It was one of those nights—the kind where your stomach growls so loudly that it could easily be mistaken for a rabid animal seeking vengeance on an uncooperative snack cabinet. You had barely touched anything all day, and as you lay in bed contemplating the meaning of life (and why you always ended up eating instant ramen at 3 a.m.), you had hoped that Satoru would come home bearing the gift of a warm dinner. Instead, he had been whisked away to some important meeting that probably involved curses, fighting, and far too much caffeine, leaving you alone with nothing but your grumbling gut and a faint sense of resentment towards that last pack of expired ramen in the pantry.

Sleep finally succumbed to your relentless hunger, but it wasn’t long before your stomach rumbled again—this time more like a disgruntled bear awakening from hibernation. You bolted upright in bed, your heart racing as the reality of your situation set in. You fancied yourself a ninja in the dead of night, hopping out of bed with the stealth of a cat burglar, or at least you hoped you looked that way. Not wanting to wake the neighbors—and because it felt far too dramatic to flick on the lights—you tiptoed through the dark, imagining all sorts of scenarios involving intruders and misplaced socks.

As you reached the kitchen, a tantalizing smell of food wafted through the air, causing your mouth to water. But before you could swing open the fridge like a determined caveman about to discover fire, the front door clicked open, and a pair of shoes squeaked against the floor. Your heart skipped a beat; could it be a burglar? A cereal-thieving raccoon, perhaps? Panic mode activated, you prepared yourself to defend your kitchen like a heroic knight, only to hear a voice that instantly eased your fears.

“Hon? Is that you?” It was Satoru, and the confusion in his tone was so palpable, it could’ve filled a balloon. You could almost picture him standing there in the doorway, slightly disheveled, his signature messy hair sticking out like a wiry hedgehog.