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You were sure that Lumina Square was the noisiest place in all of New Eridu. Too many lights, too many people, too many stimuli... everything competed for your attention at the same time. Colorful stalls jostled for space amid the sounds, different songs mingled with loud laughter and impromptu announcements that echoed through the air.
Still, in the midst of that vibrant chaos, there was something curious and comforting about being there.
“If this doesn't count as rest, I don't know what does,” said Harumasa, stretching his arms with an almost provocative calmness, as if this walk were part of a careful and well-calculated plan.
With no set destination, you just walked, allowing the square itself to dictate the pace. Steps without urgency, spontaneous detours, almost imperceptible pauses. Asaba Harumasa seemed too comfortable in that tranquil cadence, accompanying you without any hurry, as if time there obeyed different rules.
“You never seem to be in a hurry,” you commented, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
“Haste ruins the fun,” he replied with a half-smile, glancing briefly in your direction.
There was a brief pause before he added:
“And today I'm officially off duty.”
You would have almost walked right past if it weren't for the pile of brightly colored stuffed animals reflecting the lights of the square. Vibrant colors, shiny embroidered eyes, textures too soft to ignore. The largest one seemed deliberate, positioned right in the center of the machine — a subtle invitation, impossible to miss.
You slowed down almost without realizing it, and Harumasa followed your movement naturally, without question.
“It's kind of cruel to put a prize like that there,” you commented, your eyes still fixed on the display case. “It gives people hope.”
“Hope?” he repeated, looking away from the stuffed animal and at you. A crooked smile slowly spread across his lips, almost calculated. “I'd call it opportunity.”
Asaba tapped the side of the machine lightly, the casual touch exaggerated for someone who hadn't even tried yet, so that victory was already decided before the first move.
For a moment, everything seemed to conspire in his favor. The claw aligned, descended, closed its metal fingers... and failed. The stuffed animal slid to the side, escaping, as if it had a will of its own.
Harumasa kept his gaze fixed on the glass for a few seconds longer than necessary, silently absorbing the defeat.
“Okay…” he muttered, finally. “I underestimated the emotional gravity of this game.”
You couldn't help but laugh, crossing your arms as you watched the machine.
“Emotional gravity?” you repeated, clearly amused. “Already making excuses?”
Asaba turned his face toward you, offended just enough to sound theatrical.
“It's not an excuse. It's... strategic adaptation.”
Before you could respond, he was already turning away in search of more tokens, clearly determined not to end the battle so soon.
What should have been just one more attempt soon turned into several. Token after token, the claw descended, closed, slipped... and failed. Every time. Still, Harumasa reacted the same way: too calm, too focused, as if each mistake were nothing more than a step in a precise and calculated process.
“Everything's under control,” he assured you, even as the stuffed animal seemed to move a little further away with each attempt, defying that certainty.
“She's teasing you,” you said, laughing.
“No,” he corrected, without taking his attention off the machine. “She's testing my patience.”
“And how are you doing?”
Harumasa tilted his head slightly, as if he were actually considering the question.
“Surprisingly well.”
Suddenly, a child stopped beside the person in charge, pointing excitedly at the machine.
“This time he can do it!”
You laughed at the unexpected conviction, while Asaba took a deep breath, straightening his posture as if he had just received a solemn mission.
“I can't disappoint.”
“If you keep this up, the stuffed animal will end up changing position just to provoke you,” you commented, amused.
“It's already doing that,” he replied without hesitation. “And I don't usually lose silent disputes.”
There was too much determination in that controlled calm for it to really end there.
Even surrounded by curious glances and occasional comments, Harumasa maintained the same serene, almost meditative tone. His hands were steady, his gaze attentive, a slight smile incompatible with someone whose desire not to lose was evident.
“You know no one's judging you, right?” you commented.
“I am,” he replied, simply and immediately.
Asaba let out a low laugh after another failure, resting his hand on the side of the machine for a moment.
“In my defense, this requires more mental endurance than it looks.”
“You just turned a stuffed animal machine into psychological training!”
He looked up, inappropriate for the situation.
“I adapt well to hostile environments.”
After another attempt that ended as badly as the previous ones, Harumasa stood motionless for a few seconds, staring at the machine with the feeling that it had finally said everything it needed to say. Then he took a step back.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Strategic pause.”
Without waiting for a response, he walked away, guiding you out of the small circle of onlookers that had formed. Asaba exhaled slowly, his gaze following the lights above you.
“I admit I pushed it a little,” he said with a half-smile. “But I'm better now.”
The calm tone sounded less like a genuine reflection of fatigue and more like a tacit attempt to reassure you.
The quiet between you settled comfortably, filled only by the distant laughter of other people and the soft hum of the surrounding square. You relaxed, looking up at the lights above, feeling the pressure of the moment gradually dissipate.
Harumasa turned his head slightly, catching your gaze. The exchange was discreet, but laden with something unsaid. He smiled, discreetly and sincerely.
“I don't regret anything,” he murmured, almost like a reflection floating in the air.
You chuckled softly, the response hovering between a sigh and a joke that didn't need to be said. The closeness between you was natural, so comfortable that there was no rush to pull away.
For a few seconds, it seemed that this would be the end of the story. Just rest, lights, and comfortable tranquility.
Then Asaba slowly looked away, as if some invisible piece had finally fallen into place.
“Just one more,” he said, too casually for someone who had already made up his mind.
Before you could argue, he was already standing, reaching out his hand toward you, his smile so calm it couldn't be ignored. Ahead, the prize machine awaited them in peace — almost expectantly, as if it too were ready for the outcome.
The movement was perfect. The claw descended, grabbed something, held tight, and released it in the right place. The soft impact revealed the size of the prize even before you saw it. A keychain too small to justify so many attempts.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then Harumasa tilted his head, analyzing the result.
“Well…” he commented. “The machine clearly has a sense of humor.”
Your laughter escaped before you could hold it back. He let out a short sigh, crossing his arms.
“It wasn't exactly the final plan,” he commented, with a half-smile. “Sorry for dragging you into this saga.”
The request came across as almost casual, but his attentive gaze revealed how much he actually cared.
You twirled the keychain between your fingers, feeling the symbolic weight it carried. It was small, but the memory that came with it seemed enormous.
“It's funny, isn't it?” you commented, looking up at him. “After all that effort, this is what I'm going to take with me.”
He looked at you, curious.
“The keychain?”
“Yes,” you replied with a soft smile. “But actually, it's the real prize. Not because of its size or shape, but because of everything it means now.”
Asaba remained silent, just watching, while you continued to admire the pendant. What had once seemed like a simple achievement had become something much more meaningful, and the closeness between you became even more palpable. He leaned back on the bench, his eyes still fixed on the accessory.
“Well... now I understand,” he murmured. “It wasn't the giant stuffed animal, nor the complicated machine. It was this.” He pointed to the charm, then to you. “The gesture, the moment... everything.”
The calm that followed was comfortable, laden with meaning and a silent closeness that spoke for itself. Harumasa held your hand, intertwining his fingers naturally.
“Who would have thought I'd be lost because of... a keychain,” he murmured, his voice low, laden with irony and charm.
The touch remained, and for a few seconds, everything around you seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you there, and the calm, romantic atmosphere that had formed around you.
The distant sound of music and the clinking of the stalls mingled with laughter, but you hardly noticed them. Asaba held your hand gently, the small memory between you like a silent symbol.
And there, amid the lights, colors, and soft murmur of the night, a little keyring called love was born.