The next day, Shoto texted Itsuka and asked her to meet him at the gates of Shinjuku Gyoen at one in the afternoon.
Their previous dates – save for that karate class – had been simple, structured, and inexpensive. Safe. Controlled. Predictable. This was the fourth. He could afford something softer this time. Something deliberately romantic.
Especially after his friends had given him the most unambiguous advice imaginable.
Stop holding back.Her reply came a minute later.
All right. Perfect timing. There’s something I really wanna talk to you about.
Shoto stared at the screen a fraction too long.
His mind, efficient as ever, supplied the worst-case scenario first. An old Facebook post. The one from when Natsuo got bamboozled by Miyuki. The one written in anger and humiliation and borrowed rhetoric that hadn’t even sounded like his own voice.
Or maybe she wanted to talk about the future. About definitions. About where this was going.
She had kissed him on the cheek at the end of their third date. Warm. Certain. Not hesitant. Maybe they were moving in the same direction.
He locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket.
It was a date, not an interrogation.
“Shoto!”
There she was – singsong, bright, closing the distance with a light skip in her step. The day was warm and partly cloudy, and she wore a teal maxi dress scattered with white flowers, red sneakers peeking out beneath the hem. Effortless. Earthy. Beautiful in a way that didn’t try.
Shoto, by contrast, had gone deliberate but restrained – a red polo with white stripes, blue jean shorts, white sneakers. Casual. Intentional. Not overthought.
He smiled. “Hi. Let’s get going.”
After paying the entrance fee for both of them at Shinjuku Gyoen, they began to walk. The path stretched ahead in quiet stretches of gravel and green, but something in the air felt suspended. Itsuka was too composed.
“Did you listen to the album?” Shoto asked, arching an eyebrow slightly as he led the way. An easy opening. Neutral territory.
She smiled without effort. “Oh, I did. I’ve got a ton of things to say, too.” A beat. “But… that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”
A small tightening in his chest. Subtle, but unmistakable.
By the time they reached Kami-no-Ike – the westernmost koi pond – the silence had grown heavy enough to press against his ribs. The water moved lazily beneath a white wooden bridge, koi gliding in slow arcs of orange, black, and white.
Shoto stopped at the center of the bridge and turned to her.
“What did you want to talk about?” he asked plainly.
Itsuka didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze drifted to the pond, thoughtful. Measured. Then she pulled out her phone and began to read.
“Today marks a rude awakening for me. My brother's fiancée swiped all of his credit card funds and left the city without saying a thing. And after seeing things in my own life that looked like this, it's clear – dating isn't worth it. Marriage isn't worth it. Women aren't worth it.”
The words hit him like a drop through his stomach.
An abyss opened there – cold, hollow.
His brow creased before he could stop it. Six months ago. He almost never posted. Of course she’d find it. He’d left it there, untouched, like a forgotten landmine.
Itsuka folded her arms, looking at him directly. “Why did you write this?”
Shoto closed his eyes. The advice from last night surfaced – especially the uncomfortable parts.
He stepped forward and leaned his elbows against the railing, staring down at the koi stirring beneath the bridge. One pale white fish cut through darker bodies, stubborn and solitary in its path.
His voice, when it came, was steady.
“At the time, I was angry. Vindictive. I felt humiliated on my brother’s behalf… and useless in my own life.”
He shook his head once.
“But more than that… it was easier to play the victim than to accept responsibility.”
The koi rippled under a break in the clouds, light flashing over their backs. In the faint reflection on the water, he could see her still standing there.
“I told myself I was having a rude awakening,” he continued quietly. “But the truth was… I wasn’t the victim. My brother was. And he kept moving forward.” A pause. “I wallowed.”
He pushed off the railing and turned to face her fully.
“Itsuka… if this is a dealbreaker for you, I won’t hold you back.”
He said it gently. No edge. No plea. Just a small, mirthless smile – the kind that accepted consequence. For a fraction of a second, there was only wind brushing across the bridge.
Then he felt two warm hands closing around his. Firm. Certain.
He looked up – teal eyes, steady on him. She was smiling.
“Well,” she said softly, squeezing once, “I’m not going anywhere.”
His breath caught.
After digging up a skeleton like that from my closet? How?
“Look, I get it,” she continued. “You were hurt. You were angry for your brother. And when people are hurt, they say things they don’t mean – or things they think will protect them.”
She shook her head lightly.
“I just needed to know who you are underneath it. And now that I do…” Her grip didn’t loosen. “I want you. Warts and all.”
The wind moved through her hair. She didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch.
Shoto felt unmoored for a moment, like the ground had shifted under him.
Never – not once – had he expected words like that directed at him. Not indulgent. Not naive. Not blind. Just simple, steady, and impossibly strong – stronger than any grand speech in a romantic comedy, stronger than the rhetoric of self-appointed forum experts.
But when he thought about it, it made sense.
When he’d broken down crying after finding out about Tenko’s suicide, Tenya and Momo hadn’t recoiled. They hadn’t judged. They’d simply stayed. When he admitted his nerves to Nejire, she hadn’t weaponized them or lost respect for him – she’d supported him, openly and warmly.
So maybe Itsuka staying wasn’t a miracle. Maybe this was what happened when he let people see him instead of hiding behind armor.
A small smile crept across his face as he looked into her eyes.
“Well,” Shoto chuckled lightly, “there’s one thing you still need to know.”
“Like what?” Itsuka tilted her head.
And then he moved. His hand slipped to the small of her back – gentle, but certain – drawing her closer in one smooth, decisive motion. He kissed her.
For an instant, her eyes flew open in surprise. Then they fluttered shut as she leaned into him. Her hands slid up around his shoulders, fingers tracing slow, reverent paths as if reacquainting themselves with something they’d been waiting for.
The world narrowed to warmth and breath and the soft give of her lips against his.
When they parted, she didn’t step away. Instead, she draped her arms loosely around his neck and snickered.
“Just when I was about to say we should just be friends…”
Shoto laughed – fully, unguarded, the sound cracking slightly at the edges. He shrugged.
“Guilty as charged.”
A droplet hit the back of his hand. Another tapped against Itsuka’s hair. Then another.
The sky above them had darkened without either of them noticing. The clouds hung low and heavy despite the warmth in the air. A fat raindrop landed squarely on his cheek.
Shoto groaned. “Are you serious right now?!”
Itsuka laughed, tilting her face up toward the sky. “Hey, summer rain is nice!”
“Yeah, until we’re drenched and the wind picks up,” he countered, already brushing water from his sleeve. “We’ll get sick.”
Another heavier burst followed, droplets thick and insistent now. He reached for her hand.
“Come on,” he said, half exasperated, half amused. “My place is in Shinjuku. It’s closer than heading back.”
And just like that, they ran – laughter mixing with rain, gravel crunching beneath hurried steps as the first real downpour broke over the garden.
