“I’ll keep that in mind”

The fuck is wrong with her?

Arata stood motionless. His helmet glinted under the streetlamp as he tilted his head slightly, watching Lily's figure disappear into the shadows, her footsteps echoing faintly as she bolted down the street like a startled deer.

He hadn't even noticed her at first,he was too focused on grabbing the items he needed for the Sakamoto delivery, minding his own business as always.

Not until he turned the corner of the aisle and caught her staring.

Her expression was bizarre—a mix of suspicion and outright fear, like she was watching the villain of some convoluted detective drama—it was impossible to ignore.

What the hell?

It wasn't just the look she gave him—it was the way her shoulders tensed, how her grip on the basket tightened like she was bracing for something. Did she seriously think he was going to… do something? To her?

Strange. Stupid. Substantially useless. Pathetic. That's all she was. A foreigner with a decent smile and not much else. The kind of girl who probably thought everything was sunshine and daisies, so long as her cute little world stayed intact.

And yet, somehow, she'd already caused more headaches than anyone else in this miserable school year. First, the way she'd openly sided with that idiot Koji—Piggy Porky, seriously?—without hesitation, as if that wouldn't make her a target. Then, there was her nerve to talk back, not just to anyone, but to everyone. From the very first day, she'd answered things no one dared to say.

He couldn't figure her out.

But he didn't have time to think about it now.

He didn't have the time—or the patience—to deal with whatever madness she was caught up in. He had deliveries to make for Mrs. Sakamoto, and the last thing he needed was to be late. The old lady tipped well, and missing her delivery window wasn't worth losing those extra yen.

Still, something nagged at him.

When he'd stepped outside and caught her staring at him—frozen, like she'd just pieced together the identity of some big-shot criminal—it had felt… off. Her wide green —incredibly big— eyes had darted back and forth, sizing him up like he was some kind of puzzle.

Why she was staring at him with that ridiculous look of suspicion? Her posture screamed I've solved the case, Officer! As if she was ready to accuse him before Seon's justice herself.

He adjusted the bag in his hand and shifted his weight, utterly baffled. What was her deal? Was she that spooked by someone wearing a helmet? Was she always this stupid, or was it a special talent reserved for him?

And then it got worse.

She froze for a moment, the bag of snacks clutched tightly against her chest, and then—without a word—she turned and ran.

The fuck?

Could it be that she was thinking that he was following her only because they were going in the same direction? Was she really that stupid? Maybe those about Americans weren't clichés, after all, uh?

He blinked, watching her silhouette shrink further down the empty street. For a split second, he considered calling out after her, but the thought was gone as quickly as it came. No, better to leave her to her dramatics. Whatever crazy narrative she'd cooked up in her head, he didn't have the energy to deal with it.

Besides, he had work to do.

He glanced down at the bag in his hand, reminded of the delivery waiting for him, and started walking. His bike was parked a little further down the street, just out of view from the kombini. He kept his pace steady, unhurried, his boots clicking softly against the pavement.

But as he walked in the same direction Lily had gone, a thought lingered in the back of his mind, uninvited and irritating.

What the hell did she think she saw?

The image of her wide eyes, the way she clutched her bag like it held the secret to world peace, and then bolted like her life depended on it—it all played on a loop in his head.

Seriously, what the hell?

By the time he reached his bike, her figure was long gone, swallowed up by the twisting streets of the neighborhood. He sighed, shaking his head as he swung his leg over the seat and secured the bag of groceries.

Whatever her deal was, it wasn't his problem.

Yet, as he started the engine and the low rumble filled the air, a faint smirk tugged at his lips beneath the visor.

Crazy, pathetic,foreigner.

(´ー｀)

The steady hum of Arata's bike engine faded as he pulled up to the modest, well-lit home of the Sakamotos. The rain from earlier had lessened to a faint drizzle, leaving the air cool and heavy with the scent of damp earth. He cut the engine, removed his helmet, and placed it securely on the handlebars. The house was a quaint, single-story structure with a carefully maintained garden out front—a sign of both care and tradition.

Balancing the grocery bag in one hand, he approached the front door and rang the bell. Within seconds, the soft shuffle of feet sounded from the other side, followed by the familiar creak of the door.

"Ah, Arata-kun!" The warm, wrinkled face of Mrs. Sakamoto greeted him as the door swung open. Her silver hair was tied back neatly, and she wore a simple cardigan over her house clothes. Despite her frailty, there was a brightness in her eyes that made her seem younger than her years.

"Good evening, Mrs. Sakamoto," Arata said, offering her a slight bow as he handed over the grocery bag. His voice was calm, respectful, and practiced. "Here's everything you ordered."

"Oh, thank you, dear boy" she said, taking the bag with a gentle smile. "Come in, come in—you must be tired from working so late."

Before he could respond, another voice chimed in from further inside the house. "Arata-kun, is that you?"

The click of heels against wooden floors announced the arrival of Mrs. Sakamoto's daughter, who appeared moments later. She was in her early thirties, dressed in a navy-blue pencil skirt and blouse, her hair tied in a sleek bun. Her work bag hung loosely from her shoulder, and her expression softened when she saw him.

"It is you!"Miss Sakamoto said, smiling warmly. "Thanks again for helping me the other night. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't driven me to the station."

"It was no problem" Arata replied evenly, adjusting the strap of his bag. "I was heading in that direction anyway."

Miss Sakamoto gave a small laugh. "You're always so humble. Honestly, you're a lifesaver." She motioned toward the bag in her mother's hands. "You've been helping us out for years now. It feels like you're practically part of the family."

"Too kind" he murmured, lowering his gaze modestly.

Mrs. Sakamoto, still holding the groceries, looked up at him with motherly affection. "And how is your mother, Arata-kun? Is she doing well?"

"She's managing" he replied, his tone softening. "She's been working a lot, but she's doing her best to take care of everything at home."

The older woman's expression turned concerned. "Make sure she doesn't overdo it. You're such a good son, helping her as much as you do. You've grown into such a fine young man."

"Thank you, ma'am." Arata said, bowing slightly. "I'll let her know you were asking about her."

As if on cue, Miss Sakamoto retrieved a small wrapped plate from the nearby counter and held it out to him. "Here. It's some oden I made earlier. I figured you might be hungry after working so late." Her tone was light, but the gesture was genuine, one she'd made countless times before.

Arata hesitated for only a moment before accepting the plate with a small nod. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"And don't forget this!" Mrs. Sakamoto added, pressing a small envelope into his hand. "Just a little something extra for all your help."

"You don't have to—" he began, but Mrs. Sakamoto waved him off with a firm shake of her head.

"Nonsense." she said. "It's the least we can do. You've always been so reliable, Arata-kun."

Miss Sakamoto smiled at her mother's determination, then turned back to him. "You know, you really should visit more often when you're not working. Yuki-chan could come along too. It's been a while since we've seen her."

"I'll keep that in mind" he said, slipping the envelope into his jacket pocket. "Thank you again for this."

He lifted the oden slightly as if to emphasize his gratitude.

"Take care, Arata-kun" Mrs. Sakamoto said warmly, stepping back into the house. "And don't let this rain make you sick."

Miss Sakamoto gave him a small wave as he bowed once more.

(¬‿¬)

The drizzle had settled into a steady rhythm by the time he stepped off the Sakamoto porch, the warmth of their home fading behind him. The weight of the grocery bag had been replaced by the light heft of the oden plate Miss Sakamoto had insisted he take. It wasn't the first time he'd walked away from their house with a meal in hand, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

Arata had been delivering to the Sakamoto family for years, ever since he first started taking on part-time jobs. Mrs. Sakamoto had always been kind—too kind, really—insisting on treating him like her own despite his quiet demeanor. And then there was her daughter.

Miss Sakamoto was sweet in her own way, a little too formal for her age, but understandably so. She'd been caring for her mother ever since her father passed, splitting her time between her office job and home. It was the kind of devotion Arata couldn't help but admire, even if he didn't say it aloud.

There had been that one summer evening when her car broke down on the way to the train station in Seon. He'd happened to pass by, and the rest was history—or rather, it became one of those unspoken agreements. On the rare occasions she needed a ride, his bike was there, no questions asked.

His lips twitched at the memory of her gratitude, always over-the-top and bordering on comedic. But he didn't mind it. He didn't mind them. Delivering to the Sakamotos was… different.

Familiar.

Comforting, even.

His steps slowed briefly as his thoughts drifted to the Takoyaki. Ah, those. The absolute best he'd ever had. Mrs. Sakamoto had made them during the peak of summer, when the cicadas were deafening, and he'd practically inhaled them at her insistence. He could still taste the crispy exterior and the gooey, piping-hot filling, the memory enough to almost make him smile.

He stopped next to his bike, the rain now slicking the surface. His helmet sat where he'd left it, and he balanced the plate of oden carefully as he pulled out his phone. The faint glow of the screen lit up the dark corner of the street, revealing a series of notifications.

More deliveries.

Of course.

He scrolled through them, skimming the details. The map on his app showed a string of stops that stretched well into the night. The usual unease that came with his packed schedule pricked at the back of his mind, but he ignored it. There wasn't room for second-guessing when there were bills to pay.

He exhaled sharply, tucking the phone back into his pocket and securing the plate of oden in the compartment on the bike. The Sakamotos were always worth the stop, a rare pause in the chaos that otherwise swallowed his evenings whole.

As he pulled his helmet over his head and started the engine, his thoughts briefly flickered to the dumb blonde girl from earlier—the way she'd bolted like she was being chased. It was ridiculous, really.

The corner of his mouth quirked slightly beneath his helmet.

"People are strange." he muttered, flicking on the headlights.

The engine roared to life, cutting through the quiet night. He had miles to go before the rain would let up, but that wasn't new.

It was just another long night.