Riku sat slouched at his small desk, staring at the plastic container Junko had shoved into his hands earlier that morning. The rice was still warm, steam faintly rising in the quiet of his apartment. He picked up his chopsticks, chewing without much enthusiasm.
It wasn't that the food tasted bad—far from it, actually. Junko could cook. But his stomach twisted around the thought of why she had bothered to bring it in the first place. Was it an act of kindness? A landlady's basic duty? Or just a way of making sure he didn't collapse before paying rent?
The system had remained silent. No pings. No updates. No conquest points. Nothing.
He frowned, stabbing a piece of pickled radish a little harder than necessary. "So it doesn't even count," he muttered. "I almost died in that woman's hallway yesterday, and the damn system doesn't even toss me a pity reward?"
The holographic interface hovered faintly in his peripheral vision, as if mocking him. But it gave him no answer.
When he finally finished eating, he stacked the container neatly and sighed. He had been hoping the system would nudge him along, tell him if he was on the right track, but the silence made him feel like he was walking blindfolded into a minefield.
The hallway downstairs was brighter than usual, sunlight pouring through the windows. Riku was halfway to the vending machine when he spotted Junko at the far end of the hall. She was speaking with two of the older tenants, her tone light and her smile polite. She even laughed at something one of them said, hand covering her mouth in a way that felt almost too graceful for the woman who usually scolded him.
Riku froze, watching. Did she really just… laugh?
When Junko turned, her gaze flicked over him. The smile vanished, replaced by the usual sharp line of her mouth. She walked toward him with a faint click of her heels.
"You," she said flatly, though her eyes flickered just a little. "Don't forget about your rent. I'm not running a charity here."
Half-teasing, half-serious.
Riku's ears burned. He forced a chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. "Y-yeah, I know. I'll… figure it out."
The memory of last night burned hotter—the kiss, her soft laugh, the way she had actually kissed him back. He swallowed hard, unable to meet her eyes.
Junko raised a brow at his nervousness but let it slide. "Good. Don't make me chase you down." She brushed past him, the faint scent of her shampoo lingering in the air, leaving Riku standing stiff in her wake.
So that's how it is, huh? Like nothing happened at all…
By mid-afternoon, his cupboards were empty enough that even cup ramen wasn't an option. Riku reluctantly grabbed his wallet and dragged himself into the city for errands. The little supermarket at the corner was crowded, and he cursed under his breath as he tried to maneuver through the aisles.
He reached for a bag of instant curry, muttering, "Cheap, filling, and requires zero effort. Perfect."
A familiar voice scoffed behind him.
"That's not real food. No wonder you look half-dead all the time."
Riku froze. Slowly, he turned. Junko stood there with a basket hooked on her arm, inspecting him with a mixture of exasperation and… something close to amusement.
"L-Landlady…?" he stammered.
She stepped closer, eyeing the curry pack he clutched. "Pathetic. You're not a college kid anymore. At least buy something with vegetables in it. Or do you want me to start charging you extra for malnutrition?"
Riku bristled. "Hey, this stuff's fine! I can live off it just fine."
Junko snorted, reaching past him to pluck a bundle of green onions from the shelf. She dropped them into his basket without asking. "At least throw those in. Stir them into instant noodles, fry them with eggs—basic survival cooking. Even you should manage that."
He blinked down at the onions. "You're really just… stocking my cart now?"
"If I don't, you'll probably die before next month. Then who's going to pay me rent?" She smirked, her tone dry but her eyes betraying faint amusement.
A faint ping echoed in the corner of Riku's vision.
[Target Mood: Mildly Amused.]
His eyes widened slightly. Wait… this counts? Just walking into her at the grocery store, bickering like this—it actually moves the needle?
For once, his chest loosened with something that felt almost like relief. Maybe he didn't have to throw himself at her headlong. Maybe even the mundane, everyday interactions were laying groundwork.
He glanced at Junko, who was already turning away toward the fish section. She didn't even look back.
Riku let out a slow breath, muttering under his breath as he trailed after her. "Alright, system… I think I get it. Even little cracks count. Fine. I'll play along."
The sky had already bled into indigo by the time Riku shuffled onto his narrow balcony. A cheap can of beer hissed as he cracked it open, the foam fizzing against his thumb. He dropped into the flimsy folding chair, one leg bent lazily against the railing, and stared at the sprawling city lights below. Neon flickered across Shinsoo's skyline, and the occasional car horn cut through the hum of distant traffic.
The first swallow of beer was sharp, bitter. Riku winced but forced it down anyway. Anything to quiet his racing thoughts.
He let the night swallow him for a while, the glow of the city blurring as his mind replayed Junko's kiss, the brush of her lips, the warmth of her chest beneath his trembling hands. His stomach knotted. He'd done it—crossed a line that could never be undone—and now, every second around her felt like balancing on a tightrope.
He was so wrapped up in his own misery that he almost didn't hear it at first.
From the next balcony over came the faint trickle of water. The hiss of a small watering can against soil. Then Junko's voice, low and tired, barely above a whisper.
"…I'm tired of doing everything alone."
Riku froze, the can halfway to his lips.
She was talking to herself—probably thought no one could hear her. Her tone wasn't the sharp, bossy bark she used with tenants. It was softer, rawer, almost brittle.
Riku's chest tightened in a way the beer couldn't loosen. For a split second, he considered leaning over, saying something, anything. But his throat locked up. What could he even say?
So he stayed still, holding his breath, pretending he hadn't heard.
The system, however, didn't let the moment slide.
A faint ripple of blue text flickered across his vision:
[Opportunity Detected: Intimacy Pathway Opening.]
The words hovered insistently for a heartbeat before fading. No penalty, no quest timer—just a warning. Like a hand tapping him on the shoulder: This is your chance, idiot.
Riku shut his eyes and tilted his head back, exhaling slowly. "Yeah, well… not tonight," he whispered, draining the rest of the can in one go.
The apartment was quiet when he finally crawled into bed. His body ached, not from the accident, not from Junko's scolding, but from the constant tug-of-war in his chest.
He buried his face in the pillow, groaning. "Just one night of peace. That's all I'm asking."
But the system wasn't interested in peace.
The darkness above his head shimmered, lines of pale light forming into words that burned against the ceiling:
[Questline: Intimate Bond Initiation Imminent.]
[Failure to progress will pause Conquest Growth.]
Riku sat up, hair sticking messily against his forehead. "Pause growth? You mean all of this—" he jabbed a finger at the glowing text—"all the humiliation, the near-death panic, the damn groceries… it'll just stop counting if I don't… what? Crawl into her bed?"
The system didn't answer. It never did.
The text only pulsed once, steady as a heartbeat, before fading into the dark.
Riku groaned and collapsed backward, throwing the pillow over his head. He wanted to scream, to punch the wall, to drink until he blacked out. Anything but this relentless pressure.
Instead, he muttered into the fabric, voice muffled but raw. "I'm dead. I'm so goddamn dead."
The silence that followed was heavy, unbroken, save for the faint sound of Junko's balcony door sliding shut across the wall.