Chapter 8
The tension between Kohaku and Ruri still lingered in the house, like a stormy cloud refusing to clear. Their argument a few days ago had been unexpected—Kohaku snapping over, and Ruri’s gentle patience finally breaking. Words had been said, doors had been shut, and silence had taken over.
But in true sisterly fashion, life had settled back into its familiar rhythm. They hadn’t exactly apologized, but gestures had been made—Kohaku bringing Ruri her favorite tea, Ruri setting aside extra pastry from the bakery. It was their unspoken truce, a way of saying, I’m sorry without the messiness of words.
The morning sun filtered through the kitchen window as Kohaku flipped through the town’s newspaper, the comforting hum of the coffee machine in the background. Ruri moved around the kitchen, her motions quiet and deliberate. Kohaku opened her mouth to say something—anything—to fill the space between them, but before she could, the phone rang.
Ruri picked it up, her soft voice steady as she spoke. Kohaku only caught snippets of the conversation—“Yes, I understand... No, not a problem... Of course.” When Ruri hung up, she turned to Kohaku with a tight smile.
“There’s a storm coming in,” she said.
“The town council wants everyone to prepare. Power might go out.”
“Great,” Kohaku muttered,turning off her phone.
“Guess I should check the generator at the store.”
“Be careful,” Ruri said, the hint of worry threading through her voice.
Kohaku hesitated, then nodded. “You too.”
By the time Kohaku reached the convenience store, the sky had darkened, clouds rolling in from the mountains. The town buzzed with quiet urgency—families gathering supplies, windows being shuttered, kids being called indoors. She busied herself checking inventory, making sure the essentials were in stock. She had just finished testing the store’s small backup generator when the doorbell jingled.
She turned, half-expecting one of the regulars, but instead, Senku stood in the doorway. His white hair, with its green-tipped spikes, looked wild against the gray sky behind him. He wore a dark jacket, droplets of rain already clinging to the fabric.
“Senku,” she said dryly. “Here for more energy drink?”
His lips quivered into a smirk. “Not this time. I heard about the storm. Thought I’d see if you needed help.”
Kohaku arched an eyebrow. “You? Helping in a convenience store? Shouldn’t you be with Chrome, busying each other with your…Cave research?”
“Chrome’s at home securing the place,” he said, brushing a few stray drops from his hair. “And as much as I’d love to dive into some cave research, I figured it might be more productive to make sure this place doesn’t turn into a freezer if the power goes out.”
Kohaku huffed, crossing her arms. “I can handle it. I’ve already checked the generator.”
“Have you checked the fuel levels? Or the air intake vent? You’d be surprised how many machines choke themselves out when things get damp.”
She opened her mouth to retort but paused. The truth was, she hadn’t. She knew enough to keep the generator running, but technical details? Not exactly her specialty.
“Fine,” she muttered, uncrossing her arms. “If you think you can do better, be my guest.”
Senku didn’t need another invitation. He set his bag on the counter, rummaging through a small toolkit he’d brought along. Kohaku watched as he moved, his motions precise and practiced. It was strange, seeing him like this—grounded, practical, his usual arrogance tempered by the storm outside.
They moved to the back of the store where the generator sat, humming softly. The room was small, filled with cleaning supplies and spare boxes of stock. Kohaku stood back, arms still crossed, as Senku knelt by the machine.
“Pass me that wrench,” he said, nodding toward a nearby shelf.
She hesitated, then grabbed the tool, handing it over. Their fingers brushed, and she pulled her hand back quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
“So,” she said, her voice sharper than intended. “You do this kind of thing often? Save small towns from storms?”
He chuckled, not looking up from his work. “Not exactly. But I’ve had my fair share of blackout experiences. In my line of work, losing power can mean losing progress. And I don’t like losing.”
“Figures,” she muttered, but without much bite.
Silence settled between them, broken only by the soft clinks of metal against metal. Outside, the rain fell harder, the sky a slate gray. She found herself glancing at him occasionally, the way his expression shifted with concentration, the subtle movements of his hands as he tightened a bolt or checked a wire.
“There,” he finally said, standing up and wiping his hands on a rag. “Fuel’s topped up, vent’s clear. Should hold out unless the storm brings the whole grid down.”
“Thanks,” she said, the word coming out grudgingly.
Senku leaned against the wall, his sharp red eyes studying her. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You seem... tense. More than usual.”
She scowled, turning away. “I’m fine.”
“Lioness”
“NOT a lioness”
“...You know, science isn’t just about numbers and facts. It’s about observation. And I’m pretty good at it.”
“Observation, huh?” she said, not looking at Senku. “What exactly are you observing?”
Senku’s lips curled into that familiar smirk. “Well, for starters, you keep folding your arms like a barrier. It’s a classic sign of defensiveness.”
Kohaku shot him a glare, unfolding her arms deliberately and shoving her hands into her jacket pockets instead.
“There. Better?”
He chuckled, the sound warm against the cold draft sneaking through the door.
“A little. But it’s not just that. You’ve been on edge since I walked in. You’re usually more... snappy.”
She huffed, the sound more like a sigh. “You make it sound like I’m a wild animal.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Well, you did roar at me over batteries.”
She felt the edges of a reluctant smile. “And you deserved it.”
“Maybe.”
His expression softened, the usual sharpness in his red eyes giving way to something more genuine.
“But seriously, what’s up? You’re not just worried about the storm.”
Kohaku hesitated. Words caught in her throat, tangled up with pride and exhaustion. She didn’t want to explain, didn’t want to open up, especially not to him. But the storm outside seemed to draw a boundary around them, a cocoon of gray where time felt slower, safer.
“It’s... my sister,” she said finally. “We had a fight. I said some things I didn’t mean.”
Senku didn’t interrupt, just watched her, giving space for her words to find their way.
“I know she worries about me. And I love her for that but…but sometimes, her mentioning about mother and Tokyo…it just makes me feel trapped”
Senku pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. “I get it. Different reasons, maybe, but... I know what it’s like to feel like you’re just running in… circles.”
She looked up at him, the room suddenly feeling smaller, the space between them charged. “You? The great Dr. S? I thought you were always moving forward.”
His smirk returned, but there was a sadness to it. “Moving forward doesn’t mean you know where you’re going. Sometimes, I’m just as lost as anyone else.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low growl that made the lights flicker. Instinctively, Kohaku reached out, her hand brushing against Senku’s arm. He didn’t pull away—instead, his hand shifted, his fingers curling around hers.
The contact was brief, a heartbeat’s worth of warmth, but it sent a quiet ripple through the air.
“Sorry,” she muttered, pulling back, her cheeks warming. “I just—”
“It’s fine.” His voice was softer now, the usual edge smoothed by the dim light. “I... don’t mind.”
Silence filled the space between them, not uncomfortable but delicate, like glass balanced on a ledge. Kohaku searched for something to say, anything to steer the conversation away from whatever strange current had just passed between them.
“Do you think the storm will get worse?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Senku’s fingers flexed, as if he wanted to reach for her again but thought better of it.
“Hard to say. The wind’s picking up, but the generator should hold. And if not, well...”
He glanced around the store, at the stocked shelves and the heavy curtains.
“We’ll manage.”
Kohaku nodded, swallowing down the flutter in her chest. She didn’t need this—whatever this was. She had enough to deal with. But as the rain battered against the windows, and the world outside became a blur of gray, she found herself inching closer to him, just enough that their shoulders brushed.
“Just until the storm passes,” she said, more to herself than to him.
Senku didn’t reply, but his presence beside her was enough.
And as they stood there, side by side, with the world raging just beyond the glass, Kohaku felt something shift—something small and quiet, but undeniably real.
A few days had passed since the storm, but the town was still buzzing with the aftermath—fallen branches being cleared, minor repairs being made, and, of course, Yumi’s endless curiosity about everything that had happened.
Kohaku was organizing shelves at the convenience store when Yumi strolled in, her usual mischievous grin firmly in place. She leaned against the counter, watching Kohaku with the kind of look that spelled trouble.
“So~ I noticed you and Dr. S are starting to get... you know, close~,” Yumi teased, drawing out the word with an impish smirk.
‘How the hell did she kne–you know what I'm not even surprised’
Kohaku scoffed, slamming the noodles onto the shelf with more force than necessary.
“Nothing happened. He helped with the generator. That’s it.”
Yumi gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart.
“So intimate~. Him fixing things while you watched, the storm raging outside, tension in the air...”
Kohaku rolled her eyes. “You’re making it sound way more dramatic than it was.”
“Oh, am I?”
Yumi leaned in closer, resting her chin on her hands.
“Then tell me why you look so distracted lately? Hmm? Thinking about a certain white-haired scientist, maybe?”
Kohaku’s cheeks burned. “I have not been distracted,”
she lied, though the memory of Senku’s fingers brushing against hers was suddenly far too vivid.
Yumi gasped again, this time more gleefully. “So you have been thinking about him!”
Kohaku groaned, covering her face with one hand. “I swear, Yumi, if you don’t shut up—”
“Or what?” Yumi teased.
“You’ll fight me? Ooooh, should I tell Dr.S to come rescue me? Maybe he’ll hold your hand again to calm you down.”
Kohaku grabbed the nearest candy bar and chucked it at Yumi’s head.
Yumi barely dodged, bursting into laughter. “Oh, come on! Just admit you don’t hate him anymore.”
Kohaku exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. “Fine. He’s... tolerable. Sometimes. But that doesn’t mean anything.”
Yumi waggled her eyebrows. “Yet.”
“Yumi,” Kohaku warned.
“Alright, alright!” Yumi held up her hands in surrender, but the smug grin never left her face. “But if you do start catching feelings, let me know first, okay? I need time to prepare my victory speech.”
Kohaku groaned again, throwing another candy bar at her.
But later that night, as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Yumi’s words lingered. ‘You don’t hate him anymore.’
And the truth was... she didn’t.
And that was starting to be a problem.
END OF CHAPTER