The gentle clink of cutlery and the soft chatter of nearby tables filled the cozy interior of the maid café. Warm light filtered through the lace curtains, bouncing off pastel-painted walls and the frilly uniforms of the maids moving with practiced grace. A faint melody played in the background, a sweet, nostalgic tune that almost felt like it belonged in a slice-of-life anime. Amid this quaint, lively setting, Kokoro and Sakura quietly enjoyed their meal—well, somewhat quietly.
Kokoro took a sip of his melon soda and leaned back slightly, his expression turning more thoughtful than usual. He set his glass down and looked across the table at Sakura, who was busy cutting her fluffy omurice, the ketchup drawing of a heart already half-ruined.
"I think... I understand now," Kokoro said, voice calm but serious. His silver eyes reflected the soft lights of the cafe, but there was a rare depth in them that made Sakura look up. "How you came to like her, I mean. It wasn't some shallow impulse. You went through something... big. And she just became important to you in a way that others wouldn't understand."
Sakura blinked. The honesty in Kokoro's tone caught her off guard. He continued, his voice dipping low so that only she could hear over the bustle around them.
"But... have you ever thought about what happens if she rejects you?" Kokoro asked gently. "What if, by confessing, you end up changing what you already have with her? Breaking something good, just because you wanted something more?"
His words weren't said with cruelty, but care. It was the kind of question that could only be asked by someone who had thought it through himself. Someone who knew what it meant to treasure a bond too much to risk it.
Sakura stopped moving her fork. The air between them hung suspended in that moment, her dark eyes reflecting a quiet storm of thought. For a long breath, she just stared at her plate, her chest rising and falling as she mulled over Kokoro's words.
Then she slowly looked up and smiled, not brightly, but with a strange sort of resolve.
"Even if she does reject me," Sakura said, her voice steady, "what matters most to me... is that I tell her. That I don't bottle it up and carry it around like some secret weight. Naomi's already dated a few girls from her school. She's even told me how a bunch of them confessed to her—like, it's a normal thing for her."
Kokoro choked on his omelette.
Coughing and patting his chest, he looked at Sakura wide-eyed. "Wait. Wait. You're telling me your stepsister is already... experienced?"
Sakura nodded matter-of-factly. "Yep. It's an all-girls school, so it kind of happens more often than you'd expect."
Kokoro sat back, stunned. "That's... damn."
It took him a moment to regain his composure, but when he did, his mind was already shifting gears. With renewed focus, he leaned forward again, elbows on the table, hands clasped in front of his face as if concocting a scheme.
"Then this is easier than I thought," he said at last.
Sakura tilted her head, curious. "What do you mean?"
"Well, if you're not afraid of being rejected, and she's already been confessed to before, then your situation is actually way simpler than mine ever was," Kokoro said with a dry chuckle. "I mean, really. All you need... is the right moment."
Sakura leaned forward excitedly. "Okay, now you have to tell me. What's your plan, mastermind?"
Kokoro looked her dead in the eyes. "Ask her to hang out in Tokyo tomorrow. Hide it as a sister bonding day. Take her around, have fun, eat together. And when the moment feels right... just tell her."
There was a pause.
Sakura stared at him.
Then she slumped back in her chair and groaned, smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Ughh... why didn't I think of that?! It's so simple! It's clean! It's... it's idiot-proof!"
Kokoro smirked and took another bite of his food.
The maid from earlier glanced at their table from across the room. Though she couldn't hear their conversation, the animated reaction from the brown-haired girl and the faintly smug look on the boy's face made her wonder what kind of silly love story the two were tangled in.
Outside the windows of the cafe, the city of Tokyo moved on with its usual vibrant rhythm, but for the two teenagers plotting love over omurice and soda, the world had briefly narrowed to just their table.
"You really are a top-notch dating guru, Kokoro," Sakura said, her lips curling into a teasing smile as she twirled a lock of her hair. Her tone was playful, but there was genuine admiration in her eyes.
Kokoro, however, groaned and slapped a palm against his forehead. "Top-notch dating guru...? You're giving me way too much credit, idiot," he muttered, already regretting the headache this entire scheme would cause. "Seriously though, how old are you again?"
Sakura blinked, confused by the sudden question. "Huh? We're the same age, duh. We're in the same year, just different classrooms remember? Or did your 'guru brain' erase everything else?"
"No, I just... never mind," Kokoro muttered again, slouching deeper into his seat. He rubbed his temples with a sigh. "Anyway, back to the plan."
They leaned over the table, dishes now mostly empty. Sakura eagerly scribbled some notes on her phone as Kokoro laid out the finer details.
"So, you'll ask her to hang out tomorrow. Keep it light. Just a casual 'sister bonding' thing. Take her around Tokyo—Shibuya maybe, or Ueno Park if she likes nature, even Harajuku if she's into fashion. Let her lead, and just follow her pace."
Sakura nodded quickly, her thumbs tapping frantically. "Okay, okay—what if we go to that popular parfait shop in Harajuku? She loves sweets."
"Perfect," Kokoro replied. "Now here's the important part: I'll be there too. In disguise. Somewhere in the crowd, watching. If things go south, I'll step in. Maybe fake a call or create a distraction."
Sakura looked up from her phone, blinking. "You'd really do that? You're going to stalk my sister-date like a guardian spirit?"
"'Stalk' is not the word I'd use," Kokoro muttered, narrowing his eyes. "Think of it more like... security detail."
Sakura giggled, and then, seriously, extended a hand. "Deal. You help me survive this date—successful or not—and I'll delete the last cursed photo of you and Mika."
"Swear it," Kokoro said, grabbing her hand and giving her a look that could pierce through walls.
"I swear," Sakura nodded solemnly.
They stood, finishing the last sips of their drinks. Kokoro pulled out his wallet and paid the bill despite Sakura's protest.
"Don't act like you're some gentleman all of a sudden! You're just trying to impress the maids!"
"Shut up," Kokoro muttered, flushing red as they stepped out of the café.
Outside, the sun had shifted overhead. The streets of Tokyo buzzed with people—laughing groups, street performers, city traffic weaving like threads of a moving painting.
"I still can't believe you wore full white," Sakura smirked as they stood at the corner, waiting to part ways.
Kokoro looked down at himself, then scowled. "I'm going for minimalist. It's called style."
"It's called looking like a spilled cup of milk," Sakura grinned.
"Hilarious," Kokoro deadpanned. "Remind me never to take fashion advice from a girl who wears grandma florals."
Sakura gasped dramatically and smacked him on the arm. With one last laugh, she waved as she turned toward the train station.
Kokoro sighed and began walking down the road, eyes scanning the bustling avenue. "A disguise... huh," he muttered. "Don't really have anything at home for that."
His eyes caught sight of a cab and he raised his hand.
The cab pulled over, and the driver—a cheerful old man with silver hair and a warm grin—rolled down the window. "Need a ride, sonny?"
"Yeah, can you take me to the nearest big mall? Preferably one with a costume shop or something."
"Of course! Hop in. You going for a part-time job or some kinda event?"
"Uh... something like that," Kokoro said, slipping into the back seat...
Meanwhile, Sakura was already seated on the train, the hum of the engine and soft voices filling the car. She slipped her phone from the pocket of her brown floral dress and noticed a new LINE message.
[Naomi]: "Gonna go shopping for materials for the class project. Might be out for a while."
Sakura stared at the message for a second, her fingers hovering over the screen. Then she typed back:
[Sakura]: "Okay, be careful out there. Don't get distracted by cute girls, lol!"
She smiled faintly, slipping the phone back in and resting her head against the seat as the train rumbled forward. The announcer's voice crackled overhead, and her thoughts wandered to the day ahead—her heart pounding with hope, nerves, and just a bit of fear.
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In another street of the ever-bustling Tokyo, where the morning sun gleamed off the windows of high-rise buildings and the concrete jungle throbbed with the heartbeat of the city, a girl was quietly checking her phone. Her skin had the soft bronze hue of sun-kissed sand, and her jet-black hair—short, messy, and effortlessly stylish—fell slightly over her sharp, black eyes. She wore a plain black turtleneck tucked into dark jeans that hugged her curves snugly, with clean white sneakers tapping softly on the pavement.
A single silver earring dangled from her right ear, catching the sunlight now and then, just like the glances stolen by several passing men. Her voluptuous, almost exaggerated figure contrasted with her youthful, doll-like face. But she didn't bat an eye at the attention. Naomi, the girl in question, merely smirked—short and lazy—as if she were used to it. And truth be told, she was.
She had just sent a reply to her little sister, Sakura, on LINE.
[Sakura]: "Okay, be careful out there! Don't get distracted by cute girls, lol!"
Naomi squinted a little as she read it, her tired smile widening.
"Tch. Who has time for distractions..." she muttered, locking her phone and slipping it into the back pocket of her jeans. She had no retort, not really. Not with the project looming over her like a deadline-shaped curse.
As if on cue, a cab rolled up beside her. Naomi raised a hand lazily, and the driver—a gray-haired man with a warm, fatherly face—rolled down the window.
"Where to, young miss?"
"Any mall that has good art supplies or interior decoration shops. Doesn't have to be fancy," Naomi said with a slight smile.
The driver nodded. "Got just the place. It's a bit of a ride, but if you don't mind sharing a seat, I've got another fella heading the same direction."
Naomi blinked. "Share the seat?"
"Just the cab, sweetheart. Separate seats," the driver chuckled, like a dad trying to sound cool. "He doesn't bite. At least I don't think he does."
Naomi laughed softly. The guy was a riot.
"Sure. Just as long as he's not some weirdo."
The driver slid the small window open that connected his seat to the back and called out, "Sonny! You mind if I pick up another passenger? She's headin' the same way."
A voice responded with casual ease, "No problem."
Naomi opened the door and stepped in, already forming a mental picture of some awkward, possibly old-fashioned otaku with bags of merch. But the moment she stepped into the cab, she froze.
Seated inside, in what could only be described as a fashion crime scene, was a boy dressed head to toe in white. White t-shirt, white shorts, white sneakers—the kind of guy who looked like he either wandered off from a performance art piece or just survived a bleach explosion.
Yet despite his tragic fashion choice, his looks were undeniable. His face was sharp and handsome, with dark lashes over striking eyes, and his frame was tall and athletic. The full-white ensemble only made him look more like a misplaced anime protagonist.
Naomi's lips twitched. Her throat burned with the effort not to laugh.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked, eyes gleaming with mischief.
Kokoro, still staring like a deer caught in the blinding headlights of realization, snapped his neck forward and nodded quickly. "Y-Yeah. Go ahead."
He immediately turned to the window, his mind screaming.
"Shit. That's her. That's Naomi. What the hell is she doing here? Why now?! Of all people—and of all cabs!"
Naomi sat beside him, crossing one leg over the other, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. She stole a side glance at him.
"This dude looks like a snow cone... but damn, he's handsome. Weird combo."
Kokoro could feel her gaze like a laser against his skin. He was doing his best not to combust.
The cab moved forward, cruising into the Tokyo traffic. Two strangers sharing a ride. One trying not to laugh. The other trying not to melt.
And neither knowing they were no strangers at all.