Konoko woke with the first pale light spilling through the thin curtains, her body still heavy from the restless night. For a moment her chest tightened—memory of the door creaking open, the way her heart had thumped against her ribs. She sat up slowly, hands clutching the futon, eyes on the wooden frame. Nothing. The door was shut, just as she had left it.
It must have been the wind… or the old wood shifting… she told herself, letting out a shaky breath. The thought that Gramps might have seen her in that state had haunted her through broken dreams. But now, with the morning light bathing the room, relief softened her face. If it had been him, he would have said something. Or… or I'd see it in his eyes. No. It wasn't him.
She pressed her palms to her cheeks and allowed a small smile. The weight that had clung to her chest loosened. She rose, gathering the futon neatly, her movements careful, almost ceremonious—as if sealing away the night.
In the kitchen, the clatter of bowls and the warm smell of rice gave her something solid to hold onto. She hummed under her breath while she rinsed the grains, steam rising when she set the pot to cook. Every sound was crisp and ordinary, grounding her.
I'm safe. This house… it's quiet. He's just an old man who offered me shelter. Nothing more.
She poured tea, placing two cups on the table. One for herself, one for him. For the first time since she had arrived, her shoulders felt a little lighter, as if the home was starting to accept her presence.
Konoko had already set the table by the time Gramps shuffled into the kitchen, his slippers whispering against the wooden floor. She bowed her head politely, hiding her drowsy eyes behind the steam rising from the miso soup.
"Good morning, Konoko-chan!" he said with a brightness that seemed impossible for such an early hour. He sat down heavily, picking up his chopsticks before she could even urge him. "Ah, you made breakfast? You're already more reliable than I am. My stomach thanks you."
She murmured a soft "O-oh… it's nothing," her voice barely above a whisper, still shy.
He slurped the soup noisily, sighing with satisfaction, then immediately began talking, words tumbling like a river that had been dammed all night.
"You know, the neighbor two houses down—Mrs. Tanaka—she swears the stray cats are stealing her laundry. Can you imagine? A little tabby carrying off her bloomers!" He chuckled, shaking his head. "And old Mr. Saito, he's still convinced the government is spying on his garden. Says the carrots are growing in suspicious patterns."
Konoko covered her mouth to hide a small laugh, nodding politely, though her mind was already flitting ahead to the café. I'll be late if he keeps going…
Gramps pointed a chopstick at her, as if declaring something vital. "And don't forget, Konoko-chan—today is your first real shift at the coffee shop. Morning crowd is the friendliest, but they'll judge your smile faster than your service. Smile wide and they'll leave big tips, I promise you that."
Her cheeks warmed; she nodded quickly. "Y-yes, I'll do my best."
He grinned, leaning back as if he had just delivered ancient wisdom. "That's the spirit! Just think of it—our little house smelling like fresh bread and roasted beans every day when you come home. Perfect!"
The clock ticked against the wall. She rose carefully, clearing her bowl, smoothing her skirt. He was still talking—now about how the town's morning market used to have better fish twenty years ago—but she felt her nerves mix with a small, budding hope.
At least I have him. At least I have this. Maybe things will be okay.
The bell above the café door jingled as Konoko stepped inside, the scent of roasted beans wrapping around her like a warm blanket. The place was modest—wooden tables polished smooth by years of use, windows letting in slants of morning light. She smoothed her apron nervously, adjusting the strap twice before daring to peek toward the counter.
"Ah, you must be Konoko!" a cheerful voice called. A young woman with a messy ponytail and bright, laughing eyes waved her over. "I'm Ayaka. Don't look so scared—you'll be fine. First day's always the hardest."
Konoko bowed quickly, her hands clutching the hem of her apron. "Y-yes… I'll do my best."
Ayaka chuckled, setting a tray of cups onto the counter. "That's the right spirit. Just remember—coffee in the morning is sacred. People want it hot, fast, and with a smile. Even if you're nervous, flash a smile and they'll think you're confident."
The first customers trickled in—a pair of office workers, already talking about meetings. Ayaka nudged her gently forward. "Go on, greet them. Nice and clear."
Konoko's throat tightened, but she bowed, words tumbling out in a soft rush. "W-welcome…!"
The men looked surprised, then gave polite nods. They ordered simple black coffees. Ayaka leaned close, whispering in Konoko's ear, "See? Not so scary, right?"
Her hands trembled slightly as she carried the tray over, setting the cups down carefully. The customers smiled, murmured thanks, and went back to their conversation without complaint.
Relief washed over her, a little spark of pride flickering in her chest. I… I did it.
Ayaka caught her eye and gave a thumbs-up. "Told you. You'll get the hang of this in no time."
The hours slipped by—more customers, more greetings, more cups clinking. By the time the morning rush slowed, Konoko's shoulders ached but her nerves had softened. She even managed a small laugh when Ayaka teased her about the way her bow was so low it almost touched the floor.
As they cleaned the counter together, Ayaka said, "See you're already better than you think. Tomorrow will feel even easier."
Konoko pressed a hand to her chest, her lips curling into a timid smile. Maybe… maybe I can really do this.
The afternoon sun was low when Konoko left the café, her apron neatly folded in her bag. The day had left her both tired and strangely light, the kind of tired that came with accomplishment. For the first time in weeks, she thought she could breathe a little easier.
But as she walked down the narrow streets toward home, that fragile calm began to chip away. The city looked different than it had that morning—shadows stretched longer, corners seemed deeper. She noticed the homeless more now, tucked in doorways or sitting on sidewalks with their worn blankets and tin cups. Their eyes followed her, some empty, some sharp.
Her steps quickened when she felt one gaze linger too long. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him—a man older than her gramps, maybe, but far more ragged. His clothes were torn and caked with dirt, his beard wild, his eyes sunken yet burning with a strange focus. He shuffled after her with slow but steady steps, his sandals barely clinging to his feet.
He's following me… isn't he?
Her heart thudded louder with every turn of the street. She told herself it was a coincidence—that maybe he just happened to be going the same way. But whenever she looked back, there he was, closing the distance inch by inch.
Konoko hugged her small bag tighter against her chest, as though that flimsy barrier could protect her. She thought of the hentai magazines crammed inside, hidden beneath her folded clothes. If he tried to grab it… if anyone saw… The embarrassment alone made her face flush hot.
Her breath came quicker now. She changed her pace—slowing, then speeding up—but his rhythm never faltered. Always a few steps behind. Always watching.
What do I do? she thought desperately. The streets were emptier than before, most shops already shuttered for the evening. If she screamed, would anyone hear? If she ran, would he chase?
She turned a corner sharply, praying he wouldn't follow. For a brief, flickering second, she thought she had lost him. But when she dared to look back—there he was again, limping into view, his cracked lips twitching as though he might speak.
Her pulse roared in her ears. Almost home. Just get home. Gramps will be there.
She gripped the strap of her bag until her knuckles went white and hurried faster, each step heavier than the last. The closer she got to the quiet street where Gramps's house waited, the more she felt the man's presence pressing in behind her, an unshakable shadow.
Konoko's breath caught when she heard the shuffle of his sandals speed up. Before she could step away, the ragged old man lurched closer, blocking her path. His smell hit her first—stale sweat, damp rags, something sour and sharp that made her stomach twist.
He lifted a trembling hand, palm open, voice hoarse but insistent:
"Spare some change, girl… just a little. I'm hungry."
Konoko froze, clutching her bag tighter against her chest. Her throat felt dry, words stuck somewhere between fear and politeness. His eyes weren't quite steady—they flicked over her face, down her body, and back again, and she felt the weight of that look like grime on her skin.
"I… I-I don't… have much…" she stammered, fumbling for her wallet inside the bag. But her fingers brushed against the magazines hidden beneath her clothes, and panic shot through her—if I open this, if he sees, if I drop even one…
The old man took a half-step closer, his shadow stretching over her shoes. "Just a coin, anything," he rasped, the edge of desperation sharpening his tone.
Her heart hammered so hard she thought he could hear it. She wished Gramps were there, or anyone else. The street was too empty, too quiet, just her and this figure who smelled of dust and decay, pressing for more than she could give.
Konoko's knees felt weak as the ragged man loomed closer, his hand still outstretched, the smell of sour rags pressing against her nose. She was about to whisper something—anything—just to make him go away, when a rough voice cut through the air.