After walking the Yoshizawa twins home, Ryo Jin waved goodbye from the gate and waited until they disappeared up the stairs.
He didn't go in with them—not anymore.
When they'd first met, the sisters had been so comfortable around him that they'd dragged him straight into their home. What followed was… a series of very awkward encounters.
Their mother had welcomed him with open arms, practically treating him like another son. She'd even invited him to stay over more than once.
But their father?
That was another story.
Every time Ryo visited, the man would adjust his glasses with a sharp click and stare him down with the intensity of a courtroom executioner. Which, considering the man was reportedly a Supreme Court judge, made perfect sense.
After all, Ryo had spent three years dancing on the edge of the law as a Phantom Thief. Facing that father's glare, he suddenly understood how Kaitou Kid must've felt when cornered by the police.
So, to avoid being dismembered by an overprotective dad with a gavel, Ryo made a point of keeping his visits brief.
Even so, he couldn't help respecting the man.
The fact that he allowed his daughters to visit Ryo's apartment almost every morning spoke volumes. He clearly trusted them—and, by extension, trusted Ryo.
That kind of parent was rare. And enviable.
"I'm home."
The familiar screech of warped hinges greeted him as he pushed open the battered front door of his Kawasaki apartment.
After a quick wash-up, he headed straight for the kitchen.
"Welcome back~."
Momoka Kawahara didn't even look up. She was sprawled across the couch, one leg crossed over the other, idly strumming her guitar.
Since she always got home earlier than he did, she handled the salad prep in advance.
Ryo's job was everything else: pick some fresh bean sprouts from the batch he'd been growing, slice and season chicken breast strips, stir-fry them just right, and then make two bowls of seaweed soup using cheap supermarket packets.
He liked to throw in discounted enoki mushrooms for extra flavor—a little personal touch that made the simple meal feel like a small, private victory.
Two Tokyo drifters. Two part-timers.Their dinners were humble, but perfectly theirs.
By the time Ryo set the plates on the counter, Momoka had already put down her guitar and scooted up beside him.
As always, she refused to sit across the table, choosing instead to press in close, smiling like an overgrown kid.
"Sorry to make you cook again, Ryo," she said, laughing. "I can cook, you know. We could take turns in the kitchen~."
Ryo shot her a dry look. "Yeah, right. You'd last maybe a week before switching to cup ramen or convenience-store bentos. Or that 'everything-in-one-pot' thing you call hotpot."
Her face puffed up adorably at the accurate insult. "Hotpot's good, okay…" she mumbled into her soup, too embarrassed to argue louder.
Ryo chuckled. "It's fine. I like cooking anyway. And you're a musician—if you cut your hand messing with knives, that'd be bad for business. So just stick to the salad prep. That's more than enough."
"Ugh…"
Momoka glared at him, cheeks puffed again. She knew he was being considerate, and somehow that only made it worse.
"You know, I'm older than you. Why does it always feel like you're the one taking care of me? And stop sounding so annoyingly logical—it's infuriating! You're such a smug, know-it-all, overly nice jerk."
Ryo raised an eyebrow. "That last one's definitely a personal attack. And for the record, I'm still a virgin, so 'jerk' doesn't exactly apply."
Yeah—definitely not a line he could say in front of the Yoshizawa twins. Those innocent girls would probably take it literally, and then he really would get torn apart by their father.
But banter aside, Momoka devoured the meal with genuine delight, her usual carefree grin returning as she emptied her bowl.
No pretense, no dainty manners—just an honest appetite. Watching her eat always put him at ease.
After polishing off half a second bowl of rice and mixing in the leftover stir-fry sauce, she leaned back with a satisfied sigh.
"Man, that was amazing. Thanks for the meal! Seriously, Ryo, you should work in a restaurant. Bet the owner would marry you off to their daughter in no time~."
"Appreciate the compliment," he said mildly. "Just leave the dishes in the sink. I'll handle them later tonight."
Ignoring her teasing, Ryo glanced at the clock.
It was almost time for Momoka's real job.
Every night, she performed at the train station plaza—singing and playing guitar until the last train.
That was how independent musicians built an audience: playing on the streets, gathering followers on social media, and—if luck smiled—eventually catching the eye of a talent agency.
Of course, performing in live houses was another route, but that came with risks. Unsigned artists had to cover venue costs themselves. For those without name recognition, the losses often outweighed the gains.
Unfortunately, Momoka had neither fame nor a backing band anymore.
Her looks drew attention, but her heart—fragile and shy beneath that cool exterior—wasn't built for solo stardom.
Ryo sighed quietly. "Honestly, if Diamond Dust hadn't gone the idol route, you guys would've ruled the live houses."
Momoka said nothing.
The air between them fell heavy.
She'd once been part of a signed band under that name, and they'd even had a breakout hit. Diamond Dust had been her dream.
But bad management and creative conflicts tore it apart.
Her bandmates carried on without her—using the same name, same songs—just rebranding as a glossy, idol-style act.
Momoka, being the naive, big-hearted fool she was, had walked away quietly. She even handed over the song rights for free.
When Ryo first learned that, he'd been speechless.
But that same foolish sincerity was what drew him to her in the first place.
He smiled faintly. "Anyway, get ready for tonight. I'll grab the mic and the demo CDs—you just bring your guitar. Oh, and don't forget to post another performance update. You've gotta stay consistent with promotion."
Momoka groaned. "Yes, yes, Mister Manager. You don't have to sound so professional about it!"
Still, a tiny smile tugged at her lips as she stood to pack up.
For all her teasing, she didn't hate it.
Being cared for, having someone beside her who believed in her—
That warmth was something she'd almost forgotten how to feel.