Chapter 1: Ability One: Softening Someone Up

Too much light. Too much peace. This better not be heaven—I didn’t sign up for this.

I’m not ready yet.

"Did I really jump off that footbridge?"

And yet, in those imaginations I managed to sniff out something so delicious.

"Miso?" I asked. My eyes were still closed. The sensation had me wanting to open them, but that was a little beyond my will at the moment.

“No angel ever cooked miso that smelled this divine. I must be in hell.”

I'm still alive.

I sluggishly opened my eyes and looked around. It was already morning, and judging by the amount of sunlight peeking from the windows, it was already around 9 o'clock.

Wait, sunlight? I never allowed that to enter my room. This is weird.

I always covered my windows with my grimy laundry. Yet it was wiped spotless.

The pair of flowers I hadn't watered for months stood refreshed.

The curtains are neat and hang-tied elegantly.

My room was arranged. Heck, there's even a steaming cup of coffee sitting on my study table.

...I don't like coffee.

There's definitely something wrong with my apartment.

My cheek throbbed. I grabbed my mirror and froze.

“The fuck?!” I jerked away.

It wasn't about the bruise, it was about the thing covering it.

It was a bandage with a cute strawberry design. My cheeks heat up instantly at how stupid yet adorable this little thing was.

I softly threw my mirror back at the bed.

If this junkyard of a room was turned into something resembling an actual bedroom, then the effort put in was otherworldly.

But what was the purpose of all this? What kind of angel could possibly have done this?

Not even sentinels themselves would've pulled this off overnight.

None of it made sense. And yet...It felt like something I've been waiting for.

With curiosity starting to get the better of me, I rose up from my mattress and staggered slowly towards my room’s open door to investigate.

I followed the trail of scent and it got stronger the closer I got to the kitchen. There was a busy clang of utensils, followed by a sweet hum filtering through the air, soft and melodic.

I never allowed anyone to set foot in this apartment, my own rotten paradise. I don't have any immediate relatives nearby, nor do I know their contacts.

Any other visitor is unwelcome.

I saw it, a figure, a girl.

Pink hair, messy and stained. Slim yet delicate contours. I moved behind her like a blur.

She noticed my presence and turned around.

“You’re awake!” a cheerful voice called out, tinged with surprise. “Good morni—ah!”

I didn’t let her finish. My instincts took over the cordial atmosphere and I charged forward, disarming her of a spatula and bread knife in one swift motion. I pressed the knife’s blunt edge against her neck, pinning her against the counter.

“Who the hell are you?”

The girl flinched but didn’t scream. She was dressed in a stained white sweater and an apron that hung crookedly around her waist, she blinked up at me with wide, startled eyes.

“Who are you?!” I repeated, sharper.

She better not be another scammer playing nurse.

“A…” she stammered, “Ayase…from last night…”

"Ayase?"

I froze.

The words clicked into place, and the fragments of last night snapped together like a puzzle.

Takamine-san's rejection.

The scuffle with the damned old man.

The feeling of the cold hard cement.

The girl that I tended wounds.

My grip loosened.

Crap, it was her.

Realizing all of this, I hurled back the bread knife and spatula from Ayase.

“Sorry,” I muttered, collapsing into a wooden chair, processing everything.

“It’s okay.” Ayase smiled hesitantly, her voice trembling but devoid of anger. “I—I understand why you’d react that way. After all, I brought myself here uninvited.”

Yup, I had a late night visit at Akio-san's diner and I wasted the hell out of me with shochu.

Below the rain, I tried to kill myself. Then rescued her instead. Then I collapsed.

After that? What the heck happened after that?

How did I end up back at my apartment?

First, she guessed how many beers I threw in that night. Now, how did she know my exact location?

"Hey," I called out. "Do you have superpowers? How the hell did you even find my place?”

Ayase didn't answer right away. She was immersed in the stove, her hands fluttering over the pan as she flipped a piece of fish.

Her movements, so smooth, too clean—as if she followed an invisible script.

I watched her, maybe skeptical. But I still tried to process questions in my head.

“You dropped your ID last night…” Ayase replied softly, glancing over her shoulder. “It had your address. I-I deliver flowers sometimes, so I know the area…”

I frowned. The knowledge of location made sense, but I still can’t quite get the fact how a girl of this size was able to carry me all the way here.

This girl...definitely hides something.

"...I didn't touch you or anything, right?"

Ayase jolted, and her cheeks flushed slightly. Sweat trickled at my back.

"...Please tell me I didn't."

Because I would perform seppuku right here if I did.

"You didn't. You were so gone last night that any stranger would presume you were dead, Ishida-san."

Ishi...Ishida-san? Too formal. I exhaled hard. Oh thank goodness, I can cancel the ritual.

But I'm proud that this 'Ishida-san' was able to resist temptation despite how drunk and broken this guy was last night.

“And you decided to…what? Play housekeeper?”

Ayase didn’t falter. “You looked unwell,” she said simply, plating the food. “I thought you’d appreciate a proper breakfast. Besides, your snoring screamed 'take me home', and I let that happen."

So it was my snoring, huh…?

My eyes flicked to the tray Ayase carried: a steaming bowl of miso soup, rice, and perfectly fried fish. The scent made my stomach rumble, but I ignored it.

“You’re not a stray dog.” I muttered as I helped Ayase put the tray on the table. “Don’t think this means you could stay.”

I might have helped Ayase in the form of saving her from the old geezer but it never meant I could handle the heat forever.

My resentment towards women is unshakeable. I didn’t want to live with a girl. Not after everything. Not when the world assumes love just because a guy and girl breathe the same air under one roof.

Those thoughts alone left a bitter aftertaste in the miso soup I started sipping.

“I just wanted to help,” Ayase said softly, folding her hands in front of her. “Your house was so messy…so I cleaned up a little.”

I paused mid-bite, my gaze darting from the kitchen to the living room. The chaos that had defined my apartment—empty shochu cans, pack of stained laundry, and the mountain of neglected dishes—were gone. The floor sparkled, the furniture was dusted, and the air smelled faintly of citrus.

“What the hell,” I muttered again, more to myself this time. “She calls this ‘little’?”

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Ayase added quickly. “I just thought you’d feel better in a clean space.”

Hearing this left me pondering if this show of kindness was just a facade for a malicious intent.

“I’ll dig in.”

“?!”

The food was good—better than anything I could make myself—and the sight of my clean apartment.

I observed her expression. There was no malice in her countenance, no hidden agenda. Just a quiet kindness I hadn’t encountered in years.

And this kind of effort without asking for anything in return? It throws me off balance. This girl will move mountains just for the bare minimum.

It makes me want to throw up, but no, maybe I'll just knock some sense in her head not to waste so much energy for unrequited efforts.

“Have a seat.” I motioned to the seat in front of me, and Ayase hesitated, then obeyed, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound was the faint clink of my chopsticks against the plate breaking it.

"I'll canvas the neighborhood later and look for the room with the cheapest rent."

Ayase stiffened, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second. But she quickly recovered, setting the table with practiced care.

"I don't have money, Ishida-san."

"I'll pay for it. I have a part time job. I live on my parent's savings."

“I...don’t want to be a burden. I just don’t want to take too much from you.”

"I don't mind. I just can't live together with a girl that looks like...you."

"Is that because I'm all grimy right now?"

"That's not it."

I stared at her carefully. She still wore the torn and dirty blouse from last night. Her short pink hair stood tousled, and dots of dust and dried mud painted it. The blood that oozed from her temple already dried up, and yet, she still looked breathtakingly cute and innocent.

She catered me the whole night, but didn't even notice she needed being taken care of too.

She was an angel, really. Wingless. A broken angel.But somehow, even with the dirt and the blood, she still looked like someone who deserved to be loved.

“Why do this all for me?” I asked finally, sipping miso.

Her expression softened, and her voice grew quieter. “Because you were kind to me and saved me.”

I snorted. “I was drunk. But yeah, it was necessary.”

“Maybe,” she said, her lips curving into a small smile. “But you still helped me when no one else would.”

There were some bystanders before us. But they disregarded us. Yet one random drunk man risked intervening.

I leaned back to the chair, studying her. She was strange—far too cheerful for someone who’d been dragged into a stranger’s home. And yet, there was something about her presence that felt warm.

Not just that, her efficiency—her presence, her quiet strength hiding beneath her kindness—she's not the one I could easily let go.

“Uhm…is the food…not good?” Ayase cut in, her face looming in concern.

Oh, looks like I stared at her for too long.

“Eat,” I said abruptly, pushing the plate of fish with rice toward her.

Ayase blinked, startled. “W-what?”

“I said eat. You cooked, didn’t you? Have some.”

“O-okay”. Her hands trembled as she picked up the utensils, her eyes wide with disbelief.

She looked like no one had ever asked her to eat before. Like kindness was a language she’d only heard from afar.

My stomach churned, maybe directed to the bastard flower shop owner or whoever the hell taught her this kind of trashy attitude.

"How long have you been working in the flower shop?"

"Hmm...I think it's more than a year."

"And then before that?"

She paused, probably memories too hard to recover.

"I only chose jobs that seemed casual. Helping domestically, cooking food, being a cashier in grocery stores..."

It was a relief that some of those jobs didn't require a lot of labor, but the fact that she doesn't get paid on some of them...it hurts my pride a bit.

"And before that?"

"Some things are better kept away from knowledge, Ishida-san."

I narrowed my eyes on her. But I refused to press the issue further and gulped another bite of fried fish. After all, that's already too personal and I wouldn't even let others ask me the same thing.

I cleared my throat.

"You're a great cook." I remarked, a small smile forming on my lips. "That's why you deserve a share in what you made."

Ayase’s cheeks already sprung colors as she tried her best to conceal her face with her tangled pink hair.

I practiced for years just to be a good cook, only just to get beaten by a random stranger I rescued downtown.

“Thank you, Ishida-san.” Ayase whispered, her voice almost breaking.

I looked away, uncomfortable with the pureness in her tone.

“Hmph.” I huffed. “Don’t get used to it. It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re wrong.”

I raised an eyebrow in question.

“I’ve never seen a heart as kind as yours.” she muttered.

"Eh?"

For the first time in a long while, I didn’t know how to respond. My fingers just curled into fists under the table.

She's definitely overreacting, or at least teasing me.

The truth is, I never believed in compliments, as my self confidence disallowed me to receive such that.

Maybe, I just don't deserve it in the first place.

I knew I carried anguish over my actions. I was never kind, even more so, remorseless.

“Stop fooling around.” I refuted. “I have so many more things to do at school than listening to compliments."

The conversation stopped after that.

The rest of breakfast passed in silence until we finished cleaning up.

“Well, thanks for the meal.” I stood up and headed straight to the bathroom door.

"I'll wash the dishes." Ayase suggested.

"Thank you. You should take a bath after me.”

She softly nodded.

I locked myself in the bathroom.

"..."

I don't have the desire to process everything she said. It feels like too much.

The cold water started to run down my body.

I gazed at my reflection at the mirror, and traced the faint scars starting from my biceps until it mapped out my abdomen entirely. It was a souvenir from years of bad experience, stories I haven't told.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out Ayase’s words.

But as if scrubbing away my face could wash away the strange warmth her smile had stirred in me, Ayase’s voice echoed.

“I’ve never seen a heart as kind as yours.”

If I had finally done something right, then I'm convinced that today, I'm not myself.

Her voice stood, as if etched into my thoughts, unsettling. It wasn’t supposed to feel that way. It wasn’t supposed to be received warmly.

People like me don’t get called kind. They get called broken. Irredeemable

And I was never supposed to listen to that.