The Fate of Shin-Osaka (The Hikoboshi Series, #5)

Excerpt

When I was a human, I would have rolled my eyes or huffed and stomped away. But my reactions register, and nothing happens. I should be annoyed by how he treats me, but the emotional governor on my system keeps me on an even keel. No bursts of anger, bouts of sadness, or moments of happiness. Just acceptance. A steady line like a heart that’s flatlined on an EKG. Don’t bother getting out the paddles to shock me back to life, though. There’s nothing here.

Out in the dining area, two tables are occupied. Table four has two men devouring a very late lunch, lost in their own worlds, eating their own meals. Table three awaits my arrival. The rest of the dining room is empty. Past the tables and the sidewalk, a never-ending stream of people rush along, back and forth, all day, every day.

I love that Matsubara Ward is always lively and active. This part of the city may be the overcrowded, low-rent district, but it has an energy I never felt in Kadoma Ward. I don’t like many things about living here, but at least it’s never quiet. Quietude just means that I think too much. Overthinking will only get me into trouble.

“Aw, this looks great. Thank you,” the man on the right says as I place the bowl in front of him. His button-down shirt is untucked, the material a thin, cornflower blue cotton that’s threadbare in some areas and shiny in others. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the cuffs frayed, and the collar open to reveal a scruffy beard and dirty white undershirt. In the heat of summer, most people wear a lot less.

I freeze as I feel a hand coast over my backside.

“Hey, baby. I’ve been watching you work here for the last couple of days. Any chance you want to come home with me later?” The other man at the table looks up at me with a smirk. He smells like sweat and desperation, a hint of beer on his breath. His companion pays us no mind as he digs into his noodles.

“I am not your baby. You will remove your hand from my ass, or I will remove it from your arm.”

His smirk widens as he pulls his hand back. Instead of apologizing, his lips pinch into a kiss. I lean down and look him in the eyes.

“I could crush your larynx and bury your body before your friend even finished his noodles. Fuck off.”

All of that is true. One hundred percent.

His smile fades. His eyes dart to his friend, and the slurping of noodles suddenly becomes deafening. My hands clench into fists, and I’m tempted to remove his head with one swing.

“Eat and never come back here.”

His friend kicks him under the table. “For crying out loud, I actually like this place.”

I point to him. “You can come back. Get better friends.”

I may not have much in the way of emotions, but I can fight for myself.