Chapter 6: Suspicious Shadows at the Izakaya.

Ayata Aina had approved the job precisely because the owners were kind elders and the regulars were locals—no shady types.

She pushed the wooden door with its wind chime. It tinkled brightly.

Peak hour. Nearly every table full—neighbors unwinding after work, laughter, clinking glasses, and clattering dishes weaving a lively hum.

Her eyes swept the crowded room, hunting that familiar silhouette.

Hoshiya Kaoru stood out anywhere, like a modern ukiyo-e come to life, cradled in warm amber light and savory scents.

A neat knot tied his headscarf at the nape; rebellious black strands escaped, brushing a smooth forehead and elegantly shaped ears, making his youthful face glow paler.

The navy work uniform hung loose yet crisp on his slender frame.

Kneeling on tatami to take orders, he leaned forward slightly, big dewy eyes blinking as if they spoke, lips curved in perfect gentle smiles, listening intently while his long, graceful fingers noted everything in the order pad.

Serving dishes, he bowed—guests glimpsing the elegant line of his neck beneath the white scarf, lashes thick and lowered.

That docile focus drew eyes.

No doubt, these patrons would return more often.

“Welcome, please—”

Hoshiya Kaoru balanced two frothy beers, turning from the counter. Catching the figure at the door in his peripheral, he assumed a new customer and started the usual greeting.

Halfway through, his gaze sharpened. He saw her face.

“Eh? Aina?! What are you doing here?”

His practiced smile melted into genuine surprise and a flicker of joy. His voice rose with shock; the beers dipped slightly in his hands.

At his startled question, Ayata Aina scratched her nose guiltily, eyes drifting, avoiding those clear eyes too long.

How could she admit the devastating video had rattled her so much she’d come to check on him?

“I… had nothing to do at home, just thought I’d drop by…”

She mumbled, voice softer than usual, forcing casualness.

“Ah, I see.”

Hoshiya Kaoru didn’t sense the storm beneath her calm. He nodded, smile warming again.

He was swamped—fine sweat beading at his temples, glistening under the lights.

“Aina, grab any seat, okay? I’m slammed right now. Once the rush dies, I’ll come to you.”

Apology laced his tone; he glanced at the packed room.

Ayata Aina nodded quickly, claimed a single seat near the counter, propped her chin on her hand, eyes locked unblinkingly on the beautiful figure weaving through tables.

Hoshiya Kaoru handled the floor—light steps dancing between seats like a graceful butterfly.

Occasionally, the kitchen curtain parted. A stooped, gray-haired elder emerged with steaming plates, setting them on the pass.

Mister Kawasaki.

Having visited with Hoshiya Kaoru before, he recognized her. Passing with an empty tray, he smiled kindly and greeted:

“Miss Ayata, good to see you.”

She straightened, bowed slightly, polite:

“Yes, sorry to intrude.”

“Not at all,”

Mister Kawasaki waved it off, wiping sweat from face and neck with the towel on his shoulder. His smile deepened, crow’s feet stacking.

“Extra busy tonight. Hoshiya-kun’s a lifesaver—huge help!”

Ayata Aina seized the chance, casually asking about Hoshiya Kaoru’s evening. The answers eased her a fraction; shoulders loosened.

[Letting Kaoru work here might not have been a mistake…]

But in that moment of relief, the deep-blue kitchen curtain whipped aside with a sharp rustle.

A figure stepped out.

A woman—nearly one-eighty tall, strikingly statuesque.

Simple gray tank top, soaked with sweat, dark patches tracing a taut torso.

Shoulder-length hair dyed vivid gold, damp strands clinging messily to forehead and neck.

Angular yet fluid face—sharp jaw, straight nose, pronounced brow giving deep-set eyes.

Those eyes stood out: long, slightly upturned, icy gray-blue. Her gaze direct, piercing, fearless yet lazily aloof.

Sweat traced her defined jaw, down a long neck corded with subtle muscle, vanishing into the inviting hollow of her collarbone.

Beneath the clinging tank, wheat-toned skin revealed lean, defined muscle—not bulky, but sleek ridges like quiet mountain spines, brimming with restrained power.

Her first glance locked onto Hoshiya Kaoru—like a targeting system—as he meticulously wiped a nearby empty table.

Her gray-blue eyes swept him top to bottom, lingering on curves the navy uniform couldn’t hide.

A flash of raw, possessive hunger flickered deep in her gaze—instinctive, aggressive.

Gone in an instant, masked by cool detachment.

Then she turned, meeting the stare of the woman glaring daggers at her. Brows furrowed, eyes flashing confusion and irritation.

[Why’s this chick staring at me?]