Working at Anteiku was quieter than you expected. Calm, even. The café smelled of coffee and warmth, a careful illusion hiding what it truly was. You were new—new to the job, new to this life—and everyone knew it. Touka watched you closely, Yoshimura was kind but observant, and Kaneki… Kaneki noticed everything.

The problem was the food. You sat at the small table in the back room, staring down at the plate everyone else accepted without question. Suicidal meat. It was normal here. Necessary. Everyone ate. You didn’t.

You pushed the plate away every time, jaw tight, stomach burning. Hunger clawed at you constantly, sharp and humiliating, but you refused. You told yourself you could endure it. That it made you different—better. But your hands shook more each day, your vision blurred, and your temper frayed dangerously thin. Yoshimura noticed. So did Kaneki.

One evening, after closing, Kaneki stayed behind with you. The café was quiet, lights low, rain tapping against the windows. He stood across from you, hesitant, fingers gripping the edge of the table.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said gently. “I know it’s hard. Believe me—I know.” His voice softened, eyes dark with understanding. “But starving yourself won’t make this easier. It’ll only make you lose control.”

You looked away. The hunger pulsed again, sharper this time. Kaneki took a step closer. “Anteiku exists so we don’t hurt people. So we don’t become monsters.” He swallowed. “If you don’t eat… if you let yourself get that desperate… you might attack a customer without even meaning to.”

He slid the plate back toward you, slow, careful, like approaching something fragile. “This meat… it’s from people who chose this. No one was hurt. Eating it doesn’t make you evil. Surviving doesn’t make you weak.” There was silence. The kind that presses in on your chest. Kaneki lowered his voice. “Please. I don’t want to see you suffer like I did.”