A week has passed since Rika's transfer, and true to her word, Kishimoto Rika has been sticking to me like a rom-com sidekick.
At school, she barely says a word to me. But every day after class, she's there at the subway platform, waiting for me like a puppy expecting a walk.
Anyone watching might think we're starring in a rom-com misunderstanding montage, but nah, we're both innocent. No sparks here. Just subway buddies.
On the train home, as usual, I decided to poke the bear and ask about the protagonist, Sakamoto Ryuji.
It's been a week since Rika transferred. Surely, some rom-com progress has happened, right?
"So, Kishimoto," I said casually, "you seem pretty chummy with your desk neighbor, Sakamoto."
Rika, humming and scrolling through LINE on her phone, looked up with a smirk. "Huh? Why're you asking? Jealous or something? Hmmm?"
I clammed up, exercising my right to remain silent. No way I'm falling for that trap.
She giggled, elbowing my side. "You're kinda cute for a big guy! Poke, poke!"
Tucking her phone into her cardigan pocket, she continued, "Sakamoto's not a bad guy, sure. But interested? Eh, not really."
"Why's that?" I asked, curious.
"I don't mess with guys who're already taken. Feels like stealing, you know?"
She glanced up at me, flashing a cheeky "Nihihi!" grin.
Wow. A high school girl with wholesome dating values? In this meat-eating rom-com world? Respect.
But as an observer trying to avoid Scramble Love's plot, this was bad news. The presumed Volume 1 heroine just friend-zoned the protagonist to a rando like me.
Is this okay, Scramble Love? Is the plot derailing already?
For the first time in our week-long commute ritual, Rika opened up about something deep. She seemed shy, staring out the train window.
Her profile was like a painting, all soft and glowy. I got lost staring until—
Grrrrowl.
Her stomach let out a monstrous rumble.
Rika froze, meeting my eyes. Her ears turned pink as she ducked her head.
Then, with a sly glance, she said, "Kim-kun, you said your family runs a restaurant, right? Feed me."
…Say what?
"I'm home!"
Mikoya, named after my mom, Imija, is a cozy Korean restaurant in a renovated two-story wooden house in Setagaya's residential area.
It's a hit with Korean exchange students and locals, serving up yakiniku and homestyle Korean dishes with free banchan—three or four side dishes, a rarity in pricey Japan.
Mom was clearing a table when she spotted me and froze, eyes wide. "Yuseong, who's the girl?"
This was only the second time I'd brought a friend home since starting high school. The first was half a year ago, so her shock was fair.
"This is—"
"Nice to meet you, ma'am!" Rika cut in, all bubbly. "I'm Kishimoto Rika, Kim-kun's classmate!"
Her enthusiasm drowned out my attempt to introduce her.
"Y-yeah," Mom stammered, thrown off by Rika's foreigner-like looks. "W-where are you from?"
"I'm from Shizuoka!" Rika chirped back in perfect Japanese.
Point is, both their accents were a million miles from native—Mom's Konglish versus Rika's Japlish. A linguistic cage match for the ages.
To avoid more chaos, I clarified, "Mom, she's a purebred Japanese girl who speaks zero foreign languages."
"Hey! I'm not that hopeless!" Rika huffed, smacking my chest. Her tiny fist bounced off like a pebble.
Mom watched us with a warm smile, then clapped her hands. "Oh, right! You two haven't eaten, have you? Rika-chan, join us. I'll whip up something tasty."
"Really?!" Rika's face lit up, and she threw her arms up in a "Hooray!" pose.
Her over-the-top gestures made me cringe, but to adults, it's probably just cute.
As Mom headed to the kitchen, she beckoned me over. I set my bag down and leaned in.
She whispered, "What's the deal with her?"
"Nothing," I said flatly.
"Really? Shame. She's so bright and friendly—perfect daughter-in-law material."
What the—? Is Mom's brain stuck in a rom-com dimension too? Calling my friend of ten minutes "daughter-in-law material"?
"Stop being weird and make food," I grumbled, nudging her toward the kitchen.
She sighed but shuffled off.
Relieved, I grabbed a water jug and cups from the fridge, then remembered something. "Cider or cola?" I asked Rika, who was swinging her legs at the table.
Her eyes sparkled. "Both!"
I nodded, grabbing two chilled cans and the jug.
Chhhk!
Rika popped her cola can open like a pro. I sipped water and asked, "Still no soda at home?"
She grinned, cola foam on her lips. "Yup! Stuff tastes better when you don't have it every day, you know?"
Her logic was oddly convincing. I decided to ask the big question. "Is it cool to eat at my place? Your parents aren't waiting?"
Rika, shaking the last drops from her can, tilted her head. "Didn't I say? Mama's home late tonight, so I was gonna eat out anyway. Your place was just convenient."
Mystery solved. She's not some food-demanding gremlin like Dooly. It was just practical.
I headed to the self-serve banchan bar to prep side dishes, since Mom was busy.
Rika, chopsticks in her mouth, casually asked, "Hey, can I check out your room after we eat?"
"…What?"
Her random request made me freeze, tongs in hand.
"It's not like I'll be back anytime soon," she said. "In Shizuoka, I only hung out with girls. I wanna see a guy's room for once."
Clatter, clatter.
I played it cool, setting the banchan plates on the table. "Do whatever."
Internally? Oh, crap. I'm screwed.
"Here we go!" Mom beamed, bringing out the restaurant's stars: jeyuk-bokkeum and odorless cheonggukjang.
The cheonggukjang, Japanified to be less pungent, still had that earthy, nutty vibe.
"Wow, looks amazing!" Rika, chopsticks already in her mouth, stared at the spread, eyes glinting.
Surprisingly, she was fixated on the cheonggukjang, not the jeyuk-bokkeum.
What? Is her palate secretly a grandma's?
I gave her a puzzled look. She chirped, "Ma'am, my favorite food is natto soup!"
Mom, setting down the cheonggukjang, smiled. "Oh, really? You'll love this then!"
"Isn't this natto soup?" Rika asked, tilting her head cutely.
Mom chuckled. "No, dear, this is cheonggukjang, Korea's version of natto soup."
"Chung…gook-jang?" Rika tried, her pronunciation oddly decent for a first attempt.
"It's great on its own or mixed with rice," Mom said, scooping some into a bowl for Rika.
Rika peered at it, curious, then took a big spoonful.
Her eyes widened. "...!"
She started shoveling rice and cheonggukjang into her mouth like a starving squirrel.
Guess it's a hit.
Mom, watching happily, said, "Eat up, Rika-chan. If it's not enough, I'll make more."
"Thank you!" Rika mumbled through stuffed cheeks, bowing in broken Korean.
Ignoring the jeyuk-bokkeum entirely, she went all-in on the cheonggukjang.
What is this girl? I thought, half-impressed, half-scared. Does she have cheonggukjang running through her veins?