CHAPTER 2

Ren Asakura arrived home to the familiar stillness of an empty house. The lights were off, save for the faint glow of the kitchen timer blinking in standby. He slipped off his shoes at the door and quietly made his way inside.
His foster father wouldn’t be back until well past 11 p.m. that much he knew. Running a luxury restaurant in the heart of the city came with its own set of sacrifices. Time was the biggest one.
The man who had raised him for the past few years wasn’t related to him by blood. But he had never made Ren feel like less of a son. His presence was towering—tall, broad-shouldered, and the kind of face that could make children freeze in place on the sidewalk. But beneath all that was a loud, warm, surprisingly goofy man. The kind who’d play old jazz music in the kitchen while trying to cook breakfast on his day off, or leave Ren a stupid meme taped to the fridge door.
He always said one thing: “I just want to make you smile, Ren. Even just a little.”
But time was never on their side. They barely crossed paths between Ren’s school and his foster father’s exhausting schedule. Even so, the effort was always there in small ways. A packed meal. A note. A quick ruffle of the hair when they did see each other.
Tonight was no different. Ren sighed and began cooking himself a simple meal. Nothing special just rice, grilled fish, and miso soup. The flavors were muted, but warm enough to feel like home.
After eating, he glanced at the clock. 5:00 p.m.
Still early.
He took a bath, steam rising against the quiet walls, then dried off and headed to his room.
Ren’s room was modest—clean, organized, with rows of shelves filled with books. Most were nonfiction. History, criminal psychology, political theory, world affairs. He wasn’t reading for entertainment. He was building something. Quietly. Patiently. Like someone sharpening a blade that only he knew he’d need.
He sat at his desk, pulled out his assignments, and finished them one by one. Then, with nothing left from school, he opened a forum—one that tracked criminal activity and hidden news stories ignored by the mainstream.
He scrolled in silence. Eyes narrowing. Bookmarking what mattered.
It was past 10 p.m. when he finally stood up, stretching stiff arms, and made his way to the kitchen for a late snack.
The front door creaked open just as he reached the hallway.
His foster father stumbled in clearly tipsy. His tie hung loose around his neck, and the smell of whiskey clung to his jacket.
Ren exhaled through his nose. “You drank with the staff again.”
His father laughed under his breath, clearly embarrassed. “Just a little celebration. New review came out.”
Ren helped him to bed. He didn’t complain. He didn’t scold. Just quietly, like always, made sure the old man didn’t trip on the hallway rug.
His father mumbled something as he lay back in bed.
“…You should smile more, Ren. You’d look good smiling.”
Ren paused. But didn’t answer. He tucked the blanket in, turned off the light, and left.
---
At the shoe lockers, Ren opened his to find something unusual.
A letter.
Pink envelope. No name.
He looked around, but no one was there. Just the early clatter of students arriving and the squeak of hallway shoes. He opened it.
"Meet me on the rooftop after class. I have something I want to say."
No sender. Just neat, curving handwriting that tried to look casual. But Ren could tell—it had been written with effort. With planning.
He folded it once. Slipped it into his blazer pocket.
And didn’t think about it again.
Not until lunch, when the usual crowd in class laughed quietly among themselves. Their eyes occasionally flicked to the back row.
He could guess.
After school, Ren nearly went to the library out of habit. But the letter burned against his side. A small thing, but nagging. Persistent. In the end, he sighed and headed for the stairwell.
It was 3:15 p.m. The sky still bright, wind catching loose leaves in the corners of the rooftop floor. When Ren opened the metal door, he saw her already waiting.
Rika Hayami.
Standing by the fence. Her arms crossed tightly.
She turned when she saw him, clearly not expecting him to actually come.
Their eyes met.
Ren saw the flicker of frustration in hers. The brief flash of “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” But then, she composed herself. She’d made a deal, after all.
Rika took a breath. Put on the best act she could manage.
“I… I’ve noticed you for a while, Asakura,” she began, forcing her voice into a softer tone. “I guess… I insult people I like, okay? I know it’s childish, but…”
She kept going. It was the kind of performance anyone would believe—if they didn’t already know. If they hadn’t overheard everything the day before.
Ren just stood there. Silent. Still.
Then he gave her a small bow of his head.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Rika blinked. “Huh?”
“For your feelings,” Ren continued. “But I’m not in a place where I can accept them. I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t sarcasm. It wasn’t bitterness.
It was genuine.
Calm. Measured. Distant.
Rika’s face twisted. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She was supposed to fake it. He was supposed to fall for it. Or at least act awkward. Embarrassed. Maybe desperate.
But instead, she was the one left speechless.
Ren turned to leave.
“Have a good day, Hayami.”
The rooftop door clicked shut behind him.
Rika stood there, mouth slightly open. Wind tugging at her hair. She turned back toward the fence, staring at the spot where he’d stood just moments ago.
That look in his eyes…
It wasn’t shy.
It wasn’t empty.
It was tired.
Deep down, something about that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.