Kin stared at the yellow flowers on his table for a full ten minutes.
Win over a woman by the end of today.
The System's quest hung in the air like a bad smell. He had nine hours left. Nine hours to do something he had no idea how to do.
I could just give her the flowers, he thought. That's... something. That's winning-adjacent.
He picked up the brown paper bundle. The petals were still fresh. Still yellow. Still screaming friendship at the top of their lungs.
Here goes nothing.
He walked downstairs. His heart pounded with every step. Why am I nervous? She's just my landlady. She brought me food. She touched my hair. She grabbed my arm and hissed at me like an angry cat.
Right. Just my landlady.
He knocked on her door.
Silence.
He knocked again.
The door opened. Lina stood there in a loose sweater and old jeans. Her hair was down—he'd never seen it down before. It fell past her shoulders, dark and slightly wavy.
She looked at the flowers. Then at his face. His real face—he'd dropped the disguise as soon as the movers left.
"What are those for?" she asked.
"I bought them earlier," he said. "For you. For the food and the clothes and the..." He almost said the hair thing again. "...everything."
She didn't take them right away.
"I told you," she said. "I don't want gifts."
"They're not gifts. They're... yellow. They mean friendship."
"According to who?"
"The old woman at the market."
Lina's mouth twitched. "You bought flowers based on the advice of a stranger?"
"I bought flowers because I wanted to." He held them out. "Just take them. My arms are getting tired."
She looked at the flowers for a long moment. Then she took them.
"Fine," she said. "But I'm not a flowers person."
"You don't have to be a flowers person. You just have to put them in water so they don't die."
She stepped back and opened the door wider. "Come in. I'm not having this conversation in the hallway."
***
Her apartment was the same as before. Small. Clean. The photo of her mother on the wall. A couch with actual cushions. A kitchen that smelled like garlic and something sweet.
Lina put the flowers in a glass jar—she didn't have a vase—and set them on the table.
"There," she said. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic."
She sat down on the couch. Kin stood awkwardly by the door.
"Sit," she said. "You're making me nervous."
He sat. On the opposite end of the couch. As far from her as possible.
Lina noticed. "I don't bite."
"I know."
"Then why are you sitting like you're about to run?"
Because you grabbed my arm earlier and I still haven't recovered, he thought. "I'm not running."
She studied him. Then she leaned back and crossed her arms.
"Why did you really come down here?"
"I told you. The flowers."
"The flowers are an excuse." Her voice was sharp but not cruel. "You could have left them at my door. You didn't. You knocked. Twice. You wanted to talk."
Kin's arrogant side wanted to deny it. His scared side wanted to leave. But something in between—something tired and honest—spoke first.
"I don't know what I wanted," he said. "I just... didn't want to be alone."
Lina's expression softened. Just a little.
"I understand that," she said. "But I need you to understand something."
She leaned forward. Her eyes were serious.
"I don't do bonds, Kin. Friendships. Attachments. Whatever you want to call them. They're painful. People leave. Or they die. Or they turn out to be someone you didn't know." She glanced at the photo of her mother on the wall. "I've had enough pain."
Kin nodded slowly. "I'm not asking for a bond. I'm asking for... company. That's all."
"You say that now."
"I mean it now."
She looked at him for a long time. Then she laughed—a short, quiet sound.
"You're strange," she said again. "I told you that before."
"You told me that yesterday."
"It's still true."
She reached over and poked his shoulder. He flinched.
"See?" she said. "You fold like paper whenever I get close."
"I do not."
She poked him again. He flinched again.
"You do."
"That's not folding. That's... personal space."
"You didn't have personal space when I touched your hair this morning." Her voice was teasing now. A little dangerous. "You froze. Like a rabbit."
Kin's face warmed. "I was surprised."
"You were melting."
"I was not."
"Your eyes got all soft. You leaned into my hand."
She noticed. Of course she noticed. She noticed everything.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, looking away.
Lina smiled. Not the strange, unreadable smile from before. A real one. Small. Tired. But real.
"You're a terrible liar, Kin."
"I've been told."
She picked up the jar of yellow flowers and sniffed them. "They're pretty. I'll give you that."
"So you accept them?"
"I accept them." She set the jar down. "Thank you."
Kin felt something loosen in his chest. "You're welcome."
He stood up. "I should go."
"Why?"
He blinked. "What do you mean, why?"
"You just got here." She tilted her head. "Stay for lunch."
Lunch? His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since the rice she brought him this morning.
"I can't," he said. "I have... things."
"What things?"
Assassination things. System things. A general's head things.
"Just... things."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're a terrible liar and you're bad at excuses."
"I'm not lying."
"You're stammering."
"I'm not stammering."
"You just stammered."
Kin opened his mouth. Closed it.
Lina laughed again. "Stay for lunch. I'll make dumplings. If you stay, I'll plan a hangout later. A real one. Not just me yelling at you for rent."
A hangout. With Lina. Outside this building. In public.
That's a terrible idea, he thought. The Quiet Commission could see us. She could get hurt. I could—
[System Notification]
[Staying for lunch is acceptable. Social bonding with Lina will reduce her likelihood of becoming an enemy in the future.]
[Current Lina Trust Level: 17%. Sharing a meal will increase this by approximately 3-5%.]
[Warning: You have 9 hours until the next mission. Do not miss it. Missing a mission results in Punishment Protocol: You will feel the pain of the target's next victim.]
[Recommendation: Stay for lunch. Leave by 4 PM. Prepare for mission.]
Nine hours. That was enough time. Lunch, then preparation. He could do both.
"Fine," Kin said. "Lunch. But I have to leave by four."
Lina stood up. "Four is fine. I wasn't planning on keeping you hostage."
"You grabbed my arm earlier. I'm not sure I believe you."
"That was different. You were wearing a stranger's face."
He followed her into the kitchen. "About that—"
"I don't want to know," she said, pulling flour from a cabinet. "I really don't. You have your secrets. I have mine. Let's leave it at that."
She handed him a bowl. "Wash your hands. You're helping."
"I don't know how to make dumplings."
"Then you'll learn."
***
The kitchen warmed up fast.
Lina moved like she'd done this a thousand times. Flour dusted the counter. She mixed dough with her hands, kneading it on a wooden board. Her fingers were quick. Precise.
"You're staring," she said without looking up.
"I'm watching. There's a difference."
"Watching is staring with an excuse."
Kin washed his hands and stood next to her. She handed him a small ball of dough.
"Roll it flat. Not too thin. Not too thick."
"How will I know?"
"You'll know."
He rolled. It came out lopsided.
Lina looked at it. "That's terrible."
"I've never done this before."
"Clearly." She took the dough from him and re-rolled it in three seconds. Perfect circle. "Like this."
She made him try again. And again. On the fourth attempt, she nodded.
"Good enough."
She showed him how to fill the dumplings—a spoonful of spiced meat and vegetables, fold the edges, pinch them closed. Her fingers brushed his as she corrected his grip.
He flinched.
"See?" she said. "Paper."
"I'm not used to people touching me."
"That's sad."
"It's just how it is."
She didn't say anything to that. She just kept folding dumplings.
They worked in silence for a while. The only sounds were the soft press of dough and the simmering of something on the stove—a broth, maybe, or a dipping sauce.
Then Lina said, "You don't have to be alone, you know."
Kin's hands stopped moving.
"I'm not saying you should attach yourself to me," she continued. "I'm saying... you don't have to be alone. There are people who would stay, if you let them."
"Like who?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. You haven't let anyone close enough to find out."
He went back to folding dumplings.
She's wrong, he thought. There's no one. Just the System. Just the missions. Just the heads.
But he didn't say that.
***
The dumplings went into a steamer.
Lina pulled a pitcher from the refrigerator. Pale yellow liquid, ice cubes floating on top.
"Tamarind juice," she said. "Fresh. My mother's recipe."
She poured two glasses. Kin took one. It was sour and sweet at the same time, cold enough to make his teeth ache.
"This is good," he said.
"Of course it is. I made it."
The steamer hissed. The kitchen smelled like pork and ginger and something green—scallions, maybe. Lina pulled out two small bowls and filled them with a dark dipping sauce.
"You eat a lot?" she asked.
"Not usually."
"Then you'll eat today."
The dumplings came out glossy and hot. Lina set the steamer basket on the table between them. They sat across from each other—her on one side, him on the other. The yellow flowers sat in the middle like a tiny sun.
Kin picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks. Bit into it.
The filling was hot. Juicy. The wrapper was thin and chewy. The dipping sauce was salty and a little spicy.
He closed his eyes.
"That good?" Lina asked.
"I haven't eaten anything that wasn't instant in months."
"That's depressing."
"That's my life."
She ate her own dumpling. Chewed. Swallowed. "Well. From now on, you eat here. Sometimes. Not always. I'm not your mother."
"I didn't ask—"
"I know. I'm offering." She pointed her chopstick at him. "Don't make it weird."
Kin laughed. Actually laughed. It came out rough and rusty, like he hadn't used the sound in years.
Lina looked at him with something like surprise.
"What?" he said.
"Nothing. You just... you should laugh more. It suits you."
He looked down at his dumpling. "I'll try."
***
They ate until the steamer was empty.
Kin's stomach was full for the first time in memory. The tamarind juice was almost gone. The afternoon light through Lina's window was golden and soft.
She leaned back in her chair. "I have something."
"What?"
"I bought a movie last week. From the cinema." She stood up and walked to a shelf by her TV. Held up a small disc. "It's not released yet. I have connections."
"Connections?"
"I know a guy."
Kin raised an eyebrow. "A guy?"
"A friend who works at the cinema. Don't be jealous."
"I'm not jealous."
"You sound jealous."
"I sound curious."
Lina waved the disc. "I was going to watch it after lunch. But since you're here..." She looked at him. "We could watch it together."
Kin's first instinct was to say no. He had a mission in nine hours. He needed to prepare. He needed to—
What preparation? The System gave him weapons. The System gave him intel. All he had to do was show up.
"I'm not a fan of romance," he said.
Lina's eyes narrowed. "Who said it was romance?"
"Movies with unreleased discs are always romance."
"That's sexist."
"That's experience."
She walked over and sat on the couch. Pat the cushion next to her. "It's not romance. It's a thriller. And you shouldn't assume things just because I'm a woman."
Kin hesitated.
"Scared?" she asked.
"No."
"Then sit down."
He sat.
Lina put the disc in the player. The TV flickered to life.
[System Notification]
[Social bonding successful. Lina Trust Level: +4% (Current: 21%).]
[Mental stability: +3% (shared meal).]
[Reminder: 8 hours, 47 minutes until next mission. Do not lose track of time.]
Kin ignored the notification.
The movie started. Dark screen. Slow music. A title card he didn't catch.
Lina pulled her feet onto the couch and tucked them under her. She wasn't sitting close—there was a cushion between them—but she wasn't sitting far either.
"Don't talk during the movie," she said.
"I wasn't going to."
"You talk when you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You're sitting like a board."
Kin forced his shoulders to relax.
The movie played.