The girl's response to Kuroha Akira's deliberately brazen opening line was…
Absolute silence.
"..."
She remained utterly still, her expression a flawless mask of placid indifference. No blush, no scowl, not even a flicker of irritation.
His inaugural attempt at a cold approach had ended in a spectacular, silent flop. Yet, Kuroha Akira felt no discouragement. On the contrary, he was certain he'd captured her attention. While her face was a frozen lake, her eyes—dark, depthless pools—were now fixed squarely on him, the uninvited intruder.
This had been a calculated probe. Throw out a ridiculous line, gauge the reaction, and strategize accordingly. That was the essence of social navigation: observe, adapt, pivot.
If she'd shown even a hint of pleasure, it would signal she was a 'Kami-machi Shoujo'—a 'god-waiting girl'—open to such propositions, simplifying matters. If she'd reacted with anger or visible disdain, it would mean she was highly guarded, expecting no salvation.
This raven-haired girl, however, occupied a strange middle ground. She wasn't pleased or offended. She might not know how to react, or perhaps didn't even comprehend his intent. This numb, hollow demeanor… it spoke of a profound sickness.
A sickness of the heart.
Kuroha Akira had seen it before. In his past life, as a university volunteer after a major earthquake, he'd encountered a little girl who had lost everything. Her eyes held the same devastating void—the emptiness that follows after grief has burned everything away. When you lose your anchors, your future, and the very will to move, this is the stillness that remains. The greatest sorrow is a dead heart. Hers seemed to have flatlined.
But… what did that have to do with him?
Kuroha Akira wasn't here to play therapist. He was here to conduct a talent assessment. He needed to confirm if this staggeringly beautiful girl possessed a worthy 'gold mine' beneath her tragic surface.
So, he spread his hands in a casual shrug and doubled down, his tone deliberately flippant. "What? Aren't you a 'Kami-machi Shoujo'? A high school girl in a sailor uniform, holed up in a place like this… You're clearly a runaway waiting for a handout, right?"
The word "runaway" finally breached her defenses. A subtle change flickered across her face. She seemed to shrink further into herself, hugging her knees tighter, curling into a protective ball—a clam sealing its shell against the world.
Simultaneously, Kuroha Akira's newly-enhanced analytical mind went to work. No visible bruises on her face or arms—so not physical abuse, though emotional neglect was still on the table. Her uniform was clean, suggesting her flight was recent. No backpack or luggage pointed to an impulsive, unprepared escape. Her reaction to the 'runaway' label seemed less like shame and more like grim acceptance—she likely had no intention of going back.
Having talent really does make a difference. My thoughts are so much sharper. A silent thanks to the Class Monitor.
He couldn't let her retreat further. He took another step closer, his voice cutting through the shrine's quiet. "You're not seriously planning to spend the night in a place that looks this haunted, are you?"
"..."
No reply. Her face remained buried.
Unfazed, Kuroha Akira simply squatted down near the offertory box, idly playing a game of 'dodge-the-paw' with Kuroo, patiently waiting for her to break the silence.
About ten minutes passed—an eternity in the moonlit quiet. Finally, the girl slowly raised her head. Her first words were not what he expected.
"…Kami-machi Shoujo… what is that?"
"Uh…" Kuroha Akira was momentarily stumped. Of all the questions…
But her voice. It wasn't a high-pitched, artificially cute tone. It was low, gentle, and carried a crystalline clarity that was unexpectedly soothing.
Not just a visual masterpiece, but an auditory one too? What is this, a succubus build?
And seriously, she didn't know the term?
He began to explain, his tone shifting to a more tutorial-like mode. "It's a runaway high school girl with no money, who's fallen out with her family, doesn't want to go home, and just waits around hoping some 'god' will show up to provide free food and shelter. Hence, 'girl waiting for a god.' It's kind of a joke."
She gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod of understanding.
Kuroha Akira scratched the back of his head, his earlier bravado softening into something more observational. "Though, calling you that might not be totally accurate. You don't look like you're waiting for a kind god… So what are you waiting for? Waiting to… fade away?"
"..."
Fade away.
The words were a cold splash of water, forcibly jump-starting her stagnant train of thought, dragging her back to brutal reality. Yes. No matter how deep the despair, a living body required sustenance and rest. Was her plan to simply… expire here?
No…
The self-interrogation yielded an answer she hadn't consciously acknowledged: she didn't want to die. Not like this.
If she wanted to live, she needed to secure food and shelter. The logical conclusion forced her to truly see the boy who had invaded her solitude.
She replayed his first words, finally arriving at their core proposition.
"...You… want to take me home?"
If I am a girl waiting for a god… are you the god I've been waiting for? A god delivered by a cat…
However, Kuroha Akira, as if shedding his earlier persona, scratched his head with an awkward, almost apologetic air. "Oh, that? Let's talk about that later. I was just saying it. Did you actually take it seriously?"
"..."
His sudden nonchalance struck a strange chord within her. A faint, unexpected disappointment, tinged with a spark of indignation, stirred in her chest. It made her want to retort, 'Am I not even worthy of being taken seriously?' Her pride, long buried under numbness, felt a prick.
She was acutely aware of her own beauty, of the power it held over most males. That was why she distrusted them—99% approached with transparent, ulterior motives.
But this boy, close to her own age, was different. She couldn't parse his angle. To protect herself, she needed to set a boundary.
"Even if you were willing… I have nothing to repay you with."
"No, you do. Don't pretend you don't know."
"..."
She did know. She knew exactly what her 'most valuable asset' was in her current, destitute state.
A sly, knowing smirk crept back onto Kuroha Akira's face as he pointed a finger at her.
"Your body… looks incredibly tempting."
The girl who waited in the shrine had not been waiting for a god. She had been waiting for a devil.