Aki stood behind the register with his arms crossed, a half-burnt cigarette dangling from his lips—lit even though the "No Smoking" sign hung right above his head.

The store reeked of microwaved curry and sweat. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like they were trying to escape.

Aki leaned on the counter with a sigh, arms crossed over his stained hoodie, a lukewarm canned coffee sweating next to him. His hair, tied back in a greasy ponytail, hadn’t seen shampoo in over a week. He told Denji it was natural oil—"like what samurai used." In reality, it smelled like ash and cheap yakisoba.

Denji sat on an upside-down crate behind the register, sucking ramen broth straight from the cup.

“Women are fake, bro,” Aki muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “They say they want nice guys, then go for that gym bro with the jawline and a car.” He spat the last word like it was a slur.

Denji wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “That’s ‘cause you talk like an anime villain and smell like moldy socks.”

Aki scoffed. “Whatever. I’ve read psychology books. They want attention. Validation. They only date dudes who gaslight them. Meanwhile, I’ve got layers. I write poetry. I own real katanas.”

“You bought those on eBay, dude.”

“They’re replicas of ancient blades.”

Before Denji could clown him more, the store’s bell jingled. They both froze.

A girl walked in.

Not even dressed up—just normal. Clean. Put-together. Not sweating through a polyester uniform or covered in curry stains. And most importantly: female.

Aki’s posture stiffened. He instinctively rubbed his hoodie to “freshen it up” and immediately regretted it—it only spread the smell of onions and nicotine. His armpits prickled with sudden panic.

“She’s gonna judge me,” he hissed.

“She hasn’t even looked at you,” Denji whispered back.

Aki squinted as she walked past, eyes narrowing. “Probably dates some guy with a 9-to-5 and a working shower. Pfft. Typical.”

“You’ve never had a 9-to-5,” Denji said.

“Shut up.”

Trying to act cool, Aki leaned on the counter and muttered, loud enough for her to hear, “Lattes are a scam. Just like love.”

She didn’t even glance.

Aki cleared his throat. “Not that I care. Love’s a lie invented by corporations anyway.”

She grabbed a water bottle and walked to the fridge like he was invisible.

Aki turned to Denji, swallowing his wounded pride. “She laughed. In her head. Probably thinks I’m deep.”

Denji blinked at him. “Bro… she’s gonna leave and never think about this place again.” he slumped, face in his hands. “I’m never gonna touch a boob with you as my friend, dude.”