Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or Yakuza.
I navigated my way home beneath the now-settled skies, the lingering echoes of today's chaos fading into the night. Phantom lights pooled on the pavement from the streetlamps, while faint stars twinkled against the shadowy curtain above, setting a contemplative mood whether I wanted it or not. With no music in my ears to drown out the silence, I was left alone with my thoughts after leaving the Kurosaki residence.
Thinking sucks.
I scowled, my bandaged face tightening with irritation.
No matter how much I tried to push them away, negative thoughts crept in, even after Yuzu had chosen me—had told me I was the one she wanted. And yet, the doubt lingered. Was I just taking advantage of her youthful innocence? She was still living her first life, while I… I was on my second.
I couldn't remember exactly how old I was when I died, only that I had been past twenty. That meant, mentally, I could've been anywhere from my early to late thirties by now. The more I thought about the reality of being with someone as sweet and pure as Yuzu, the more I felt… wrong.
"I'm such a scumbag," I muttered, coming to a stop in a sea of white light—a purity that felt undeserved.
"Fuck, man!" I whisper-screamed, punching at the air.
I should've rejected her. I should've gone one step further and transferred to a different junior high. I had no real reason to pick hers—other than the obvious.
"…I'm so sorry, Yuzu."
The faint whisper left my lips, carrying the weight of melancholy and regret. I glanced down at myself, clad in the hand-me-downs of her brother—a white windbreaker with black trim along the collar and zipper, paired with matching white pants.
A ghost of a smile touched my lips as I recalled the moment Yuzu had practically shoved me into that tiny guest room—the same one Rukia had used when she returned to the Kurosakis during the whole Aizen saga.
"No way, mister!" she had said with adamant conviction, blocking my escape. "It's cold outside, and you're hurt! Here—Onii-chan's old tracksuit. He's grown out of it, so you can have it. He won't mind."
Her radiant smile lit up the moment.
My smile turned grim. She's too good. Too innocent for me.
I resumed my lonely trudge home, shaking my head and shoving the self-loathing into the farthest recesses of my mind. It wasn't easy. Even though I knew she loved me—had chosen to be with me—it was impossible not to think she deserved better. Because I loved her, I saw her worth. Her kindness. Her beauty. Her value as a woman.
"Maybe that's the problem," I muttered, my voice barely louder than the evening breeze.
My feet paused beneath the glow of a street lamp.
"I'm putting her on a pedestal."
But how could I not? This was Yuzu—the prettiest girl in all of Bleach. The idea of her not ending up with some ultra-wealthy S-tier guy who could give her the life of a goddess felt almost wrong.
"If I were to break up with her…"
The thought barely had time to form before it was shoved out of my head. Even if I wanted to let her go—to free her from me—I doubted she would let me. Yuzu had always been stronger than people gave her credit for. Maybe not physically, but her mental strength was beyond her years. That speech she gave me—promising to stay by my side until we were old and grey—had hit different.
Yuzu.
I buried the thought deep as my grandparents' apartment complex came into view—a towering, blocky structure with dark-grey walls and brown balconies lining every floor. It reminded me of the complex Hina lived in with her family in that garbage Tokyo Revengers series (carried solely by the badassery of Mikey and Draken).
It wasn't a bad place, though. Cozy, even. I wouldn't mind getting my own unit here someday when I finally moved out of my grandparents' place. I had lived with them since before I entered Wei's body. They had left China when Wei was only five.
Letting myself in with the outdoor key, I stepped into the dimly lit entrance as a lightbulb flickered to life, bathing the cool winter-white interior in a warm glow. After checking the mailbox labeled Sun, I made my way down the hall to the elevator. Pressing the up arrow, I waited, hands in my pockets.
A soft ping signaled its arrival. The doors slid open, revealing an elderly woman in her mid-to-late sixties. She took one look at me—and balked.
I blinked.
"Sorry, Oba-san," I apologized instinctively, rubbing the back of my neck as I bowed.
She nodded stiffly, still looking spooked as she hastily squeezed past me, practically speed-walking out of the building.
I exhaled. Great. Just what I needed.
I sighed. That's to be expected. I probably looked like I'd gone three rounds with prime Floyd Mayweather, Ali, and Tyson—back to back.
Stepping into the elevator, I reached for the button to select my floor—
"Wait!"
A familiar feminine voice rang out. "Hold the lift, please!"
I pressed the button to keep the doors open as a classmate from our junior high sprinted inside. She was still dressed in the same sailor fuku that Yuzu and Karin wore—a night-sky blue skirt beneath a crisp, cloudy-white long-sleeved blouse. The triangle-shaped collar, matching her skirt, was adorned with a neatly tied red scarf.
"…Thanks!" she huffed, bending over with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath after her mad dash.
"No problem, sis," I replied with a smirk, warmth creeping into my voice as she looked up in recognition.
"Wei?" she breathed.
Tōno Midoriko—endearingly nicknamed "Midori" by Yuzu—was actually a canon character in Bleach. She only ever made two brief appearances when Yuzu and Karin were in elementary school, both in comedic scenes where Karin threatened her. One was during the arc where Yuichi-chan was turned into a parakeet, and the other was when Kon, inside Ichigo's body, was leaping across rooftops. Given how little focus Yuzu and Karin got in the anime (understandable, since they were only side characters in Ichigo's story), you could be forgiven for never knowing she existed.
Hell, the scene in the parakeet arc was even cut from the anime, changing Karin's reason for going home—from feeling unwell after sensing Yuichi-chan's spirit inside the bird—to her dragging her sick self out of bed to warn Ichigo.
I adjusted my umbrella over my shoulder, grinning. "That's my name."
A small giggle rippled from her lips, brightening her face. "Oh, stop."
I shrugged, selecting our floors before she could even ask.
"You look even worse," she noted as the doors slid shut behind her.
"Oh yeah," I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. "Nakajima—that high schooler I told you I was gonna fight again at school—was no joke."
Concern flickered across her face. "Did you…?"
I smiled softly. "Win? Yeah. Barely. Like I said, bro's strong as hell."
Midori let out a relieved breath, her shoulders sagging. "Thank goodness. It was on my mind all day, even at cram school."
She had that same pale, snow-white complexion and heart-shaped face framed by silky raven hair cascading past her shoulders like a calmly flowing waterfall. A neat bang, shaped like a hair clip, rested above her brow, while two bright, sun-shaped hairpins kept her hair from falling across her face. She was shouldering a handbag, and judging by how dry she was despite the rain, I figured she had a collapsible umbrella tucked inside.
"Yuzu-chan must've been really scared," she assumed.
I hesitated before offering a cryptic smile. "Oh, I don't know about that." My voice was quieter now, distant. "Yuzu's strong." I glanced up at nothing in particular, staring into a space only I could see. "Honestly, I think half the reason I came out on top against Nakajima was because she was there cheering me on." A humorless chuckle escaped me. "She deserves so much better."
"Wei…" she murmured.
She fell into step beside me as the elevator hummed upward, carrying us to our floors.
"You always do this," she said softly, her voice carrying a distant longing I couldn't quite place.
From the corner of my eye, I saw her turn toward me. She smiled—but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Talk bad about yourself, I mean. You've been doing that ever since I met you in elementary school."
If only you knew, Midori-chan. If only you knew.
My face darkened with a moody frown. "…Yeah."
"And I know," she continued, her voice slightly unsteady, "that it's hard for you to change."
I blinked. It almost sounded like she was fighting back tears.
"So I won't ask you to. But—"
Before I could react, she gripped my arm. Her fingers trembled as she clutched me, her expression pleading. A shiver ran down my spine as I turned to face her, eyes widening.
"Please don't undermine Yuzu-chan's choice," she whispered. "She chose you because you're you." Her grip tightened, her voice cracking as she squeezed her eyes shut.
"Isn't that enough?"
Midori stared, holding my gaze with quiet determination. The elevator's soft hum filled the silence between us, a steady background noise that only made the moment feel heavier.
I turned away, watching the glowing numbers above the elevator doors tick upward. "I wonder…" My voice dropped to a distant whisper. "Yuzu," I exhaled through my nose, "she's amazing, but she's innocent."
I glanced at Midori just in time to see her eyes widen. She already knew where this was going.
A small shake of her head turned into several fierce ones. "No," she murmured, voice tight with emotion.
I pressed on anyway. "I'm her first love, too." A humorless smile tugged at my lips. "Your first love always feels like magic when you're still untainted by the world." Another reason I shouldn't have accepted her feelings. Yuzu was sweet, naïve—someone who saw the world in warm hues, untouched by the weight of reality. Her promise to stay with me forever, while touching in ways I could never forget, only highlighted that innocence.
"I hate to say it, but she probably doesn't ev—"
"Don't!" Midori cut me off, her voice sharp and raw.
She gripped my shoulders, her hands trembling. Her tear-streaked voice froze me in place.
"Please don't say any more," she sobbed, looking up at me with eyes brimming with tears. "You're wrong, Wei. You're so wrong."
Her breath hitched as she tried to steady herself. "Yuzu-chan has always loved you. Always. Ever since we were little. I know," she croaked, blinking rapidly. "She was happiest when we talked about you while playing. She watched you play soccer with Karin-chan and the other boys. She made you things to eat. She even learned how to cook partly because she wanted to feed you."
I listened in silence, the weight of her words pressing against me. I wanted to argue, but it was like my mouth wouldn't move.
"So please… don't reduce all of that to something as fleeting as youthful innocence. That's so cruel."
"Midori-chan…" I murmured, resting a comforting hand on her head.
She sniffled, exhaling shakily. "Yuzu-chan knows what she's doing," she continued, voice steadier now. "She didn't pick you by accident. She picked you because she truly loves you. Don't push her away just because you think it's the right thing to do. That's not fair—to her or to you."
I clenched my jaw, suddenly feeling like the walls of the elevator were closing in.
She chose you because you're you.
The words looped in my head, relentless.
The elevator dinged.
Midori quickly wiped at her eyes, composing herself as the doors slid open.
"This is me," she murmured, stepping out. But before leaving, she paused in the doorway and turned back to look at me.
"…Just try believing in her, okay?"
She didn't wait for a response. The doors slid shut between us.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, rubbing a hand down my face.
"Believe in her, huh…?"
My reflection in the elevator doors stared back at me, unreadable.
The elevator continued its ascent, but my mind stayed right where she left me, turning her words over and over, like a puzzle with no easy solution.
Time to face the music.
I stared at the number on my apartment door—269—before fishing my keys from my borrowed pants. Thank god they weren't destroyed. Finding the right one, I jammed it into the keyhole and twisted. The lock clicked, and I pushed the door open, stepping into the hallway bathed in the warm glow of the overhead light. The soft orange hues made the place feel homier than usual.
"I'm home," I announced, my voice flat.
"Welcome back, Wei-chan!"
Grandma's cheerful voice rang from the living room as she emerged from the left side of the hallway. Her expression shifted in an instant. Horror painted her youthful features the moment she laid eyes on me.
"Oh my god, Wei-chan! What happened!?"
She hurried toward me, the soft brush of her slippers barely making a sound against the polished caramel floor tiles. Dressed in a traditional kimono, a cyan obi cinched around her waist, she was the very picture of grace—until she reached me and clutched my bandaged hands with a mix of tenderness and alarm.
"You look like the triad got their hands on you," she fussed, her youthful, unlined fingers brushing over the gauze. Her gaze flicked up to mine, suspicion flashing in her sharp brown eyes. "Wait. Did the triad get their hands on you?"
I fought the urge to laugh. Grandma could easily pass for my mother, a testament to just how young my grandparents had been when they had my runaway mother. And, well... she followed in their footsteps, hooking up with some guy (hopefully around her age) to bring me into the world. I didn't know much about my father, only that he was either dangerous or had ties to dangerous people—dangerous enough for my mother and grandparents to flee China when I was five.
Despite pushing forty, Grandma looked nowhere near it. Her skin held a vibrant, sun-kissed glow, unmarred by age. Her dark raven hair, neatly pulled back into a bow, was adorned with a delicate sakura hairpin. A cyan obi, patterned with deep-blue flowers, cinched her kimono, completing her effortlessly elegant look.
"It's nothing like that," I chuckled, trying to wave her off. "I just got into a fight with a high schooler."
"A high schooler?" she echoed, clearly sceptical. "You're telling me a high schooler did this to you?"
"Yeah," I replied, rubbing the back of my neck.
She fell silent, staring at me as if I'd just told her the sky was green.
A loud flush broke the silence, followed by running water. Moments later, the bathroom door swung open, and Grandpa strolled out, rubbing his hands together.
"Man, I needed that," he sighed, stretching his massive arms.
Grandpa was built like a damn tank—Like a mini Mr. Shakedown himself, towering over me in a short-sleeved white T-shirt that barely contained his muscles. His loose-fitting deep-blue jeans only made him look bigger. Jacked was an understatement. He ran a hand through his slicked-back, ginger-red hair, his hairline still holding strong. A neatly-trimmed goatee circled his mouth, making him look more like a roguish 35-year-old than the 39-year-old he actually was.
Then his eyes landed on me.
"Whoa, what the hell happened to you?" He gave me a once-over. "Did the triad get their hands on you or something?"
"He says he fought a high schooler," Grandma answered before I could.
Grandpa's sceptical look mirrored hers. He glanced between me and her before his cheeks puffed out—then, like a dam bursting, he howled with laughter.
"Hahahahahaha!" He slapped his knee, his deep, guttural laugh shaking the walls.
I deadpanned. "You done?"
He laughed harder.
I sighed, but before I could snap back, Grandma shot him a warning look.
"Honey."
Grandpa rolled his eyes, still chuckling as he straightened up. Then his expression turned serious.
"You did win, right?" His gaze sharpened—a silent promise of disappointment if the answer was anything less than yes.
"Obviously."
He shrugged. "Problem solved."
"Honey!" Grandma scolded.
"It was a joke," he insisted, already moving toward the dining room. "C'mon, little dude. Tell us all about it over dinner."
Over a warm Chinese dinner, I recounted my intense showdown with Nakajima to my grandparents. I started from the very beginning—how I beat down his henchmen the day before while defending Yuichi-chan, unknowingly putting myself on Nakajima's radar when they reported their humiliating loss. I didn't sugarcoat a thing. I described the sheer destruction we caused in our first brawl in that back alley and how things escalated to our brutal rematch.
Grandma's face paled as I explained how this so-called high schooler had the strength to send me flying clear across Tokyo like a damn rocket.
"I literally got launched out of Karakura Town—ended up two stations away," I added between bites of her mouthwatering cooking.
Grandad let out a low whistle. "No shit, huh?" His tone carried a mix of disbelief and intrigue. "Another kid as strong as Wei? Who would've thought?"
"Not me," I quipped, chewing on a juicy piece of pork.
Grandma sighed, resting her chin on her palm. "I feel terrible for Ichigo-kun. All he wanted was for Yuzu-chan to have a nice day out with you, and instead, he got completely overpowered. Even with Sado-kun helping him, it sounds like he didn't stand a chance against Kenji-kun."
"If he's got time to beat himself up over it, then he's got time to hit the gym," Grandad remarked, leaning back in his chair and tucking his hands behind his head. His gaze drifted to the ceiling, where old Chinese kanji adorned the wooden beams. "In our world, you don't get time to sit around feeling sorry for yourself."
Grandma rolled her eyes. "Honestly, dear, not everyone is cut from the same cloth as you and Wei-chan."
I let out a long, thoughtful hum. "I dunno about that." Stretching my arms above my head, I leaned back with a grin. "If nothing else, Ichigo's got tenacity. Sure, he got his butt kicked in the end, but he didn't take the easy way out. He stood his ground against Nakajima, knowing full well what was coming. That takes guts." My grin widened, my confidence radiating through the small kitchen-living room. "Even Nakajima called him a true warrior at the Kurosaki clinic." Folding my arms, I nodded to myself. "A guy like that? Yeah, he won't stay down. He'll rise again like a phoenix."
Grandma's eyes softened. "Wei-chan…"
Grandad smirked. "Sounds like Isshin's kid left an impression on you, huh?"
I chuckled, throwing an arm behind my head. "Yeah, well, what do you expect? He's Yuzu's big brother. Of course, she comes from good stock."
"I truly don't understand you boys and your obsession with pride—"
Grandad and I shared a knowing laugh before Grandma clasped her hands together, her expression turning warm and cheerful. "—But I'm just happy you're getting along so well with Yuzu-chan's family. She's such a lovely girl. She reminds me a little of myself." She rested her cheek against her palm, eyes twinkling. "I saw something on TV the other day that said children tend to marry people similar to their parents."
"That reminds me," Grandad mused, crossing his arms. "Didn't Yuzu-chan once say she was going to marry Wei?"
I nearly choked on my food. "What?!"
Grandma giggled behind an elegant hand. "Oh yes, I remember it well! It was the sweetest thing—after Wei-chan ran straight into her arms."
"Since when!?" I croaked.
Grandad grinned smugly. "Sports day, second grade."
Oh no. The memories came crashing back.
"You left those other brats in the dust, ran an extra lap in the long-distance race just to rub it in their faces, then sprinted straight into Yuzu-chan's tiny arms," Grandad recalled with a laugh. "Cocky little punk."
I buried my face in my hands. "Oh no."
"It was absolutely adorable!" Grandma gushed, cupping her face with both hands as she swayed slightly in delight. "Yuzu-chan was already cheering for you the year before, even when you came in third place. But when you won the following year, she was the happiest of all. She looked up at us with those big, sparkling eyes and said—" Grandma's voice took on a high-pitched, childlike tone. "'Sun-san, I'm going to marry Wei-kun when we grow up!'"
I groaned into my hands as Grandad howled with laughter. They're having way too much fun with this!
And the torture session wasn't over.
"You should've seen Isshin's reaction." Grandad slapped his knee, barely able to contain himself. "Full-blown dramatic meltdown—'No, not my Yuzu-chan! She's too young for love!'" He nearly toppled over onto the lush green mat surrounding the family's kitchen table, laughing so hard his sides ached. "And Yuzu-chan, being the sensible one, made it even funnier." He took a deep breath, wiggled his fingers in exaggerated air quotes, and mimicked a little girl's voice:
'It's okay, Daddy. You'll get to give me away on my wedding day to Wei-kun. I saw it on TV.'
I palmed my forehead, smiling despite the embarrassment. "Glad I missed that."
Grandma giggled. "Oh, Isshin-san. Such a doting father. I'm sure he can't wait to be a grandpa."
I tapped my fingers on the tabletop like I was playing an invisible piano, pressing my lips together. Better not mention yesterday… when Isshin casually brought that up himself.
Or how Karin-chan, the little traitor, had slyly blurted out Yuzu's diary entry about wanting to bear my children.
Nope. That's a can of worms that stays shut.
Grandma tilted her head, a nostalgic twinkle in her eyes. "But, you know… Yuzu-chan's feelings remind me of someone else."
Grandad smirked knowingly. "Oh? And who would that be?"
Grandma huffed, playfully swatting his arm. "Don't play coy, dear. You know full well—I was the one who proposed to you first."
I blinked. "Wait… what?"
Grandad chuckled, stretching his arms behind his head. "Yep. We were kids, not much older than you and Yuzu. She marched right up to me one day, hands on her hips, and declared, 'Sun Haoyu, I've decided! I'm going to marry you when we grow up!'"
Grandma laughed, shaking her head. "And you just shrugged and said, 'Alright, sounds good to me.'"
I gawked. "Wait, that actually worked?"
Grandad grinned. "Sure did. And here we are, decades later." He shot me a knowing look. "So, you never know, little dude. These childhood promises have a way of sticking."
I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get any ideas. Yuzu was a little kid. She didn't know what she was saying."
Grandma simply smiled, a glimmer of warmth in her expression. "Neither did I, dear."
Grandad laughed, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Just saying—you might wanna start practicing how to say 'yes, dear' early."
I groaned. "Dinner's over. I'm going to bed."
Their laughter followed me all the way down the hall.
"Don't forget to take a bath first!" Grandma called after me.
I waved a hand without turning back. "Yeah, yeah…"
If I stayed any longer, I was sure they'd start picking out baby names.
An hour drifted by at a leisurely pace as I made my way to my bedroom, the lingering scent of my bath supplies clinging to my skin. A towel hung loosely around my waist, and the cool air of the house brushed against me. Grandma had just finished redressing my wounds, fussing over my scars and still struggling to believe that Nakajima was just a high schooler.
Sure, I was a junior high schooler, but she had long since accepted that I wasn't your average kid—I was superhuman, just like Grandad.
They really didn't make schoolboys like me with Tekken-tier power.
With a sigh of relief, I plopped onto my futon—a kingly-sized spread draped in a bright tangerine bedsheet, outlined with blue trim, and proudly emblazoned with King Kai's Kaio kanji at the centre. No way would I ever outgrow Dragon Ball. A plush Raichu sat at the foot of my futon—a childhood souvenir that had earned its permanent spot.
"Nothing beats a good bath," I murmured, stretching out and glancing around my room with a fond smile.
Across from my bed sat my old-school VCR TV—already a relic in the age of DVDs. The gleaming silver box rested on its square perch, a nostalgic relic of my past life. I had clung to my first VCR TV for years before finally replacing it, long after it had stopped working.
Beneath the TV, nestled in a surprisingly spacious compartment, sat my gaming treasures: an OG PlayStation 2 with the classic disc drive and a sleek black GameCube.
Replaying these so-called old games had a way of making the modern era feel like a distant memory. This—the 2000s—was gaming's golden age. No obsession with ultra-realistic 3D graphics. No forced cinematic storytelling. No politically correct nonsense. Just pure, unfiltered fun, crafted by developers who actually loved making games. A simpler time.
Back then, Rockstar had cranked out GTA 3, Vice City, and San Andreas within just a few years of each other. Compare that to post-2010 Rockstar, where making a single game took them an eternity—all for the sake of realism.
Gaming in 2020? Yeah, no thanks. I'll stay in 2005.
My Nintendo collection was neatly arranged on the top wall shelf—five GameCube games and six Game Boy cartridges, most of them Pokémon versions from the first three generations. The second shelf housed my PS2 collection, featuring the legendary GTA trio. My grandparents, surprisingly chill about me playing 18-rated games, had a simple philosophy: If you found someone to buy it for you, it's yours now.
Thanks, Grandad.
Beside them sat EA Big's legendary Street series—FIFA Street 1 & 2, NBA Street, and the Def Jam duology. Man, EA didn't know what they had with that studio. They cooked.
Rounding out the collection were The Matrix: Path of Neo, The Simpsons: Hit & Run, and, of course, Tekken 5.
The third shelf housed my VCR tapes—classic Disney films, old kung fu flicks, and recorded episodes of my favourite cartoons like Ed, Edd n Eddy and Recess.
Pure nostalgia. This was home.
Overlooking it all, framed posters of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan stood opposite each other—one near my built-in wardrobe, the other against my game and video shelf. Fittingly, the kanji for greatness—matching the meaning of my own name—hung on the wall closest to my pillow, right beside the large window-door that led to my balcony. Opposite my TV, an old-school dial clock ticked away, a quiet reminder of time passing.
But in here, surrounded by the best of my past, it felt like time had stopped in all the right places. "Grandad and Gramps are childhood sweethearts too, huh?" I mused with a fond smile, leaning back against my sheets and tucking my arms behind my head. "Maybe Midori-chan was right."
My thoughts inevitably drifted back to Midori-chan's heartfelt defence of Yuzu's love for me. Maybe Yuzu really does truly love me. I stared at the ceiling, letting her sweet, smiling face linger in my mind like an afterimage. That I really am special to her.
After all, Yuzu never really had a crush on anyone in the Bleach manga. Granted, that was probably more due to Kubo's lack of interest in romance than anything else, but still—by the final chapter, there was no mention of a boyfriend or husband in her life. If anything, she seemed more attached to Ichigo than any guy outside their family. Her hero-worship of her oniichan could get a little intense sometimes.
But now, I was the first boy she had ever truly loved—the one who had changed what should have been her predetermined future of never falling for anyone. That had to mean something, right? That had to make me special.
"I should call her," I decided, reaching for my phone resting on my pillow. "I told her I would, either when I got home or before bed."
Flipping it open, I navigated to my contacts and scrolled down to Yuzu's number under her given nickname princess before hitting dial. The phone barely rang twice before the line connected, and her warm, cheery voice filtered through.
"Wei-kun!"
The warmth in her voice flooded my chest, a euphoric glow spreading through me just from hearing her through the speaker.
"Hey, Yuzu!" I greeted, my voice brimming with warmth. "Would've called sooner, but I had to give Gramps and Grandma the rundown over, well…" I paused, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. "Everything."
"Hm." She hummed knowingly. Yuzu was sharp—she didn't need me to spell it out to realize my grandparents had questions. After all, their grandson had come home looking like he'd walked straight out of a war zone. "They must've been surprised."
"Trust me, girl," I assured, tucking my phone between my shoulder and ear as I rubbed lotion into my skin. "I'm stronger than the average man these days."
We chatted for a few more minutes while I finished getting ready for bed, slipping into a set of DBZ pyjamas. Our conversation drifted to plans for breakfast the next morning, a thought that made me smile. Eventually, though, it was getting late, and after Yuzu told me she loved me—filling my heart with an overwhelming warmth—we ended the call on the count of three.
Setting my phone to charge, I exhaled contentedly. "That girl," I mused, shaking my head with a fond smile.
Turning to my nightstand, I picked up my black Game Boy SP, the familiar green cartridge of Pokémon Emerald already snug in the slot. "Guess I'll do a little grinding before dozing off."
If there was one thing I didn't love about the old Pokémon games, it was the lack of an all-around Exp. Share. Still, nostalgia outweighed the inconvenience.
Shutting off the light, I burrowed under the covers and guided my in-game character, Brendan, back and forth across the pixelated rocky ground—waiting for the next encounter to begin.