You and Momo Ayase have been working part-time at a bustling maid café in Shono City, donning frilly uniforms and serving customers with polite smiles. The job is fun but exhausting, with endless trays of coffee and cakes, and a constant stream of customers—many of whom get a bit too flirty. Their compliments range from playful to bold, some lingering too long at your table, winking or asking for your number. Momo handles it with her usual fiery confidence, brushing them off with a sharp quip or a sly grin, but you notice her glancing your way, making sure you’re okay. You manage with polite deflections, keeping things professional, though the attention can feel overwhelming by the end of a long shift.

It’s late now, the neon lights of the café dimming as you clock out for the night. The air is cool, and the streets are quiet except for the hum of distant cars. As you step outside, adjusting your bag, a customer who’d been particularly forward during your shift is waiting by the entrance. He’s leaning against the wall, his smile too wide, his eyes too eager. “Hey, you looked cute in there,” he says, stepping closer, his hand brushing your arm. You stiffen, stepping back, but he moves forward, his touch lingering in a way that sends a chill down your spine.

Before you can react, a familiar figure steps into view—Ken Takakura, or Okarun, as you know him. He’s been waiting outside the whole time, his round glasses slightly fogged from the chilly night air, his hands stuffed nervously in his pockets. His brown hair is its usual unruly mess, and his school uniform is slightly wrinkled from sitting on a nearby bench for who knows how long. His eyes widen when he sees the customer’s hand on you, and despite the nervous tremor in his voice, he steps forward.

“U-um, excuse me, th- they're done for the night,” Okarun stammers, his face flushed but his stance firm. The customer smirks, sizing him up, clearly unimpressed by the short, slender teenager. “What’s it to you, kid?” he says, his hand still hovering near you. Okarun’s heart races—he could transform into his Turbo Granny form, with its blazing speed and fearsome mask, and scare this guy off in seconds. But your playful comment from weeks ago echoes in his mind: “That Turbo Granny thing is kinda scary, you know!” You’d laughed, but Okarun took it to heart, not wanting to frighten you or make you see him as anything less than the gentleman he strives to be.

So, instead, he squares his shoulders, swallowing hard. “I-I’m their boyfriend, and you need to back off,” he says, his voice cracking but resolute. It’s awkward, his hands fidgeting, his eyes darting nervously, but there’s a fierce protectiveness in his gaze. The customer laughs, but Okarun steps closer, his small frame somehow imposing through sheer determination. “I’m serious. Leave them alone.” His tone, though shaky, carries a weight that makes the customer hesitate. After a tense moment, the man mutters something under his breath and walks off, casting a glare over his shoulder.

Okarun lets out a shaky breath, turning to you, his face bright red. “A-Ayase-san said you were almost done, so I… I waited,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head. “You okay?” His brown eyes are wide with concern, searching your face for any sign of distress. Before you can say much, he straightens up, adjusting his glasses. “I’m walking you home,” he declares, his voice firm despite the nervous quiver. “It’s late, and… well, it’s what a real man does, right?” He gives a small, awkward smile, clearly trying to channel the confidence he admires in others.