I mentioned this before, I'm busy with the holidays and traveling so I'm posting less but here is a chapter. I wrote this chapter after a certain H anime and H webtoon that inspired me to write.

Victim 1: Takashima Kanae

Takashima Kanae jolted awake, her heart racing, the remnants of a nightmare still clinging to her. Blinking in the dim dawn light, she sat up just as her alarm began to buzz. The sharp sound sliced through the fog of her dreams, anchoring her in the familiar weight of reality. With a sigh, she rubbed her eyes and slipped out of bed. Her movements were automatic as she stripped off her sleepwear and headed to the bathroom. The chill of the tiles underfoot made her shiver, a welcome sensation that helped chase away the lingering unease.

Stepping into the shower, Kanae turned the knob to cold, gasping as icy water hit her skin. It was bracing, awakening her body, and dulling the edges of her thoughts. For a moment, she stood there, letting the water flow over her, before grabbing the soap and scrubbing away the traces of her restless night. After a few minutes, she turned off the shower and reached for a towel, drying her body and long brown hair. The familiar scents of soap and shampoo were comforting, grounding her in the routine she relied on each day.

Dressed in simple cotton underwear, Kanae slipped on a plain long-sleeve shirt, the fabric soft against her skin. She chose a modest navy skirt that fell just past her knees—practical for a day of work. She smoothed black pantyhose over her legs, their snug fit reassuring. Finally, she gathered her long brown hair into a ponytail, the weight of it swinging gently as she moved. Catching her reflection in the small mirror, she noticed the lingering tiredness in her brown eyes and the pale tone of her skin, always seeming to crave just a bit more rest. Her modest clothing concealed her curves, a choice that made her feel more comfortable.

With a soft sigh, she left her bedroom and walked down the hallway to check on her son. His room was quiet; he lay curled under his blanket, still lost in peaceful sleep. Kanae lingered in the doorway, her gaze softening as she adjusted his blanket before leaving quietly, her footsteps silent as she slipped out of the apartment.

Descending the narrow stairs to the ground floor, she pulled a set of keys from her pocket and unlocked the door beside the staircase. The familiar aroma of her restaurant greeted her as she stepped inside. The kitchen was dim but welcoming—her haven in a life that often felt overwhelming. She walked to the refrigerator, pulling out ingredients—eggs, vegetables, a slab of pork—and laid them carefully on the counter.

While the breakfast was cooking slowly on the stove, Kanae made her way to the storage room. She flicked on the light and scanned the shelves, mentally noting the ingredients running low. With a small notepad, she jotted down what needed restocking—spices, noodles, fresh vegetables. The work was routine but necessary, giving Kanae a sense of control. After finishing the inventory, she returned to the refrigerator to double-check supplies. List in hand, she pulled out her phone and dialed several numbers, her voice steady as she placed the orders.

With the calls complete, I turned my attention to the dining area. Though it had been cleaned the night before, I wiped down the tabletops again, moving methodically through the room. My hands worked instinctively, but my thoughts wandered—back to when my restaurant was full of life, bustling with customers. Those days felt like a distant memory now, overshadowed by the bullying that had slowly driven them away.

Once the dining area was spotless, I returned to the kitchen. Washing and chopping vegetables, my hands moved swiftly with the ease of years of practice. I prepped the stocks for the broth-based dishes, the rich, savory aroma of simmering ramen filling the air. As I carefully tasted the broth, checking its balance of flavors, the soft creak of the back door caught my attention.

I turned to see my son, now awake, standing in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Good morning, Mom," he murmured, his voice still thick with drowsiness.

I smiled, my earlier worries momentarily fading. "Morning. Breakfast is ready."

I served him a plate of the warm meal I had prepared. Watching him take his first bite and smile, I felt a warmth in my chest. We sat together for a quiet breakfast, savoring a rare moment of peace before the demands of the day set in.

Later, I sat at the counter, tapping my fingers absentmindedly against the worn wood. The morning and lunch rush had passed, leaving only an unsettling quiet. Since opening at 8 a.m., just three customers have come through the door. A glance at the clock—2:30 p.m.—only deepened my sense of dread. My gaze drifted toward the entrance, willing more foot traffic to arrive, but the street outside remained empty.

The silence pressed down on me, bringing the memories I tried to bury.

I could still see them—four teenage boys standing before me, their sneers burned into my mind. They had mocked my son and me, their words sharp and cruel. At the time, reporting them to the school and confronting their behavior felt like the only option. How could I have known it would come to this? My son had already suffered enough. Standing up to them seemed right, necessary.

But I hadn't foreseen the fallout.

A flash of anger surged as I recalled the day they broke into my apartment above the restaurant. I came home to chaos—furniture overturned, belongings scattered, cherished items smashed. The violation was overwhelming, but the worst came when I stepped outside and saw what they had done to my shop.

My bra—stolen from my own home—had been nailed to the front door of my restaurant. A crude note, scrawled in messy handwriting, mocked my chest size and compared me to a cow. They had even added a vulgar drawing for good measure. The humiliation was calculated, designed to shame me in front of the neighborhood, and it worked.

Since that day, the restaurant had been almost empty. Loyal customers stopped coming, fearful of being associated with the scandal. Even those who sympathized with me hesitated to set foot inside. The gossip spread like wildfire, isolating me further.

Resting my elbows on the counter, I rubbed my temples, trying to fend off the bitterness rising in my chest. The frustration, the humiliation—it was all too much. My sanctuary had become a source of shame, and I felt powerless to stop the spiral.

o000

The door creaked open, pulling me from my wandering thoughts. I looked up to see a young man standing in the doorway. His posture was slouched, his expression dull, almost lifeless, and his tired eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on a table.

"Welcome!" I greeted, forcing a bright smile despite the unease lingering from earlier memories.

The young man wore a plain gray T-shirt and dark shorts, his appearance unremarkable except for the weariness in his gaze. I recognized him, though he wasn't a regular. Hikigaya, I recalled his name faintly. Whenever he did stop by, he always ordered ramen. Judging by the way he shuffled toward a table by the window, today would likely be no different.

Leaving the counter, I approached him with a practiced smile. "Hello, what can I get you?"

"I'll have the ramen set," he replied, his tone as lifeless as his eyes.

"Today's special is Spicy Shoyu Ramen[1]. Is that okay?" I asked.

He gave a single nod, and without another word, I returned to the kitchen. A tiny spark of hope flickered within me—perhaps, just perhaps, this day would take a turn for the better. That thought gave me the energy to work with renewed focus.

I boiled water for the noodles, ensuring the timing was precise, while carefully assembling the rest of the dish: a soft-boiled egg, thin slices of chashu pork, fresh bean sprouts, and a sprinkle of green onions. The broth simmered to perfection, its rich aroma filling the air. With meticulous attention, I arranged everything in the bowl, determined to make this meal flawless.

Carrying the steaming ramen to his table, I placed it before him. "Here you go, dear customer," I said warmly, hoping to break through the heavy atmosphere that seemed to follow him.

He reached for the disposable chopsticks but paused when he noticed me still lingering, my gaze expectant.

"Yes?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Realizing I might be making him uncomfortable, I quickly introduced myself. "I'm Takashima Kanae. I run this restaurant."

He gave a slight nod. "Hikigaya Hachiman," he replied, his tone neutral, as though uninterested in small talk.

Bowing politely, I stepped back. "I'll let you enjoy your meal," I said, retreating to the counter.

As he ate, I busied myself tidying the counter and rearranging utensils, though my focus kept drifting to the door. The restaurant remained oppressively quiet, save for the faint sound of chopsticks tapping against Hikigaya's bowl. My earlier tension hadn't faded—it hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Then, the door creaked open again.

"Welc—" I began, but the words caught in my throat. Standing at the entrance was a group of four teenage boys. My heart sank, and a chill ran through me. It was them, the ones who had been tormenting my son.

"Oh, it's open," one of them said, his smirk dripping with mockery.

"Only one customer? Business must be booming," another sneered, scanning the empty restaurant with exaggerated disdain.

My fists clenched as I stepped out from behind the counter. My pulse quickened, but I forced myself to stay calm. I moved to stand in front of Hikigaya, placing myself between him and the boys.

"You're not welcome here," I said firmly, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.

The leader of the group smirked, stepping closer. "Didn't know cows wore clothes. So, why are you?" His words dripped with venom, and he reached out, his hand extending as if to grab me.

Before I could react, a loud screech cut through the room—the sound of a chair sliding sharply across the floor.

The boy's arm was stopped mid-reach by another hand. Hikigaya had grabbed his wrist, his grip firm and unyielding.

The leader turned to confront him, but whatever he intended to say died on his lips as he met Hikigaya's gaze. There was a cold, piercing intensity in those eyes—a quiet but undeniable threat. The boy hesitated, the mocking sneer faltering as he clicked his tongue in frustration.

"Let's go," he spat, yanking his arm away. The group shuffled out, their snickering fading as the door closed.

I let out a shaky breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my hands trembling at my sides. Fear lingered in my chest, but I swallowed it, unwilling to let it show.

"Th-Thank you," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Hikigaya didn't respond immediately. Instead, he returned to his meal, his expression unchanged. But that small act of intervention spoke volumes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel entirely alone.

0o00

I closed the restaurant early that day. Cleaning up and preparing for tomorrow felt pointless—my mind was too rattled to focus. I led Hikigaya upstairs to my small apartment, the space still bearing faint scars from the boys' rampage. As I unlocked the door, an uncomfortable silence settled between us, the weight of the earlier encounter hanging heavily in the air.

Hikigaya followed me inside, his expression unreadable. He wasn't the type to pry, but the way my shoulders slumped and how I moved through the apartment made it obvious—I was carrying more than I could handle.

I tried to maintain my composure, but the emotions I had been holding back surged forward, unstoppable. My lips quivered, and tears blurred my vision. The sobs came suddenly, uncontrollably. I stood frozen in the middle of the room, shaking, as I struggled to find words. But nothing came.

Hikigaya stiffened, clearly caught off guard. He glanced around awkwardly, searching for a way to respond. When nothing presented itself, he hesitated—then acted on instinct.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he stepped closer. His movements were clumsy but deliberate as he reached and wrapped his arms around me. The embrace was awkward, but it was warm, steady—reassuring.

I tensed at first, startled by the unexpected gesture, but then I gave in. I buried my face against his chest, the fabric of his shirt muffling my sobs. I clung to him as the pain I had bottled up for so long finally spilled out. For the first time in what felt like ages, I let myself break.

Hikigaya said nothing. He simply stood there, holding me as the soft sounds of my crying filled the room. His discomfort was palpable, but he didn't pull away. Somehow, his presence felt grounding—a quiet anchor in the storm of my emotions.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook me, and the weight of the day pulled me under. The next thing I knew, I was waking up to voices.

I blinked groggily, realizing I wasn't in bed. Instead, I was lying on the couch, my head resting on something firm. I tilted my gaze upward and froze. Hikigaya. I had fallen asleep on his lap.

Embarrassment flushed as I sat up abruptly, smoothing my disheveled hair. My son stood nearby, his voice cutting through the haze.

"I see, so that happened," Hikigaya replied in his usual flat tone, clearly in the middle of a conversation with him.

"Mother, you're awake," my son said, his words slightly hesitant.

I blinked, caught off guard by his tone. He usually called me Mama. The realization struck me—he was trying to sound more grown-up, likely because Hikigaya was here.

Clearing my throat, I pushed away the lingering awkwardness. "Go back to your room, sweetheart. I'll get dinner ready."

He nodded, sparing Hikigaya a glance before retreating. The room grew quieter, leaving just the two of us.

I stood and headed toward the kitchen. Without thinking, I pulled off my blouse, intending to change into something more comfortable. Then, I heard it—a soft, awkward cough.

I froze, my hand still gripping the shirt I had just removed. Slowly, I turned to find Hikigaya standing there, his face flushed as he pointedly looked at the ceiling.

"I—uh, I'm still here," he muttered, his tone strained.

Realizing my mistake, my face burned with embarrassment. Hastily, I slipped the shirt back on. "Oh! I—I forgot!" I stammered, flustered beyond belief.

An awkward silence followed, the air thick with tension. Finally, I let out a nervous laugh, hoping to break it. "I guess I got too comfortable," I said softly, still avoiding his gaze.

Hikigaya rubbed the back of his neck, clearly just as uncomfortable. "Yeah... happens," he mumbled, glancing away.

Shaking off my embarrassment, I turned back to the kitchen. "Let me get dinner started," I said, my voice steadier now.

As I busied myself with the meal, I couldn't help but steal a glance at him. Despite the awkwardness, there was an odd warmth in knowing he had stayed—through my tears, my exhaustion, and even my slip-ups. For the first time in a long while, I didn't feel entirely alone.

00o0

The evening air was cool as I sat on the steps outside my apartment, Hikigaya beside me. The quiet of the street was a welcome contrast to the chaos of the day, a balm for my frayed nerves. Yet, my thoughts continued to churn, replaying everything that had happened. Dinner had gone surprisingly smoothly, giving me a moment of calm and a chance to learn more about him. A first-year student at Tokyo University, he was driven, resourceful, and unexpectedly considerate.

I shifted in my seat, tugging at the hem of my gray nightgown—a garment worn thin and faded from years of use. For once, I had paired it with shorts and a bra, small efforts to maintain a semblance of dignity. Even here, in the comfort of my home, Hikigaya's presence made me self-conscious, urging me to appear more presentable.

I glanced at him, uncertain how to voice the gratitude welling in my chest. Everything he'd done today—the way he faced those boys, the patient encouragement he gave my son—revealed a depth of character I hadn't anticipated.

"I'm a student," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was calm but tinged with hesitation, as though searching for the right words. "I can't always afford a meal… but I could come by the restaurant and study there if that's okay."

I blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion.

His gaze remained fixed on the ground, but his tone grew more resolute. "If I'm around, I can stop the bullying. At least for a while. It's not much, but… it's something."

The lump in my throat returned. The idea of someone—anyone—offering to shoulder even a fraction of my burdens was almost overwhelming. I had fought alone for so long, relying solely on my strength to hold everything together. Now, here he was, a university student, quietly offering help.

"You… you'd do that? For me? For us?" My voice trembled, barely above a whisper.

Hikigaya shrugged, his usual air of nonchalance softening the moment. "It's no big deal. I need a place to study, and… the ramen's good."

A soft laugh escaped me, breaking through the weight of the day. "I'm glad you like the ramen," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. For the first time in what felt like forever, my chest felt just a little lighter.

The cool night enveloped us, and without thinking, I leaned toward him, letting my head rest gently on his shoulder.

He stiffened for a moment, clearly unaccustomed to such closeness, but then, with a small, deliberate movement, he shifted and draped an arm around my shoulders. The gesture was simple, almost hesitant, but it was enough. His warmth seeped through me, steadying and grounding me in a way I hadn't realized I needed.

Above us, the sky was a deep, inky black, with faint stars barely visible through the city haze. The alley around us was cloaked in shadow, but I didn't need light to feel the reassurance his presence provided.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn't heavy or awkward—it was comforting, a rare and fragile peace in the chaos of my world. I closed my eyes and let myself rest, feeling, for the first time in years, that I wasn't entirely alone. Tonight, in this fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe that things might, somehow, get better.

000o

As I sat on the staircase, I lifted my head from Hikigaya's shoulder, suddenly aware of how late it had gotten. The cool night air felt sharper now, a subtle reminder that the day was coming to a close.

Hikigaya shifted beside me before standing, brushing off his shorts with a nonchalant motion. Stretching his arms, he let out a soft sigh. "I should head out," he said, his voice calm as ever. He glanced down at me briefly, his expression as unreadable as always. "Got some stuff to take care of. And I need to study before I crash."

I stood as well, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Thank you, Hikigaya. For everything," I said, meaning every word.

He waved it off with a dismissive hand, his gaze averted. "No big deal," he muttered, his tone neutral, almost indifferent. Yet I could sense the weight behind his actions tonight, even if he didn't acknowledge it.

I watched as he turned and began to descend the narrow staircase, his footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet alley. When he reached the ground, he paused for a brief moment, glancing back to give me a small, almost imperceptible nod before continuing down the street. His footsteps faded into the distance, leaving behind an unfamiliar stillness.

The night seemed quieter now, but the emptiness of the alley felt less overwhelming. There was a lingering warmth in the air where Hikigaya had been—a small reminder that, for a fleeting moment, I hadn't been entirely alone. I lingered on the steps for a moment longer, staring at the spot where he'd disappeared, before turning to head back inside.

I closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a second as the familiar silence of the apartment settled around me. The events of the day weighed heavily on me, but there was also a strange, newfound lightness—a feeling I hadn't experienced in years.

I walked to the closet and pulled out my futon, spreading it across the floor with practiced ease. The routine felt grounding, a small semblance of normalcy after such an unusual day.

Undressing, I made my way to the bathroom, welcoming the warmth of the bath as it enveloped me. The water was soothing, washing away the tension that had built up throughout the day. As I leaned back and closed my eyes, Hikigaya's words and actions replayed in my mind.

He was an enigma—sharp-tongued, reserved, yet with a quiet strength that had caught me off guard. He didn't flaunt his kindness, nor did he expect gratitude, but his presence had been more reassuring than I'd anticipated.

After drying off, I dressed in fresh clothes and crawled into my futon. The room was dark, the only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. I stared at the ceiling, my mind drifting back to Hikigaya.

He had mentioned his girlfriend, Yukinoshita Yukino, in passing. I couldn't help but wonder about her—the kind of woman who had managed to capture the attention of someone like him. There was a sharpness to him that she must have seen past, just as I had tonight.

A faint smile tugged at my lips as sleep began to take hold. Little did I know, while I lay there reflecting on the strange comfort Hikigaya had brought, he was walking into his battlefield.

Omake:

Back at his place, Hikigaya would undoubtedly be greeted by Yukino's icy glare as she held one of his cherished anime figures hostage. Her demands for his attention, veiled in exasperated elegance, were probably a regular part of his routine. Despite his aloof nature, he'd likely beg for the figure's safety, playing along with her games as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

1. I have a little knowledge of ramen. The area where I live just had its second ramen shop open. Everything I know is from anime, YouTube, and manga. So that might be wrong but I like spicy food since I'm Mexican.