Morning light filtered weakly through the thin curtains, painting the tatami in pale stripes. The little room still smelled faintly of steam and soap from her bath the night before. Konoko laid out the futon cover on the floor, turning it into a makeshift mat, and lowered herself onto it with a small, steady breath.
Her body was warm from the chores of the previous day, her skin still carrying the softness of youth, and yet the movements were careful, deliberate. She lifted her arms overhead, stretching until her spine arched and her breasts pressed forward, their generous weight shifting with the pull of the pose. Her thin waist trembled slightly as her balance held, drawing attention to the curve of hip and the way it flowed into the fullness of her thighs.
She sank down into a forward fold, chest compressing against her knees. The towel she had draped over herself slipped from her shoulders, baring more skin to the dim air. A faint sheen of perspiration caught the light along her back, sliding down the line of her spine.
Moving into a low lunge, her hips opened, pressing forward. The elastic roundness of her backside tightened under the stretch, the muscles working beneath soft flesh. She breathed out shakily, holding the pose longer than usual, her body a study of contrast—disciplined form shaped by shy, restrained tension.
On her exhale she rose again, hands in prayer at her chest, eyes half-closed. The silence of the room carried her breathing like a secret, and though she tried to focus only on the calm of the routine, she couldn't stop feeling how every stretch seemed to draw attention to parts of her body she wished she could ignore.
Konoko let the final pose dissolve, lowering herself to sit cross-legged on the futon cover. Her chest rose and fell slowly, a fine sheen of sweat clinging to her skin from the effort. She rubbed her forearm across her brow and let her arms fall into her lap, staring at the small room that now held nearly all of her life.
Her gaze lingered on the thin door, the one that didn't quite close, the one that made her think twice before touching herself, before letting her private habits slip free. She thought about the closet that barely had space, the drawers that creaked, the way every corner of the room seemed to whisper that it wasn't safe to hide anything. No locks. No secrets.
Her shoulders sagged with a sigh. So this is it… I can't even relax without worrying. For a moment, the frustration bubbled in her chest, heavier than her breath.
But then she looked at the futon folded neatly in the corner, the window cracked just enough to let in a sliver of fresh morning air, and the quiet of the house—no voices scolding her, no threats of eviction, no endless noise of the city she'd left behind.
Her lips curved faintly, a fragile attempt at reassurance to herself. At least I'm not out there anymore… at least I have somewhere to stay. Somewhere to start again.
She let her palms rest on her knees, drew in a deep breath, and closed her eyes. The tension didn't vanish, but it loosened just enough for her to whisper softly to the empty room:
"…It's fine. I'll manage. I have a roof… I'll be okay."
The house creaked faintly in response, like an old companion agreeing with her
Konoko lay back on the futon, her damp hair still clinging lightly to her shoulders after the quick rinse she'd taken. The ceiling above her was plain, a little yellowed with age, but her mind refused to stay quiet beneath it.
I can't just stay here forever…
Her fingers fiddled absently with the edge of the blanket. The word "job" kept echoing in her head, heavy, urgent. She pictured herself in a little shop, folding uniforms behind a counter, bowing to customers. Maybe a café—serving tea and coffee with a shaky smile, hoping no one noticed how she stammered when too many eyes were on her.
Her lips pressed thin. Would they even hire me if I get nervous just saying hello?
She rolled onto her side, staring at her small backpack in the corner. Inside, buried between clothes, were the manga volumes she couldn't let Gramps see. That alone made her cheeks warm. What if I ended up working in a bookstore? No, no… I'd never be able to stop looking at the wrong shelves.
Another thought drifted in: cleaning work. Offices, houses, even inns. She had been scrubbing floors that morning and, though exhausting, it hadn't been so bad. At least I'm good with chores… but the pay…
Her brow furrowed as her mind kept spinning. Restaurant? Too loud. Clothing store? Too many strangers staring. Office job? Impossible, she didn't have the skills.
A sigh left her lips, long and heavy. Something quiet… something small. Maybe I could…
The thought trailed off into silence. She hugged the blanket close, trying to push away the throb of anxiety in her chest.
"…I'll just… have to find something," she whispered to herself, as if saying it aloud might make it real.
Morning light slanted in through the thin curtains, soft but insistent. Konoko sat at the low table, knees folded beneath her, the steam from a cup of tea rising in slow curls. Gramps shuffled into the room with his usual warm smile, hair unkempt from sleep, and eased himself down across from her.
For a while she just toyed with the rim of her cup, biting her lip. The words pressed at her chest, but her voice stuck the way it always did when she tried to speak first.
Finally, she forced them out, her tone small, halting:
"G-Gramps… I… I think… I need to… f-find work."
He blinked, then chuckled softly, the sound low and reassuring. "Work, eh? Already thinking about that?" His eyes crinkled kindly as he leaned back a little. "You're young, Konoko. No rush. But it's good to have the thought."
She twisted her fingers in her lap. "I-I don't want to be… a-a burden."
"Bah." He waved his hand, dismissing the word. "Burden? You help already. I saw you scrubbing half the house this morning before I was even out of bed."
Her cheeks warmed, and she lowered her gaze. "B-but… a job… I just don't know what kind…"
Gramps hummed, thoughtful, tapping his finger against the side of his mug. "Plenty of options here in town. There's that little café down by the station, always looking for extra hands. The grocery too—they love hiring part-timers. Or, if you don't like people staring at you too much, there's the laundry place, steady work, quiet. Might suit you."
Konoko bit her lip harder, considering. Each option painted a picture in her mind—her fumbling with trays, bowing clumsily behind a counter, folding laundry alone in a quiet shop.
She whispered, half to herself: "M-maybe… the laundry…"
Gramps leaned forward slightly, his voice gentle. "Think about it. No need to decide this second. But if you want, I'll walk you down tomorrow, introduce you to the owner. Old friend of mine."
Her chest tightened, part nerves, part relief. She nodded quickly, eyes still downcast. "…O-okay."