Chapter 60

Instead, he tossed the peach back onto the pile, let out a small, unimpressed hum, and walked away.

 ...

The soft murmur of flowing water filled the air, leaves rustling gently in the breeze. Their usual meeting spot was quiet, hidden away from the village—a place that had, over time, become theirs.

Souta leaned against a tree, hands in his pockets, waiting.

Then, he heard her approaching.

Mikoto stepped into the clearing, her usual graceful composure intact.

She didn't stop in front of him. Instead, she walked right up to his side—and without warning, flicked his forehead.

Souta winced. "Ow—what the hell?"

"That's for ignoring me at the market," Mikoto muttered, crossing her arms. "You barely even looked at me."

Souta smirked, rubbing the spot she flicked. "I figured you'd like the mystery."

She exhaled through her nose, clearly unimpressed.

Then, her gaze softened—just a little. "Why did you call me here?"

Souta straightened, his smirk fading slightly. "Can you tell if anyone's following us?"

Mikoto blinked at the strange request but didn't question it. Her eyes swept over the treetops, the riverbanks, the shifting shadows. She took her time.

A few moments passed before she shook her head. "No. No one's here."

Souta nodded. "Good."

Silence stretched between them, only the river filling the space.

Mikoto's gaze lingered on him, as if searching for something. Then, finally—"Souta… what's going on?"

He exhaled, glancing up at the sky. "I lost my job."

Mikoto's brows furrowed. "At the tea shop?"

"Yeah."

She frowned slightly. "Why?"

Souta shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "The owner didn't want me around anymore."

"You didn't do anything, did you?"

"Wow," he said, feigning offense. "You think so little of me."

Mikoto gave him a flat look. "I think very little of your ability to stay out of trouble."

He chuckled but didn't deny it.

Then, more casually than he should have—"Will you still go there?"

Mikoto hesitated. It was brief—just a fraction of a second—but Souta caught it.

"I don't know," she admitted finally.

She wasn't talking about the tea shop.

Souta watched her closely, the hesitation in her voice lingering between them.

His smirk returned. "You don't know?" he echoed, tilting his head. "Sounds like a maybe."

Mikoto sighed, shaking her head. "Don't start."

He hummed, unconvinced. "You flick me, ignore my suffering, and now you're acting all cold?" He leaned in slightly. "Harsh."

Mikoto gave him a sidelong glance. "You deserved it."

"Still," he dragged the word out, tapping his forehead. "A little compensation wouldn't hurt."

She exhaled, exasperated, but then—to his surprise—her fingers brushed through his hair, smoothing down a stray strand.

Souta blinked.

"Happy now?" she muttered, voice quieter than before.

Her fingers lingered for a second before pulling away.

Souta recovered quickly, his lazy grin returning. "If you keep spoiling me, I might get used to it."

Mikoto rolled her eyes. "You should be careful. If you lost your job… then what will you do now?"

Souta shrugged. "I'll figure something out."

Mikoto frowned. "That doesn't sound reassuring."

He chuckled. "What, worried about me?"

She didn't answer. Just turned toward the river, arms folded.

Then, after a moment, she reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small pouch.

Souta raised an eyebrow as she pressed it into his hand. The familiar clink of coins met his ears.

He blinked. "Mikoto."

"Just take it." Her tone was firm, but her expression softened. "You don't have to struggle."

Souta turned the pouch over in his palm, feeling the weight of it. "You do realize this makes me a kept man, right?"

Mikoto gave him a look. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Souta huffed a quiet laugh. "And what if I say I have my pride?"

Mikoto's lips curled slightly. "Then I'll say you're being stubborn."

He glanced at her, then at the pouch. With a small smirk, he tucked it into his pocket. "Guess I'll allow it."

She sighed, but there was a small, pleased glint in her eyes.

Souta ran his thumb over the fabric of the pouch, feeling the shape of the coins inside.

His pride told him to refuse.

But pride wasn't always the smart choice.

Mikoto wasn't giving him this because she saw him as helpless. It wasn't pity, and it wasn't charity. To her, it was just natural—if she could help, then she should. That was how she thought.

And if he refused, it wouldn't make her respect him more. It wouldn't change anything.

If anything, she'd just be annoyed.

She wasn't the kind of woman who looked down on a man for accepting help. She wasn't going to think,

'Oh, Souta is the type who takes money from women.'

No—if he refused, all she'd see was someone rejecting her care. And that would bother her more than anything else.

Souta smirked slightly, letting the pouch rest in his palm for another moment before slipping it into his pocket.

Accepting wasn't weakness.

Not when it came from her.

Besides… if it made Mikoto happy, then what reason did he have to refuse?

Souta leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping idly against the pouch.

The truth was, money had never been a problem for him.

If he wanted, he could live just fine without ever working a day in his life. His face alone could open doors. Whether it was shopkeepers offering discounts, noblewomen finding reasons to linger, or even just the casual generosity of those who liked looking at him—Souta never struggled for resources.

If he truly needed ryo, all he had to do was smile at the right person.

But that wasn't the point.

This wasn't about money.

Mikoto wasn't handing him this pouch because she thought he was desperate—she was giving it to him because she wanted to. Because, in her mind, she was doing something small but meaningful for someone she cared about.

And turning that down wouldn't make him look strong.

It would just make her feel like he didn't trust her kindness.

Souta sighed through his nose, shaking his head slightly.