The following morning smelled faintly of rain, the air heavy and damp as Konoko followed close behind Gramps down the narrow street. Her small bag bounced lightly at her side with each step, though it carried little—just a notebook and her phone.
Gramps walked with the steady rhythm of someone who knew every crack in the pavement, nodding and smiling at passersby as though each face belonged to an old friend. "This way, Konoko," he said over his shoulder, his tone warm and casual. "The café's just around the corner. Good folk run it. They'll treat you kindly."
Her chest tightened. She pressed her hands together in front of her skirt as if to hide the nervous tremble of her fingers. C-café work… I've only seen it in manga. What if I spill things? What if they ask me to talk to strangers?
The shop came into view—a small, welcoming place with painted windows, flower pots at the entrance, and the smell of fresh bread drifting out each time the door opened.
Gramps paused at the door, turned to her, and gave a reassuring nod. "You'll be fine. Just remember—people are people. And they're more worried about their own troubles than watching yours."
Inside, the café was warm, filled with quiet chatter and the clinking of cups. Behind the counter stood a middle-aged woman with a neat apron and quick smile. She brightened the moment she saw Gramps.
"Well, if it isn't Kazuo-san," she said, drying her hands on a towel before coming closer. Her eyes slid curiously toward Konoko. "And who's this young lady?"
Gramps chuckled, placing a hand lightly on Konoko's shoulder. "This is Konoko, daughter of an old friend. She's staying with me for a while. Thought maybe she could help around here if you're looking for an extra hand."
Konoko's breath caught. Heat prickled at her face. She bowed too quickly, her words tumbling out in a stammer. "I-I… g-good m-morning, I… I'd l-like… t-to work… p-please."
The woman's smile widened, patient, kind. "You're polite. That's a good start. Don't worry, dear, we'll teach you the rest." She glanced back at Gramps knowingly. "You've brought me someone precious again."
Gramps laughed, scratching his cheek. "She's a bit shy, but sharper than she looks. Just needs a place to grow."
Konoko kept her eyes on the floor, heart racing, hands clutched tight in front of her. A place to grow… I-I hope… I don't mess it up.
The walk back felt heavier than the walk there. Afternoon light spilled across the narrow streets, warming the rooftops but making the shadows under bridges and alleys more noticeable.
Konoko stayed close to Gramps, clutching her bag in both hands. She hadn't paid attention earlier, too focused on her racing thoughts about the café, but now she saw them clearly—figures curled up on flattened cardboard, old men with hollow cheeks and layers of ragged clothes, women sitting against walls with blank eyes and plastic bags beside them.
Her steps faltered. She swallowed hard. S-so many… like this?
A thin man coughed into his sleeve as they passed. Another, with a scraggly beard, muttered to himself while rocking back and forth. The smell of stale alcohol and damp clothes clung to the air.
Gramps noticed her silence and slowed his pace. "The city's been like this for years," he said softly, eyes forward. "Work leaves some behind, and no one knows how to catch them again. Sad, isn't it?"
Konoko nodded faintly, keeping her gaze low. I-I shouldn't stare… but… it's so close. If Gramps hadn't taken me in… Her chest tightened. A flicker of fear ran through her—Would I have ended up like them? Alone, on the ground, with nowhere to go?
Gramps gave a quiet hum, almost as if answering her unspoken thought. "That's why we look after each other when we can. No one makes it alone."
She pressed her lips together, the words catching in her throat. Instead she only whispered, "Y-yes…" and followed him, clutching her bag tighter than before.
The closer they got to the small house, the more the unease clung to her, like a shadow she couldn't shake.
Konoko pushed the door closed behind her and slipped off her shoes, letting the faint comfort of the little house press against her chest. The walk back had left her uneasy—those hollow faces on the street kept flashing in her mind—but here, at least, the air smelled faintly of tatami and warmth.
She sat on the edge of the sofa, exhaling slowly, fingers curled in her lap. So many people… living outside, forgotten. If Gramps hadn't taken me in, w-would I be there too? The thought made her hug her bag instinctively, as if to reassure herself she still had something to hold onto.
Her eyes drifted toward the low table, where Gramps had set out some tea earlier. The cups still waited, quiet and ordinary. That normalcy was like a thread she could cling to.
I have to keep moving forward, she told herself, trying to straighten her back. Tomorrow… work at the café. Morning shift. I need to wake early, do well, not cause trouble. Her lips pressed into a line. If I can just hold this job, maybe I can start… becoming someone who stands on her own feet.
The house creaked faintly with the settling of the wood. She rubbed her arm nervously, then breathed out, softer. At least here, I can sleep safely. At least I'm not outside.
Her gaze flicked toward the door of her small room. The memory returned—the flimsy panel without a lock, the way it had shifted open in the night. She swallowed and forced her eyes away.
It doesn't matter. Tomorrow I'll begin. Work in the morning. A routine… that's what I need.
The little house had grown quiet, the only sound the faint tick of an old clock somewhere near the kitchen. Konoko lay stretched out on the futon, staring up into the dimness. Her body shifted restlessly under the thin blanket, her thighs pressing together, her breath uneven.
It's been too long… The ache was a dull torment now, pulsing beneath her skin, the memory of too many lonely nights back home pushing at her nerves. She rolled onto her side, biting down gently on her lip, trying to ignore it. But the heat wouldn't fade—it only grew heavier, blooming lower in her belly.
Her hand hovered, hesitating. No… I shouldn't… the door doesn't even lock. Still, the ache throbbed, insistent. At last she slid her palm downward, slow and careful, while her other hand came up to squeeze her breast through the thin fabric of her top. The contact made her shiver.
She moved as quietly as she could, curling slightly, her fingers brushing over herself in delicate, teasing motions. Her chest rose and fell with quicker breaths, lips pressed tight to keep any sound from escaping. Don't make a noise… don't let him hear…
Her back arched faintly, the futon creaking ever so softly as her hand worked in small, desperate circles. A muffled whimper slipped out, and she froze, heart pounding. Silence. The house was still.
She swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut, then continued, slower this time, her body trembling from the effort of restraint. The pleasure built and built, a suffocating pressure she dared not release into sound. Please… j-just… let me finish without anyone knowing…
Konoko lay sprawled across the futon, her body slick with the faint sheen of sweat from the heat of the day. Her thighs pressed together, trembling with an ache she hadn't soothed in too long. The tension had been growing since she'd come to live there, every night denied by the thin walls, the unlocked door, and the thought of Gramps sleeping in the next room.
But tonight, the torment in her body refused to be ignored.
Her hand slipped down, fingers brushing the swollen bud of her clitores, and a sharp jolt of relief shivered up her spine. Her breath caught in her throat, lips pressed tight to muffle any sound. She pinched and rolled her stiff nipples with her other hand, tugging at them until her back arched off the futon.
I c-can't… ah… too loud… he'll hear…
Her wrist worked in a frantic rhythm, slickness spreading across her fingertips as she rubbed harder at her clitores. The futon creaked softly beneath her bucking hips, each motion threatening to give her away. She bit down on the edge of her blanket, stifling the desperate sounds rising from her chest.
The need only built higher, heavier — her pussy throbbed, begging to be filled, her clitores aching under the relentless pressure of her circling fingers. Every nerve in her body screamed for release, the dangerous thrill of doing it here, with the unlocked door, only sharpening the heat.
Her thighs clamped around her hand, her body shaking as she teetered at the edge. The shame mixed with pleasure until she couldn't tell them apart, until her whole body burned with the risk and the want.
Please… just let me… just this once…
The thought echoed in her head as she rubbed herself harder, fighting to keep her voice silent, trembling on the brink of losing control.
Konoko's body twisted on the futon, the sheets already damp beneath her from the sweat dripping off her skin. She slid a single finger inside her pussy, shallow but steady, careful not to break what she still guarded. The slick sound of it, wet and needy, filled the tiny room—schlk… schlk…—each push making her thighs shiver and close tighter around her hand.
Her lips wrapped around the swollen nipple of her breast, sucking with desperate hunger. The wet pull echoed softly—slrp, slrp—mixed with the faint squeaks of the futon beneath her restless hips. A muffled moan escaped against her own skin, trembling and broken, "Mmh… ahh… nnhh…" The vibrations made her chest quake, every sound only feeding the fire twisting lower.
Her finger moved faster, the slickness spreading, dripping down her inner thigh with a faint sticky warmth. The room seemed louder than it should have been—the soft suckle, the obscene wet squelch of her pussy, her choked whimpers as she tried not to let her voice rise. What if he hears? What if Gramps hears? The thought only tightened the coil in her belly.
The release slammed into her in a sudden rush—her back arching, hips jerking, a strangled cry breaking free despite her effort to bite down on her own nipple. "Ahhh—nnnnhh—ahhh!" The wet gush pulsed around her finger, contractions gripping tight as her whole body trembled, the room filled with the messy sounds of her climax.
Then stillness.
She collapsed into the futon, gasping, her mouth slipping free of her breast with a sticky pop. Her skin glistened with sweat, her hand damp and trembling, the air thick with the scent of arousal. Every sound felt amplified in the silence that followed—the faint creak of the old house, the beat of her own heart, the whisper of breath through her lips.
Did he hear? The question pressed down heavy, her stomach twisting as she froze, staring at the door that had no lock. Only quiet answered.
She pulled the blanket over her body, burying her heat under the thin cover, her breaths slowing but uneven. At least… at least he didn't open the door…
Her breaths slowed, but her chest still rose and fell in uneven rhythm, sweat cooling on her skin. She tugged the blanket higher, trying to hide the trembling of her thighs, the dampness still clinging between them.
The silence pressed in… too heavy. Her ears strained against it. Every creak of the old house sounded sharper, closer.
Then—click.
The handle turned just enough to break the stillness, and the door eased open by a sliver. A thin slice of hallway light cut into the room, pale across the tatami. Konoko's heart stopped, her body frozen under the covers.
The gap lingered, silent. Someone had touched the door. Someone was there.
She didn't dare breathe.