Chapter 19: Hoshitani Kaoru’s Troubles (Part 2).
Hoshiya Kaoru felt Aina’s body tense beneath his arms as she tried to hide her lie. No amorous thoughts stirred—only a salty bitterness rising from his heart, flooding mouth and throat.
How could he not know?
Nearly ten years together—from awkward teens to now, skin-to-skin intimate. Yet she probed clumsily, suspecting him of another woman.
The realization pricked like a slim ice needle—quiet, persistent dull ache.
A decade of firsts, shared secrets, dreams—culminating in closest bond.
Why still no trust?
The distrust beneath intimacy exhausted him.
But he understood: she feared his job leading to cheating.
“Dummy Aina…”
He tightened his embrace, chin resting on her soft hair.
Sighed almost inaudibly, for their ears only—helpless, aching, misunderstood grievance.
[I love you so much—how could I cheat…]
The words burned to escape.
But he swallowed them.
He knew Aina: cheerful facade hid fragile self-esteem, glass-heart insecurity.
Ripping the paper-thin veil would cut deeper, spiraling her into doubt and shame.
He couldn’t.
Explanations, promises—gulped down, turned into fiercer hug. Body heat and heartbeat conveying wordless certainty.
——————
Evening breeze carried day’s lingering heat and urban clamor, fluttering Hoshiya Kaoru’s hurried hem.
He quick-stepped familiar streets to Kawasaki izakaya—neon shops flickering alive, sketching mortal world.
“Hey, Hoshiya-kun’s here. Counting on you tonight.”
Pushing the noren-curtained old wood door, Mister Kawasaki behind counter looked up from polishing glass—wrinkled face blooming warm, genuine smile.
“Sorry, sir—making Aina dinner ran late.”
Kaoru bowed slightly, apologetic grin.
Explaining, he stowed canvas bag in employee cubby under counter.
Grabbed neatly folded navy yukata uniform, heading to back warehouse-room for changing.
Soon after sliding the old, unlockable shōji shut—
Distant to near: low motorcycle growl.
Sharp brake. Sleek, hard-edged heavyweight bike halted at door—paint gleaming cold under lights.
Black rider leather hugged Kawasaki Rika’s tall, athletic frame perfectly.
Helmet off—striking blonde shoulder-length hair cascaded, framing wild-beautiful face.
Entering, gray-black eyes—cool, distant—swept the shop: pre-peak, sparse tables murmuring; grandpa at counter.
“Grandpa, Grandma in kitchen?”
Voice low, slightly husky, clear to bar.
“Ah, Rika. Yep, old lady’s back there.”
Mister Kawasaki looked up—eyes turbid yet brimming open affection, wrinkles crinkling deeper.
“Skipping generations” love shone: Rika raised by them.
Elders unaware of her outside life; post-bubble “golden era” vets saw bikes and dyed hair as tame.
“Mmm, changing first.”
Rika couldn’t serve in leather. From under counter: gym tank and shorts. Straight to warehouse.
“Rika, you—”
Grandpa started, watching her back—words circling, unformed.
Swallowed, hand smacking forehead, muttering:
“What was I gonna say? Ugh, old age—memory shot…”
Rika ignored, clothes in hand, to warehouse.
Stopped at door.
Old-style converted house: simple paper-wood sliding doors, no inner lock.
No hesitation—hand on frame, push aside—
Shhhhk—
Door slid.
Instant: warehouse light poured out, blinding.
Rika’s vision—adjusting—nearly swallowed by sudden jade-white expanse inside…
Hoshiya Kaoru mid-change: shirt and pants off, folded on old crate.
Upper body bare to yukata—skin prickling in cool, dusty air.
Defenseless moment—
Shhhhk—