The silence hanging over the busy Shibuya crosswalk stretched for a few tense seconds.
Yuta stood rigidly, his dark eyes locked onto Renji's calm, unbothered expression. The sixteen-year-old was standing at a complicated crossroads between suspicion, pride, and obligation.
If he outright refused the invitation, he would be publicly rejecting his sister's incredibly powerful employer, which could potentially cause Miya to have a complete nervous breakdown right here on the pavement.
But if he accepted… Yuta glanced at his sister. Miya was looking at him with wide, pleading eyes, clearly hoping he would find a polite way to extract them from this situation so she could go back to breathing normally.
Yuta clenched his jaw, his protective instincts overriding his discomfort. If he refused, who knew what this rich kid would think of them?
"If… if you are truly offering, Kamishiro-san," Yuta said, his voice stiff but polite. "We would be grateful to accept."
"Young Master, please, you really don't have to—" Miya started, her hands fluttering nervously.
"It's already decided, Miya-san," Renji interrupted gently, offering her a smile that left absolutely no room for argument. "It's just a lunch. Come on, it's not far from here."
Renji turned and led the way down the avenue, his pace relaxed. Yuta quickly fell into step slightly behind him, keeping himself positioned firmly between Renji and his sister like a heavily armed escort.
The restaurant Renji chose was exactly as he described. Tucked away on the second floor of a quiet side street, the Italian trattoria was refined, featuring warm ambient lighting, exposed brick walls, and quiet jazz playing over the speakers.
It wasn't the kind of terrifying, Michelin-starred establishment that demanded a strict dress code, but it was still a clear, undeniable step up from the cheap family diners the Hasegawa siblings were used to.
"Table for three," Renji told the hostess, who immediately recognized the quality of his clothing and the natural authority in his voice.
She led them to a curved, half-circle booth nestled in a quiet corner near the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Because of the curved design of the booth, there was no way to sit opposite one another in complete isolation. Yuta, acting entirely on his defensive instincts, ushered his sister into the booth first.
Miya slid all the way to the deep center curve of the semi-circle, the "safest" spot. Yuta immediately sat down on her left, firmly taking the outside edge to block her in.
However, because of the U-shaped design of the booth, that left the entire right side open.
Renji stepped up and calmly slid into the booth, taking the space directly on Miya's right.
Yuta's eye twitched as he realized his error a second too late. He hadn't shielded her; he had successfully sandwiched his highly nervous sister directly between himself and Renji.
From the second they sat down; Miya's behaviour reflected her intense internal conflict. Her posture was entirely too straight, her spine rigid against the plush leather seating. She placed her hands carefully in her lap, her knees pressed tightly together.
When the waiter brought them water, she thanked him too much, apologized unnecessarily for being in the way, and stared down at the crisp white tablecloth like it held the secrets to the universe.
"It's a bit warm in here," Renji noted casually, shrugging off his cream-coloured knit sweater to reveal the fitted white t-shirt underneath. He looked over at Miya. "You can take off your cardigan, Miya-san. You don't need to sit there overheating just to be polite."
"I-I'm fine, really!" Miya squeaked, though a thin sheen of nervous sweat was already gathering on her brow.
"Take it off, nee-san," Yuta muttered quietly, nudging her shoulder. "You look like you're going to pass out."
Reluctantly, Miya reached up and pulled the oversized, frumpy beige cardigan off her shoulders, folding it neatly and placing it beside her on the seat.
Renji picked up his menu, his expression completely neutral, but internally, his mind was making a very different assessment.
He had known Miya was cute. But seeing her without the shapeless cardigan and the rigid, heavily starched maid uniform was an entirely different experience.
The simple, light blue floral dress she wore underneath was fitted, clinging smoothly to her torso. It explicitly highlighted a slender waist and a surprisingly generous, heavy bust that her work attire successfully hid from the world.
Renji took a slow sip of his ice water, his eyes subtly lingering on the soft curve of her neck and the way the fabric stretched across her chest as she breathed.
This was a galgame world. By the very laws of this reality's physics, the baseline standard of beauty for female characters, even side characters or NPCs, was very high.
Moreover, even among them, Miya stood out. She wasn't just cute; she possessed a naturally stunning, incredibly feminine body that would turn heads anywhere she went.
Looking at her, Renji felt a quiet, simmering heat settle in his chest.
In his past life, a woman like this wouldn't have even looked twice at an exhausted, broke part-timer like him. But now? Now he was different.
He had decided that he wasn't going to waste his second chance. He very much wanted to experience the adult, intimate side of this world, and sitting right next to him was a beautiful, incredibly loyal woman who already looked at him with reverence.
He didn't just want her to be a good maid.
"Have you decided what you'd like?" Renji asked, turning his head slightly.
Miya flinched, instinctively leaning away. The booth was just small enough that when Renji turned, his shoulder lightly brushed against hers.
"I… um… the cheapest—I mean, the Aglio e Olio looks lovely, Young Master," she stammered, her face flushing crimson at the brief physical contact.
"They make an excellent Seafood Pescatore here," Renji suggested smoothly, deliberately ignoring her attempt to order the cheapest item on the menu. He flagged down the waiter, ordering the Pescatore for Miya, a heavy Meat-sauce Bolognese for Yuta, and a Carbonara for himself, along with a spread of appetizers for the table.
Once the waiter left, the heavy silence threatened to return.
Renji didn't let it. He deliberately maintained a calm, conversational tone, leaning comfortably back against the leather booth and resting one arm along the back of the seat, just inches behind Miya's shoulders.
"So, Yuta-san," Renji said. "Meikyo High is known for having a pretty aggressive prep-school curriculum. Do you have a specific university track in mind, or are you just trying to survive the first year?"
Yuta, who had been glaring suspiciously at Renji's arm resting behind his sister, blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected a sudden question about his future.
"I want to get into a top-tier business program," Yuta answered, his tone defensive but honest. "I need to graduate quickly and get a good corporate job. I want to start earning real money as soon as possible so my sister doesn't have to work anymore."
Beside him, Miya looked down at her lap, a mix of pride and profound guilt flashing across her face.
Renji watched the teenager carefully.
"That's a solid goal," Renji said, his voice dropping into a slightly lower, more serious register. "But don't burn yourself out trying to be a forty-year-old provider when you're only sixteen."
Yuta frowned, his defenses spiking. "I don't have the luxury of just relaxing. We aren't—"
"I know," Renji interrupted softly. "You have a responsibility. And you should absolutely work hard. But if you push yourself to the breaking point, you'll end up exhausted and bitter before you even hit twenty-five."
"Take the time to actually enjoy high school. Join that track club. Make some stupid friends. If you completely sacrifice your youth just to make money, the money won't mean anything when you finally get it."
Yuta stared at the older boy across the table, completely speechless.
His mind was actively fighting a losing battle. He had walked into this restaurant expecting Renji to say something a little arrogant, something out-of-touch, or to look down on his ambitions. He had wanted Renji to act like a spoiled heir so he could easily justify his distaste towards him.
But Renji hadn't done that.
Yuta looked down at his water glass, his jaw tight. He realized, with a deep sense of frustration, that he couldn't just dismiss Kamishiro Renji as a superficial rich guy. The guy actually had depth. And that made him infinitely more dangerous for his naïve older sister.
While Yuta was grappling, Miya was experiencing an internal earthquake of her own.
She was sitting close enough to Renji to feel the ambient heat radiating from his large frame. She could smell the subtle, expensive scent of cedar and bergamot from his cologne. But more overwhelming than his physical presence was the way he was commanding the table.
She watched how effortlessly he navigated the conversation with her brother, and how attentive he was. He was completely in control of the atmosphere, steering it away from the rigid hierarchy she was so nervous about, and creating a space that felt genuinely comfortable.
Miya slowly lifted her eyes, stealing a glance at Renji's profile as he listened to Yuta talk about his cram school classes.
He was unexpectedly easy to be around. The realization that she was sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with someone this attractive, this composed, and this kind made her stomach flip in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with her job.
The waiter arrived, breaking the heavy tension as he set the steaming plates of pasta and appetizers on the table.
"Let's eat," Renji said, offering them both a relaxed smile.
"Itadakimasu"
The meal progressed smoothly. Yuta, disarmed by Renji's earlier advice, managed to lower his guard enough to enjoy the incredibly high-quality food. Miya ate quietly, taking small bites, her mind racing a hundred miles an hour as she tried to process the strange heat pooling in her chest.
Toward the end of the lunch, Yuta set his fork down and excused himself to use the restroom, leaving Renji and Miya completely alone at the corner booth.
The second Yuta stepped out of earshot, the atmosphere at the table shifted.
Renji shifted slightly in his seat, turning his body toward Miya.
"You barely touched your Pescatore," Renji noted quietly, his deep voice dropping to a near-whisper that seemed to vibrate right against her ear.
Miya jumped slightly, her hands gripping the white linen napkin in her lap. "I… I'm sorry, Young Master. It's delicious, truly. I'm just… not used to eating food this rich."
"Or maybe… you're just incredibly tense," Renji replied, his eyes locking onto hers.
He didn't look away, and the silence stretched between them, thick and incredibly heavy.
Miya felt her breath hitch in her throat. She couldn't break eye contact. The sheer force of his gaze felt like a physical weight pressing down on her, stripping away her professional defenses layer by layer.