Volume 2 Prologue: The Hand That Saved Me

[Fushikano: Saving A Cute Girl With Uncanny Abilities] is back with the Second Volume!

I have normalized the release schedule of my chapters:

When: Daily
Time: 9:00 AM [JST]
           8:00 AM [PHT]
           12:00 AM [UTC]
            8:00 PM [EST]

Happy reading!

*****

I used to think I was broken in a way that couldn’t be repaired.

I thought if I stayed useful—if I kept my voice soft, if I cleaned up well enough, if I never caused trouble—maybe someone would look at me and decide I was worth keeping around. That I was more than just a body occupying a convenient position in their life.

Some called me a tool.

Some said I was just another helper.

Others, not even wanting to say anything.

But one thing stood for sure—I was just a replacement for someone else’s routine.

I needed to smile when I was told to. I served people without question. I fixed, I cleaned, I listened.

But no one ever looked at me.

Not really.

No one saw through my wants, needs and aspirations.

I thought my efforts were invisible. Like my existence was this background hum people got used to until they turned it off.

But why? Why did I still keep going?

Because I wanted to prove myself that not all humans are the same. That there will be someone out there that will finally tell me that I am more than what I do.

That I am a human too, not just some sort of slave or pawn.

I still believe in a human’s capability to love.

I believe in them.

And for a long time, I stayed in that world. That cold, clinical world where I thought appreciation never mattered. That they only look forward to what’s yet to be finished.

The flower shop owner, Sato-san, I thought he was supposed to be different.

Gentle, I thought.

Somehow, safe.

He gave me food every day. He made the flower shop a place to stay. He gave me flowers to keep.

But he…

Even Sato-san hurt me.

Because he thought I was flawless.

But honestly, I never was.

He smiled when customers were around, but behind closed doors, our interaction was different. When I made mistakes, he looked at me as if I was nothing more than another machine that ran out of novelty.

That image of him as a savior broke down before me.

I have my own feelings too. I could be hurt and I could feel like I'm about to give up.

And that night he threw vases at me, I thought, maybe this was enough. Maybe I have served my purpose and he is done.

I begged—I begged for someone to help me. Anyone. I didn’t even know what I was asking for at the time. I didn’t know if I was allowed to ask.

But I did.

And just when I thought my voice would fade forever into silence...

A hand reached out. It was clumsy, shaking…but warm.

It was him. Ishida Haruki-san.

Our eyes met—and I saw not a prince. Not a hero. Just a boy who was just as lost as I was.

He didn’t ask questions when he saw me that night. He didn’t demand to know why I was crying, or what I had done wrong. He just looked at me like I was real. Like I mattered.

He offered his hand, not because he wanted something in return, but because he didn’t want to leave someone behind.

I was saved, for sure. But that didn’t end there.

He offered me food of his own desire. He brought me clothes, let me live in his apartment, brought me my favorite meals and told me the nicest of things without me asking.

He never looked at me like I was a product. He didn’t ask me to be perfect. He didn’t call me out for little mistakes.

He just let me perform at my own comfort.

He let me live by my pace.

He gave me the ability to choose for myself.

And now, he gave up everything just to save me—again. All because I was too stupid thinking about repaying him even though he made it clear he never needed it.

He didn't even know what he was doing. He just...acted. As if saving me was the most normal thing in the world.

I never knew that someone would go through that length for me. And words can’t describe what I felt that day.

He was broken, I know. Maybe that’s why I noticed him. I saw the way his eyes always looked a little too tired behind his messy bangs. The way he spoke like he was always bracing himself. The way he was too guarded around him. The way he carried so much weight even when he said nothing at all.

He didn’t ask for someone like me.

But I want to be there. I want to be useful, yes—but more than that, I want to make him feel the way he made me feel that night.

Safe.

Seen.

Free.

He puts up walls taller than buildings but still leaves the door unlocked for people like me.

He pretends not to care, but I’ve felt the way he held me and brought me to his room, as if I was a glass he never wanted to break. The effort of writing a letter of apology after raising his voice that night, it moved me.

I understood the wounds from things he doesn’t talk about.

And maybe that’s why I feel so drawn to him.

Because in his quiet chaos, I see something beautiful.

Something worth healing.

He’s the first person who didn’t treat me like a stray cat or a mere tool. And in return, I want to be the one who stays. Who helps. Who understands without needing explanation.

Who chooses him, even on his worst days.

Thanks to Ishida-san, I’m no longer stuck in that place where I thought my life ended. He gave me freedom—not just from that flower shop or the people who used me—but from myself. From the cage I built in my own mind.

He gave me permission to feel.

And now, I'm starting to feel things I never believed I deserved.

Warm things. Unfamiliar things.

A quiet joy when I hear his keys in the lock. A strange ache when he’s too tired to smile. A small, impossible hope when our eyes meet and linger for just a second longer than they should.

I don't know what love is supposed to feel like. Maybe I was never curious until now. But if it’s anything like this—this trembling, fragile warmth—then I think I’m already getting there.

And I think…just maybe…we can build something new together.

Something that isn’t flawless. But ours.

I think that maybe my purpose isn’t to be perfect.

Maybe my purpose is to be with him.

And to prove that even broken people—like him, like me—deserve to be whole again.