Chapter 7 | Return: A Date Chapter Harmony

It’s Thursday morning, the fourth day since the girl calling herself “Koshika”—Munakata Asahi—barged into my room on Monday.

“Time to dig in!”

On the dining table, a bowl of glossy white rice steams invitingly.

Next to it, grilled salted salmon. Miso soup with onions, carrots, and potatoes. Roasted seaweed and a pack of natto.

And across from it all, the sparkling, wide-eyed gaze of a petite girl—

“What’s up, Anya? Is the pot-au-feu-style miso soup weird? Maybe I should’ve stuck with safe bets like tofu or aburaage.”

“No, it’s fine. The seasoning’s good.”

I sip the miso soup. The vegetables’ sweetness blends smoothly with the miso’s savoriness, leaving a refreshing aftertaste. I pick up my chopsticks, flaking off a piece of the rich, fatty salmon and bringing it to my mouth.

I’d been lost in thought for a moment, reflecting on how much my life has changed in just four days.

When was the last time I shared my daily life with someone like this?

At the very least, since I was sold to the “Domik” at ten, I’ve lived in an isolated facility. I didn’t know the faces of other kids, and my only interactions—outside of combat training—were with Yuki through online games. Even that was part of the organization’s mind-control program.

Memories from before that are hazy, hard to recall.

Days spent desperately surviving, likely filled with nothing but cruelty. But I must’ve had parents once, and in peaceful times, maybe I sat around a morning table like this.

Still, I can feel myself already settling into this new life with Asahi. Humans are such curious creatures.

“What do you want for dinner tonight?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll eat whatever you make, Asahi.”

“Ugh, lame.”

Asahi lets out an exasperated sigh while chewing her salmon with rice.

“That’s the kind of answer that kills my motivation! We’re not some bored married couple, you know. Coming up with menus is kind of a pain!”

“Is that so?”

Fair point, I think, as I sprinkle torn seaweed over my natto.

“Your cooking’s always delicious, Asahi, so I figured anything you make would be a safe bet. I’m already looking forward to dinner.”

I explain myself while mixing the seaweed-natto combo with rice and taking a bite.

“…”

No response from Asahi. When I glance her way, she’s frozen, staring at me with a blank expression, her ears inexplicably bright red.

“Anya, you’re so unfair.”

She mutters, looking away with a pout.

“Who just says stuff like that so casually? And you’re not even trying…”

“What do you mean?”

“Argh, that’s exactly what I’m talking about!”

Frustrated by my cluelessness, Asahi lets out a half-yelled outburst.

“Fine, I’ll decide the menu myself! But if you complain, you’re in for it!”

“Of course.”

Ignoring her oddly excited yet annoyed reaction, I continue eating breakfast alongside her.

After getting ready for school as usual, Asahi and I leave the apartment together. I’ve already given her a spare key.

We cross the pedestrian bridge over the highway in front of the apartment, pass through the residential area with its park, and cross a bridge to the riverbank.

On the path atop the embankment, a popular route for local elementary, middle, and high school students, I spot kids with back venturing backpacks like Asahi’s and others in the Torihamori Girls’ Academy uniform like mine.

Among them, I recognize a familiar figure from behind. I approach and call out to her.

“Morning, Kohana! (Dobraye utro)”

Kohana turns around, noticing me.

Her gaze lands on Asahi walking beside me.

“Is that your little sister?”

Kohana smiles, and Asahi looks up at her, giving a polite bow. We hadn’t planned any cover story, but Asahi’s quick on her feet.

“Munakata Asahi. My big sister’s always in your care.”

“Wow, she’s so proper! I’m Matsukaze Kohana, Anya’s classmate. Nice to meet you, Asahi-chan.”

Suddenly, Asahi clings to my left arm, her small frame pressing tightly against me.

“Haha, such a clingy little sister! Sticking so close to her big sis—you two seem super tight.”

“At night, I sleep like this with my big sister too, you know?”

Maybe it’s my imagination, but Asahi’s tone and the way she glares at Kohana feel oddly challenging. It’s their first meeting—why the sudden rivalry?

“Aww, that’s adorable! You’ve got such a cute little sister, Anya.”

Kohana just laughs, completely unbothered.

“I’m heading off now, big sis!”

As the path to the elementary school comes into view, Asahi steps down the stone stairs from the embankment and walks away.

Something about her demeanor feels… performative, like she’s overly aware of Kohana. And honestly, being called “big sis” still feels weirdly unsettling.

“Seeing her so attached to you kinda makes me want a little sister too.”

I almost say she’s not like that at home but hold my tongue. Instead, I walk side by side with Kohana toward school.

“Finals are finally over tomorrow, huh? You doing okay, Anya?”

“Mostly fine. Just a bit worried about classical literature…”

“Oh, right! Stuff like ari, ori, haberi, imasokari is tough even for us. Must be brutal for you.”

The medieval verb conjugations and the cultural context of the texts are so different from modern norms—classical literature’s a real hurdle for me.

“Are you good at English, Anya?”

“I can use it about as well as Japanese.”

“Then how about a trade? I’ll help with classical lit, and you help with English grammar. I’m kinda bad at that.”

“Sure, I’m game.”

“Then let’s study together after school today to prep for tomorrow.”

She’s right—tomorrow’s finals include both English and classical literature.

“Got it.”

We head to school, finish the day’s finals in geography, chemistry, and modern Japanese, and submit our answer sheets.

The three subjects wrap up by late morning, around 11:30. I figured Kohana and I would grab lunch at a family restaurant near the station before studying, but…

“How about my place?”

On the way to the station, Kohana makes the suggestion out of nowhere.

“There’s lunch at home, so we can eat and then study in my room all afternoon.”

“I don’t mind, but… is it okay with your family?”

“You coming over? Totally fine! My mom’s always talking about you, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Says you’re like a Ragdoll or Chartreux. She loves comparing my friends to cats.”

Kohana suddenly grabs my hand.

“Let’s go?”

“…Sure.”

Her soft, warm fingers catch me off guard, stirring a familiar flutter. I keep my face neutral and walk with her to the station.

Kohana’s family home is a large, traditional wooden house. During the day, the front entrance serves as the customer entry for their cat café, Matsuneko-tei, but I enter through the back garden door.

“Well, hello there! Here for a study session, I hear?”

Kohana’s mom, airing out futons on the veranda, greets me with a warm smile.

“Yes, thanks for having me.”

“Come in, come in! I’ve got lunch ready in the kitchen. It’s like café leftovers, so I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll gladly take you up on it.”

“Anya, this way!”

Kohana leads me through the old, spacious house.

The pillars have aged to a deep amber, and the floorboards creak softly with each step, like a well-loved instrument. It’s oddly comforting.

In the kitchen, a table covered with floral vinyl holds a large platter of plastic-wrapped side dishes. A big pot of curry sits on the gas stove. Kohana efficiently reheats the curry and scoops rice from the warmer onto plates.

“Barley tea okay?”

She opens the fridge, pouring tea from a square jug into glasses. Then she ladles curry over the rice and uncovers the platter.

“Whoa…”

A mountain of pre-made croquettes, golden-brown and piled high, looks almost like a treasure hoard. It’s weirdly awe-inspiring.

Kohana deftly places croquettes on our curry rice with chopsticks.

“They’re cold, but cold croquettes on curry feel kinda junk-food delicious, right? Let’s eat!”

“Right. Let’s dig in.”

Kohana and I grab spoons and dive into the croquette-topped curry.

“This is, like, zero high school girl vibes. Total anti-chic lunch, haha!”

Kohana laughs as she eats, but the cold croquettes and warm curry have a simple, satisfying flavor.

After eating, we wash the dishes together and head upstairs to Kohana’s room.

The moment we get there, cat hair lingering in the room triggers my allergies. I quickly grab a tissue to wipe my runny nose.

“You okay, Anya? I invited you over without thinking, since you’re always at the café.”

“No problem. I’m used to it.”

We review class material with textbooks and notes, chatting and taking breaks. Studying with someone else makes things click so much faster.

Meanwhile, a parade of colorful cats keeps interrupting.

One leaps onto the low table, sprawling across my textbook to block the pages. Another jumps up, scattering erasers and highlighters while starting a cat wrestling match.

Kohana laughs, picking up the cats and setting them on the tatami. Eventually, their goal shifts to getting her to cuddle them.

As always, I’m struck by how absurdly free-spirited they are. Where does their boundless curiosity and energy come from?

Once they tire of disrupting us, the cats turn their attention to me, the guest.

They stare at me from unnervingly close range or sniff my fingers and hair. I try ignoring them, but they take turns launching a relentless sniffing assault.

“Cats tend to gravitate toward people who ignore them. But if you’re too eager to play, they’ll dodge you.”

Kohana comments, watching my standoff with the cats.

If that’s true, then for cat lovers, cats are like a mirage—chasing them only makes them slip away. What perverse, heartless creatures.

“…Speaking of, I haven’t seen that big old cat around.”

Usually, when I visit, I feel the heavy weight of that Holstein-patterned, fluffy cat leaning against my backside like a pillow. Not today.

“Moo-san’s been in the hospital since the day before yesterday. They said he needs dialysis, so we had to leave him there.”

Kohana’s voice takes on a slight quiver, her smile tinged with bitterness as she tries to stay upbeat for my sake.

“But it’s not his first time in the hospital. He’ll probably be back by the weekend. Cat kidney disease is just something you manage long-term.”

A faint pang, like pain, hits my chest.

I don’t know why. A stranger’s sick cat shouldn’t make me feel sad. I didn’t even cry when my only friend died.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing. Let’s keep going.”

Three hours later, the afternoon sun through the window turns golden. It’s nearly 4 p.m., and we’re both wiped out.

“This should be enough. Studying when we’re this tired just kills efficiency.”

“Yeah, ugh, I haven’t studied this hard in ages… I feel like I’m getting a fever.”

Kohana stretches dramatically, then glances at me.

“It’ll probably be around seven, but wanna stay for dinner? My family’s cool with it.”

“Thanks, but my little sister’s waiting, so I’ll head home.”

“Got it. Say hi to Asahi-chan for me!”

Kohana sees me off as I leave the Matsukaze house through the front entrance.

I take the train three stops along the private railway to my apartment. When I get home, Asahi’s in the kitchen, wearing an apron.

“I’m back.”

Chopping onions with a petty knife, Asahi glances at me sideways.

“…Welcome home. I heard tests ended early, but you’re pretty late. What’d you do for lunch?”

She asks in a weirdly motherly tone.

“I was studying at a friend’s place. They fed me lunch there too.”

“Hmph.”

Asahi’s vibe is oddly low-energy, almost cold.

“Good for you, making close friends. The girl from this morning?”

“Yeah. They invited me for dinner too, but I passed.”

At that, Asahi finally turns to face me.

“Really? You could’ve stayed if you’d told me ahead of time. I bet food with friends tastes better, right?”

“I told you this morning, didn’t I? I’m looking forward to your dinner.”

Asahi freezes, her hands still, staring at me.

Then…

“Oh, whatever.”

A satisfied smirk tugs at her lips as she replies curtly.

“Guess your stomach’s already wrapped around my finger, huh? Well, greedy Anya, you better work up an appetite. I’m pulling out all the stops tonight!”

Humming cheerfully, she starts moving her hands twice as fast. I worry she’ll nick her fingers, but her knife work is machine-precise.

And, no surprise, the hamburger steak she makes is absolutely divine.

Friday.

Third-term finals are finally over.

One week left until the closing ceremony—just placeholder classes now.

Some students bask in the freedom, while others, like Umeda, are already dreading make-up exams.

After school, Kohana heads to the vet to visit Moo-san, the hospitalized Holstein cat.

I’d planned to tag along, but as we pass through the school gate, a car horn blares.

Scanning the area, I spot a familiar dark green sports car parked by the school wall. Kurisako Akira’s Lotus Elise.

“Kohana, I just remembered I have to talk to our homeroom teacher, Higuchi-sensei. It’ll take a while, so I can’t come with you.”

“Okay, see you Monday then!”

I make up an excuse and part ways with Kohana. After watching her back fade into the distance, I turn and head toward the dark green Lotus.

“Got business with me, Akira?”

Peering into the driver’s seat, I see Akira looking up with a slight smile.

“Came to pick you up and maybe invite you for a drive. Wanna hop in?”

There’s obviously more to it than that.

“Fine.”

To figure out her real motive, I take her up on it. I open the passenger door and slide into the low-ceilinged, cockpit-like seat.

After shutting the door and buckling up, Akira starts the car.

“Actually, I came to ask you something.”

Cruising along the city’s main road at the speed limit, Akira finally speaks. Just as I thought—there’s something else.

“Got any interest in a weekend side job?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I pause before answering, deliberately dragging out the moment.

“Not the ‘Sakura Drug’ cashier gig. I need help with my other job.”

Her assassin work—just as I suspected. I’d had a hunch, which is why I split from Kohana before spotting Akira.

“It’s in Tokyo. Job’s tonight. There’s prep, so if you’re in, we’d head straight to my safehouse in the city. What do you say?”

“Pass.”

I answer without hesitation.

I don’t have the bandwidth for irregular combat jobs like back in my organization days, wielding guns or knives. Taming stray cats and securing a steady supply of antidote for a killer virus is my mission tonight—life-or-death, no matter how ridiculous it sounds to others.

“Yeah, figured. Okay.”

Surprisingly, Akira backs off without pushing.

“There’s one more thing I want to ask. Will you hear me out?”

“Depends on what it is, but I’ll listen.”

“Hiyodori-bashi 2-chome Park. Know it?”

I nod at Akira’s profile. It’s a small park not far from my apartment.

“There’s a calico and a tabby stray that show up there a lot. I always feed them after work. If I don’t make it back to town after tomorrow—”

“Wait… cats?”

The mention of my arch-nemesis throws me into a tailspin.

“I’m already drowning in cat-related problems! If you’re asking me to feed them for you, I can’t handle it!”

My voice comes out louder than I mean, a backlash from all the times cats have jerked me around.

Akira, gripping the wheel, lets out a small sigh.

“Alright, fair enough. I’ll give up on those two.”

And so, she murmured in a flat, dry voice. The voice of a professional assassin, utterly devoid of attachment even to her own life.

“────”

In that moment, I felt a faint, electric jolt of pain shoot through my chest.

It was the exact same sensation that had struck me at Kohana’s place yesterday.

A stray cat, completely unrelated to me. Yet, why did I feel this gnawing guilt, as if I’d abandoned it myself? If that’s the case, it’s utterly ridiculous.

Since I was around Asahi’s age, I’ve buried countless targets in the shadows.

Those people surely had families, loved ones, but I’ve never once felt a pang of guilt over it.

Just what… what’s happening to me?

I’ve discovered a fragility within myself I never acknowledged before. The cold, dry mental state I held as ideal, like the Siberian tundra just weeks ago, feels like a lie now.

An inexplicable discomfort assaults me, leaving my mind restless.

Amid the rumbling vibrations of the DOHC engine echoing through the car…

“…Alright.”

Before I realized it, I’d answered, as if shaking off the tangled vines of my inner conflict.

“I’ll lend Akira a hand.”

It wasn’t what I wanted. But to regain my composure, it felt like I had no other choice. If I didn’t, this mysterious thorn in my chest wouldn’t budge.

If I support Akira’s mission and increase her chances of survival, the rest is her problem—and those stray cats’. It’s none of my concern.

“Really?”

“Mhm… no helping it.”

Wrestling with complex emotions, I’d already reached a state of resignation.

Once again, a cat stood in my path. At this point, it almost feels like some kind of trial or fated connection.

“Thank you, Anya-chan. I love you!”

Suddenly, Akira’s dazzling smile bloomed like a grand flower. Seeing it right beside me, my heart skipped in a way entirely different from before.

“Alright, then we’re heading straight to Tokyo!”

“Wait. I’d like to stop by my place first to change into casual clothes.”

I stopped Akira as she reached for the gearshift, making my request.

The uniform of Toribane Girls’ High is a clear identifier of my affiliation, so for the sake of secrecy, it’s better not to wear it. In the worst-case scenario, if I mess up and need to escape, Tokyo’s absurd number of security cameras could pose a risk later.

Besides, I felt a psychological resistance to staining this uniform with blood or gunsmoke. The moment I realized that, Kohana’s face inexplicably flashed in my mind. I briefly considered stopping by Matsuneko-Tei to recharge my cat energy, but Akira’s story suggested we needed to leave immediately, so I gave up on that. If it comes to it, I can always find a cat café in Tokyo—it should be easier there than here.

“Got it. To Anya-chan’s apartment first, then.”

Akira turned the wheel toward the train station, looping around the north exit rotary and heading for my place. A few minutes later, we arrived on the street near my apartment.

Leaving Akira waiting in the car, I grabbed my school bag and returned to my room. I took off my uniform, hung it up, and opened the closet where my casual clothes were stored.

“…Hm?”

There were supposed to be two sets of ‘Anya casual outfits’ prepared.

But now, my usual hoodie and denim shorts were missing.

Which meant only the other set remained.

—Just the mysterious maid outfit.

Asahi wasn’t back from school yet. I pulled out my smartphone and sent her a message asking where she’d put the non-maid clothes. It was lunchtime, so there shouldn’t be any issue.

After a while, her reply came through.

Koshka: ‘There were some stains, so I sent them to the cleaners yesterday. They’ll be back Monday.’

“Asahiiiiiiii!?”

I screamed in a despair I’d never felt before.

…No, this won’t do. To lose my cool like this—me, of all people. I must never lose my composure, no matter the situation. I took a deep breath, focusing my mind, regaining my calm.

She didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, she’s a sweet, thoughtful girl, but the timing couldn’t be worse.

If it’s come to this, I should’ve expanded my casual wardrobe beforehand—such a painfully late regret. Asahi had suggested we go shopping for clothes, but…

Standing before the hanger with my discarded uniform, I faced a monumental decision…

Five minutes later.

I strode confidently toward Akira’s waiting Lotus Elise.

Clad head-to-toe in a black-and-white maid outfit.

By doing this, I achieved the opposite effect of wearing my school uniform.

In this maid outfit, a “symbol,” I transformed from an individual into an icon. To anyone who saw me, only this eye-catching maid outfit would burn into their memory.

As a result, the risk of my face being recognized by witnesses was reduced—my theoretical armor was flawless.

Steeling my resolve, I opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat. Akira stared at me intently.

Even though she was just looking silently, it felt like a knife was being driven into my profile.

“…Wow.”

Eventually, Akira let out a sound, her lips frozen in a subtle, amused smile.

“It… it looks amazing on you! Really, cute girls look photogenic in anything, don’t they?”

“…”

“No, seriously! I’m not lying, it looks great! It’s just… a bold choice for casual wear. I guess foreigners see Japan differently than we do, huh…”

Akira was talking unusually fast.

“I demand a correction of this misunderstanding. I don’t normally wear clothes like this.”

“Oh, really? Yeah, that makes sense.”

Akira’s voice lightened, as if slightly relieved.

“This is a kind of battle uniform. I used to wonder why, in Japanese subculture, girls in maid outfits often wield guns or swords… but I think I’ve arrived at the answer.”

“Huh… really?”

Akira’s voice wavered again, tinged with unease.

“I’ll explain why by the time we reach Tokyo. Drive, Akira.”

“…Okay.”

For some reason, Akira’s expression turned vacant, as if she’d given up on something, before she stepped on the accelerator.

Akira’s safehouse was on the upper floor of an apartment in Kameido, Koto Ward, with a view of the Skytree.

“Impressive setup.”

The 3LDK interior, like my own place, was practically an armory. The smell of gun oil and grease filled the air. Steel racks lined the walls, filled with meticulously maintained firearms and knives. Ammunition was stockpiled in abundance.

“It’s half hobby collection at this point. For jobs in Japan, you don’t need this much firepower. Honestly, since returning to Japan, I haven’t touched the guns here.”

Akira said this as she picked up a semi-automatic shotgun from a nearby rack—an Italian-made Benelli M4 Super. A 12-gauge loaded with double-ought buckshot, capable of scattering nine pellets per shot, it was a devastating close-range weapon.

“Depending on the strategy, we might need it for tonight’s target.”

“Tell me the details.”

Akira returned the Benelli to the rack and prepared two glasses. She pulled a bottle of sparkling mineral water from the fridge, popped the cap, and poured.

I took one of the offered glasses. The fizzing bubbles carried a hint of lime to my nose.

“Her name’s Marjorie Wong. A 30-year-old woman climbing the ranks of Hong Kong’s Triad as a key figure.”

Akira swiped her smartphone screen, showing me a photo of the woman’s face.

“Chinese mafia, huh.”

The Triad is a massive criminal organization dominating Hong Kong’s underworld, with influence extending to major Asian cities.

“Wong has a particular hobby. She’s got a thing for cute girls—Japanese ones, especially. Every time she visits Japan, she gathers girls she’s picked up for all-night parties.”

“I see. So we’re crashing that party with a surprise.”

“Exactly. Tonight at midnight, in Roppongi. Even if she’s traveling incognito, she’ll have armed escorts, naturally. The real trouble is her favorite, Heifeng —a girl not much older than you, Anya-chan, but a notorious badass in the industry.”

“I’ve heard that name before. A former child soldier from Myanmar, a vicious killer. She’s supposed to be 18, two years older than me.”

I’ve never crossed paths with her, but the alias Black Bee had reached even the Russian Domik. I didn’t know she’d been taken in by a female mafia boss in Hong Kong.

“For a freelance operative, this seems like an awfully big target. Depending on how it goes, we could face retaliation from the Triad’s main branch in Hong Kong.”

“The client is the Triad. Wong’s reckless, free-spirited ways have made her a nuisance to rival factions, so they want her quietly eliminated in a foreign country by some nobody. That’s why the job came to a small-timer like me.”

Akira said this as she sipped her sparkling water. Were her eyes glistening beneath those long lashes because of the fizzing bubbles in her glass?

“I understand the situation. Let’s plan the strategy.”

I downed the cold mineral water in one go. A sudden, sharp shutter sound—click—rang out.

Glancing over, I saw Akira with a delighted grin, holding her smartphone.

“I couldn’t resist snapping a pic of Anya-chan’s rare maid outfit look. Maybe I’ll make it my wallpaper.”

I let out a sigh, convincing myself that Akira’s earlier wistful expression must have been my imagination.

One in the morning.

The party venue was a club on the 24th floor of a building in Roppongi, Minato Ward.

As the elevator doors opened, I walked slowly down the corridor toward the thick, soundproofed entrance. In my pocket was the “charm” Akira had given me before we left the safehouse—a small cloth bag, contents unknown.

A neon blue sign displayed a placard indicating the venue was reserved. Two men in black suits, clearly underworld types, stood guard.

My appearance bore no signs of danger.

A teenage girl under 150 cm, with silver hair and Russian features, dressed in a miniskirt maid outfit? That wouldn’t raise any red flags, especially for a party meant to gather the boss’s favorite girls.

The slicked-back giant on the left smirked as he reached out for a routine pat-down.

I grabbed his right index finger, snapped it in an instant, and before he could scream, I locked his wrist and forced him to his knees.

As he finally let out a howl, I drove a knee strike into his face while keeping his wrist pinned. The other man reacted, but I was already behind him.

Jumping onto his back, I wrapped both arms around his neck. Before he could resist, I choked him out with a carotid hold, and he collapsed, eyes rolling back.

The first man, bleeding from a broken nose, tried to get up. Tough, as expected from his size. But that only meant he’d take more damage.

I raised my leg high and dropped my heel onto the back of his head as he crawled. He slammed face-first into the floor and didn’t move again.

Total time since engagement: about ten seconds.

“…I’m getting rusty.”

It had been weeks since my last real mission. Were my reflexes dulling? My killer instincts fading? Or both? Feeling a slight unease about my performance, I leaned my weight against the club’s soundproof door and pushed it open.

Blasting EDM pulsed through the air, the heavy bass hitting like a punch to the chest. Girls danced wildly under the lights.

At a booth in the back, I spotted a stunning woman lounging with girls fawning over her. Her sequined, lavish dress confirmed it—she was Marjorie Wong, the target.

I wove through the forest of dancing girls, closing in on her.

Wong, her expression tipsy, noticed me. I flashed a friendly smile, and she responded with a decadent grin.

“Oh… a little fairy lost in my garden? Such an adorable maid… come here.”

She beckoned me closer, and I narrowed the distance.

Five meters from her booth. My right hand slipped under my skirt, gripping the Makarov pistol holstered to my thigh.

“Whoa there.”

In that instant, an arm slung around my shoulder.

A sidelong glance revealed a tall, black-haired girl with a feral grin.

Her long bangs, streaked with fluorescent green and pink, hid her right eye. Her ears glittered with an absurd number of piercings.

“I can’t let a chick hiding something this dangerous under her skirt get close to the boss. What’s this, huh?”

Her right hand gripped the barrel of my Makarov through the skirt.

“Hard as hell, ain’t it? What, your dick? You a futanari or something? Gyahaha!”

She let out a manic, cackling laugh.

Even in the deafening music, I hadn’t noticed her approach. Stealth skills rivaling Akira’s… no doubt about it. This was the killer, Heifeng—Black Bee.

The moment I realized her identity, I grabbed her right hand, still clutching my gun, and twisted, aiming to snap her thumb. But Black Bee countered simultaneously with a headbutt.

“Gh!”

A dull thud echoed in my skull. Sparks flew in my vision, and searing pain shot above my left eye.

It was point-blank, sure, but her reckless disregard for her own finger breaking caught me off guard. Her sheer audacity was unreal.

As we broke apart, a suited guard by the wall noticed the commotion and reached for his gun.

I steadied myself and fired the Makarov faster, dropping him. Screams erupted from the girls around us.

Another guard reacted to the sudden gunfire but was swallowed by the chaotic flood of fleeing girls, losing sight of me.

“Assassin!! Leave this to me and get the boss out!” Black Bee barked into her headset, and the guard hustled Wong toward the emergency exit.

I aimed my Makarov at Black Bee, but the scrambling girls blocked my shot, and I lost her in the crowd.

Suddenly—a chilling killing intent ran down my spine.

“Above!?”

I looked up instinctively. Against the ceiling lights, Black Bee’s silhouette soared, her left hand gripping a black-coated combat knife.

“Die, you bitch!!”

I couldn’t dodge in time. Reflexively, I blocked with the Makarov’s barrel.

A bone-chilling metallic screech rang out as her knife sliced deep into the gun’s barrel. Her strength was monstrous.

Though my gun was ruined, I stopped the blade. I twisted the pistol, trying to lock her wrist with it.

But Black Bee let go of the knife first—her decisiveness was unreal.

I discarded the useless Makarov. I had a karambit knife hidden at my waist but chose to save it as a last resort.

Now both unarmed, Black Bee and I faced off one-on-one. The club was empty, the guests having fled.

“…Kihi!”

With an eccentric laugh, Black Bee twisted her dislocated right thumb back into place with her left hand. The pain must’ve been excruciating, but she grinned, baring her teeth.

“Hey, white-haired maid. Who the hell are you? Those moves—definitely special forces training. You’re no ordinary assassin, are you?”

Her crude speech belied a sharp analytical mind.

My fighting style, drilled into me by the organization, was a lethal blend of the Soviet Spetsnaz’s Systema body mechanics, Krav Maga’s vital-point strikes, and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu’s joint locks—a comprehensive killing art.

I didn’t know Black Bee’s background, but her explosive power in our exchange was formidable.

She looked slim, but her clothes likely hid a muscular frame honed like a man’s. Her attacks fully leveraged that strength.

Beyond technique, her innate fighting and killing instincts were superhuman—a beast in human form.

“Whatever… I’ll beat the shit outta you and make your body talk. My interrogations are real thorough, so brace yourself.”

Licking her lips with an excited glint in her eyes, Black Bee raised both fists high.

Her stance was like a boxer’s, but her wide, open-legged posture resembled traditional karate.

Swaying her body menacingly, she kicked off the floor, closing the distance in an instant. The speed was so overwhelming it felt like time itself had skipped.

“Shyaaa!!”

Black Bee swung wild hooks left and right, twisting her body to accelerate each punch.

The momentum from her twists made each successive strike faster—first, second, third, each gaining speed.

Fueled by her core strength and endless stamina, her relentless barrage would crush anyone caught in it like a small boat in a storm.

But I’m no stationary punching bag.

I’d already read her linear fighting style. It was MMA-based street fighting, tailored for real combat. I could see it all. No problem.

Timing my counter to her fourth punch, I prepared to strike—

“Guh…!?”

My heart thudded irregularly, a violent pulse.

A chill and searing pain spread through my body. My vision blurred, my muscles weakened.

(Not now…!)

The killer virus within me, Krovfi Kryatva—the Oath Lurking in Blood—chose this moment to flare up, as it always did, out of nowhere. In the middle of a life-or-death fight.

The worst possible timing. Between this and the maid outfit fiasco, had luck abandoned me since yesterday!?

In the next instant, an explosion detonated.

A brutal hook slammed into my jaw, so powerful it felt like my head was torn off and sent flying like a soccer ball to the horizon.

My skull rattled, my brain shaking like pudding. Without the virus’s pain keeping me conscious, that hit would’ve knocked me out cold.

In a fight to the death, unconsciousness means instant death. Ironically, the virus saved me—but it would kill me within ten minutes. There was no hope in sight.

(What a hard fist…!)

Staggering, I used abdominal breathing to diffuse the pain and regain focus.

“Kyaooraaa!!”

Black Bee gave me no reprieve. A cannonball-like body uppercut roared, striking my stomach at a steep angle.

“Ghaaa—!”

My lightweight body lifted off the floor. The impact pierced through my tensed abs, reverberating to my spine. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.

As my body pitched forward, my weakened legs barely held me up. Then, Black Bee’s tall frame floated before me.

She leaped, knees bent midair, launching herself like a missile—

“Get blasted!!”

A dropkick, of all things.

Her full weight slammed into me, sending me flying backward as she’d declared.

A brutal impact hit my back. I crashed into the wall five meters away, sliding down limply. If I hadn’t jumped back at the last second, my sternum would’ve shattered, and my lungs would’ve burst.

“Guh… ugh…!”

Even though I dodged a direct hit, my entire body was numb with excruciating pain, as if poisoned tendrils were gnawing at my flesh.

Driven by battlefield instincts, I fought against the agony, trying to stand. But my legs refused to cooperate. Breathing was a struggle, and my vision flickered with purple, teetering on the edge of blackout.

(Is this where I die?)

Failure on a mission meant death. That was the ironclad rule of my life, one I’d accepted since I was old enough to understand.

And yet…

(I don’t want to die—)

Deep in my heart, that thought surged, unbidden and raw.

The calm resolve I’d trained to face death with wavered. Flashing through my mind was someone’s smile.

A warm, enveloping smile that welcomed me, embracing my very existence.

(Kohana… Asahi…)

I wanted to live, to return to the place where they waited for me.

I couldn’t die here—not yet. With every ounce of will, I commanded my faltering limbs to move once more.

Heiphon, landing smoothly from her dropkick, was already striding toward me with a leisurely confidence.

“Oi, oi, what’s this? Done already? You got my hopes up, but you’re totally pathetic!”

She glared down at me, unable to stand, her cold eyes piercing. Then, with a sneer, she pressed the sole of her short boot against my face. Her voice carried a genuine tinge of disappointment.

At that moment, something slipped from my pocket and rolled onto the floor.

A small cloth pouch, its drawstring tightly knotted. I hadn’t yet checked its contents. It was an amulet, handed to me by Akira before I left.

Both my gaze and Heiphon’s locked onto the pouch at the same time.

I reached for it instinctively, without reason. But for Heiphon, my movement wasn’t meaningless.

As if certain the pouch held some critical significance, her sharp eyes glinted, and she unleashed a low kick. Her speed far outstripped my current state, the toe of her boot reaching the pouch before my hand could.

Heifeng’s kick, swift as a blade, sliced through the fabric with lethal precision.

In that fleeting moment, something golden fluttered into the air before my eyes—the contents of the torn pouch.

It was—

“What the…? Animal… fur?”

Heifeng’s brow furrowed in confusion.

And beyond the countless fine strands of animal hair dancing under the light…

“Hapshoo!”

My colossal sneeze shattered the silence.

A fierce itch stung my eyes and nose. Hives bloomed across my skin. Yet, the venom coursing through my body was gone.

Fueled by my cat allergy, I felt a surge of strength flood my revived body as I stood.

“Sorry to keep you waiting—let’s do this at 100%.”

Facing a stunned Heifeng, I quietly assumed a fighting stance.

 

 

“Don’t get cocky with snot dripping from your nose!!”

Snapping back to herself, Heifeng charged, her rush brimming with murderous intent.

I’d already experienced the terrifying speed and raw power of her onslaught firsthand.

But even so—

“Wha—!?”

In a fleeting clash, and then…

“…What the hell!?”

The shock and pain of slamming into the floor overwhelmed Heifeng. More than that, she screamed in confusion, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

She sprawled at my feet, her wide eyes staring up at me in disbelief.

I’d simply slipped into the arc of Heifeng’s wild hook, grabbed her clothing, and tripped her, tossing her in the direction of her own momentum.

To an onlooker, it might’ve seemed like Heifeng tripped over her own feet as we passed. I barely exerted any strength. In trying to hit me with all her might, Heifeng had essentially punched herself.

“You… what the hell did you do…? How could a shrimp like you take me down so easily…?”

Heifeng’s breathing was ragged. Her ribs were almost certainly broken. On the street’s asphalt, that single throw could’ve ended it.

Yet, despite the damage, Heifeng’s fighting spirit remained unbroken as she staggered to her feet.

“Every force has two attributes: mass—energy—and direction—vector.”

Wiping my nose with a tissue, I spoke. The teachings of my old combat instructor flowed naturally from my lips.

“To counter mass with mass, you need greater power or speed to overwhelm it. But control the vector, and even if you’re weaker or slower, you can manipulate a far greater mass.”

“…What’s that supposed to mean? Explain it so I can understand! I don’t do complicated crap!”

“It means if you can control the direction of a force, no matter how powerful the attack, it’s nothing to fear. You’re no longer my enemy.”

At my declaration, Heifeng’s face flushed with rage.

“Tch! What, some wannabe martial arts geezer’s lecture? That crap doesn’t work in a real fight to the death!”

Ignoring her injuries, she assumed a fighting stance again. Her pain was likely numbed by adrenaline.

But despite her brash words, she didn’t charge recklessly this time. Her arms guarded tightly, she inched forward, reacting to my every move.

I could sense her wariness—she was guarding against another counter-throw. If she didn’t attack, I couldn’t redirect her force.

It looked passive, but I felt her iron will, aiming for certain victory.

—If that’s the case.

I closed the distance casually and threw a left punch.

Heifeng’s eyes blazed with killing intent. This was the moment her impatient nature had been waiting for. As my punch came, she countered with a full-force right fist, twisting in from an outside angle.

In that instant, my left hand shifted. From a fist to an open palm.

My hand flipped, grabbing the sleeve of Heifeng’s leather jacket from the inside as it roared toward me.

Without resisting the vector of her force, I yanked her sleeve forward. Her right punch was no longer her attack—it had become a guide rail, fully under my control.

I slipped into Heifeng’s guard, driving my right fist, weighted with my center of gravity, into her solar plexus. A perfectly timed counter. My fist sank deep into her abs, up to my wrist.

“Guhh—!”

Heifeng expelled all the air from her lungs, her eyes rolling back.

My right hand felt no resistance from the punch. All the energy of the impact had been transferred entirely into her body.

As a result, Heifeng’s body didn’t fly backward—she crumpled straight down, her strength completely drained. I knew she was out of the fight.

“You… damn maid… bastard…”

Lying on the ground, Heifeng glared up at me with eyes clouded by frustration and hatred. She couldn’t comprehend how a small fry like me could land such a devastating blow.

The principle was the same as the throw. I’d merely turned Heifeng’s own immense power back on her.

“I lost… kill me.”

Her voice was hollow, resigned.

She, too, knew the rules of her life. Defeat on the battlefield meant death.

I drew the karambit knife from the sheath at the back of my belt.

The cold light glinting off its crescent-shaped blade told me, the victor, what I had to do.

But…

“This isn’t my mission anymore—”

In my mind flashed the image of the brown-and-white tabby cat that visited my balcony every night.

These hands of mine weren’t meant for slitting throats anymore. They were for petting cats.

Besides, my role—to separate the target, Wong, from her guard, Heifeng—had already been fulfilled.

“Dasvidaniya.”

“H-Hey… wait! Wait, damn it! Where do you think you’re going without finishing me!?”

Heifeng’s voice chased after me as I sheathed the karambit and walked away.

“You think you’re showing me mercy!? Kill me! Just kill me!! Don’t let me live with this shame!!”

Her anguished screams soon dissolved into childlike sobs.

“Ugh, uwaaa… I’ll never forgive you! Never, you hear me… uwaaa!”

With Heifeng’s wails at my back, I left the midnight club alone.

In the underground parking garage of the party venue’s building…

The driver’s side door of an Audi Quattro was flung open. The man in black—Marjorie Wong’s bodyguard and driver—froze as he peered inside.

Simultaneously, a roar and muzzle flash erupted from the back seat. The man’s head was blown open, his blood and brains splattering across the asphalt as he collapsed.

I—Kurisako Akira—rose from where I’d been lying in wait on the Audi’s rear seat. Opening the back door, I stepped out, Beretta M92F in hand, the acrid smell of gunpowder lingering.

“Been a while, Marj.”

I faced the raven-haired woman standing in front of the car—Marjorie Wong.

Dressed in a sequined gown beneath a silver fox coat, the thirty-something woman gave me a wistful smile, her drooping eyes soft.

“Akira… to think you’d be my grim reaper.”

Even facing death, Marj was unshaken. Just as she’d been five years ago.

As a younger woman, I’d always admired her effortless composure, three years my senior. But it also made me anxious. Did someone like her even need me?

In the end, my insecurities were why we parted ways.

We’d met in San Francisco’s Chinatown—a fledgling assassin and a rising star in the Hong Kong mafia. I was a rootless wanderer; she was on a trip to America.

Our fleeting romance lasted barely two months. We loved like fire and parted like the wind.

On that final morning, she left a plane ticket to Hong Kong on the bedside. I burned it in the ashtray, letting it vanish with the smoke of my Marlboro.

—Five years later.

“That little maid is your partner now, Akira? We didn’t get to chat, but she’s awfully cute.”

“And you’ve got that ferocious ‘Black Bee’ tamed like a puppy, I hear. You always have some woman by your side, don’t you? They flock to you like bees to nectar… that’s just who you are, Marjorie Wong.”

Marj gave a faint smile.

“You might not believe me, but back then, it was only ever you.”

Those were her final words.

As Marj’s hand reached into her handbag, grabbing a Derringer pistol, my assassin’s reflexes took over. My Beretta roared death.

With the gunshot’s boom, the recoil of fatal consequence jolted my hand. I gripped the pistol tightly, as if feeling her life ebb through the trigger.

“There were words I forgot to say to you, Marj.”

Bidding farewell to the corpse of the woman I once loved, I picked up the spent casing at my feet and clenched it. The brass, still warm from combustion, burned my palm.

“—Goodbye.”

Swallowing the surge of emotions with the pain of the burn, I sent a message to Anya-chan, confirming the job’s completion.

Reuniting with Akira, I—Anna Gratskaya—climbed into her Lotus Elise, and we left Roppongi in the dead of night.

We navigated Tokyo without hitting any checkpoints, arriving at our safehouse apartment past 2 a.m. At Akira’s urging, I showered. While I did, she prepared a simple meal in the kitchen.

On the table, she set two aluminum plates: boiled sausages seasoned with a pinch of rock salt, served with grainy mustard and jarred sauerkraut, steaming gently.

“Good work, Anya-chan. You really saved me out there.”

Akira cracked open a Heineken, and we clinked it with my bottle of sparkling mineral water in a toast.

“I should be thanking you. That amulet saved my life.”

“I knew about your little ‘condition’ when we revealed our identities to each other. Figured it might come in handy someday, so I stopped by Matsuneko-tei this week and asked the owner to collect some cat hair from their brushes.”

Akira’s ‘amulet’ was a revelation for me.

If I carried cat hair with me, I could trigger my cat allergy anytime, anywhere—even without a cat nearby. It was so obvious, I couldn’t believe I’d never thought of it before.

I reflected on why that might be.

It hit me how utterly devoid I’d been of any attachment to “just living.” Beyond completing assigned missions, I’d never found meaning or purpose in my own existence—that was the core of Anna Gratskaya.

That’s probably why such a simple idea never crossed my mind.

Which made me wonder if I even needed to adopt a cat anymore… but knowing Asahi, she’d probably never let me off the hook after coming this far.

Getting involved with others always complicates things.

Yet, strangely, I felt little resistance to the idea. Maybe I’d grown used to the messiness of everyday life—or maybe I’d just given up trying to control it.

“I was sure I’d die on this job… or rather, I thought this was the finale of the drama called Kurisako Akira. But it looks like the show’s going on. Thanks to your backup, Anya-chan.”

Wetting her lips with her beer, Akira spoke as if musing aloud.

Her voice held neither the joy of survival nor the regret of not dying—just a hollow acceptance of the facts.

It was the same fatalistic detachment I knew, born from living in a world of killing and being killed. When you’re prepared to die tomorrow, you don’t cling to your own life.

“…”

But.

The me sitting here now was undeniably different from the me of yesterday.

I realized it during my fight with Heiphon tonight—my own heart had taught me so.

I’d tasted, even if just a little, the sweet fruit of wanting to live.

That’s why, in that moment, I genuinely didn’t want to die. You could call it a weakening of my spirit.

And because of that weakened state, I could see something new.

Akira was hurting—deeply.

I didn’t know why. Maybe it had to do with the person she killed tonight… Marjorie Wong.

“Anya-chan, you’ve got scratches on your face…”

As I chewed silently on a sausage speared with my fork, Akira spoke, looking at me. She stood from her chair, leaning across the table to bring her face closer.

“Your eye’s swollen red, and there’s a cut on the corner of your lip, bleeding a bit.”

Probably from Heifeng’s blows. They stung with heat, but they were minor injuries.

“I’m fine. No broken bones.”

Akira’s beautiful face, framed by long lashes, was right in front of me. My heart raced, just like before, and I felt my composure waver.

In the corner of my vision, something white and graceful moved. It was Akira’s slender index finger.

Her slightly damp fingertip touched the swelling above my left eye. The cool sensation was soothing.

Her finger slowly traced the curve of my cheek, descending. Then it pressed gently against my lower lip.

“Ngh.”

The sensitive membrane of my lip tingled under her touch, like a faint electric current. Reflexively, I turned my face away.

Akira’s finger slid between my closed lips, moving sideways to rest softly on the cut at the corner of my mouth.

I felt the cool, moist touch of her finger on the throbbing wound, syncing with my quickening heartbeat. Turning away was a mistake—the sensation overwhelmed me, amplified.

“Akira, that tickles—”

Unable to endure the unseen touch toying with me, I turned my face back.

In that instant, my lips were stolen.

“…!”

My eyes widened in shock, meeting Akira’s cool, gleaming gaze. I realized I’d been caught off guard.

She’d planned it all along—teasing me with her deliberate touch, waiting for the moment I’d turn back.

And so, the hunter splendidly felled her prey. Perhaps it was because I was captivated by the invisible wounds Akira must have suffered tonight.

The realization that I’d been outmaneuvered came late, and what hit me was sensation—the overwhelming softness of her lips.

And then, the sweet fragrance of Akira’s breath. Inhaling it made the core of my brain tingle, just like before.

(This is bad… if this keeps up…)

Following the faint command of my remaining rationality, I tried to push her body away with both arms.

As if to stifle my resistance, something slick—her tongue—slipped past my lips, invading my mouth.

It was Akira’s tongue. The vivid sensation, reminiscent of soft creatures like leeches or slugs, sent shivers down my spine, and I was overwhelmed by the passionate, relentless way it moved, brimming with her desire for me.

My arms slowly lost their strength, hanging limply. Perhaps my very brain had already been violated. That’s how incapable I was of thinking anything at all.

Finally, our lips parted, and I unconsciously resumed the breathing I’d stopped.

“You know… I’m a bad woman, really experienced at doing things like this with girls.”

In a gentle voice, like she was soothing a child to sleep, Akira whispered into my ear.

“So don’t worry, just leave it to me… I love you, Anya-chan.”

I tried to say something in response, but all that came out were incomprehensible sounds—neither Russian nor Japanese, just a mess of “aww” and “wah.”

I lost all sense of balance, front, back, left, right… and before I knew it, I was lying on the carpeted floor.

And there was Akira, looming over me. Her beautiful face was silhouetted against the dimmed ceiling light.

In a corner of my numb thoughts, one thing crossed my mind: What’s about to happen to me? The fear of the unknown, born from inexperience, barely stirred my survival instincts.

I just felt scared. And in that fear, I—

“I’m sorry.”

Five minutes later.

I was prostrating myself before Akira, who had regained consciousness.

“It was… an act of force majeure…”

“N-no… can you lift your head, please?”

Akira, still dazed after coming to, sighed heavily and shook her head.

“I was pretty forceful myself, so it’s only natural you’d resist with everything you had… But wow, that move was insanely fast. That triangle choke from below… I didn’t even have time to defend before you had me out cold… I’ve got a colored belt in jujitsu, you know, but I clearly need more training.”

Before I knew it, my legs had smoothly lifted, ensnaring Akira’s neck and right arm, locking in the technique in an instant. It was purely because my survival instincts had deemed her actions an unknown threat.

“…Heh, pfft… Hahaha!”

Akira suddenly burst into laughter, like something had snapped.

“What even is this? It’s so ridiculous…! Haha! Hahahaha!”

While I stood there awkwardly, Akira kept laughing, her voice light and free, as if she’d let go of something heavy.

After a few hours of napping, I woke to a clear blue sky on a Saturday morning.

Checking the news, I saw reports of a clash between foreigners in Roppongi late last night. It was the kind of ambiguous resolution that suited the client who had hired Akira—a perfect outcome for them.

After Akira brewed me a strong, sugary espresso that jolted me awake, she drove us out of Tokyo, back to my hometown.

About three hours later, Akira pulled over near my apartment complex, took off her Salvatore Ferragamo sunglasses, and turned to me in the passenger seat.

“You know, I was planning to quit being an assassin after surviving this job. But I’ve changed my mind… I’ve got a new goal now.”

She flashed a radiant smile as she said it.

“I’ve gotta work hard to earn enough money to take care of Anya-chan for life. Hey, if we get married and share a family registry someday, you could even get Japanese citizenship, you know?”

“What are you talking about? Two women can’t just get married.”

“Oh? So the only obstacle for you is the gender thing? If it’s not about disliking me personally, then I might have a chance… Besides, I believe same-sex marriage will be legalized in Japan eventually. Some local governments already recognize same-sex partnerships, you know?”

I thought she was joking, but her tone suggested she was dead serious. The vivid memory of last night made me a little nervous.

Akira let out a knowing chuckle, as if amused by my struggle to respond, and then slipped her sunglasses onto my ears.

“Here, take these. Use them to hide that scratch on your pretty face until it heals… Anyway, thank you for real this time. Want the payment in cash or a bank transfer?”

“No payment needed. I only helped for the sake of the cats at Hiyodori Bridge 2-chome Park.”

At my reply, Akira looked at me with a slightly stunned expression.

“Looks like I’ve fallen for you even more… Have a great weekend, Khoroshego prazdnika.”

Then she kissed my cheek. A ticklish, embarrassing warmth spread to my ears.

“…Let’s meet again.”

I practically fled the car and started walking toward my home.

“I’m sorry.”

Five minutes later.

I was prostrating myself before Asahi, who stood with her arms crossed, glaring like a guardian deity.

By the way, this was my second time groveling since last night. I was starting to get the hang of it.

“I know there’s no excuse for neglecting to contact you, even if it was an urgent matter. To leave an elementary schooler like you alone overnight…”

I’d realized I forgot to message Asahi while we were driving back. I sent an apology right away, but got no reply. By then, I already had a bad feeling…

“Hey, stop making it sound like I’m sulking because I was lonely! I’m mad because you’re so clueless. Do you even know what your mission is?”

“To pet cats and bring them into our home.”

At the very least, it’s not about fighting mafias or assassins. Yesterday’s events were just a one-off irregularity for me.

“If you get that, fine. But then… what were you doing in that maid outfit since last night? And you’ve got a scratch on your face that’s honestly kind of shocking. Did you get into a fight somewhere?”

“I had urgent business in Tokyo.”

When I raised my head to answer, Asahi’s expression shifted.

“Wait, Tokyo? That’s not fair, going alone! If you’re going, take me with you! There’s a ton of anime collab cafés I wanna check out!”

“Alright, I promise. Let’s go together during spring break.”

At that, Asahi’s mood visibly improved. She probably doesn’t realize it herself (and I wouldn’t dare point it out since she’d get mad), but her straightforwardness is charmingly childlike.

We went to the supermarket to buy ingredients for dinner, and by the time we got back, the Saturday sun had set.

I offered to help with dinner to make up for my mistake, but she told me to sit and wait, saying I’d just get in the way. Her ironclad resolve to keep me out of the kitchen was unmistakable.

After enjoying Asahi’s cooking for the first time in two days, it was time for a bath…

“I’m fine bathing alone today.”

Unlike usual, Asahi refused to bathe together. Originally, she’d asked me to join her because she was scared of having her back exposed while shampooing.

“Why? If my apologies aren’t enough, I’ll apologize again.”

“It’s not that I’m still mad. It’s just… I didn’t bathe yesterday since you weren’t here. Got it?”

“…No, I don’t.”

Asahi fidgeted, looking embarrassed about something, but I couldn’t grasp her meaning.

“I mean… I’m dirty and probably smell!”

Her face flushed as she blurted it out angrily. I leaned in close to her head and took a sniff.

“Hyaa!? Hey, what are you doing!?”

“I don’t smell anything unusual. Just the usual Asahi scent.”

Her face turned an even deeper shade of red.

“Don’t say ‘usual’ like that! You weirdo, Anya!”

“You’re going to wash it off in the bath anyway, so being dirty shouldn’t matter. Let’s bathe together, Asahi.”

Looking into her eyes as I said it, she reluctantly nodded, giving in.

After bathing, it was bedtime. Asahi and I climbed into bed, waiting for the cat.

Our eyes were fixed on the balcony. The night breeze was a bit chilly, but we left the sliding window half-open.

Asahi read her favorite manga, frequently glancing at the window. She seemed too distracted by the cat to focus on the story.

Soon, we heard something land on the balcony railing.

Turning, I saw the usual cat peering into the room with round eyes. It hopped down and waddled inside.

It stopped, facing the bed, then sat back on its haunches, front paws neatly aligned, looking up at us.

Meow.

“Ohhh, it meowed…!”

Asahi let out a voice that sounded like she was melting at the cat’s first meow.

As usual, I opened a bag of cat food, poured it onto a paper plate, and set it on the floor. The brown-and-white tabby trotted over eagerly and began munching.

“So cute~ Oh, I just noticed, this one’s a boy. Look, he’s got little balls.”

As Asahi pointed out, beneath the cat’s tail were two adorable white-furred orbs, like tiny pom-poms.

After finishing the food, the cat licked its paws and washed its face. Normally, it would explore the room briefly before leaving, but…

“Oh… it’s coming over here.”

With Asahi’s hopeful eyes watching, the brown tabby walked toward our bed.

Then, with a sudden hop, it jumped onto the bed.

Asahi and I exchanged glances. She quietly slipped off the bed, crept to the balcony, and gently closed the sliding window.

This wasn’t her first attempt at this strategy—she’d tried closing the window to keep the cat in before, but it panicked and wanted out, so we gave up.

Tonight, though, was different.

Despite the exit being sealed, the cat showed no interest in it. It paced in circles, as if testing the bed’s softness, looking for something.

Eventually, its circling stopped, and it plopped down heavily.

It lay there, acting like it had owned the bed for a decade.

“…”

Swallowing hard, I slowly reached my right hand toward the cat’s round head.

And then, my palm touched it for the first time—so soft and warm, the cat’s head.

The cat looked up at me, licked my hand once, and then settled into a relaxed, cross-legged pose, grooming itself—a sign it was at ease.

(It accepted me…!)

A sense of accomplishment, rivaling Armstrong’s moon landing, surged through my chest.

“Anya…!”

Asahi leaped back onto the bed, throwing her arms around me with a joyful cry.

“Kyaaa! We did it!”

As we embraced, celebrating, I felt something soft and elusive settling into me.

It was irrational, vague, something the old me could never have merged with.

But now, there was space in me to accept this soft thing without fully understanding it, as if it had replaced something I’d lost—like hardness, sharpness, or intensity.

Something intangible, mysterious, irrational, and purely soft—it was like the very creature curled up on the bed.

Somehow, the concept of “cat” had slipped into me unnoticed.

And it seemed impossible to willfully cast it out. My soul felt dyed in the same topaz hue as the cat’s eyes.

“…Will you live with me?”

I asked the two gleaming eyes gazing up at me.

The cat simply replied, Meow.

Neither a “no” (Nyet) nor a “yes” (Da), but somehow both, its answer was a riddle not easily solved.

That was the moment my long, endless journey to understand the language of cats began.