Feed me.
A week had passed since then.
Kishimoto Rika had truly kept her word.
While she never spoke a word to me at school, she waited for me every day after class at the subway station platform.
Anyone who saw us would've surely gotten the wrong idea, but neither of us thought of it that way, so our intentions were innocent.
As usual, while chatting with her on the train home, I casually brought up the protagonist.
It had already been a week since she transferred, so I figured some progress must have been made.
"Speaking of which, Kishimoto, you seem to be getting along with Sakamoto."
At that, Kishimoto Rika, who had been humming while using LINE on her smartphone, looked up at me. "Hm?"
"What's with the sudden question? Haha! Could it be... you're jealous?"
"…"
Her sudden accusation left me at a loss for words, so I stayed quiet.
"You're cuter than you look, you goof! You goof!" she said, nudging my side with her elbow before slipping her phone into her cardigan pocket.
"Well, you're right, Sakamoto's not a bad guy. But am I interested in him as more than a friend? That's a big 'I don't think so.'"
"Why is that?"
"Because my policy is not to go after people who are already taken."
It feels like stealing, you know?
Kishimoto Rika said as she looked up at me, then let out a sly little laugh.
Hmm. For a high school girl these days, when so many are 'carnivores,' she had a surprisingly wholesome view on relationships.
But from my perspective as an observer, this was quite a predicament.
The person presumed to be the main heroine of the first volume was confessing to a friend that she had zero romantic feelings for the protagonist.
Is this really okay, *Scramble Love*?
I couldn't help but think that.
Even though we'd been walking home together every day for a week, this was the first time we'd had such a deep conversation. Kishimoto seemed to have gotten a bit shy, as she just stared endlessly at the scenery beyond the window.
Her profile looked like a painting, and as I was staring blankly at her, a strange sound suddenly came from her stomach.
Grrrrowl—
"Ah."
Startled, Kishimoto looked up, and our eyes met.
Her ears turned red as she ducked her head. Then, as if she'd just remembered something, she glanced up at me and said.
"Your family runs a restaurant, right, Kim-kun? Feed me."
…What?
***
"I'm home."
Mikoya (美子屋).
It was a Korean restaurant named after Kim Yu-seong's mother, Lee Mi-ja, located in a renovated two-story wooden building in a residential area.
The main offerings were Korean-style yakiniku and a variety of other Korean dishes.
A rarity in Japan, where prices are generally high, they offered three or four side dishes for free, making it incredibly popular among Korean international students who missed home-cooked meals and local regulars alike.
My mother, who was in the main hall clearing a table some customers had just left, greeted me before her expression turned to one of surprise.
"Yu-seong, who is this young lady with you?"
This was only the second time I had brought a friend home since starting high school.
And the first time had been nearly half a year ago, so it was no wonder my mother was surprised.
"This is—"
"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am! I'm Kishimoto Rika, Kim-kun's classmate!"
My voice, which had been about to introduce her myself, was drowned out by Kishimoto's cheerful, interjected greeting.
"Oh, yes."
Perhaps flustered by the sudden address from a girl who looked like a foreigner, my mother stammered in English.
"Wh-where are you from?"
"? I'm from Shizuoka."
And Kishimoto, ever so innocent, answered her straightforwardly.
The key point here was that both of their pronunciations were a million light-years away from a native speaker's.
The clash of Konglish and Japanglish... it was a truly majestic sight.
I decided to explain before the misunderstanding grew any further.
"Mom, this girl is a pure-blooded Japanese who proudly speaks zero foreign languages."
"Hey! Who speaks zero languages!"
Huffing as if to say, 'I'm mad now!', Kishimoto punched my chest, but her fists were like cotton, so it didn't hurt at all.
My mother, who had been watching us with a somewhat fond expression, suddenly clapped her hands and said.
"Oh, my. Where are my manners? You two haven't had dinner yet, have you? Kishimoto-chan, if you'd like, you can eat with us. I'll whip up something delicious for you."
"Really?!"
As if just remembering her original purpose, Kishimoto's face lit up, and she cried, "Hooray!"
From my perspective, her exaggerated gestures were frankly cringeworthy, but to adults, they must have just seemed like adorable antics.
After seating her at an empty table, my mother, who was about to head into the kitchen, suddenly beckoned me over.
Wondering what it was, I set down my bag and went over. My mother leaned in and whispered in my ear.
"What's your relationship with that girl?"
"We're not in any kind of relationship."
"Really? That's a shame. She has such a bright and friendly personality, she seemed like perfect daughter-in-law material."
"…"
What is this? Has my mother's brain been possessed by rom-com logic?
She's already seeing her son's friend, whom she met less than ten minutes ago, as a potential daughter-in-law?
"Don't be silly, Mom. Just get us some food."
As I said that and gently pushed her back, my mother went into the kitchen, albeit reluctantly.
Finally letting out a sigh of relief, I headed to the fridge to get a pitcher of water and some cups. Something occurred to me, and I asked Kishimoto, who was sitting at the table swinging her legs.
"Cider or Coke?"
Her expression immediately brightened.
"Both!"
I gave a nod and returned with two chilled cans of soda from the fridge, along with the water pitcher.
Pssshht!
The moment I handed her the red can of Coke, Kishimoto popped it open.
Sipping my cold water, I asked her.
"I take it you still don't drink soda at home?"
Kishimoto let out a satisfied "Ahh!" with a foam mustache on her lip and nodded.
"Anything tastes better when you have it once in a while instead of every day, right? It's the same principle."
Finding myself agreeing with her somewhat plausible philosophy, I asked about the thing I'd been most curious about on the way here.
"By the way, is it really okay for you to eat at my place? Won't your parents be waiting for you?"
Kishimoto, who had already finished her can of Coke and was tapping it to get out the last drop, tilted her head. "Hm?"
"Did I not mention it? My mom's coming home late today, so I was going to eat out anyway. Coming to your family's place was just a convenient bonus."
The mystery of why she had suddenly asked me to feed her on the way home was finally solved.
It made sense. It wasn't like Kishimoto to just demand food out of the blue.
To help my busy mother, I headed to the self-serve bar to get some side dishes. Kishimoto, who was chewing on her chopsticks, perhaps out of hunger, suddenly asked with a straight face.
"Oh! After we eat, can I see your room, Kim-kun?"
"...What?"
Startled by her sudden proposal, I froze, the tongs in my hand stopping mid-air.
"Who knows when I'll get another chance to visit? Back in Shizuoka, I only had girlfriends, so I've always wanted to see a boy's room at least once."
Clatter- clatter-
Trying my best to act nonchalant, I carried the plate of side dishes back to the table and replied.
"Do whatever you want."
Shit, I'm screwed.
***
"Alright! Sorry for the wait!"
My mother came out, beaming, with the restaurant's signature dishes: spicy stir-fried pork and odorless *cheonggukjang*.
Though it was an odorless version thoroughly localized for Japan, it still had the unique, savory depth of *cheonggukjang*.
"Wow! That looks delicious!"
Kishimoto, who had been chewing on her chopsticks for a while now, watched with sparkling eyes as the dishes were placed on the table.
Surprisingly, her eyes were fixed not on the spicy pork, but on the *cheonggukjang*.
What's with her? Does she have the palate of an old person?
As I watched her with a bewildered expression, Kishimoto exclaimed in a cheerful voice.
"Ma'am! My favorite food is *natto-jiru*!"
Hearing that, my mother, who was setting down the *cheonggukjang*, said happily.
"Oh! Is that right? Then you'll enjoy this, too."
"Huh? It's not *natto-jiru*?"
Sensing some miscommunication, Kishimoto tilted her head cutely. My mother chuckled and explained.
"Dear, this is *cheonggukjang*, the Korean version of *natto-jiru*."
"Chong…gukjang?"
Her pronunciation was surprisingly good for a first attempt, though that first syllable was... something else.
The speaker herself didn't seem to notice, so I decided not to mention it.
"It's delicious on its own, and it's also great if you mix the stew and its ingredients in with your rice."
With that, my mother ladled some of the *cheonggukjang* from the earthenware pot into a bowl and handed it to Kishimoto.
Kishimoto looked down at the odorless *cheonggukjang* with curiosity, then took a big spoonful and put it in her mouth.
"…!"
Her eyes shot wide open. She then began to ravenously scoop up rice and *cheonggukjang* together.
Thankfully, it seemed to suit her palate.
Watching her with a pleased smile, ladle still in hand, my mother said to Kishimoto.
"Eat up, dear. If you run out, I'll make you more."
"Tahnk yoo!"
With her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's, Kishimoto managed the clumsy Korean phrase and bowed her head to my mother. Then, without even glancing at the spicy pork, she began to devour only the *cheonggukjang*.
'What the... this is scary.'
Does this girl have *cheonggukjang* flowing through her veins instead of blood?