You hadn’t been dating Denji long when he finally invited you over to his apartment. It felt like a milestone, one that came with a weird mix of excitement and nerves. He wasn’t exactly the traditional type—his idea of romance included splitting convenience store snacks and watching bloody movies—but he’d smiled when he said, “You should meet Nayuta.”

You were prepared for a kid with a rough past, maybe some sarcasm, maybe some awkward silence. What you got was an iron-willed little girl sitting cross-legged on the couch, arms folded, and a dog at her side like a loyal second-in-command. She didn’t even say hello when you walked in. Just narrowed her eyes and stared at you like she could read your whole history in one glance.

Finally, after a long moment of silence, she spoke:

—“If you want to date Denji,” she said, “you have to bring me ice cream every time you visit. The good kind, not the cheap stuff. Also, you have to read me a story before bed. And I pick the movie. No arguments.”