Chapter 186: Better Than Dating, Make Her Shy
The sound of soft footsteps echoed faintly in the corridor. Menma, sitting quietly with her knees hugged close, lifted her head. When her eyes met Kouya's, her entire face lit up with a delighted, almost childlike smile—pure, sincere, and shining as if she carried a piece of the sunset within her.
That familiar voice, light and gentle as a bell, flowed into his ears again.
"kouya-Sama, welcome home!"
Kouya stopped for a heartbeat before giving a small nod. "Mm."
He walked to the door, the keys jingling softly in his hand, then unlocked it and slipped into his slippers. His tone was calm, as always. "Come in."
"Yes, kouya-Sama."
Menma followed, her soft steps making no sound against the floor. The air inside was warm, filled with the faint hum of the refrigerator and the lingering scent of detergent. Kouya opened the fridge, took out two chilled drinks, and handed one to her before opening his own and taking a slow sip.
"So," he said casually, "what brings you here?"
Menma accepted the bottle with both hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she looked up at him. "I… wanted to ask kouya-Sama for a favor."
He gestured for her to continue. "Speak."
Menma hesitated for a few seconds before whispering softly. Her sky-blue eyes reflected the golden hues of the setting sun through the window.
"Thanks to kouya-Sama's help, I was able to remember everything. I went back to Jinta's side, and that's when I realized… ten whole years had passed. Jinta's grown up now. At first, he didn't even believe I was really there. He's so silly…"
Kouya's brow arched slightly, though his expression didn't change. Her words were filled with quiet nostalgia and sadness.
"For him to see you at all means your bond is still there," he said quietly. "Maybe your unfulfilled wish is what keeps you tied together."
Menma nodded faintly. "Then I saw everyone else again—sweet Anaru, hardworking Yukiatsu, kind Tsuruko, and tall Poppo… But even though we promised, 'Super Peace Busters will always be friends,' everyone felt so different. Like strangers wearing familiar faces…"
Her hands gripped her knees tightly. The light in her eyes dimmed as her voice grew small.
"Everyone's grown up. I should be happy."
"But everyone's apart now. That's why… I'm sad."
She took a shaky breath, voice barely above a whisper. "I just want things to go back to how they were—to laugh together again, to play together, to be friends forever… forever and ever."
Her words trembled. Her tears glistened, catching the soft amber glow. One tear rolled down her cheek, falling toward the floor—but before it could touch the ground, it dissolved into light and vanished, leaving behind only the faint shimmer of emotion.
Kouya reached out slowly and brushed her cheek with his fingertips.
He felt it—the faint trace of warmth left behind by her tear. It glowed faintly at his fingertip, shimmering like a fragment of memory itself.
"This feeling…" he murmured, his gaze unfocused.
The purity inside that single tear was undeniable—a quiet, innocent affection. It was more than nostalgia; it was something deeply human, the simple desire to love and be loved.
"I'll keep this tear," he said softly. "Your wish belongs to you. I won't interfere."
Menma lowered her head, shoulders slumping. "Oh…" she murmured, voice barely audible.
"But," he added, his tone softening, "for the sake of this tear, I'll give you something."
He reached into his pocket and drew out a small piece of red string, vivid as blood under the warm light.
"If your wish truly comes true, this will be useful to you."
Menma's eyes widened. She accepted it with both hands as if it were sacred. "Thank you, kouya-Sama."
When she smiled, the sadness in the room seemed to fade, replaced by a quiet warmth.
…
After Menma left, the silence of the apartment felt heavier than usual. Kouya sat before his computer, staring blankly at the dim screen. His reflection blinked back at him. He hesitated, then slowly typed into the search bar:
What does it mean to like someone?
Even though he carried the memories of his past self, some things couldn't be inherited—feelings, especially. That tear of Menma's had stirred something unfamiliar in him, something he couldn't name.
He hit enter. Rows of search results appeared instantly. Kouya clicked one without much thought.
"What does it mean to 'like' someone?"
"Biologically, 'liking' is the brain's reaction to specific hormonal signals. It's nature's way of fostering connection and reproduction. During mating seasons, animals produce similar hormones that compel them to seek companionship."
"But humans are more complex."
"They're emotional, self-aware beings who think, hesitate, and suppress impulses. They don't act solely on instinct. They fall for someone gradually—drawn by curiosity, admiration, or warmth. Love grows quietly, like a flower under sunlight."
"If you like someone, you'll find yourself drawn to them. You'll watch them without meaning to, your pulse quickening when they smile. You'll notice every small thing about them—the way their hair moves, how their voice sounds in the quiet, even how they laugh when no one else is listening."
"And if they like you back, it becomes something mutual—love. A state where the world feels brighter, lighter, and unbearably precious."
"So, experience it. Don't just read about it. Feel it. Love is the most beautiful experiment life has to offer."
Kouya stared at the glowing screen, unmoving.
Heart racing… wanting to be close… wanting to kiss someone?
He couldn't help recalling Vigne—and Gabriel.
That night at the hot springs, when Gabriel had crept into his room, he'd almost leaned in and kissed her. The impulse had been raw, sudden, almost frightening.
And when he'd fed Vigne at the love hotel, their eyes meeting in the low light, his chest had tightened until breathing became difficult.
"…But that doesn't prove anything," he muttered, looking toward the night sky beyond the window. "Maybe it's just coincidence."
If he confessed to Vigne—told her I like you—she'd probably blush scarlet, stammer something incoherent, and avoid him for a week straight.
If he said it to Gabriel, he could already hear the reply: "Baka! Hentai! No way!"—that classic flustered triple shout.
He couldn't help chuckling quietly at the thought.
Then there was Satania. She'd puff out her chest and shout, "H-how dare you attempt to seduce your superior!?" while blushing like an idiot.
And Raphiel? She'd just grin, lean in too close, and whisper something that would make him regret even thinking about it.
If there was one person who might not reject him outright, maybe it'd be the shrine maiden—calm, kind, and unreadable. At least she wouldn't laugh.
"Love is the most beautiful thing in life…" Kouya repeated the line softly, as though testing how it felt to say it aloud.
Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe something deeper. Whatever it was, it gnawed at him now—the need to feel that beauty himself.
It wasn't about falling in love, he told himself. This was an academic pursuit, a controlled emotional experiment. Nothing more.
Definitely not because his heart had started beating faster just thinking about it.
He licked his lips, hesitated, and typed again: How to tell if a girl likes you.
The top answer flashed on-screen, bold and dramatic:
"Young man, remember this: Don't just ask her out—make her blush. Once she's shy, hold her hand. If she doesn't pull away, there's no denying she likes you."
Kouya frowned slightly, leaning back in his chair. "…That's a bit sketchy."
Still, the words lingered in his mind, echoing faintly. Make her shy, then take her hand…
He sighed, setting down the empty drink bottle beside him. When had he even finished it?
"Guess I could use some air," he muttered, stretching.
Outside, the world was bathed in soft lamplight. The night air carried the scent of summer grass and asphalt. Couples walked side by side, fingers interlaced, their laughter scattering into the night like fireflies.
Kouya had seen it countless times before—young love glowing beneath the streetlights. But tonight, something inside him shifted. Watching them, he didn't just observe; he felt.
That unfamiliar tug in his chest grew stronger, like a quiet heartbeat answering another's.
It was strange. But strangely comforting.
Maybe this was what Menma's tear had carried—the desire to reach out, to connect, to hold someone close.
He let out a long breath, the faintest smile touching his lips.
"Now then…" he whispered to himself, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "Do I go on a date with one girl… or test this 'shyness theory' on all of them?"