Chapter 21

The small restaurant was decorated with a cozy atmosphere. Warm, orange light bathed the faces of the customers, and the air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of grilled meat. On the walls hung photographs of patrons devouring their meals or posing with the owner.

*Sizzle.*

As thin slices of marinated meat were placed onto the charcoal grill, fat dripped onto the embers, sending up a fragrant smoke that made mouths water.

Suguru Geto reached out with his chopsticks, but another pair of chopsticks darted out from the side, snatching the meat right from under his nose.

Suguru Geto: "..."

He gripped his chopsticks tightly, veins pulsing on his forehead. He turned to look at Satoru Gojo, who was chewing the stolen meat with a satisfied "nom" sound. Suguru said through gritted teeth, "There is plenty of grilled meat already; did you really have to steal mine?"

"No, I didn't (nom, nom, nom). I didn't notice (nom, nom, nom)."

Suguru narrowed his eyes, looking at Satoru with suspicion.

Satoru responded with an innocent expression.

Suguru withdrew his gaze, half-doubting, and reached for another piece of meat. However, just as his chopsticks were about to touch his target, Satoru’s chopsticks flashed in again, once more snatching the prize.

"You are definitely doing this on purpose!" Suguru exclaimed in fury.

"No way (nom, nom, nom). I’d just say we both had our eyes on the same piece (nom, nom, nom). You should just go for another one (swallows)," Satoru replied with a grin.

A faint voice drifted from across the table: "Suguru-kun and Gojo-kun really do get along well, don't they?"

"What? Not at all!" The two turned in perfect synchronization to look at the source of the voice, denying the claim firmly.

The dark-haired boy blinked, smiling: "Alright, if you say so."

Suguru & Satoru: "..." They both felt inexplicably choked up.

The meal was a chaotic affair—specifically thanks to the two overgrown children. Fyodor, however, remained unaffected, finishing his dinner with elegant composure.

After paying the bill and hearing the owner’s "Please come again," the three left the yakiniku restaurant.

The April weather was unpredictable; one moment the night sky was clear, and the next, a sudden downpour began. Fortunately, there was a convenience store nearby, so the three stood under the eaves to take shelter.

It was hard to tell how long the rain would last in this season—it could stop in a few minutes, or it could pour for hours. Regardless, although it was already dark, it wasn't late, and they could always call a taxi if needed, so none of them were in a rush.

"Did you check the form Yaga posted in the group chat? Come to think of it, Fyodor has already uploaded his," Satoru said.

"I saw it," Suguru replied.

"Any thoughts?"

"A few."

"Let's hear them."

"Since I specialize in close-quarters combat, my clothes need to be loose and allow for freedom of movement... I plan to make the trousers into harem pants. I don't have any specific ideas for the top, just something standard; I don't intend to change it."

"Oh~" Satoru drew out the end of his sentence, looking contemplative.

"What do you mean by 'oh~'?" Suguru felt goosebumps rise and asked warily.

"I’ve decided to go with the same style as you."

"Huh? Copying me?"

"What do you mean 'copying'? You should be thanking me for choosing your style; it just goes to show you have good taste."

Listening to Satoru’s sophistry and seeing him looking so smug despite his lack of logic, Suguru gave up. Though he had only spent half a day with Satoru, he had already reached a high level of understanding: arguing with him was a futile endeavor.

*Cough, cough.*

A coughing sound came from beside them.

Suguru turned his head reflexively to see Fyodor. Thinking of his classmate's worrying health and the chill brought on by the rain, Suguru took off his outer jacket and draped it over Fyodor’s shoulders.

The dark-haired boy looked at Suguru in surprise. His face was pale and delicate, like fragile porcelain, revealing a kind of vulnerable beauty. He parted his lips as if he had many words of gratitude to offer, but in the end, he only managed a soft, "Thank you."

Satoru watched Suguru, then looked at Fyodor. Whatever was going on in his clever little head, he followed suit, taking off his own jacket and offering it to Fyodor.

"You’re too weak. Don't go falling ill from a simple cold. I’m different from you—my constitution is excellent."

There was no questioning Satoru’s sincerity, but his high IQ and low EQ were fully exposed.

Suguru suddenly felt that his bickering with Satoru was ridiculous—why was he wasting his energy on an idiot? The guy wasn't being passive-aggressive or mocking him; he was simply stating what was on his mind.

...Though that somehow made it even more infuriating, he knew Satoru truly meant no harm.

"Ahem, don't take what Satoru says to heart. I mean, he’s concerned about you, he didn't mean anything else by it," Suguru said, feeling increasingly hopeless.

Satoru didn't notice Suguru’s internal agony, but that didn't stop him from thinking Suguru had said something nice.

"Right, I’m concerned about you. Come to think of it, have you seen a doctor about your health? I know a pretty good hospital, do you want to—ouch! Suguru? Why did you hit me!" The kitten-like boy looked stunned.

Suguru leaned toward Satoru and whispered through gritted teeth, "Just shut up."

Fyodor blinked, took the jacket from Satoru’s hand, and put it on smoothly.

"Thank you, Gojo-kun."

Hearing this, Satoru seemed to find his backbone and immediately shouted at Suguru, "See? See? You're just being fussy!"

Suguru suppressed the urge to retort: *Do you think Fyodor meant it the way you think? He’s clearly just broad-minded and not holding it against you! Honestly, the way you talk is genuinely infuriating!*

"Oh? Are you playing a game? What game is that?" Satoru noticed the screen of the phone held by the dark-haired boy and leaned in curiously, pressing close to Fyodor with practiced familiarity.

He was completely oblivious to the fact that his lack of personal boundaries and disregard for others' privacy might make people uncomfortable.

"It's a little game I made myself," the dark-haired boy replied, his face showing not a hint of impatience or annoyance.

Seeing this, Suguru also leaned in, sandwiching Fyodor between Satoru and himself.

"You made this game?" Suguru asked in surprise, his gaze falling on Fyodor’s phone screen.

A pixelated character was walking along a beach with the sea in the background.

"How do you play it?" Satoru asked with great interest.

"It's a single-player exploration and adventure game. If you want to play, I can send you the game package."

"Sure!" Satoru immediately took out his phone. "Let's add each other as friends first; we haven't done that yet."

The three huddled together, added each other, and then Satoru created a group chat, asking Fyodor to send the game package there so he wouldn't have to send it twice (since Suguru wanted it too).

Fyodor zipped the game data into a file and uploaded it to the chat; the small file transferred in a flash.

Suguru and Satoru tapped to download.

"Hm?"

Once the download finished and it reached the installation stage, Satoru let out a puzzled nasal sound.

Suguru, who was watching the installation screen on his own phone, asked offhandedly, "What's wrong?"

Satoru’s clear blue eyes reflected the text: [Unknown data detected, potential risk]. He carelessly tapped [Continue Installation] and replied indifferently, "Nothing."

No such risk warning had popped up on Suguru’s phone. He figured those old fossils at home must have installed monitoring software on his device—it was so annoying. He didn't know when they had meddled with it, but it seemed like they got itchy hands if he didn't go on a rampage for a few days.