Kuroha Akira headed back downstairs to retrieve his laptop. When he'd carried Shinomiya up earlier, both hands had been occupied—there was no way to juggle a sleeping girl and a computer at the same time. Priorities.
He returned to the living room and had just finished packing his laptop into its bag when a familiar meow echoed from outside.
Meow~
The only stray cat that would visit Kobayashi at this hour was Kuroo. That feline had terrible timing.
Kuroha Akira walked over and slid open the glass door connecting to the courtyard. A white blur shot inside like a tiny missile—Kuroo, as expected.
The cat moved with the confidence of someone who owned the place. She leaped onto the table with practiced grace, sat down, and immediately began the nightly grooming routine: licking her paws, then systematically washing her face with them. Typical cat behavior.
Remembering how this furry little traitor had let Shinomiya pet her so casually but would extend her claws the moment he tried, Kuroha Akira felt a pang of vindictive annoyance. He rolled his eyes at the feline.
"What are you doing here so late?"
"Meow~"
Kuroo meowed at him, then deliberately turned her head to stare at the refrigerator. As if she knew—knew—that all the delicious things were hidden inside that cold, mysterious box.
Were you Tom in a past life?! The cartoon cat who could open refrigerators and cupboards at will?
Granny Kobayashi had given strict instructions: give Kuroo whatever she wanted. It was an unspoken rule that this cat held the highest rank in the Kobayashi household hierarchy. Higher than him, apparently. Higher than anyone.
So Kuroha Akira, grumbling internally, opened the refrigerator door.
Kuroo immediately hopped off the table and trotted over to inspect her "food reserves" like a tiny, furry supermarket manager doing inventory. Her whiskers twitched as she surveyed the contents.
Then she spotted the watermelon.
A white paw extended, pointing imperiously at the sliced fruit.
"Meow meow meow meow!"
A cat. Wanting to eat watermelon.
"You're really something, you know that?" Kuroha Akira sighed. "A cat that wants to eat everything."
He'd owned cats before. He knew they were notoriously picky eaters with fragile digestive systems. Asking for milk yesterday had already been unusual—kittens could drink goat milk formula as a substitute for their mother's milk, but adult cats rarely retained that taste. Yogurt, maybe. But milk? Strange.
And now watermelon?
Kuroo was genuinely an odd cat. She showed high interest in practically any food, and unlike ordinary felines, she never suffered digestive issues afterward. Plus, she always seemed to appear exactly when there was something good to scrounge. It was almost supernatural.
Had the cats in this world undergone some kind of genetic mutation? Or was Kuroo just uniquely bizarre?
He glanced at the plate of watermelon. It was technically reserved for Tashiro. But in the Kobayashi hierarchy, Kuroo outranked everyone. If she wanted watermelon, she got watermelon.
Besides, one cat couldn't eat an entire plate. Giving her a slice or two would be fine; the rest could still go to Toshiro.
Kuroha Akira retrieved the watermelon plate from the refrigerator and placed one triangular slice in front of Kuroo.
The cat pressed her paw delicately against the rind's edge and began eating from the tip, nibbling with surprising elegance. Almost human-like in her table manners.
"Eat slowly," Kuroha Akira muttered. "Leave the rind wherever. Granny Kobayashi will clean up in the morning. Yawn~"
The all-nighter was catching up with him. His eyes felt gritty, his limbs heavy. He needed to grab what little sleep remained before dawn.
But as he turned toward the stairs, Kuroo meowed sharply.
"Meow!"
She bit his pant leg, tugging with surprising strength.
"What? Want another slice?"
Kuroo ignored the question completely. She released his pants and padded toward the entrance hall, then looked back at him expectantly.
Kuroha Akira understood immediately. She wanted him to follow her again.
If she'd just wanted to leave after eating, she would have exited through the glass door the same way she'd entered. There was no need to go through the front entrance. So this was different—this was a summons.
But why did she keep coming to him lately? Normally, Kuroo was closer to Granny Kobayashi. If something happened, she'd go to the old woman first. Yet here she was, repeatedly seeking him out.
Though she still wouldn't let him pet her. Tsuchikata wasn't allowed to pet her either, come to think of it... Was it because he was male? A chaste female cat who maintained boundaries with the opposite sex? He could respect that, actually.
Thinking random thoughts to keep himself awake, Kuroha Akira followed Kuroo out of the house and onto the street in front of Kobayashi. They turned left at the corner, and there—
"Ah..."
Toshiro. Collapsed under a utility pole.
So that was it. Kuroo had found Toshiro and come to fetch him. The watermelon had just been a bonus, a payment for services rendered.
The cat knew every member of the Kobayashi extended family, unlike ordinary stupid cats who couldn't even recognize themselves in mirrors. And Toshiro held a special place—she was also a transmigrator brought home by Kuroo.
But her home was nearby. Why was she collapsed here? Had something happened?
Kuroha Akira jogged over, concern quickening his steps. As soon as he got close, the reason became obvious.
Alcohol. A strong, pungent wave of it radiating from her entire body.
Drunk. She was dead drunk. She'd probably tried to walk home after drinking, but her body had given out before she could make it.
He squatted down beside the utility pole, peering at Toshiro's bleary, half-lidded eyes.
"Toshiro? You okay?"
"Mmm... hiccup... Ah!"
First an uncomfortable groan, then an alcohol-laden hiccup that made him lean back slightly, and finally her eyes managed to focus enough to recognize his face. A soft gasp of surprise escaped her lips.
Then, suddenly, her arms were around his neck.
The movement was so unexpected that Kuroha Akira nearly lost his balance. He felt the soft, yielding pressure against his chest—Toshiro had embraced him completely, her face buried against him. This was... this was definitely an older sister's chest. Not as overwhelmingly generous as Teacher Kobayakawa's, but still impressively substantial.
"Uh..."
For Toshiro—the same Toshiro whose social anxiety was so severe she'd flee at the mere sight of him on a normal day—to make such a bold, intimate move? She had to be completely, utterly wasted. There was no other explanation.
"Meow~"
Kuroo meowed at the entangled pair, her tone sounding almost satisfied. She's your problem now, that meow seemed to say. And then the white cat turned and trotted away into the night, mission accomplished.
Of course. No wonder Kuroo had come to get him. A small cat couldn't possibly carry a grown, drunken woman home. That job required human hands.
Kuroha Akira helped Toshiro upright, keeping her arms around his neck for support.
"We're almost home, Toshiro. Just a little further, okay?"
"Mmm..."
She covered her mouth with one hand. The expression on her face—pained, strained—suggested she might redecorate his clothes with the contents of her stomach at any moment.
"Uh, are you feeling really bad? Please don't throw up here!"
He meant, please don't throw up on me.
Even a beautiful woman's vomit was still disgusting. He wasn't that kind of protagonist! He had standards!
"Mm..."
Whether she actually understood him or was just nodding out of instinct, she somehow managed to suppress the urge. For now.
He couldn't worry about appearances anymore. It was late, the streets were empty, and no one was around to judge. Kuroha Akira prepared to carry her home in this "lover's embrace" position—one arm supporting her back, the other under her knees.
But just as he was about to lift her, Toshiro murmured against his ear, her voice slurred but urgent.
"Shoes... my shoes..."
"Ah."
He looked around and spotted them near the utility pole: two high heels, lying on their sides where they'd fallen off when she collapsed. He picked them up, intending to put them back on her feet, but quickly realized the problem.
They didn't fit. Not even close.
The heels were oversized, clearly not her size. Even if he forced them on, they'd slip right off again. Why was she wearing such ill-fitting shoes? Didn't they hurt?
But if he carried her, both hands would be occupied with Toshiro herself. He couldn't carry the shoes too. Yet Toshiro, despite being completely hammered, still remembered her shoes well enough to mention them. That meant they mattered to her. They were important.
If she could hold them herself, the problem would be solved.
"Toshiro? Can you hold your shoes?"
Silence. She was already unconscious again, her weight sagging heavily against him.
"I'll come back for your shoes later, okay?"
"...No..." Her voice was barely a whisper, but the words were clear. "Only the shoes... can't be lost..."
"..."
Damn it.
Then hold them yourself!
This is why drunk women were nothing but trouble! Absolutely nothing but trouble!
Kuroha Akira stood there in the dark street, a fully unconscious woman in his arms, two ill-fitting high heels at his feet, and a cat that had long since abandoned him to deal with this mess alone.
He sighed, long and deep, and began mentally calculating how he was going to carry a grown woman and her apparently irreplaceable shoes back to her house without dropping either.
Some nights, he really questioned his life choices.