Chapter 5 | <<June>> I Love You!

Monday morning. While finishing breakfast and changing into my uniform, my smartphone chimed with a notification.

Glancing at the screen, I saw a new message alert. There’s only one person who comes to mind who’d contact me from this number.

That’s right—Koshka.

Sure enough, when I opened the app, the sender was none other than my enigmatic collaborator. I skimmed the message.

Koshka: Good morning. By the way, today marks the tenth day since Anya arrived in Japan, doesn’t it?

A vague sense of unease crept over me. As if to confirm my suspicions, another message landed.

Koshka: That said, the situation is far from optimistic. Setting aside the promise to invite that classmate over, the stray cat matter is progressing at a pace that’s downright painful to watch. Why haven’t you even cleared the first hurdle of simply petting a cat? I’m starting to suspect this might be deliberate sabotage on your part, refusing to take in a cat.

My bad feeling was spot on. Koshka seemed positively irked. The irritation practically oozed through the text.

But sabotage? That’s absurd. If I pulled something like that, I’d be the one facing a death sentence in the end.

Koshka: Given the circumstances, I’m considering paying you a personal visit to address this situation directly. I’ll come by this evening, so don’t dawdle after school—head straight home.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Things were starting to feel like a big deal.

From the sound of this message, it seemed Koshka, fed up with my lack of progress, was finally ready to shed their mysterious veil and reveal themselves to me in person.

Were they planning to hold an emergency meeting about my future? It felt a bit dramatic, but I’ll admit I was curious about Koshka’s true identity. Seeing them face-to-face might not be a bad idea.

I tucked my smartphone into my school bag, slipped on my shoes, and left my apartment.

So, who exactly is Koshka?

This collaborator, whose codename means “cat” in Russian, is supposedly a Japanese resident of this town, according to Yuki.

And apparently, they’re a wealthy woman. If anything happens to Yuki, Koshka is contracted to take over all matters concerning the research on the deadly virus Krovfi Kriyartva—the Oath Lurking in the Blood—as well as my affairs.

In return, they’d gain exclusive profits if the development of a suppressant or vaccine succeeds. But honestly, doesn’t the upfront investment seem far riskier than the potential payoff?

“Next, Gratskaya-san.”

Above all, I have no idea what kind of relationship Koshka had with Yuki. That uncertainty leaves me with an eerie feeling, unable to pin down their true motives.

“Anya, Anya.”

Suddenly, a soft whisper from Kohana, sitting next to me, tickled my ear.

I glanced over, and Kohana was cupping her hand near her mouth, signaling something.

“The teacher’s calling you…?”

I looked toward the blackboard, where our bespectacled female teacher was glaring at me. Much like Koshka this morning, she seemed a tad annoyed.

“Gratskaya-san, didn’t you hear me calling? Please continue reading where Takamura-san left off.”

Crap. I’d been so lost in thought that I hadn’t paid any attention to the lesson. It was third period—modern Japanese literature. But I had no clue where we were in the textbook.

As I floundered, Kohana held up her textbook and pointed to a spot.

“Page ninety-two, starting from line twenty to line twenty-six.”

She whispered the instructions softly. I gave her a quick nod of thanks and stood, textbook in hand.

“From within the thicket, there was no reply for a while. Only faint sounds, perhaps stifled sobs, occasionally escaped. After a moment, a low voice answered, ‘Indeed, I am Li Zheng of Longxi…’”

After finishing the assigned passage, the teacher signaled for me to sit. I settled back into my chair.

“Gratskaya-san, your Japanese is excellent, so please pay attention in class. Understood?”

“Yes. I’ll be more careful from now on.”

“And Matsukaze-san.”

“Y-Yes!”

“Helping a friend is admirable, but don’t confuse friendship with indulgence, alright?”

“I’m sorry!”

Kohana, caught in the crossfire of my mistake, shrank in embarrassment. I felt awful for dragging her into this.

While the other students teased Kohana, who forced a wry smile, I couldn’t shake a sense of déjà vu from the teacher’s words and demeanor.

(Koshka’s messages feel awfully similar.)

The sharp, logical way she scolded while still showing a hint of care—it felt strikingly like Koshka’s tone. The more I thought about it, the more their approaches seemed to align.

Would Koshka, whom I’d meet after school, turn out to be a middle-aged woman with a similar vibe?

While trying to focus on the lesson, I let my mind wander, picturing the face of my yet-unseen visitor.

As the after-school bell rang, I packed my textbooks and notes into my bag.

“Anya, wanna swing by my family’s café for some tea? We can pet the kitties while we’re at it!”

“Man, I’m dying to snuggle those cats again. Come with us, Anya!”

Just as I was about to head out, Takesato and Umeda threw out their invitations.

“Sorry, I’ve got unavoidable plans today.”

“Aw, bummer. Next time, then!”

“See ya, Anya!”

I nodded back at Kohana’s wave and left the classroom, stepping into the hallway. Cutting through the after-school rush with quick steps, I deftly dodged classmates with precise movements, slipping through without bumping into anyone. I reached the shoe lockers in record time.

Even on my way home, my mind was fixed on the upcoming meeting with Koshka. It took about ten minutes from the local station to my apartment.

Once home, I decided to stay in my uniform instead of changing. It’s a first meeting, after all—greeting them in loungewear would be rude.

About thirty minutes later, the intercom buzzed.

The living room’s LCD monitor displayed the visitor at the building’s entrance, ringing my apartment number.

“…Huh?”

Standing there was a little girl.

And I don’t just mean short—she looked young, too.

The light purple backpack slung over her shoulders was a randoseru, the kind used by elementary school kids aged six to twelve in this country.

Her striking features were already beautiful enough to call her a young lady, and her glossy, straight long hair gave her a mature air. But no matter how you sliced it, she looked like a girl of about ten.

“Who’s this? Did you ring the wrong apartment?”

I spoke in a gentle tone, as one would to a child.

The girl’s face on the monitor soured with displeasure.

“Ugh, seriously? I made an appointment, didn’t I? Just let me in already!”

“What’s going on here?”

Her words didn’t compute, and I slipped back into my normal tone, bewildered.

The girl let out a deep sigh, followed by an exasperated click of her tongue.

“Exactly what I said. My Japanese is perfect, so you’d better remember what people tell you.”

Her annoyed retort reminded me of the Japanese teacher’s words from earlier. And who I’d mentally compared that teacher to.

(No way.)

A ridiculous thought flickered through my mind.

The mysterious collaborator, Koshka. A wealthy woman living in this town.

But—how old is she?

“I messaged you this morning about the cat thing, didn’t I? Do you really need me to repeat myself twice to get it? And you still managed to escape that organization?”

The girl’s words referenced things only Koshka and I would know.

In other words…

“You’re… Koshka?”

I voiced the unbelievable truth, my disbelief raw in my tone.

The girl on the monitor flashed a fearless smirk.

“What’s with this room? A prison cell?”

The moment she stepped inside, the girl claiming to be Koshka scoffed in disbelief.

“This is beyond spartan. No way a teenage girl lives here.”

“Forget that for a second.”

I studied her from head to toe, grappling with the lingering question.

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Fourth grade. Early birthday, so I’m nine. Turning ten soon, though.”

“I can’t believe a girl that young could support my escape from the country or arrange this apartment. Who are you really, and what’s your game?”

Unfazed by my icy stare and tone, the girl looked up at me.

“Judging people by appearances? Fine, whatever. But if we’re talking looks, you’re no different, Anya. No one would peg you as a top-tier assassin from a Russian crime syndicate.”

“Well… that’s true.”

Her comeback was sharp—surprisingly mature for her age.

“I do day trading online. Is it really that weird for an elementary schooler to build up some wealth that way?”

Her explanation sounded dubious but… plausible, maybe.

“Alright, let me ask you a few questions. If you answer them all, I’ll trust that you’re Koshka.”

“Hmph, pretty cautious, huh? Fine, ask away.”

I fired off questions about Yuki and myself. She answered every one flawlessly, without hesitation.

“…It seems you really are Koshka.”

I’d exhausted every verification method I could think of. At this point, I had little choice but to accept this girl as Koshka. I wasn’t fully convinced, but…

“Doubts cleared? Good. Let’s order some furniture then. Hmm…”

Koshka set her randoseru and bags on the floor and started tapping away at her smartphone. Only now did I notice how oddly heavy her luggage seemed.

“Hold on, what are you doing? And what’s with that suitcase?”

“Clothes, games, stuff like that. Oh, and I’m moving in starting today, so we’ll need more things. For starters, we’ll need another bed.”

Casually, Koshka dropped a bombshell.

“Moving in?!”

I couldn’t help but blurt it out. She shrugged as if it were obvious.

“Your sheer incompetence finally snapped my patience. Giving instructions over the phone is too frustrating. From now on, I’m sticking with you 24/7 until you can adopt a cat.”

She declared it so unilaterally. But as my sponsor, I had no choice but to go along with Koshka’s whims.

After finishing her online shopping, she started scanning the room.

“Seriously, this place has zero personality. No wonder that stray cat won’t stick around. You give off no vibe of being a proper pet owner—or even a trustworthy human.”

“I can get cats to warm up to me.”

I retorted, thinking of Kohana’s massive cat. Though, to be fair, it might just like my lap as a pillow.

“You mean the cat café cats, right?”

Her guess hit the mark, leaving me speechless.

“Listen, café cats are friendly because it’s their job. Like hosts or cabaret girls flattering clients. They do that with everyone.”

Koshka’s cold, mature tone shut me down. She was right—café cats were different from strays. I had no comeback.

“At this rate, I bet you can’t even cook, can you? What do you eat? Don’t tell me it’s just protein bars or supplements.”

“I cook for myself.”

“Really? Prove it. Whip something up, and I’ll judge.”

Skeptical, she challenged me. I grabbed my usual ingredients from the fridge and tossed them into the blender.

“My original dish: the Russian Cocktail.”

A murky, brownish-pink smoothie. I plunked the tumbler down in front of Koshka.

“Cooking? You just threw stuff in a blender… Whatever, it’s the taste that matters.”

Koshka grabbed the tumbler and took a bold swig.

Three minutes later.

The sound of the toilet flushing echoed, and Koshka finally emerged.

“Ughhh… it’s so fishy… I feel sick…”

Teary-eyed, she shuffled to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and started gargling.

“Mama… this Russian girl defiled my upper mouth…”

She whimpered dramatically, spouting nonsense. Upper mouth? What’s that supposed to mean? And what’s a lower mouth, then?

After a moment of dazed silence, Koshka suddenly glared at me with a fierce expression.

“Don’t they teach you in Russia not to play with food?!”

“I wasn’t playing.”

“So you’re saying that toxic waste was made on purpose? Ugh…”

Her anger fizzled into a defeated sigh.

“Fine, I’m taking over cooking starting tonight. You’re banned from the kitchen.”

“If you want to cook, just make your own portion. I’m fine with my Russian Cocktail.”

“No, you’re not! It’s a disaster!”

Her temper flared again, and she leaned in close, practically on tiptoes.

“Why not?”

“Food is the foundation of a rich life—mind and body. You can’t just settle for ‘edible’!”

Like a parent lecturing a child, Koshka spoke with a serious expression.

“First, we need to fix you into a proper human being. At least enough for a cat to trust you.”

Cats again. Everything starts and ends with cats, doesn’t it?

But, well, my life is practically in the paws of a cat right now. Maybe it’s not a bad idea to follow Koshka’s lead for now.

With that, Koshka took over the kitchen and started prepping.

Meanwhile, I ran to the supermarket near the station to grab the ingredients and tools she demanded. Talk about an unexpected turn of events.

Afterward, I spent the time until dinner jogging along the riverbank.

About two hours later, around 7 p.m., Koshka messaged me that dinner was ready.

Famished, I returned home and opened the apartment door.

Instantly, an appetizing aroma flooded my senses. Sautéed onions, beef, mushrooms. A rich, tangy scent of something simmered to perfection, laced with a hint of butter.

My stomach growled involuntarily.

“This’ll do for today. A little Russian cuisine as a hello.”

With a smug grin, Koshka gestured to the dishes on the dining table.

The appetizer was a hearty vegetable soup with cabbage, carrots, a bit of beef, and a bay leaf for flavor—a salty shchi, as familiar to Russians as miso soup is to Japanese.

The main course: beef stroganoff.

Beef, onions, and mushrooms sautéed in butter, simmered with a touch of consommé, then mixed with generous amounts of sour cream. Served with sliced baguette and boiled potatoes.

“I wanted authentic black bread for the side, but the supermarket didn’t have it, so I settled for French bread. Go on, dig in.”

Without a word, I grabbed a fork and spoon and dove into the spread.

When was the last time I felt this ravenous? It wasn’t about nutrition—the sheer pleasure of the flavors melted my brain into a blissful haze.

“Oh my, Anya, that’s not very ladylike. The plates aren’t going anywhere, you know?”

Koshka’s triumphant voice sounded distant, like background noise.

Before I knew it, I’d polished off everything. I even scraped up the last bits of stroganoff sauce with the baguette, leaving the plates spotless.

“Phew…”

A deep, satisfying sensation numbed my mind. I felt like I’d gone soft in mere minutes.

“Hmph, acting all cool, but your upper mouth was honest, huh? Your pupils were wide as a cat’s. Bet you can’t live without me now, can you?”

“Honestly… I want you to cook every day.”

I raised the white flag to Koshka’s smug smile. So this is what they mean by winning someone’s stomach. And seriously, what’s with this “upper mouth” thing?

After dinner, I washed the dishes and cookware. Koshka grumbled about the lack of a TV while watching YouTube on her phone.

Past 9 p.m., I started filling the bathtub for a soak.

“Koshka, you can go first.”

I urged her, but she fidgeted, looking hesitant—unusual for her bold personality.

“What’s wrong?”

“Um… wanna take a bath together?”

“I don’t mind, but… is there a reason?”

“When I shampoo, I close my eyes, right? And then I get all nervous about what’s behind me… Even now, I can’t bathe unless I’m with Mama.”

Is she scared of ghosts or something?

I glanced at her, and her expression was uncharacteristically timid. This wasn’t an act.

“Alright, let’s bathe together.”

We undressed and stepped into the bathroom, rinsing off with the shower before sinking into the tub. With Koshka joining me, the water overflowed, and it was cramped beyond belief.

“…At sixteen, that size is just… freakish. We’re practically the same. Your bra must be having an identity crisis.”

Sitting across from me in the tub, Koshka stared at my chest through the water, muttering.

I had to object to being compared to a fourth-grader. Zero and one are distinctly different, no matter how small the gap seems from a cosmic perspective.

“As expected, a poor diet leads to a poor figure, doesn’t it? Our heights are only about ten centimeters apart, so in a year or two, I might just overtake you.”

“Mindlessly piling on subcutaneous fat just limits your body’s range of motion. There’s no benefit to it.”

“Ugh, can you stop thinking in terms of ‘waste’ or ‘benefits’ for once?”

With her cheeks flushed red from the steam, Kohana shook her head in exasperation.

“You’re not a machine, you know. Even from a cat’s perspective, I bet Anya isn’t seen as human. More like a refrigerator or a microwave’s buddy.”

Even Kohana’s cat, Mo-san, seemed to treat Kohana like a cushion at times. Perhaps her words weren’t entirely off the mark.

“Well… as for your diet, now that I’m here, I’ll steer it in a better direction. We’ll get those breasts of yours properly filled out in no time!”

I couldn’t shake the feeling that Kohana had an odd passion for reforming my lifestyle. I’d long suspected a good chunk of it was driven by her personal whims.

“I’m counting on you. By the way, what’s your real name?”

“Not telling. A good woman is more alluring with a bit of mystery, don’t you think?”

I tried casually probing for the truth, but she deflected with a cheeky remark.

She’s quite the stubborn secret-keeper. But who exactly is she trying to charm with all this ‘allure’?

We washed ourselves back-to-back. When it came time for shampoo, Kohana kept glancing over her shoulder, clearly uneasy.

“I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“Wha—? N-no, I’m fine.”

Seeing her nervousness, I made the offer, but she declined hesitantly.

“No need to hold back.”

“…”

Kohana said nothing more and entrusted herself to me.

I slid my fingers through her long, glossy black hair, gently scratching her scalp as I washed.

Looking at her bare back, with her shoulder blades delicately pronounced, I was struck by how petite and refined she was. Despite her mature remarks, she was still a child, I realized anew.

“Your hair is beautiful. It glides through my fingers without a single snag.”

“…Hmph. Really?”

I offered the compliment casually, but Kohana’s response felt curt.

“I’ll do yours too.”

After rinsing out the suds with the shower, Kohana turned to me, urging me to face away.

“No, I’m good.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t you dare hold back on me!”

Forcing her way behind me, Kohana grabbed some shampoo and started washing my hair, vigorously working it into a lather.

“So, how’s it feel? Good?”

“Mmm. It’s fine.”

Truth be told, Kohana was putting a bit too much force into it, and my scalp stung. But I stayed quiet and let her continue.

After rinsing off any remaining suds with the shower, we stepped out of the bathroom.

“…Hey, is that stray cat not coming tonight?”

While slipping into fresh underwear, Kohana glanced toward the balcony.

It was just before 11 p.m. Normally, the cat would show up by now, but there was no sign of it tonight.

“It might be wary, sensing more people in the apartment.”

“Tch, how boring… Well, let’s just go to bed, Anya.”

Perhaps drowsy from the bath, Kohana was yawning incessantly.

After brushing our teeth in the bathroom, I threw on an oversized T-shirt over my underwear, while Kohana changed into pajamas she’d brought. But for tonight, there was only one bed.

It dawned on me that she was genuinely planning to stay over starting today. From our conversations, I knew she had a mother and a family home. Judging by her demeanor, she must have sorted out her family situation before barging in. She’s remarkably mature for an elementary schooler.

“You take the bed. I’ll be fine on the floor with a blanket.”

“Why? Let’s sleep together!”

“It’s a single bed. It’ll be cramped.”

“It’s fine! We’re both small.”

With that, she climbed onto the bed, scooting to the far side and slipping under the covers, lying on her back. Indeed, given my size, I probably wouldn’t fall off even if we shared.

“See?”

Turning her face toward me, Kohana smiled faintly. I slid into the bed, reached for the bedside remote, and dimmed the lights.

A blue darkness settled over the room. In it, I could feel Kohana’s breathing and warmth beside me.

I wondered how long it had been since I last slept next to someone. My thoughts drifted to the strange twists of fate that led to this moment.

Whether she sensed my thoughts or not, I couldn’t tell, but…

“Hey, Anya…”

Burrowing deeper into the duvet, Kohana whispered.

“Do you regret it?”

Her words struck my chest like a sudden blow.

“You came to Japan because Yuki invited you, right? If you hadn’t escaped the organization, you wouldn’t be living this life, constantly dealing with cats, would you? So… do you regret ending up here, in a life you didn’t choose?”

She was right about my situation.

I lacked a driving motive of my own.

Unlike Yuki, I never wrestled with ideas of ‘freedom,’ nor did I question or resent the missions assigned by the House. My life in Japan, living an ordinary existence, was merely a product of circumstance.

The one with a true motive was Yuki. Yet she was the one who died, while I, who simply followed her lead, survived.

Even so…

‘I want you to keep living, laughing, and crying all the while—’

That unforgettable voice still lingers within me.

I could never betray that voice.

Because it…

“No… I don’t regret it.”

Because it was Yuki’s dream.

The dream of freedom she chased but never reached, the one she entrusted to me.

I may not understand its value, but I resolved to carry Yuki’s dream forward. Until I reach the same vista she saw.

That’s why I’m here now—my answer took root within me. That’s the motive for my existence in this moment.

“Yuki’s dream is my guidepost for living. Even if it means dealing with cats—my nemesis—for the rest of my life.”

It was as if the fog clouding my vision since arriving in Japan had cleared.

“Right… without cats, you’d probably keel over. No helping it, huh?”

“It’s not just that.”

Recalling Yuki’s words, I spoke.

“Cats are likely my fate itself. Always standing in my path, posing riddles and questions. Like the legendary Sphinx… I have to face them and find the answers to life.”

Yuki was the same.

Cats opened a path of fate—of possibility—that showed her the dream of freedom.

Though Yuki fell, exhausted, she faced her fate until the very end. She, who once lived in a haze of resignation and acceptance.

“So it’s not out of obligation. I intend to confront my fate—my mission—and take on my enemy, the cat, with all seriousness. If that’s what my life is meant to be.”

As I finished, silence returned to the darkness.

No reply came from beside me. Thinking she might be asleep, I glanced over. Through a gap in the covers, Kohana was staring at my profile. The warmth from her touch felt oddly intense.

“…Huh, is that so? Well, do it properly then. Goodnight.”

Meeting my eyes, Kohana spoke curtly, then rolled over to face away. Her reaction reminded me a little of when I complimented her hair in the bath.

Closing my eyes, I let the unusually warm bedding envelop me as I drifted into sleep.

The next morning.

When I woke, it was warm. No, almost hot.

And there, clinging to me like a cicada, was a small girl fast asleep beside the bed. This was a problem—I couldn’t get up.

Memories of yesterday slowly resurfaced.

Right, she’s Kohana—self-proclaimed ally in my mission. She knows things about me, things only someone genuine would know. From spending yesterday together, it’s unlikely she’s an enemy like a saboteur.

“…Mmm.”

“Morning. Ready to get up?”

Kohana stirred, blinking sleepily.

“Wha—? Geez, if you were awake first, just get up already! Why’re you staring at my sleeping face? Creepy!”

She shot up, grumbling. Her face was red—probably embarrassed about clinging to me.

“Hurry up, wash your face, and brush your teeth! I’m busy prepping breakfast!”

“Understood.”

Thus began the second day of my impromptu cohabitation with Kohana.

The bacon and eggs, white rice, and miso soup she made were, as expected, delicious. According to her, she’s a firm believer in rice for breakfast.

After getting ready for school, we left the apartment together.

The route to school overlapped partway with the path to Toribane Girls’ High. Walking along the riverbank’s embankment, we saw plenty of elementary schoolers with backpacks.

“Oh, it’s Acchan!”

“Acchan, morning!”

A group of girls approached from behind, cheerfully greeting Kohana. She responded with a bright smile. Seems she’s got quite a few friends at school.

Walking together for a bit, I played a new card I’d acquired.

“Acchan.”

I called out to her back, pronouncing it precisely.

The sway of her lavender backpack didn’t falter, but I caught a slight twitch in her cheek.

“Acchan.”

Repeating it, Kohana stopped. Her tiny fists trembled as she turned to face me.

“Call me that nickname one more time, and I’m done cooking for you.”

“Why?”

“Just because. It’s too childish, and I hate it lately. Especially when you say it.”

Her response was unreasonable. Seems she’s at a complicated age.

“Then what should I call you? Even if it’s fine at home, isn’t it a bit embarrassing to be called Kohana in public? Like in front of your school friends just now.”

Seizing the moment, I pressed, and Kohana seemed at a loss for words.

“…My real name’s Asahi. Munakata Asahi.”

“Is it alright if I call you Asahi, then?”

“Do whatever you want.”

With a huff, Asahi—Kohana—started walking again.

Lunch break.

“Oh? You brought a bento today?”

The first to notice the change was Matsukaze Kohana.

On the desk we’d pushed together sat the lunchbox Asahi, aka Kohana, had given me.

Inside were four sandwiches with tomato, cucumber, and thin egg omelets, spread with just the right amount of butter and mustard. There were also some cut grapefruit slices.

“Wow. You’re living alone, right, Anya-san? So you cook too?”

“No, this… my little sister, who’s staying over since yesterday, made it.”

“Oh, a sister, huh?”

Umeda brushed it off casually, then, a beat later, locked eyes with Takesato.

“S-Sister!? Anya-san, you have a sister!?”

“Hold on, don’t just drop major info like that!”

While not as flustered as the Umeda-Takesato duo, Matsukaze Kohana seemed surprised too.

“She’s my stepmother’s daughter from my father’s remarriage. She’s Japanese, not blood-related.”

For now, I’d stick with that cover story for Asahi. It shouldn’t cause any contradictions.

“How much younger is she?”

“She’s in fourth grade, about to enter fifth. Six… no, seven years younger?”

“Wow, she must be super cute!”

Imagining the unseen Asahi, Matsukaze Kohana grinned. She’s cute in looks, sure… but recalling her precocious, cheeky personality left me with mixed feelings.

“Speaking of, spring break’s coming up, huh? Kohacchi, got any plans?”

“Nothing much. My grandma’s cat isn’t doing well right now.”

“Still, cherry blossom viewing sounds nice, right?”

Takesato said, and Matsukaze Kohana nodded with a smile.

“Ooh, hanami sounds fun! Anya, have you seen Japanese cherry blossoms?”

“No, I haven’t. But I’ve heard Japanese people love throwing parties when the cherries bloom.”

Umeda let out a gloomy sigh, as if remembering something.

“Ugh, but finals are coming up first, aren’t they? Like, this week.”

“What’s up, Ume-shi? You in that much trouble?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m confident I’ll fail spectacularly in physics, English, math, classical lit… uh, everything except P.E.”

“Hey, don’t flunk out on us. You as a junior would be weird.”

“You got this, Ume-chan! I’ll help you study.”

“Kohacchi, you’re such an angel… Oh, right, Anya-san, any plans for spring break?”

“Going back to Russia or something?”

Spring break, late March to early April, means two weeks without school. But my mission remains unchanged.

“No, same as always. I’m fine anywhere as long as there are cats.”

“Knew it, you’re a cat lover, Anya. You’re not even hiding it anymore.”

“Such a tsundere. Love it.”

As expected, the misunderstanding that I’m a cat lover persists. Explaining the truth wouldn’t likely help, so I let it slide.

Lunch and afternoon classes ended, and the after-school bell rang.

I walked home with Matsukaze Kohana, stopping by the shopping arcade at the station’s south exit. Our destination was the usual drugstore.

Inside, we saw other Toribane Girls’ High students who’d stopped by on their way home.

Their target, as always, was the clerk, Kurisaki Akira. They kept a respectful distance, admiring her or taking turns chatting.

My goal was the shopping list Asahi had sent via message. I tossed items into the basket, including something called ‘Churu.’

“What… is this?”

“What’s up, Anya?”

Matsukaze Kohana peeked over my shoulder, her chin resting lightly on it. Our cheeks brushed, tickling slightly.

“You’re buying Churu? For your cat?”

“Is this cat food?”

“Yup. It’s like a magical treat that drives cats wild.”

Magical… it captivates cats? Is there some kind of narcotic in it?

Kohana grabbed a bag from the pet food aisle, showing me the aluminum stick packs inside.

“You hold it and squeeze the contents out from the tip. Cats go crazy for it. For humans, the fun’s in petting them while they’re distracted eating.”

With that info, I pieced together Asahi’s plan.

So, it’s a trap to immobilize the enemy—cats. She must have gotten it to help me complete my mission of petting them.

Finishing the list, I headed to the checkout. Only one clerk was at the register, but when my turn came, another opened the adjacent one.

“Next customer, please come to this register.”

I met Akira’s smiling gaze.

“…”

I left the line and brought my basket to Akira’s register.

“Hey, Anya-chan. Been a while since the cat café.”

“Thanks for your help that time.”

Akira scanned the barcodes with the POS register, packing the items into a plastic bag.

“That’ll be 1,540 yen.”

I pulled two thousand-yen bills from my wallet. Akira took them, checked the amount, and processed the payment.

“Here’s your change, 460 yen—”

I held out my palm, and Akira gently placed the coins in it, her hands cupping mine with care.

The moment our hands touched, a jolt like cold water hit me.

A flood of information rushed into me from the sensation of her fingers.

The unnatural callus on her right index finger—it was the kind formed from years of pulling a heavy double-action trigger.

The side of my middle finger, constantly brushing against the trigger guard. The base of my thumb, absorbing the recoil from firing. The skin in those precise spots feels thick and calloused, a sensation that transfers to my fingertips.

Across the checkout counter, a mere meter or so apart, my eyes meet Akira’s, each reflecting the other.

But the recognition in those eyes is unmistakably different from before. Akira, like me, must have gained certainty through our brief contact just now.

—The woman standing before me is, without a doubt, in the same line of work as I am.

(So, it was as I thought.)

The unease and wariness I’d felt toward Akira since our first meeting now have a clear explanation.

In this country, someone skilled in handling firearms, capable of masking their presence from those around them, yet living an unassuming daily life—

There’s almost no mistake about it. Kurisako Akira’s true identity is either a professional assassin, a foreign covert operative… or a terrorist.

In the few seconds it takes to hand over the change, Akira’s face, locked in a gaze with mine, slowly draws closer. I feel her damp breath against my left ear.

“—Tonight, nine o’clock, under Aoshigi Bridge by the riverbank.”

Her whispered words send a shiver down my spine, but by the time I register it, Akira has already pulled away.

“Thank you for your purchase. See you later, Anya-chan.”

Akira wears her usual customer-service smile, but her eyes hold a glint of confirmation, as if ensuring her message was received. I respond with a silent nod.

“Anya, you done shopping?”

“Yeah. Let’s head home.”

I rejoin Kohana, who’s been waiting, and leave the store without glancing back at the counter.

Asahi’s already back home, preparing dinner.

I consider telling her about Akira but decide against it.

Asahi would probably object.

With Akira’s intentions unclear, facing her alone could be dangerous. It has no direct bearing on my mission—making contact with the cat—so it’s an unnecessary risk.

Still, I intend to meet Akira. Part of it is personal curiosity, but from a security standpoint, I want to know the motives and nature of someone with combat skills so close to me.

Dinner’s over, and the promised time approaches. Asahi, like last night, is watching videos on her smartphone. When I change into casual clothes and pull on a hooded parka, she removes her earphones and looks at me.

“Wait, what? You’re going out?”

“Ate a bit too much, and my stomach’s heavy. Gonna do a quick jog by the riverbank.”

“No way. I was just about to take a bath!”

Oh, right. I forgot she can’t bathe alone.

“I’ll be back in about an hour. Sorry, but please wait until then.”

“Ugh, fine…”

As I head out the door, I steal a glance at Asahi’s face. She doesn’t seem suspicious.

I leave the apartment and make my way to the spot Akira specified. Aoshigi Bridge is an iron bridge spanning a tributary of the city’s main river. It carries a national highway, with cars passing even at night.

The riverbank beneath the bridge forms a space like a short tunnel.

In the dim twilight, where the hum of car exhausts echoes overhead, a tall figure waits for me.

—Kurisako Akira.

She’s dressed in a chic, earthy-toned spring coat, black slim pants, and soft-looking faux suede loafers worn barefoot. Her wristwatch and accessories are high-end, exuding refined taste, with no hint of her dangerous nature reflected in her appearance.

“Thanks for accepting my invitation for a nighttime date. I’m thrilled, Anya-chan.”

With a soft smile on her cool, striking features, Akira greets me as I arrive.

“I only have two questions for you.”

I stop about five meters from her.

“Who you really are, and why you’re approaching me. That’s what I want to know.”

“What a coincidence. I was going to say the same.”

Akira and I lock eyes, maintaining that distance.

This five-meter gap is a buffer zone—a margin based on reason and security to keep our true natures from sparking conflict.

“Anya-chan’s other face, the one probably no one else knows… I can’t help but want to touch it.”

“At the very least, I need assurance here and now that you’re not my enemy. Otherwise…”

“Heh, otherwise what?”

Her voice carries a hint of delight as she speaks, and for a moment, I feel an invisible magnetic field ripple through the five-meter space like a turbulent current.

“What’ll you do? Oh, what’s Anya-chan gonna do to me? I’m getting all tingly.”

A faint rustle sounds at Akira’s feet.

She takes a step forward on the grassy riverbank, and the magnetic field swirling between us churns violently.

“Stop, Akira—it’s dangerous. Too close.”

Dangerous, I mean, for both of us equally.

We’re like magnets.

Both of us carry a strong force of interference—violence, a magnetism embedded in our bodies. Get too close, and we’ll either be drawn together or repelled with unstoppable force.

It’s an instinct beyond reason or will. If we cross that line… Akira and I will cease to be human, colliding as magnets driven by instinct.

Or perhaps one of us will shatter entirely in that moment, with devastating force.

“I can’t help it. You get it, right? I’m so excited right now. The thought of being the first to touch that part of you, Anya-chan…”

Akira doesn’t stop. As she said, her sharp, beautiful eyes glisten with exhilaration, her cheeks faintly flushed.

“…I warned you.”

Even as I speak in a low voice, the rustling of grass under her feet continues.

Finally, Akira’s loafers cross the absolute boundary of our buffer zone. The magnets of violence within us collide and repel faster than any thought or emotion.

Who moved first?

To an onlooker, it might seem nearly simultaneous, but Akira appeared to act first.

Yet, while Akira moved first, I was the one who initiated. Not physically, but in the realm of strategy—my mind had already anticipated and countered her move, letting her take the lead.

Akira’s right hand, hanging naturally, flashes like a boxer’s jab. Her five fingers, aligned perfectly, slice horizontally toward my face.

(Eye gouge—no.)

The open hand, not a fist, makes it seem like an attack aimed at my eyes.

But I see through it—it’s a feint, meant to blind me while masking her real move. I catch the slight deepening of the grass beneath her feet as she shifts her weight.

That signals a kick powered by her lower body. As predicted, Akira’s body pivots sharply at the waist, her spring coat flaring out.

Like a reaper’s scythe, a backspin kick arcs diagonally upward toward my neck. Karate? No—likely a kick from savate, the French martial art centered on foot techniques.

It’s a high-risk, high-reward move. If it lands, it could knock out someone as light as me in one blow, but the motion is proportionately large.

I dodge it with minimal movement—a sway of my upper body. The wind of her kick whistles past my face. Akira’s body spins half a turn, fruitlessly, and then—

(As expected, another feint.)

Akira halts her spin with a forceful step, using the momentum to launch forward in an instant. Her head is lower than my knees.

A spear tackle, skimming the ground, too low for a counter knee strike. The flashy kick was a distraction, canceled mid-motion to accelerate into my space.

She likely calculated I’d dodge the kick with a sway, leaving my feet parallel and unable to sidestep.

As a result, just as Akira planned, her tackle lifts me high off the ground. My feet leave the earth, and a weightless sensation envelops me.

If she takes me down like this, pinning me with her weight, she’ll secure the dominant position and deal damage from the throw.

Akira’s tactics are undeniably brilliant.

—But.

“Guh…!”

A choked gasp escapes from under my armpit.

My right arm, coiled like a snake, tightly constricts Akira’s neck from the front.

A guillotine choke, a lethal counter I’d set up one step ahead of her tackle. Even as I’m lifted, I lock her torso with my legs, hanging my full weight on her neck.

Beyond her foresight, my tactics had already reached one step further—anticipating her move from the start.

“When you come to, I’ll tie your hands and interrogate you.”

I tighten my grip, my left hand clutching my right. The bones of my forearm press against her carotid artery, leveraging it like a fulcrum.

As Akira’s strength seems to fade—a sharp pain stabs the back of my right hand.

Reflexively, my grip loosens, and Akira slips free. In her hand is a ballpoint pen, likely pulled from her coat pocket.

“…Sorry. Instinct kicked in, and I fought back. Getting choked out and tied up by Anya-chan would’ve been nothing short of a reward…”

Coughing and clutching her throat, Akira mutters something bizarre. She’s unsteady, likely from near-fainting due to oxygen deprivation.

“Alright, playtime’s over. Any more, and no amount of lives would be enough… for me, that is.”

Tossing the pen onto the grass, Akira gives a wry smile and raises both hands.

I let her sit and recover, then head to a vending machine on the embankment to buy two bottles of mineral water. I hand one to her and sit beside her.

“You had questions about me, right?”

After sipping water side by side for a while, Akira, recovered from her anemia, speaks up.

“My main gig is as a hitman. Freelance.”

A hitman—someone who kills for a paycheck, working solo.

“So, I can assume you’re not tied to any organization?”

Akira nods, and I feel one concern ease.

She’s likely not a pursuer sent by Domik, but I had to consider the possibility of some group sniffing me out. If Akira’s just an individual, it’s less of a problem.

“I’ve always been a drifter, never tied to any group. I bounced around the States, and it hasn’t even been a year since I returned to Japan… By the way, wanna swap water? I want the one you’re drinking.”

“? Sure, I don’t mind…”

Puzzled by Akira’s odd request, I trade bottles with her.

I wonder if she suspects I poisoned it, but she’d have said something before drinking. For some reason, she looks delighted.

“If you’re okay with it, could you tell me about your side of things? Maybe I can help with something.”

“Alright.”

It’s true—keeping my secrets while she shares hers wouldn’t be fair.

I recount my five years as an assassin for a Russian underground organization, my escape with Yuki, the connection between the deadly virus Krovfi Kriyartva and my cat allergy. I lay it all out methodically. Since Akira’s someone who lives with secrets, there’s no issue with her knowing.

Listening intently, Akira lets out a deep sigh.

“…I’m shocked. You’re so young, Anya-chan, and you’ve already been through so much. No wonder you’re on a different level.”

She looks at me with earnest eyes.

“And the stuff about the cat and your lost friend… You’ve been carrying all that. Oh, I just…”

“—”

Suddenly, Akira’s arms wrap around me.

I don’t know when she slipped them around my back. Unlike during our fight, I couldn’t sense this embrace, free of any killing intent.

“I want to protect you, Anya-chan.”

Her face is so close her breath grazes me. Her striking beauty, up close, makes my heart race.

But my instincts scream a different kind of danger—not death, but something else. I don’t know why, but I’m in a precarious situation.

“…I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m fine.”

“Really…?”

Akira’s breath, impossibly sweet, wafts over me, clouding my thoughts like a haze.

Huh?

What…?

What am I doing right now…?

—Bloop.

“Hah…!”

Snapped back to reality by a notification sound, I push Akira away and check my phone’s screen.

It’s a message from Asahi, urging me to come home. She must really want that bath.

“I’m heading back. Starting tomorrow, I’m just a high schooler, and you’re just a drugstore clerk. We keep our personal lives separate and don’t meddle in each other’s secrets—that’s how I’d like it to be.”

“Sure, no objections here.”

Akira flashes a smile as if nothing happened, and I nod in confirmation. Without looking back, I head to the apartment where Asahi waits.

Kurisako Akira—a very dangerous woman, in more ways than one.

Back home, I bathe with Asahi as usual and prepare for bed.

But tonight…

“Ah—”

Asahi’s eyes light up as she stares out the window.

That brown-and-white tabby cat has appeared on the balcony.

I slide the glass door halfway open, waiting for the cat to enter.

The cat seems slightly wary of the room but doesn’t leave. I pour some cat food from the bag onto a paper plate, set it on the floor, and step back.

Eventually, hunger outweighs caution, and the cat steps inside.

“Achoo!”

Sneezing from my allergies, I watch as the tabby waddles toward the plate.

“It’s eating! So cute!”

Asahi, eyes sparkling, beams at the cat munching away. She looks like any other kid her age, nothing more.

While crunching the dry kibble, the cat occasionally glances at me, tissue pressed to my nose.

Its wariness has lessened, its gaze now like one you’d give a familiar face on the street. It seems to have remembered me after a few encounters.

Staring into its topaz eyes, I feel a new sense of familiarity with the cat.

As those unblinking eyes hold mine, I get the uncanny feeling it understands everything about me.

Finishing the food, the cat begins grooming its fur, then casts curious glances around the room.

“Oh… it’s leaving?”

Ignoring Asahi’s disappointed tone, the cat, with its peach-round rump swaying, slips through the gap in the door. It hops onto the balcony railing and struts off confidently.

“Ah! I forgot to give it the ‘Churu’ I bought!”

Asahi notices the treat still in the drugstore bag and stomps in frustration.

“I thought that’d make it let me pet it right away!”

“No need to rush. If it’s meant to be, we’ll see it again.”

Closing the glass door, I recall the faint sense of the cat’s… something, like a texture of its heart.

“What if this was the last time? Cats are fickle—it could happen.”

“Maybe. But that’s the cat’s choice, its freedom.”

The uncertainty and vague hope of a promise-less tomorrow—

Freedom, surely, is living in tune with that feeling.

Picturing the cat’s fading silhouette in my mind, I hold onto that thought.