Kurose Hisaki first noticed the White Fur Ball under the Bridge Underpass on an evening a month ago.
She took an unfamiliar route home from work that day, and as she crossed the bridge, she happened to glance down.
That single glance made her stop in her tracks.
Someone was curled up in the shadows beneath the Bridge Underpass.
A very small figure, hunched on an old sofa, silver-white hair glowing in the darkness like a small patch of luminous snow.
Hisaki stood on the bridge and watched for a long time, so long that the strap of her bag was wrinkled from her grip.
She watched the figure turn over, a thin arm dangling over the edge of the sofa, swaying in the air for a moment before retreating back.
The person yawned, mouth opening round and wide, like a drowsy little animal.
They swallowed.
Since then, she had taken a detour past that bridge every single day.
Sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening, sometimes late at night.
She would always stand on the bridge for a while and look down.
The person down there barely moved, like a mushroom growing out of the sofa, maintaining a state of utter laziness with an almost artistic flair.
Occasionally they would sit up to eat, occasionally visit the nearby public restroom, occasionally take a few steps around the Bridge Underpass to soak up some sun, then quickly retreat back into silence.
But this month, she had done more than just observe.
She had gone through every homeless person within a one-kilometer radius who might take an interest in that Bridge Underpass.
Some were reasonable, and a bit of money sent them elsewhere.
Some were not reasonable, and so she handled them with unreasonable methods.
She was thorough, so thorough that the residents on this street hadn’t even noticed a few figures missing from their usual corners.
That was why the area around the Bridge Underpass was so quiet.
So quiet it felt like a stage reserved for one specific person.
And today, Hisaki decided she wasn’t going to wait any longer.
She walked down from the bridge, stepped over gravel and dried mud, walked up to the sofa, bent down, and asked the question that had been rolling on her tongue for a month.
“Are you alone?”
The person on the sofa answered in a way that took her by surprise.
Arrogant and prickly, as if she were the one who owned this territory.
Hisaki’s heart slammed hard in her chest.
So cute.
She thought it quietly to herself.
This grimy White Fur Ball in front of her glared at her with those sky-blue eyes, speaking in a tone as foul as a street punk, but in Hisaki’s eyes, all of this only made her more endearing.
Like a cat puffing up its fur.
Like a small cat with its hackles raised, trying to scare off an enemy by fluffing up every strand of fur, but the effect was the opposite—it only made people want to scoop it up even more.
Hisaki crouched down, her gaze carefully sweeping over every detail of Shiraze.
Grass clippings and mud spots clung to the dirty hem of her skirt, which looked like it hadn’t been washed in who knows how long.
A few streaks of grime crossed her cheeks, probably from rubbing her eyes when she was sleepy.
Her silver-white hair was frizzy and sticking out every which way from lack of care, some spots tangled, but the hair quality itself looked good—if washed clean, it would probably be beautiful.
“Like a lost little cat.”
She said it softly, then reached out her hand.
Her fingertips gently brushed aside the loose strands of hair sticking to Shiraze’s forehead.
The movement was careful, as if she were touching something fragile.
A cool sensation traveled through her fingertips, and Hisaki’s breath hitched for a moment.
Shiraze’s body went rigid.
“Don’t touch me!”
Her reaction was even bigger than Hisaki had expected.
She shot up from the sofa like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, fur bristling as she swatted at the hand.
But her palm stopped mid-swing, because Hisaki hadn’t dodged, hadn’t retreated.
Those dark red eyes just looked straight at her, no anger in them, no offense at being treated rudely, only an indulgence that could almost be called “adoration.”
Like watching a small cat swipe its paw without even extending its claws.
Disgusting!
Pervert!
Shiraze screamed internally.
Her instincts were blaring alarms in her head, the sound sharp as an air defense exercise.
This woman in front of her—pretty, sure, gentle, sure, but there was absolutely something wrong with what was in those eyes.
That was the look of someone who had finally gotten their hands on something they’d dreamed of, the look of a Hunter crouching beside a trap, peering down.
Task target locked. Yandere identity confirmed.
“Come home with me.”
Hisaki’s voice was still gentle, but this time there was something new in it… certainty.
“I’ll give you a home. It’s warm. Much more comfortable than here.”
“A home? Hah?”
Shiraze pitched her tone high, putting every ounce of effort into making her voice sound as nasty as possible.
“What do you think this is, a fairy tale drama? Annoying as hell, I don’t want it!”
She shrank back toward the other end of the sofa as she spoke, trying to put distance between them.
But Hisaki didn’t give her the chance.
Hisaki leaned forward, slipping one arm under Shiraze’s armpit, the other under her knee, then steadily applied her strength.
“Whoa!”
A short shriek escaped Shiraze.
The world rotated ninety degrees before her eyes, and by the time she registered what was happening, she had already left the old sofa that had accompanied her for a month, her entire body cradled in Hisaki’s arms.
A textbook Princess carry.
Hisaki’s arms encircled her back and the bend of her knee, the grip not heavy but steady as two iron hoops.
The unfamiliar sensation of being suspended made Shiraze’s scalp tingle, and she could feel the body heat and heartbeat of another person seeping through her thin clothes.
Too close, this distance was way too close!
She could even smell a faint fragrance from the other woman, some flower or perfume she couldn’t name, cool and refreshing, a sharp contrast to her own burning face.
“What are you doing?! Let me go! You pervert! Freak! Fish bait!”
Shiraze was completely panicked.
She flailed her arms and legs in the air, flapping about like a fish out of water.
Rationality told her this was her task target, that being taken away meant the mission was officially entering its next phase, but her body’s instincts couldn’t be fooled.
When a stranger picks you up without any warning, there’s no way you can stay calm.
Hisaki looked down at the thrashing White Fur Ball in her arms, the smile on her face deepening.
Delight. Pure delight, spilling out from the corners of her eyes and brows, impossible to hide.
“Saying you don’t want it,”
Her voice carried a hint of teasing, and she lowered her head, warm breath brushing past Shiraze’s ear.
“But you’re so light… you haven’t been eating properly, have you?”
“None… none of your business!”
Shiraze’s face was bright red with fury.
Not because she’d been called out—
She really hadn’t been eating properly, surviving this whole month on convenience store bread and rice balls, the cheapest ones…
But because Hisaki had leaned in so close when she spoke, her breath sweeping across Shiraze’s ear, sending that patch of skin tingling like an electric shock.
She struggled harder, but it was completely futile.
Hisaki’s arms didn’t budge an inch. Just how strong was this woman?
Hisaki said no more, turned with her in her arms, and started walking.
The dim light of the Bridge Underpass began to recede, replaced by the light of the outside world.
Forced to stay in this fragrant embrace, Shiraze peered out through the gap over Hisaki’s shoulder and watched the old sofa grow farther and farther away.
The sofa that had accompanied her for a month, the sofa with a shallow impression of her body, the sofa whose armrest was polished shiny by her feet—finally disappeared into the shadows of a turn…
She stopped struggling.
One hundred million cash, and a healthy body…
Well, it was the one from her past life, but something was better than nothing. At least she could stand, could walk, could run, could jump, could do all the things she’d dreamed of doing in her past life.
But those thoughts didn’t slow her heartbeat.
Because the way Hisaki was holding her was too strange.
She would occasionally glance down at her, those dark red eyes full of contentment.
Like a child who had finally gotten their beloved toy.
Shiraze buried her face into the hollow of Hisaki’s shoulder, not wanting Hisaki to see her expression right now.
Her ears were still bright red, but her mouth refused to quiet down, muttering softly, unwillingly.
“Noisy… put me down… you jerk…”
Her voice grew quieter and quieter.
Hisaki heard it, but she didn’t respond. She only held the person in her arms a little tighter.
Shiraze closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
So, what happens next?