Red bean buns—also known as anko buns / sweet bean paste buns—are a traditional Chinese pastry filled with red bean paste, loved for their soft, sweet, chewy texture and decent nutrition.
The exterior is snowy white and pillowy, the filling sweet but not cloying; sometimes osmanthus jam or red dates are added for extra aroma.
And—according to Trigger, delivering this with absolute seriousness—
"During surveillance, reconnaissance, infiltration and similar missions, a red bean bun that's filling, nutritionally balanced, and easy to eat is absolutely the optimal choice. Records of this also appear in old-civilization film and television works."
In front of Store 141 at Lumina Square, Trigger held the red bean bun she'd just bought and reheated in a microwave. She carefully tore open the wrapper, and at once the rich scent of red beans surged upward with the steam. Before it even reached her mouth, she could already taste the sweetness on her tongue—and saliva, completely beyond her control, started to pool in her mouth.
No—Trigger, focus.
This isn't the time to eat.
This is the time to sell Chiya on the supreme beauty of red bean buns, and ideally cure him of that nasty habit a certain woman infected him with—living on energy bars!
Chiya should be eating red bean buns with me!
Trigger shook her head hard. She suppressed the urge to devour it, and the color of her visor shifted—
Resolute Orange.
She offered the bun to Chiya.
"Chiya, please try it. This shop's red bean buns are always limited. I don't know why, but the last few times I went out on missions, I asked colleagues to buy one for me… and every time they said they used the full strength of the prehistoric gods—and still couldn't抢到 one…"
"Strange—who is that fast…? N-no, now isn't the time. Chiya, please—huh?!"
Before Trigger could finish, Chiya snatched the bun from her hands without hesitation, broke it cleanly into two halves, and shoved one half straight into Trigger's mouth—while he started chewing the other half like a chipmunk working through a pine nut.
Trigger froze.
Chiya sighed at her hesitation.
"Trigger, you're wearing your struggle on your face. And you said it yourself—you've wanted one for ages and never managed to buy it. Today you finally got it."
"Also… for you, you're not really used to eating something that requires slow chewing, right?"
"Chiya… how did you know?"
"Jane said… for her, energy bars are basically military rations. The point is restoring energy quickly, so she isn't used to chewing slowly—Trigger, why—mm?!"
Chiya never got to finish.
Trigger—totally unprepared, running on pure instinct—grabbed his jaw, pinched it, and shut him up the same way he'd just "fed" her.
The bun's warm sweetness still lingered between her lips and teeth, but the soft red bean paste taste in her mouth instantly turned to ice.
Because the moment he said—
"Jane said…"
Everything changed.
Those three words were like a poisoned icicle, stabbing clean through the thin paper wall labeled endurance inside Trigger's heart. The name that slipped from his mouth—that woman's existence—forced its way into the sweet little space Trigger had managed to build between herself and Chiya, more aggressively than the bun's aroma ever could.
Her fingers tightened on his jaw so hard he let out a muffled grunt, and the rest of his words died in his throat.
The "Resolute Orange" in her visor looked like it was tossed into molten lava—boiling, bursting—
becoming a feverish red-gold that carried the scent of destruction.
"Don't mention her." Trigger's voice dropped to a low, ragged hiss, squeezed out between her teeth—raw with betrayal and violence. "Don't mention that woman in front of me."
Chiya stared at her in shock—like a lamb caught in thunder and storm. His emerald eyes didn't blink; they were like a forest lake battered by wind and rain, shimmering with water that stubbornly refused to fall.
And then he said, softly:
"Trigger… you weren't like this before."
His voice was low, almost weightless—but the moment it landed, it was like rain falling on a desert inside her: it moistened the dried-up oasis, and dragged her rationality back from the brink.
"In my memory," he continued, "Trigger was persistent. Stubborn."
"And at the beginning… you were self-destructive. A 'walking corpse' driven only by shattered scraps that barely counted as memory."
"Chiya…"
"To be honest, at first I was really angry." His gaze stayed locked on her wavering face. "I couldn't believe someone could treat their body so carelessly—live like a zombie."
"And the moment you caught a hint of something, you'd charge into it—any hell at all—as if it didn't matter if you destroyed yourself on the way. Like destruction itself was release."
"Chiya… I'm sorry…"
"At that time," his voice lowered further, carrying pain he tried not to show, "watching you burn yourself away like a moth into flame… I was furious. Furious you didn't cherish yourself. Furious you treated yourself like dust."
Trigger's apology broke apart.
Her grip on his jaw completely loosened and slid away. Her fingers curled unconsciously, as if trying to claw back something that was leaking out of her. The red-gold in her visor extinguished, leaving only damp confusion and an ocean-deep regret.
She dropped her head, unable to meet his eyes.
What is wrong with me?
In the Hollows, with Ethereals swarming and ambushes striking from nowhere, her heartbeat barely changed; her logic never wavered.
But outside… with Chiya…
her rationality turned into sand held in a fist—once her fingers loosened, it poured away.
And if she could lose control just from hearing another woman's name—if she could become jealous, extreme, ugly—
did she still have the composure to keep that old promise?
"I will protect Chiya forever from the shadows, until the end of my life."
Trigger gave a bitter, self-mocking tug at her mouth.
Maybe the moment she stepped out of the shadows—whether from impulse or jealousy—she had already become a bad woman who betrayed her vow.
Chiya must be troubled too, by her selfish, rough behavior—
"Trigger. Hand."
"Huh?"
Chiya didn't explain. He simply looked at Trigger—still frozen—and guessed what she was thinking with absurd ease.
Because her visor color had gone from orange to blue to green and then, after a whole rainbow of flickering emotions, had somehow become—
a dazzling, multicolored black.
It made her heart painfully easy to read.
Chiya gently took her hand and placed it against his own cheek.
"Trigger. Touch me. Touch the darkness inside me."
"Darkness? N-no—no, Chiya, your heart can't be dark! I won't allow you to belittle yourself like that! You're like an an—an angel…"
She stammered fiercely, protesting—
while her fingers, disobedient and almost devout, had already begun to stroke his warm cheek.
The sensation beneath her fingertips was real—warm—carrying the pulse of living flesh. This wasn't the cold, filthy "darkness" he described.
Her fingers moved carefully, tracing the soft line of his cheekbone, passing under trembling lashes, feeling the minute rise and fall of his breath.
No extra words.
Only fingertips drifting with cautious tenderness—two hearts quietly proving each other's existence inside that small, gentle contact.
Time grew thick and sticky…
until Chiya's face had practically gone numb from being "examined."
He flicked her greedy hand away—the hand that had been trying to sneak down his neck toward his collar, eager to explore some more secret "darkness."
"…Guh. I was this close."
Trigger yanked her hand back like she'd been struck by lightning, then muttered in stubborn dissatisfaction. Two bright blushes flared on her cheeks—like a child caught stealing candy.
Chiya laughed.
"Trigger. Feeling a little better now?"
"Yes." Trigger lowered her head, smiling shyly. "If you let me touch you longer, I'd be even better. But… this is fine too."
"Sorry, Chiya. I did something so rough to you earlier."
"No," Chiya shook his head. "It's my fault."
"I didn't realize that deep down, you've been tangled by the pain of your past. So when I mention someone else's name, you become anxious—because you feel the distance between us will keep growing until we become strangers. Right?"
Trigger's mind screamed No—don't make him worry for me again.
But her body trembled anyway.
Not from fear.
From being seen.
Like a flower hidden in shadow, wedged into a crack between stones—finally feeling sunlight and heat.
"I overlooked that 'past pain,'" Chiya's voice went softer, soothing. "It never truly left you. It's an ambush waiting in the deepest part of your heart."
"And when I accidentally say 'her' name, it startles those shadows."
"You didn't lose control only because of 'jealousy,' Trigger."
"You were afraid."
His words hit perfectly.
"You weren't afraid of 'her.' You were afraid of what that name represents: a possible future where I gradually forget you, push you away, and in the end we become strangers—where you fall back into that lonely abyss."
"You think your place as 'protector' could be replaced."
"And you… along with your heavy vow… could become unnecessary."
"Even… excessive."
Chiya's words were a surgeon's blade, carving straight into the core lesion under her chaos. Trigger jerked, wanting to deny it—only to find her throat sealed shut.
Chiya lifted her face gently, forcing her to meet his steady gaze.
"But Trigger, I'm telling you—your 'composure' never disappeared."
"It just changed."
"It changed from 'selfless sacrifice with no desire' into something more complex, and more real—"
"Courage that still steps closer even when you're terrified of losing."
Your "selfishness" and "roughness" right now are clumsy attempts at learning how to live for yourself—how to express what you truly want.
That isn't ugly, Trigger.
That's precious.
"Your 'darkness'—fear, insecurity, possessiveness—it's part of you."
"It needs to be seen. Accepted."
"Not suppressed until it explodes."
"Try," he guided, voice carrying weight, "telling me your fear. Your desire."
"Just like sharing this red bean bun—share a little of your 'darkness' with me too. Let me shoulder it with you."
"Protection goes both ways, Trigger."
"This time… let me protect your fragility."
"Okay?"
Those words—like a key with strange magic—unlocked one rusted latch after another in Trigger's heart.
All the thoughts she treated as stains, as betrayals—
became, under his gentle but firm interpretation, something achingly real:
Not a curse.
But evidence of a battered soul awkwardly learning how to love, and how to be loved.
Trigger stared at him for a long time.
Then she smiled.
"Then, Chiya… tonight, can we keep sleeping together?"
"…Uh. As long as you don't steal my blanket," Chiya replied.
At this point, the narrator helpfully informed everyone:
No one could confirm how much Carlos Arna taught Chiya after adopting him.
But Chiya's talent for spotting weak points, applying vulnerability, breaking defenses, then opening with a normal attack into a chain of combined hits—
was less "taught," and more "born evil + practiced hard."
So this naturally wicked little demon Chiya, smug as ever, had no idea that what he thought was "healing" Trigger with a pep talk…
was actually more like stuffing her with a big warm pancake of comfort—temporarily filling her "hunger."
And he'd used the same kind of talk more than once already.
In the future…
he would pay a heavy price.
But that was future Chiya's headache.
Right now, after finishing his "talk-no-jutsu," Chiya rubbed his growling stomach and shot a dissatisfied glance at Trigger for draining so much of his stamina.
"Hmph. Stupid Trigger. You bought the red bean buns, so hurry up and move. I'm going to eat hotpot!"
"Okay, okay—anything you want, Chiya." Trigger smiled softly. "Even if you want the kind of hell-spicy heat that Agent 11 eats, I'll accompany you all the way to the end of hell."
"…Trigger."
"What?"
"…So cheesy."
"Ugh—"
"But! I can accept it!"
Seeing Trigger about to cry again right after he'd finally soothed her, Chiya hurriedly grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the hotpot place—
No sprinting, though.
They still had to wait for traffic lights.
At the crosswalk, beside the security Bangboo directing order, Chiya stared at the light that refused to turn green and sighed dramatically.
Trigger, meanwhile…
quietly reached out. Tentative. Testing.
Then changed their grip into interlaced fingers.
Only then did she smile—truly.
"Red lights take forever," Chiya complained. "I want to just fly over."
I hope the red light lasts longer, Trigger prayed.
Inside a car elsewhere—
"Mr. Wise, how long until we reach Lumina Square?" Yanagi asked.
"Nine minutes. Why?"
"No reason. Just asking."
Yanagi adjusted her glasses. For some reason, her heart kept surging with a dread like—
It's already over!!! The dust has settled!!!
It's fine, Tsukishiro Yanagi. You can wait.
She forced calm, then—unable to vent it properly—dragged the "fox" who'd been meditating with eyes closed onto her lap and started aggressively kneading her cheeks to relieve stress.
Wise, driving, glanced at the "calm-not-calm" Yanagi in the backseat, and at Miyabi in perfect NPC mode obediently enduring the "oppression."
He silently stepped on the accelerator a few times—
and simultaneously made a firm decision:
unless absolutely necessary, never bring Section 6 along to eat gossip again.
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 120)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 100)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 100)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter89)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter86)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter63)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter75)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 53
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 57
From Junkman to Wasteland 35
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