The next day, Kuroto brought strawberry daifuku.
He woke up at five in the morning and waited outside the convenience store until it opened, carefully picking the one that looked the freshest.
It wasn't only to please Reze.
Well… it was partly to please Reze.
But there was also strategy involved.
During missions, Reze's social interactions were almost entirely reactive.
If someone spoke to her, she would respond.
If no one spoke, she would remain silent.
But if someone brought her food every day…
That simple action would gradually disrupt the rigid rhythm of her mission mindset.
It didn't have to be something big.
Even a small snack was enough.
Human trust was never built from one dramatic moment.
It was built from countless trivial acts repeated every day.
When Kuroto pushed open the shop door, Reze was already there.
She was crouching beside the entrance, holding a stray cat.
The skinny orange cat curled quietly in her arms.
Her fingers gently stroked its back.
The motion looked slightly stiff.
Almost like someone imitating a scene they had seen before.
Yet there was a strange earnestness in it.
Kuroto stopped two meters away.
Stunned.
This scene had never appeared in the manga.
In the original story, Reze was always the perfectly trained infiltrator.
The deadly Bomb Devil Hybrid.
Cold. Precise. Calculated.
But the girl crouching on the ground right now—
Clumsily petting a cat—
Looked exactly like an ordinary seventeen-year-old girl.
"What are you doing?" Kuroto asked deliberately.
Reze's hand froze.
The orange cat jumped away and ran down the street.
She immediately stood up.
Her perfect professional smile returned.
"Nothing. The cat was just sitting by the door."
"You like cats?"
"Not really. I just felt sorry for it."
Her voice was calm.
But Kuroto noticed her eyes linger on the running cat.
Just for a second.
One second was enough.
"Here."
Kuroto handed her the bag of strawberry daifuku.
Reze glanced at the bag but didn't take it immediately.
"What's this?"
"Yesterday I said I'd bring snacks. You said anything was fine, so I picked this."
"Strawberry daifuku. I'm not sure if you like it."
She finally accepted the bag.
Opening it revealed soft mochi dusted with rice flour.
The pink strawberry filling made them look unusually appetizing.
"Thank you."
A polite, textbook response.
But instead of putting the bag away in a cabinet, she placed it near her side of the counter.
The daifuku remained there the entire morning.
Untouched.
Kuroto didn't mention it.
He simply worked.
Cleaning tables.
Washing cups.
Serving coffee.
To be honest, his coffee skills were average.
His latte art depended almost entirely on luck.
But the customers in this small neighborhood café didn't seem to care.
During lunch break, Kuroto sat eating a convenience store rice ball.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Reze finally open the bag.
She picked up one daifuku and examined it curiously.
Almost like she had never seen one before.
Then she took a small bite.
Slow chewing.
No visible reaction.
But Kuroto noticed something.
Her second bite was noticeably faster than the first.
By the third bite, the daifuku was gone.
"Was it good?" he asked casually.
Reze wiped a bit of rice flour from the corner of her mouth.
"It's alright."
"How about another flavor tomorrow?"
"…You don't need to bring snacks every day."
"No problem. The convenience store is on my way anyway."
Reze looked at him again.
That familiar scrutinizing gaze returned.
But this time it was shorter.
And the expression afterward wasn't vigilance—
It was confusion.
She was probably thinking:
Why is this person being nice to me?
In Reze's world, kindness always had a price.
Everyone approached her with hidden motives.
And she herself approached others with hidden motives.
Kindness without a clear purpose was unsettling.
But Kuroto was counting on that discomfort.
Because discomfort meant attention.
And attention meant cracks in the wall.
3 PM — Trouble Arrives
A middle-aged man in a suit ordered an Americano.
But his gaze stayed fixed on Reze.
That kind of look…
Anyone familiar with it would understand immediately.
"Little sister," the man said with a grin, "how old are you? Working part-time to pay tuition?"
Reze maintained her professional smile.
"Your Americano is ready."
A clean attempt to end the conversation.
But the man persisted.
"Can we exchange contact info? I'll take you out for dinner."
Kuroto stopped what he was doing.
He glanced at Reze.
Her expression remained calm.
Too calm.
For a trained agent like her, harassment like this was nothing.
She had probably learned dozens of ways to neutralize such situations.
But Kuroto suddenly realized something.
Just because she was trained to ignore it
Didn't mean she wasn't bothered.
She had simply been taught not to display emotions unrelated to the mission.
"Sir."
Kuroto walked over with another Americano.
The man frowned.
"I didn't order a second drink."
"It's a complimentary refill."
Kuroto placed the cup down politely.
"For customers who stay at the counter for more than ten minutes."
"Please enjoy it at the window seat."
"Thank you for your cooperation."
The tone was polite.
But the message was obvious.
Go back to your seat.
The man muttered irritably but eventually left with the coffee.
Kuroto turned around and continued wiping glasses.
As if nothing had happened.
A few seconds passed.
Then Reze spoke.
"…We don't offer refills."
"Now we do."
Silence.
Then—
"…Thank you."
This thank-you was different from the one earlier.
The previous one had been polite.
This one carried a faint hint of uncertainty.
As if she herself didn't fully understand why she had said it.
Kuroto didn't turn around.
But a small smile appeared on his lips.
The Following Days
Kuroto kept the same routine.
Every day he brought a different snack.
Dorayaki.
Taiyaki.
Convenience store pudding.
Nothing expensive.
Nothing dramatic.
Just enough to make Reze realize:
Someone was thinking about her.
Her reactions gradually changed.
On the third day she asked:
"What did you bring today?"
On the fourth day she didn't wait until lunch anymore.
She secretly opened one in the morning.
On the fifth day she tried mint pudding.
She wrinkled her nose and said:
"This one is bad."
She wrinkled her nose.
Reze wrinkled her nose at him.
The expression was so cute that Kuroto almost lost his composure.
But he only smiled.
"Got it. Mint is banned."
Reze stared at him for a while.
The analytical gaze she used earlier had almost disappeared.
Now it was replaced by something more natural.
An unconscious glance.
She probably didn't realize it herself.
The Sixth Day — Turning Point
After closing time, Reze packed her bag as usual.
But for some reason, she didn't leave immediately.
She stood by the door for several seconds.
Kuroto pretended to organize the ledger.
But he was secretly watching her.
"Kuroto."
She called his name.
Not the usual greeting.
Not a work-related call.
She turned around and looked directly into his eyes.
"Hmm?"
"You…"
She paused.
Choosing her words.
"Why are you so nice to me every day?"
Her tone wasn't accusatory.
It sounded more like someone trying to understand something unfamiliar.
Kuroto closed the ledger and looked at her.
He wanted to tell the truth.
He wanted to say he knew everything.
Her past.
Her identity.
Her fate.
He wanted to tell her she wasn't a weapon.
She was a person.
But he couldn't.
Not yet.
So he told another truth.
"Because you're my coworker."
Reze blinked.
"Just… that?"
"What else?"
Kuroto smiled.
"Bringing snacks for coworkers is normal."
"You're overthinking it."
Reze said nothing.
The corners of her mouth twitched slightly.
As if she almost laughed—but didn't.
Finally she just nodded.
"Hmm."
Then she pushed open the door and left.
After the door closed,
Kuroto heard a faint sound outside.
Almost like a sigh.
Then the system notification appeared.
[Target Reze emotional fluctuation — significantly increased.]
[Fate Deviation Value: 2%]
From 0.01%
To 2%.
Six days.
A two-hundred-fold increase.
Kuroto braced himself against the counter and exhaled slowly.
He didn't know how much time he truly had left.
But he was becoming certain of one thing.
Reze's disguise…
Wasn't as flawless as she believed.
Or perhaps—
It was only cracking in front of one person.
Him.
But this path was never going to be smooth.
Because on the seventh morning, when Kuroto pushed open the café door—
He saw someone who should not have been there.
Long red hair.
Golden eyes.
A gentle smile that made people uneasy.
Makima stood behind the counter, holding a cup of coffee.
She turned toward him.
"Good morning."
"Are you a staff member here?"