A month ago, in the small home-style restaurant a few blocks from Dylan's house, Haru idly stirred the ice in her orange juice with a straw. She had ordered it the moment hunger struck after nearly an entire morning without breakfast. As the cubes clinked in the glass, she spoke in a low voice to her former classmate, Felix, as if sharing highly confidential information.
"Hey, don't look at me like that," she said, pouting with feigned indignation. "It's a good plan, trust me. If I get close to one of his neighbors, I can drop by without it looking like I'm stalking him. Even if I knock on his door, technically I wouldn't have come to see him. I'd just be… passing by. See? The perfect excuse!"
Felix, more interested in getting home quickly to continue playing on his new console than in the conspiracy unfolding in front of him, glanced at the plate on the table, grabbed a fork, and took a bite of rice. He chewed slowly before replying, not even bothering to look up.
"How about you just confront him like a normal person? Don't forget, he called you a stalker because you hired me to tail him, not because you showed up at his place."
The sarcastic tone in his voice did the unthinkable: it cooled Haru's enthusiasm, which had been about to burst. She shot him a sharp glare, narrowing her eyes with a mixture of annoyance, disappointment, and threat.
"How about you take responsibility for your mistakes and help me, since I paid you for it?"
She straightened up —having leaned in so he could hear her whispers— and let out a controlled huff before crossing her arms firmly.
"Besides, I still need someone who can call the police or break into his house in case something happens to me. So, unless you want to take on that job for the next few months, you'd better do what I say and find out which of his neighbors I should approach."
Faced with the veiled threat of spending entire weeks spying on some boring guy —under the sun, rain, or the approaching cold— Felix let out a long sigh, resigned to obey.
And so, a couple of nights later, while playing online together, he shared the information he had gathered by digging through the internet and asking the waitresses at the restaurant or vendors stationed near the neighborhood.
The most promising candidate, according to him, was an elderly woman who lived three houses down from the "target." A single mother who had raised her daughters selling tortillas for decades, only for them to eventually leave for better lives abroad. They sent her money, sure, but they also left her alone in the house she'd built with years of sacrifice.
To make things worse, she couldn't even continue the trade that had brought her so many ups and downs. Arthritis had robbed her of that last connection to her routine. So she spent her days sitting in the sun, watering plants with a long hose and watching passersby with a wistful air.
Someone so vulnerable and in need of affection was perfect for Haru's purposes.
Without wasting any time, the next day she showed up at her house with a radiant smile and the demeanor of a devoted young woman. It didn't take long for her to win her affection. Her natural charm, overwhelming beauty, and sincere promise to help with the medication she needed were more than enough. Within hours, the old lady was already speaking of her with tenderness and pride.
The bond was secured. The cover story, ready. All that remained was the next step: visiting Dylan and reminding him that getting rid of her wouldn't be so easy.
Not without telling him the truth.
And of course, she planned to do so hand in hand with her new ally.
. . . . .
Back in the present, Haru stood beside Dylan in his kitchen, unpacking the contents of the wicker basket she had brought. A white cloth, slightly damp from the rain, covered the top. Beneath it rested a generous selection of homemade snacks prepared by the elderly woman, despite the repeated pleas of the one who now considered herself her granddaughter.
Meanwhile, Dylan retrieved plates and glasses from the cupboard, wearing his usual blank expression. He hadn't spoken a word since letting her in, tired of pretending to be polite.
'Why does she keep coming over? Doesn't she have better things to do? Or does she honestly think it's normal for a young woman to repeatedly visit a single man?'
Those were some of the questions running through his mind as he debated which dinnerware to use.
"Hey…" Haru spoke up without looking at him. "Why did Roberto run off like that from you?"
Roberto's abrupt retreat after hearing about "having fun together" had left her puzzled. After all, Roberto was taller, more muscular, and definitely looked rougher than Dylan. It didn't make sense for him to get spooked so easily.
"No idea. If you're so curious, you can ask him when he comes back," Dylan replied, still focused on the plates.
He had no intention of explaining how Roberto had served as his personal punching bag on more than one occasion. So instead, he dismissed the topic entirely and steered the conversation elsewhere—toward something that actually mattered to him.
"And you? Why do you keep coming over so often? I thought you were the type who preferred to stay home playing video games all day."
"Oh!? That's oddly specific for a random guess, Dylan! Have you been spying on me again?"
With theatrical flair, Haru spun around toward him, hands on her hips and chest puffed out. Dylan watched her, perplexed, with a mix of annoyance and confusion. How could someone view life so thoroughly like a fantasy? It was as if she constantly lived inside her own personal fairytale.
"How do I know? Seriously, have you already forgotten what kind of store we met in?"
"Tsk! Good memory. But I don't have to stay locked up to enjoy my hobbies. Look at this…"
Clicking her tongue in amusement at his reaction, Haru pulled her phone from her pocket and raised it above her head as if it were a trophy.
"Cutting-edge technology, dear Dylan. With this, I can claim daily rewards, complete battle pass missions, listen to music, browse the internet, you name it. A true miracle of the era. So, coming to see you doesn't interfere with anything."
"Oh, really?" he said with zero interest.
At his response, Haru's playful eyes sharpened into something more serious.
"Besides, if it bothers you that much, it can easily be solved if you tell me the truth about how you know so much about me."
"…"
Dylan didn't answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the edge of the sink, and for a moment his expression grew tense. There was no way he could tell her that he knew all that because of recovered memories from a future where everything had gone wrong. Not without sounding insane.
"Still not answering, huh? Well, never mind. You'll just have to put up with me for the rest of your life. Though… maybe that's a blessing. Hey, aren't you happy to have someone like me around?"
"... There's some soda over there. Go help yourself."
Unable to fully handle Haru and the way she viewed herself, and lacking the courage to kick her out —which might earn her grudge and ruin his life down the line— he simply pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward the fridge behind him, hoping it would distract her enough to silence her once more.
"Oh!"
The mere mention of a sweet drink to go with her salty snacks immediately cheered Haru up. She gave a little bounce before turning around. But before taking a step, she faced him again, wagging her finger from side to side and raising an eyebrow.
"Shame on you, Dylan. You shouldn't get too confident. Sure, you look better than before, but that's no excuse to fall back into bad habits. Although..."
For his sake, so he could keep losing weight as he had since they met, she planned to scold him into not buying something as fattening as soda again. But in the end, she stopped halfway.
Resting her hand on her chin, she pretended to stroke an imaginary beard while scanning him from head to toe, as if assessing a work in progress.
By now, it was hard to see Dylan as an overweight person. And while he couldn't be considered an athlete —he still lacked muscle— he certainly looked much better than before. His chin was no longer chubby, his stomach was flat, and veins popped on his hands even at rest. His body had a certain appeal.
"Not bad. Not bad at all," she murmured, genuinely impressed.
Of course, that didn't mean his current appearance would instantly attract women, especially not someone like Haru, whose standards had been shaped by countless fictional two-dimensional romances. Even so, she could recognize the merit of his effort and admire his dedication.
After pouring herself a generous serving of soda, Haru sat down in the living room, holding her drink in one hand and a bowl full of snacks in the other. Dylan followed more slowly, unsure whether this was his house or hers based on the way she acted.
Once she settled in, she quickly changed the channel, skipping over the ridiculous show that Roberto had left on before fleeing to his room. A few seconds of browsing led her to some classic cartoons, which she left on without a second thought. Then, she began eating enthusiastically, sitting in front of the TV while Dylan watched her out of the corner of his eye.
Weren't these snacks supposed to be gifts for the hosts? Apparently not. Which made all the time he'd wasted picking out plates and glasses feel completely pointless.
Shortly after, Roberto returned with slumped shoulders and lowered eyes; a depressed look that didn't go entirely unnoticed.
"Did you have a fight with your wife?" Haru asked innocently.
"I'm not married," he grumbled, then added, "It was just a little lovers' quarrel."
What followed was a long, tangled explanation full of excuses, to the point that both Dylan and Haru listened out of politeness… for the first few seconds. After that, they simply ignored him, absorbed in their food, the screen, or their own thoughts.
When Roberto finally fell silent, his throat dry, he tried to grab a handful of snacks from Haru's bowl. But she reacted instantly, swatting his hand away like a mother cat protecting her kittens.
"Don't even think about it!"
Roberto, already used to being treated like an unwanted pet, sighed and headed for the nearby couch where he had left the cooler of beer next to the trash can.
And just as he was about to drown himself in his vice to forget the recent call, he heard words that froze him in place.
"By the way, did you bring the gloves?"
Immediately, he muttered through clenched teeth, his pupils trembling slightly.
"I thought you'd forgotten about that…"
"Did I?"
"… Damn my luck."
Dylan crossed his arms, making it clear he wasn't going to back down from the "training" they had agreed on —unilaterally. Resigned, Roberto let out another heavy sigh, grabbed the only open can left, and emptied it in one gulp.
If he was going to get hit, he'd rather be drunk enough not to remember it afterward.
Haru, meanwhile, watched the scene while letting out a poorly concealed giggle. Her excitement was growing. The chance to watch a live fight for the first time… now that was entertainment worth leaving the house for.