yuji came back from the kitchen carrying two carafes and passed close enough to catch the scent of aftershave. His heart gave a foolish jolt, the kind you can't explain: like recognizing a song without remembering its title. He looked at Aiko—for just half a second—and she returned a glance, brief but unmistakable: I'll handle it.
"Megumi, Nobara, would you like to order already?" Aiko asked at her friends' table, as if to break the air.
"I'll have the meatballs... And a picture with the plate that does me justice," Nobara declared.
"Pasta with tomato sauce," said Megumi, plain. Then, almost imperceptibly, he glanced toward the counter.
"Everything okay?"
"All good," Aiko replied, and that phrase settled a hum no one else could hear.
The service moved forward: plates going out, plates coming back polished, steam fogging up a corner of the window, brief laughter passing from one table to another. The man ate in silence, paying exaggerated attention to Aiko's every move; when Yuji walked by, he averted his gaze a moment too late—not quickly enough to go unnoticed.
In the end, Aiko set the bill on the counter, very modest. "Whenever you like."
He took it, leaving no coins on the wood; he kept them in his hand like a closed box. "I'll come back to try that red more calmly," he said. "Maybe on a day when the place is empty."
Aiko smiled only with her eyes. "Better on busy days. Wine goes well with noise."
He gave a slight bow.
"See you soon." He stepped out into the light, leaving behind a trail already fading at the threshold.
Yuji came to the counter with two plates to clear. He didn't ask who that was; he only said: "If you need me, I'll stay until closing."
"It's enough that you stay," Aiko answered softly. "The rest I'll handle it."
From their table, Nobara raised her glass as if in a private toast; Megumi nodded once. The restaurant began to breathe easier, as though someone had opened a window. In the meantime Sunday, with all its small sounds, went back to being just a Sunday.
***
The afternoon, instead, had settled into a gentle quiet. The last chair slid back under the table with a rounded motion, the cutlery gave a short chime in the drawer and the smell of ragù lingered like a low trail across the tiles. Light streamed in through the windows, making the glassware shine like diamonds and, every so often, slicing across Aiko's face at a diagonal as she passed.
Aiko wiped the counter a second time even though it was already clean. Her thoughts, though, were not at ease: she was thinking of the man from earlier. The smell of wine that clung to him, the coins counted out and dropped on the counter, the skewed look when Yuji walked by. Sukuna had given danger a shape; that day, she had given it a face.
Yuji came out of the kitchen with his apron untied and two glasses of water. He set them on the table, then looked at her closely—in that quiet, attentive way that made no sound.
"Everything okay?"
"Almost." Aiko took the band from her hair and tied it back again, as if she were trying to pin down the thoughts racing through her head. Then she sighed.
"I think it was him. The man he talked about."
Yuji stiffened just slightly, not enough to be obvious. "What do you mean? Who are you talking about?"
Aiko nodded.
"Nothing, nothing. Unfortunately, as you know, I can't say much. But trust me, okay?" Her shoulders sank a little, as though she had let a weight out with the air. "But... I want to be sure."
A beat of silence.
"You want... to ask him?" Yuji said. It wasn't a prohibition, it wasn't fear: it was I've got your back.
She didn't answer right away. Calmly, she stood, went to the sideboard and picked up the little bell. The cold metal trembled faintly between her fingers. Then she turned toward him.
"You'll stay here, won't you?"
Yuji looked at the clock hanging on the column: 2:36 p.m. He swallowed, then gave a short smile.
"Okay. Whatever happens, you know. If you need..."
"It's enough that you breathe," she said, her tone both serious and gentle.
She went back into the dining room. Touched the little bell, hung on a discreet nail beside the register, where the sunlight lit it at a single exact spot. She tested the cord's movement without making it ring: just a brief sway, like a breath before speaking.
Yuji sat down on the bench along the wall, in full view, hands on his knees to keep them out of his pockets.
"Rules?" he asked, going over them.
"One question only. Clear." Aiko positioned herself behind the pass, fingers on the wooden edge, shoulders straight. "No heroics."
"Promise." He paused, then spoke more softly: "How are you... really?"
She met his gaze and held it. "Upright." A half-smile. "And ready."
The restaurant was as empty as a church between services. From outside came the buzz of a scooter; inside, the ticking of the clock seemed louder. 2:38 p.m.
Aiko raised her hand, let it hover a moment over the red cord. She felt the wood under her palm, the coolness of the metal, her own breathing falling into rhythm. She looked at Yuji: he nodded, simply.
2:39 p.m.
Ding.
---------
The bell bites the air. I open my eyes.
A bare, clean room: she stands in the kitchen doorway, my vessel and I on the sofa; the red cord still quivers. She holds her gaze on me like a well-honed blade.
"Was it that gentleman?" she asks, steady voice. "The one in the gray suit. Is he Yuji's problem?"
"Yes." I lift the word like a sentence and savor it. "You asked little. You got little." An order, an answer. The rules are yours—I dance upon them.
She stiffens by a millimeter, then stays straight. Good. Now it's my turn.
"The favor," I say; hunger slides between my teeth when I already know the taste. "You will write my seal on your groin and keep it there until midnight."
She does not back down. "I don't know how to write it," she answers. "You'll have to do it yourself."
I smile without teeth. "Good girl. You know when to ask the right thing."
I want to move closer. The bond pulls: no nearness. No matter. Kings don't write with their hands when they can carve with shadow.
I close eyes that are not mine; I open the ones you do not see. Beneath the hem, where the fabric folds the world onto itself, I draw four strokes that are not strokes, two cuts that kiss in the middle, a knot that won't come undone. It smells of warm iron and taut thread. It burns for an instant—a tiniest prick—then stays there: secret, invisible from the outside, all mine.
I open my eyes. "Done."
She does not rush to check; she checks me. She does not look away. How I'd love to see her spread her legs in front of me again...
"It will stay until midnight," I announce, cold as a knife on the cutting board. "If you take it off before then, I'll come to take it back with interest."
"I won't take it off," she says. Simple.
"Good girl." The word scratches her cheek; I laugh softly. Kukuku. "Now you wear my mark where no one can see it. Just the way I like."
Time runs toward the exit; the tether bites. I grant her one last second of the real: hunger, curiosity, play. She does not break. Good. Trophies must walk.
I slip back behind the glass as the moment expires. The boy regains his breath; he does not know that his breath still smells of her. I do. The echo of her fearless "yes" stays in my throat... and my seal now speaks with my tongue.
Tomorrow I will count the hours again, I will see whether that mark weighs on her... or pleases her.
***
Yuji surfaced with a deeper breath, like someone coming up from a tub. He ran a hand over his face and immediately searched for Aiko's eyes. She was already there, standing straight beyond the kitchen threshold, her hand still near the register.
"Everything okay?" he asked, voice low.
"Yes." She stepped toward the dining room. "And it's him. The one in the gray suit. He's today's problem."
Yuji nodded, not asking questions he knew wouldn't help. "So? Is it over?"
"We cut the sequence," Aiko said. "Now let's see if he comes back or if I see him wandering around. If he comes back, I'll ask him directly what he wants and stop him right away."
Yuji relaxed half a centimeter. "Okay. If you need me, I... I'm here. I'll be a wall, a table, a coat rack. Whatever you want."
"Of course, love, I know..." She brushed his knuckles with her thumb, a brief, warm touch. The dining room, now empty, had the soft sound of glasses drying themselves.
"Tonight," Aiko said then, changing her tone, "let's do something. You, me... and if you want, Nobara and Megumi too. I want to turn my brain off today."
"I like that," Yuji said, already with his phone in hand. "Should we contact them?"
Aiko nodded. They opened the group chat.
Yuji: Decompression night. 7:30 p.m.?
Nobara: Where. And dress code.
Aiko: Arcade near the station → obligatory purikura → gyoza on the corner. Dress code: cute but comfy.
Megumi: Okay, I'm in.
Nobara: I'll be comfy BUT cute. And I get to pick the photo booth.
Yuji: I lose at everything but I win at eating.
Aiko: Confirmed. Booking gyoza. Table for four at 8:30.
Nobara: I'm bringing coins for air hockey. Itadori, get ready to lose with style.
Yuji: I lose beautifully, thanks.
Megumi: I'll be on time.
Aiko: Perfect. 7:30 at the green neon entrance.
They closed their phones almost at the same time. Aiko unfastened her apron to put it away, slipped out her hair tie and adjusted the collar of her white shirt.
"I'll go tidy up the back, then we'll close and see each other later at the arcade. Okay?"
Yuji started toward her, that same blush rising when he looked at her too long.
"Should I come pick you up, or will we meet there?" He hugged her and gave her a quick little kiss on the nose.
"We'll meet there," she said, sweet and firm. "If you get there first, win me a plushie."
"Then I'll get there first," he replied, smiling in his dry way.
They stayed like that for a moment, with the quiet of the afternoon streaming in through the windows. They melted into a long, sensual kiss, their hands wandering everywhere.
"I love you..." Yuji said, giving her one last kiss before turning and heading out the back.
"I love you too," she replied, waving him off.
Left alone, she cast one last glance at the door, one at the register, one at Yuji walking away with his back turned. The air felt lighter, yet she still kept her compass straight: if the buzzing returned, she would be the first to sense it. For now, though, there was an evening to live, a green neon sign to reach and three friends to capture in photos.