Riku barely had time to make it to his room before Junko's door clicked again and it opened up to a rather underdressed Junko.
She wore a thin silk singlet and a pair of shorts as she smirked. "If you keep standing there, you might faint there. Get inside here."
With that Riku was invited into her place where he would eventually spend the night.
~~~~~
The dawn light crept through the thin curtains, pale and watery, casting soft stripes across the cramped apartment. Riku stirred awake before the alarm clock could do its job.
His chest felt tight, his lips still tingling with phantom heat, and his heart wouldn't stop replaying last night—the brush of her mouth against his, her faint gasp when his trembling hands had pressed higher than they should have.
He sat up slowly, careful not to jostle the futon or make a sound. Junko was still asleep across the room, her back turned to him, her breathing steady.
Riku swallowed, a strange mix of guilt and exhilaration coiling in his stomach. The system had rewarded him for it—big rewards—but the memory itself was what rattled him most.
'If someone sees me walk out of here in the morning…' The thought made him break into a cold sweat. It would spread through the building faster than a grease fire. Junko already looked at him like he was trouble; if the tenants whispered, she'd probably kill him outright.
So he made a decision. He had to leave before she woke.
Riku crept across the room, pulling on his hoodie, scanning the table for paper. There—a decorative basket filled with postcards and loose notes, sitting pretty in the center. He tore a sheet from the edge of an old notepad, grabbed a pen, and scribbled clumsily:
'Had to leave early before anyone saw. Thanks… for last night.'
He hesitated, then slid it into the basket, tucking it between two cards. It felt safer hidden there, like a secret only she'd discover.
One last glance at her—Junko's brow furrowed even in sleep, like she was scolding someone in her dreams—and Riku slipped out quietly, easing the door shut behind him.
Junko woke to sunlight.
She stretched, spine cracking, and let out a faint yawn before tying her hair back. The futon next to hers was empty, the pillow indented, but she hardly spared it a glance. She hummed under her breath, moving to the tiny kitchenette in the corner of her apartment.
Her hands knew the motions by heart—rinsing the rice, grilling the fish, whisking the miso. The smell of warm broth filled the air, and for the first time in weeks she felt her shoulders loosen.
Without thinking, she set out two plates.
It wasn't until she turned with the second bowl of soup that she froze.
The futon was still empty. The slippers near the door hadn't moved.
She frowned. "That little brat left without a word?"
The annoyance bubbled sharp and hot in her chest. After what he'd done—after last night—he had the nerve to slip away like a thief in the dark?
Junko's lips pressed thin. She didn't dump the plate, though. Instead, she reached for a container and packed the food neatly, snapping the lid shut with more force than necessary.
If he thought he could just scuttle off and pretend nothing had happened, he was sorely mistaken.
Bang! Bang!! Bang!!!
Riku nearly collapsed when the pounding rattled his front door.
He shuffled across the tiny room, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes bleary with exhaustion. The system still hung faintly in his peripheral vision, reminding him of his new nightmare quest, and now someone was trying to break the door down on top of it.
When he cracked it open, Junko stood there—dressed in a casual blouse and skirt, holding a plastic container in one hand, her expression thunderous.
Junko shoved the plastic container into his chest with enough force to make him stumble back. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, the sharp glint in them enough to pin him in place.
"Here. Eat this. And don't you dare think you can just do whatever you want without telling me."
Her tone cut through him sharper than the morning chill.
She adjusted her blouse, straightened her back, and jabbed a finger at him. "Also—your rent. Don't think last night bought you a free pass."
Riku stood frozen in the doorway, clutching the container like it was wired with explosives. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
"I—I wasn't—I didn't think—"
Junko scoffed. "Useless tenant." She spun on her heel, skirt swaying, muttering under her breath as she stormed back down the hallway. A second later, her door slammed with a decisive click.
Riku was left blinking at the closed door, the words lodged in his throat like splinters.
He shuffled back inside, dropping the container on his desk. Steam fogged up the lid, the smell of grilled fish and rice seeping out. His stomach growled, but he didn't touch it.
Instead, he sat there, staring at the food as though it might explode into answers.
"I left a note," he muttered. "I did. I put it right there in that stupid basket. Did she not see it? Or did she see it and just…" He dragged both hands down his face. "Why the hell would she chew me out anyway? What the hell am I doing wrong?"
The system pulsed faintly at the edge of his vision.
[Conquest Progress: 25%.]
[Target Mood: Conflicted.]
Riku groaned, collapsing forward onto the desk. "No points? Of course. Yelled at and still no points. This game's rigged. The tutorial's already hell."
He jabbed a finger at the floating text. "And don't you think I don't know you're enjoying this," he whispered, half to the system, half to whatever perverted god had shoved this curse into his soul.
Across the hall, Junko sat at her table, chopsticks clenched tight. Her own plate of food sat untouched for a moment before she snapped up a bite and chewed hard.
The taste was fine. But her jaw ached with every bite, tension flowing straight into the food.
Her thoughts kept drifting back—last night's hallway, his ridiculous panic, the apology that had spilled from his mouth like a confession. The way he'd looked at her, half-scared, half-sincere. And then—his lips, his trembling hands, the warmth of his touch, and the sleepover even though nothing ended up happening.
Junko stabbed another piece of fish, cheeks warming despite herself.
But then her stomach twisted. She remembered how she'd stormed over, barking at him like he'd run off with her savings, and how her voice had carried down the hall.
The door had been cracked open.
The tenants might have heard.
Junko dropped her chopsticks with a sharp clatter, pressing her hand to her forehead. "Damn it. I shouldn't have yelled. He even looked pale."
Her fingers curled into her hair. "Idiot… Why am I even thinking about this?"
She shoved another mouthful into her mouth, chewing too fast, almost angrily. Stress-eating wasn't new to her, but tonight it was worse. Every bite tasted like frustration. Every swallow, like regret.
Finally, she pushed the plate away half-finished, stood, and stormed back to her bed. She flopped onto her side with a heavy sigh, glaring at the ceiling as if it had personally offended her.
Riku lay sprawled on his futon, the untouched container of food on the desk beside him. He clutched his pillow like a lifeline, but his mind refused to quiet.
He could still feel it—the soft, deliberate press of her lips against his. The heat that had surged through him when his hands had dared to climb higher. The muffled gasp she hadn't managed to hide.
His heart pounded like it was still happening.
Across the hall, Junko buried her face in her pillow, willing the memory away. But it played again, unbidden: his wide, desperate eyes, his fumbling hands, the boldness that had shocked her as much as it had unsettled her. The way she'd kissed him back, as though she'd lost control for just a moment.
She groaned into the fabric, kicking the blanket once in frustration.
The system pulsed faintly in Riku's vision.
[Target's Mood: Conflicted.]
He covered his eyes with one hand, muttering into the dark. "Yeah. Join the club."
Both of them tossed and turned for hours, haunted by the same phantom warmth.
Sleep eventually claimed them, but uneasily, their thoughts knotted together by a memory neither of them could undo.