Maki stifled a yawn as she walked down the busy streets after a long day at work. The neon signs of Shinjuku flickered against the night sky, and her phone screen glowed faintly in her hand as she lazily scrolled through Instagram. Her heels clicked against the pavement in rhythm with the city's endless hum.
Suddenly, a voice broke through the noise.
"E–excuse me, miss…"
Startled, Maki turned around. A tall man stood behind her, his presence almost overwhelming. His head was completely bald, his build broad and muscular, yet his business suit was neatly pressed, as if he had just stepped out of a meeting. His eyes, however, betrayed something unexpected—hesitation.
"Ahhh, hi… I—I'm Yujiro Kondo," he introduced himself, his words stumbling over each other.
Maki blinked, caught off guard. "Hi… Do I know you?"
"Ah, n-no," Yujiro stammered, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry to surprise you like this. I just… wanted to chat with you."
"Chat? About what?" she asked cautiously, tilting her head.
His eyes darted nervously. "Uh… should we, um, get ramen? I mean—we could chat here, but ramen sounds better, right?"
Maki glanced down at her wristwatch, weighing her options. He quickly added, almost pleading, "Don't worry, I'll pay."
Her lips pressed together in thought before she finally gave a small nod. "Oh, sure. I have an hour."
Yujiro's face brightened with relief. "Th-thank you," he said softly.
They began walking side by side toward the ramen shops tucked away in the alleys of Shinjuku. The air between them felt heavy with awkward silence, neither of them knowing how to bridge the gap. From the corner of her eye, Maki studied him—his sharp jawline, the way he kept his hands stiffly at his sides, and most of all, the faint blush spreading across his cheeks.
A tiny realization sparked in her mind, and a faint smile curved her lips. Ohhh… I see what this is.
Do you want me to continue straight into the ramen shop scene next, or pause here so you can guide the next event?
They slipped into a narrow ramen shop tucked between two glowing bars, its faded red lantern swaying gently outside. Inside, the air was warm and heavy with the comforting aroma of simmering broth. The shop was run by an elderly couple—an old man at the counter stirring a large pot and his wife moving quietly between shelves of ingredients. The dim yellow lights gave the place a nostalgic, almost timeless feeling.
Maki glanced around as they stepped in. She had eaten here once or twice before but couldn't quite recall the taste. It was the kind of shop people passed by without noticing, unless they knew it was there.
"Is this place okay?" Yujiro asked, his deep voice carrying an uncertain edge.
"Sure," Maki replied casually.
They made their way to a corner seat with a view of the old couple working behind the counter. Before sitting, Maki slipped off her fitted black blazer and draped it neatly over the chair. The thin fabric of her white shirt clung to her frame, and the lace of her black bra faintly showed through under the warm shop lights. Yujiro caught sight of it for just a second—and instantly looked away, his neck flushing red.
The old man approached, wiping his hands on a cloth. Yujiro glanced at Maki, but she was calmly folding the cuffs of her shirt, not sparing him a look.
"I'll take shoyu ramen," she said simply, her eyes still on her sleeves.
Yujiro straightened, then cleared his throat. "Two shoyu," he told the old man.
As the order was taken, Yujiro reached for the jug of water on their table. He poured himself a glass, but the slight tremor in his hand betrayed his nerves. He downed it quickly, as if the cool water could wash away his anxiety.
Maki, meanwhile, was watching him out of the corner of her eye, her lips curving in quiet amusement. He's built like a wrestler… You can practically feel the testosterone radiating off him, she thought. And yet he's flustering like a teenage boy. How cute.
Yujiro raised his hand slightly as the old man passed by. "Two Asahi Super Dry as well, please."
The order placed, Maki rested her chin lightly against her hand, eyes glinting with curiosity. "So… what do you want to talk about?"
Yujiro's shoulders tensed. He cleared his throat once, then again, as if buying himself time. "M-my name is Yujiro Kondo."
Maki tilted her head, her smile teasing. "Yeah, you already told me that."
"Uh—ah, y-yes…" He swallowed hard, fumbling. "C-can I know your name?"
"Murakami. Murakami Maki," she replied evenly, watching his nervousness grow.
"Murakami-san…" Yujiro repeated softly, as though the name carried weight on his tongue. "How… how should I start this?"
She didn't answer, only let her lips curl into a faint, amused smile.
"I work at a large financial bank here," he continued hurriedly, his words tumbling out. "I'm a senior associate. Originally from Hiroshima. I was working in Osaka, but I moved to Tokyo two years ago."
At that moment, the old man returned with their beers. Yujiro gratefully reached for his glass, but Maki was quicker—she lifted hers, took a slow sip, and gave a noncommittal little "Huh, huh," as if acknowledging without really reacting.
"I live in Nakano Ward," she added suddenly, her gaze sharp and direct as it landed on him.
Her piercing look struck him like a blow; Yujiro felt the heat rise in his face again. He nodded stiffly. "I—I see. I thought so. I, um… I've noticed you at Nakano Station regularly. I guessed maybe… you live in the same area too."
"Yeah," Maki said simply, leaning back.
His eyes darted nervously to her hand resting on the table. "I noticed you don't have a ring, so… I assume you're not married?"
Maki's lips parted slightly, but instead of answering, she leaned back with a sudden playful glint. "Just a second—I must tell my son I'm getting home late." She smiled as she reached for her phone. Let's see how he reacts to this, she thought slyly.
The word "son" seemed to crash into Yujiro like a thunderclap. His expression shifted instantly—his smile faltered, his eyes widened, and he froze as though caught off guard by something he had never considered.
Maki casually pulled her phone from her bag, the glow of the screen lighting up her face. With a practiced motion, she dialed.
"Hello, Souta? Did you get home?" Her voice softened, tender in a way Yujiro hadn't heard from her yet. "Yeah? Okay, good."
She turned slightly in her seat, speaking with gentle authority. "I'm having ramen with my colleague. I'll be there by eight-thirty, so don't eat any junk, alright? I'll make dinner as soon as I get home, okay?"
There was a small pause, and then she chuckled lightly. "Okay, bye."
The line clicked off.
Across the table, Yujiro sat stiff, his large hands gripping the edge of his glass. His chest felt tight, as if every word had pressed down on him. He had listened intently—too intently—and each sentence cut a little deeper. The casual way she said son… the warmth in her voice that wasn't meant for him…
His heart, already fragile in its nervousness, cracked a little more with every second. His expression betrayed it all—his jaw clenched, his eyes clouded, his carefully rehearsed courage unraveling before he could stop it.
She has a son… The thought echoed in his mind, heavy and undeniable.
And yet, Maki only smiled faintly as she slipped her phone back into her bag, pretending not to notice how completely her words had broken him.
Maki leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the table. "So… what are you saying, Kondo-san?"
Yujiro's eyes dropped to his glass. His voice was lower now, heavy with a sadness he couldn't disguise. "I… I gathered all my courage to ask you out because I thought you were unmarried. You weren't wearing a ring, so I assumed…" He trailed off, shoulders sinking, as though confessing a crime. Every word carried the weight of a man who had already lost all hope.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, unexpectedly, Maki let out a soft laugh—short, suppressed, but enough to catch him off guard.
Yujiro looked up, startled. "Murakami-san…?"
But she only shook her head, covering her mouth, amusement flickering in her eyes. When she finally stilled, the old man arrived at their table with steaming bowls of shoyu ramen. The savory aroma filled the air, but Yujiro's expression didn't shift at all. He picked up his chopsticks mechanically, sadness still clinging to him like a shadow.
Maki twirled her noodles lightly, watching him through lowered lashes. His mood had not lifted.
They ate quietly, the only conversation being short remarks about the taste of the broth or the noodles. The once-awkward silence had now become heavy, tinged with disappointment.
When the bowls were empty, Yujiro called the old man over, placed the bills on the counter, and stood. Together, they stepped back out into the neon glow of Shinjuku's night.