Chapter 17:
I Swear I Wasn’t Trying to Flirt, Sensei!
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that dinner invitations are rarely just about the food. Sometimes they’re about celebrating something. Sometimes they’re about apologizing for something. And sometimes…
They’re about distracting yourself from whatever emotional hell you’re currently drowning in.
Which is probably why Asuka-sensei—no, Asuka—invited me over tonight.
She said it was “to lighten the mood for Yume.” Yeah, right. That’s like saying you only bought cake because you were “craving sugar.” No. You bought cake because life sucks and you needed edible happiness.
Still, when a beautiful single mom invites you over, you don’t say no. That would be rude. And I’m a lot of things, but I’m not rude. At least, not intentionally.
---
Her apartment was warm. Not just in temperature, but in atmosphere. The faint smell of simmering miso soup filled the air, mixing with that faint floral perfume she always wears at school. I don’t know if she does it on purpose, but it’s annoyingly… nice.
“Reiji-kun, can you set the table?” she asked, looking up from the kitchen.
Her hair was tied loosely, a few strands falling over her cheek. She had an apron on—light beige with a small coffee stain on the hem. It shouldn’t have looked attractive. But it did.
Yume was already bouncing around in her pajamas, holding up a drawing she’d made of a dinosaur fighting a robot. I was apparently the dinosaur.
I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.
“Dinner’s ready!” Asuka said, placing down a plate of grilled fish, rice, and miso soup. “Eat as much as you like.”
The table was small, so we sat close—maybe too close. I tried to keep my eyes on my food, but the faint sound of her humming while she poured tea was messing with my brain.
This… could almost be a family dinner.
---
And then, the doorbell rang.
Ding-dong.
Asuka froze for half a second before forcing a smile. “I’ll get it.”
She opened the door… and my night instantly worsened.
“Kazuma,” she said flatly.
He was exactly the kind of guy I hate. Tall, lean, perfect hair, that fake smile that looks like it’s been practiced in front of a mirror. The type who probably says “bro” unironically.
And yes, I knew instantly—this was the ex.
“Well, look at you,” Kazuma said, his voice dripping with fake warmth. “Still beautiful as ever.”
I put my chopsticks down. Slowly. Calmly. Because if I snapped them in half, it might send the wrong message.
My hands stayed in my pockets under the table. That way no one would see me ball them into fists.
---
Asuka stepped halfway into the doorway, blocking him from entering. “What do you want?”
Kazuma chuckled, like she’d just told a joke. “Relax. I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d say hi. Maybe catch up.”
I stood. Not aggressively. Just… enough to make my presence known.
His eyes shifted to me, sizing me up. And then he smirked.
Oh, I already hated him.
“And you are…?” he asked, pretending to forget my name—though I’m pretty sure he didn’t know it in the first place.
“Reiji,” I said. My tone was calm. Too calm. “A friend.”
Kazuma’s smirk widened, like he’d just solved a puzzle. “A friend. Right.”
I took a step forward, just enough so that I was standing a little closer to Asuka than he was. Not touching her, not making it obvious—just there. In between them.
---
Yume peeked out from behind Asuka, clearly sensing the tension. Her eyes darted between us like she was watching some silent showdown.
Then, without saying anything, she walked over to me and grabbed my hand.
Her tiny fingers wrapped around mine.
I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe. But my eyes flicked to Kazuma, and for the briefest second… his smile faltered.
Good.
---
“I’ll call you later,” Asuka said firmly, stepping back and closing the door.
Kazuma didn’t resist. He just gave one last little smirk—like he thought he’d already won something—and turned away.
The door clicked shut.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
---
Asuka turned to me and forced a laugh. “Sorry about that. He’s… persistent.”
“Persistent,” I repeated. My voice was even, but inside?
I was imagining a dozen different ways to break his perfect face.
None of them legal.
We sat back down at the table, but the air had shifted. Yume stayed close to me, still holding my hand under the table. Asuka kept her eyes on her food, but I noticed her hands were trembling when she picked up her chopsticks.
“Are you okay?” I asked quietly.
She looked up, startled. Then she smiled—a small, tired smile. “I’m fine. Really.”
She wasn’t fine. But she wanted me to believe she was.
I didn’t push it. Not yet.
---
The rest of dinner was quieter. Yume talked about school, about her drawing, about how the dinosaur version of me had defeated the robot using a “super tail attack.”
I played along, because that’s what you do when a kid wants you to be part of their story.
When we were done, I offered to help with the dishes. Asuka protested, but I ignored her and started washing anyway.
“You don’t have to,” she said softly.
“I know.”
She hesitated, then leaned against the counter, watching me. “You’re… different.”
“From Kazuma?” I asked without looking up.
Her silence was the answer.
---
When I was done, I grabbed my jacket. “I’ll walk home.”
She walked me to the door. For a moment, we just stood there.
There was something in her eyes—a mix of gratitude, exhaustion, and something else I couldn’t name.
“Thank you for tonight,” she said. “For… being here.”
I shrugged. “It’s not like I had anything better to do.”
She smiled faintly, but her hands were still trembling. I noticed. She probably hoped I didn’t.
---
On the walk home, the cool night air felt sharper than usual.
Kazuma was going to come back. That much was obvious.
And when he did… I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep my fists in my pockets next time.
---
Inner Thought:
I hate guys like him.
I hate the way they talk, the way they think they own people, the way they look at women like possessions.
I hate that he made her hands shake.
I hate that I can’t erase that look from her eyes.
I hate him.
And maybe… I hate how much I care.
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