The ramen shop is half-underground, tucked between a laundromat and a pachinko parlor that smells like cigarette smoke and fried garlic.
The sign is old, half the neon tubes dead, but the broth is legendary.
Tada is already there, sitting at the counter, waving like an idiot the moment I push through the noren.
Tada (grinning too wide)
Yo, Kiyoshi! Over here! I ordered us both the special tonkotsu—extra chashu, extra garlic, the works!
He's big—basketball-team big—wearing the school uniform like it personally offended him by being too small.
His tie is already loosened, blazer slung over the stool.
I slide in next to him.
Tada
Thanks for coming, man. Seriously. I know you hate leaving your cave.
The old lady behind the counter slides two steaming bowls in front of us without a word.
The smell hits like a punch—rich, porky, perfect.
I pick up my chopsticks.
Kiyoshi
You said you needed advice.
Tada suddenly looks like he's about to choke on his own tongue.
Tada
Right. Uh. Straight to the point, huh?
Okay, so… how do you do it?
I blink.
Kiyoshi
Do what?
Tada (leaning in, voice low)
Get girls to like you.
Like… a lot of girls.
I'm talking half the Third-years start giggling when you walk past the shoe lockers.
Even all second-years.
I saw Aizawa-sanfrom the tea-ceremony club literally trip over her own geta staring at you last week.
I pause with noodles halfway to my mouth.
Kiyoshi
…You're joking.
Tada
Dead serious!
You're not even, like, idol-level handsome.
No offense.
Kiyoshi
None taken.
Tada
But something about you makes them go all fluttery.
Meanwhile I'm built like a refrigerator and the only thing girls say to me is "can you reach that for me?" Like the Fuck, Am I a public ladder? Even public toilets are better they get to see those girls in their afh afh afh sorry I blurted out
So teach me, master.
What's the secret?
I stare into the swirling fat globules on top of my broth.
I genuinely have no idea what he's talking about.
Girls liking me?
I spent the last however-many years as a ghost in my own school.
The original Kiyoshi barely spoke ten words a week to anyone outside missions.
And me? I've been too busy trying not to drown in someone else's memories to notice if anyone was looking.
But Tada is staring at me like I'm holding the holy grail.
Kiyoshi
I… don't actually know.
Tada (slumps dramatically)
Come on, man.
There has to be something.
The brooding thing?
The "I'm secretly dangerous" aura?
The way you read books like you're solving crimes?
Give me anything.
I take a long slurp of noodles to buy time.
Then I remember every half-baked motivational speech I've ever absorbed from six thousand books and random corners of the internet.
I set my chopsticks down.
Kiyoshi
Okay.
Listen carefully, because I'm only saying this once (and I'm making it up as I go.)
Tada straightens like a soldier getting orders.
Kiyoshi
First—stop trying to be popular.
The moment you chase "everyone" you become wallpaper.
People can smell desperation.
It's like cheap cologne.
Tada
…Noted.
Kiyoshi
Second—find the one thing you're actually good at that isn't about impressing people, and get stupidly good at it.
For you that's basketball, right?
Be the guy who stays after practice until the lights turn off.
Be the guy who knows every player's stats from the last ten years.
Passion is attractive.
Obsession is attractive.
Trying to be cool is not.
Tada nods slowly, slurping broth.
Kiyoshi
Third—listen more than you talk.
Like, actually listen.
When Hana talks, don't think about what you're going to say next.
Remember the tiny things.
She likes melon soda with no ice?
Bring her one randomly in two weeks and say nothing about it.
She'll notice.
Tada (eyes wide)
That's evil genius.
Kiyoshi
Fourth—be kind in a way that doesn't ask for anything back.
Hold the door.
Carry the heavy stuff.
Laugh at jokes even when they're bad. This one is the hardest
Not because you want her to like you—because it's who you are when no one's watching.
People can tell the difference.
Tada
…Damn.
Kiyoshi
Fifth—eye contact.
Not creepy staring.
Just… look at her like she's the only person in the room for three seconds longer than feels comfortable.
Then look away first.
It's stupid, but it works.
Tada
You're speaking from experience?
Kiyoshi
I'm speaking from books.
And slight personal terror.
Tada laughs so hard the old lady glares at him.
Kiyoshi
Sixth—when you confess, don't make it a performance.
No rooftop at sunset.
No letter with rose petals.
Just find a normal moment—walking home, waiting for the train, whatever—and say it straight.
"I like you. I've liked you for a long time. I'd like to take you out sometime if you're okay with that."
Then shut up.
Let her answer.
No pressure.
No script.
Tada is taking notes on a napkin now.
Kiyoshi
Seventh—and this is the most important one—be ready to get hurt.
If she says no, smile, say thank you for listening, and mean it.
Don't vanish.
Don't turn weird.
Keep being the same guy the next day.
That's how you become someone she'll regret saying no to later.
Tada finishes writing, stares at the napkin like it's scripture.
Tada
You're scary when you give advice, you know that?
Kiyoshi
I'm literally improvising.
Tada
Doesn't matter.
I owe you a lifetime of ramen.
He folds the napkin carefully and tucks it into his wallet like it's a winning lottery ticket.
Tada
Her name's Hana, by the way.
Class 2-C.
Track team.
Laughs like a hyena when she's nervous.
I've liked her since first year.
He looks suddenly small despite his size.
Tada
I'm gonna do it next Friday.
After morning practice.
By the vending machines behind the gym.
Normal moment, right?
Kiyoshi
Perfect.
We finish our ramen in silence after that.
When we step outside the night air is cool, the sky full of stars you can actually see for once.
Tada punches my shoulder—light for him, still almost knocks me over.
Tada
Thanks, Kiyoshi.
For real.
He jogs off toward the station, napkin wisdom safe in his pocket.
I stand there for a long time, hands in my pockets, staring up.
I just gave love advice like I know what I'm talking about.
I just told someone how to be brave.
Meanwhile I'm living inside a dead boy's skin, surrounded by guns and codes and a sister who's starting to realize her brother came back wrong.
But tonight, under the same stars, Tada is going to try.
And maybe—just maybe—that's enough proof that even a fake Kiyoshi can still do something real.
I start walking home, the taste of tonkotsu still warm on my tongue,
and for the first time in weeks I don't feel like I'm stealing someone else's life.
I feel like I'm borrowing it to do something good with it.
One frightened confession at a time.