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It was a normal day for Ikumatsu.
The sun rose the same way it always did—slowly, reluctantly, painting the sky in shades of grey and gold before finally committing to full light. She had woken at four, as she always did, her body accustomed to the rhythm after five years of practice. She washed her face, tied back her hair, and descended the stairs to the shop before the rest of Edo had even considered opening its eyes.
The broth needed tending. It always needed tending.
She worked on autopilot for the first few hours—chopping vegetables, testing the simmer, arranging the toppings in neat rows behind the counter. Her hands moved with the efficiency of long practice, but her mind wandered where it always wandered these days: to him.
Katsura Kotarou.
The man with the long black hair and the earnest eyes and the strange pet that followed him everywhere. The man who had crashed into her life like a natural disaster and somehow never left. The man who sat at her counter for hours, drinking tea and watching her work, always ready to help, always nearby, always... there.
She still didn't understand why.
He had saved her, yes. From her brother-in-law, from the thugs, from the river. But that had been months ago. He could have moved on. He should have moved on. He was a wanted criminal, for heaven's sake—the most hunted man in Edo. Staying in one place, especially a place connected to him, was dangerous. Stupid. Reckless.
And yet here he was. Every day. Like clockwork. Like he belonged here.
She told herself it was the food. Men like him—soldiers, fugitives, men who lived on the run—they appreciated a good meal. A warm place to sit. A moment of peace in a chaotic life. That was all. That was everything. There was no reason to read more into it.
But then she would catch him looking at her. Not the way customers looked at her—hungry for food, impatient for service—but something softer. Something thoughtful. Something that made her chest feel tight and her hands fumble with tasks she had done a thousand times.
She always looked away first. She always pretended not to notice. She always told herself it meant nothing.
Lies. All of it, lies.
The shop opened at six, as always. The regulars trickled in—the old man who always ordered the same thing, the young couple who sat in the corner and held hands, the group of laborers who laughed too loud and tipped too little. Ikumatsu moved through the morning with practiced ease, taking orders, serving bowls, wiping counters, refilling tea. Normal. Routine. Safe.
Katsura arrived at nine, as always.
He slid onto his usual stool—the one at the end of the counter, closest to the kitchen—and smiled that ridiculous smile that made her want to throw something at his head. "Good morning, Ikumatsu-dono. The usual, please."
She rolled her eyes—also usual—and started preparing his order. Soba, not ramen. Always soba. The man had been working in a ramen shop for months and he still refused to eat the signature dish. It was infuriating. It was endearing. It was so utterly, fundamentally Katsura that she couldn't even pretend to be annoyed anymore.
Elizabeth materialized beside him, as always. The strange white creature settled into its customary spot and produced a sign: [THE DUCK WOULD ALSO LIKE SOBA. AND GYOZA. AND MAYBE SOME TEA.]
Ikumatsu sighed—also usual—and added the order to her mental list.
The morning passed in a comfortable routine. Customers came and went. Katsura helped where he could—refilling water, clearing dishes, charming the elderly ladies who came specifically to see the "handsome waiter with the pretty eyes." He was good with people, she had to admit. Disarmingly sincere in a way that made even the grumpiest customers soften.
She caught herself watching him more than she should. The way he smiled at the old women. The way he listened to their stories like they mattered. The way he looked up, sometimes, and met her eyes across the crowded shop, and held her gaze just long enough to make her breath catch.
She always looked away first. She always pretended to be busy. She always told herself it was nothing.
But it wasn't nothing. It hadn't been nothing for a long time.
The afternoon brought a lull, as it always did. The lunch rush faded, and the shop grew quiet. Ikumatsu used the time to prep for the evening—more chopping, more organizing, more keeping her hands busy so her mind wouldn't wander.
Katsura stayed. He always stayed.
He was reading something—a book, maybe, or a pamphlet—his brow furrowed in concentration. Elizabeth had produced a second sign and was holding it up for his inspection. They looked like a strange little family, the two of them. A fugitive and his duck, making themselves at home in her shop.
The old lady arrived at three.
She was one of Ikumatsu's favorites—a tiny woman with silver hair and kind eyes who had been coming to the shop for years. She always ordered the same thing: a small bowl of miso ramen, extra soft noodles, easy on the salt. She always ate slowly, savoring every bite. And she always, always had something to say.
Today was no different.
She finished her meal with a satisfied sigh and set down her chopsticks. Her eyes, sharp despite her age, found Ikumatsu across the counter.
"Ikumatsu-san," she said, her voice warm with familiarity. "Your birthday is near, isn't it?"
Ikumatsu blinked. She had forgotten. She always forgot. Birthdays were just days—ordinary, unremarkable, indistinguishable from any other. What was the point of celebrating when there was no one to celebrate with?
"Ah, yes," she said. "You're right."
The old lady's eyes crinkled with concern. "Are you going to celebrate it with someone this year? Don't tell me you're going to stay alone again."
Ikumatsu smiled—the polite, distant smile she had perfected over five years of avoiding questions like this. "I don't know about that..."
The old lady studied her for a moment, her expression soft with understanding. She had been coming here long enough to know the story. Long enough to remember when the shop had possessed two people behind the counter instead of one. Long enough to know that some wounds didn't heal, no matter how much time passed.
"Soka," she said gently. "I see. Well, I'll be leaving now. Ja nee."
"Come visit us soon," Ikumatsu called automatically, waving as the old lady shuffled toward the door.
The shop fell silent again.
Ikumatsu stood at the counter, staring at nothing, the old lady's words echoing in her head. Alone again. Yes. That was likely. That was certain. That was simply how things were.
She turned back to her work, pushing the thought away. There was no point dwelling on it. No point wishing for things that couldn't be. She was fine alone. She had been fine for five years. She would be fine for five more.
Behind her, Katsura sat very still, his forgotten book in his lap, his dark eyes fixed on her back.
He had heard everything.
The old lady's question. Ikumatsu's careful answer. The way her voice had gone flat when she said "I don't know." The way her shoulders had tensed, just slightly, before she turned away.
He didn't like it.
He didn't like the thought of her being alone. He didn't like the thought of her spending her birthday in this empty shop, serving customers, pretending everything was fine. He didn't like the thought of her hurting, even a little, even in a way she had learned to hide.
She had been alone too long. He knew that. He had seen it in the way she moved through the shop like a ghost, in the way she talked to customers but never really connected, in the way she sometimes stared at the wall behind the counter as if seeing something no one else could see. She had been alone since Daigo had died, and she had convinced herself that was how it had to be.
But it didn't have to be that way. Not anymore. Not if he had anything to say about it.
He looked at her now—standing at the stove, stirring the broth, her face half-hidden by steam. The afternoon light caught the curve of her cheek, the fall of her hair, the graceful line of her neck. She was beautiful. She was strong. She was kind, in her own prickly way. She was everything.
He loved her.
The thought hit him like a blow to the chest, sudden and undeniable. He loved her. Not just her food, not just her company, not just the warmth of her shop. Her. Ikumatsu. The widow who had taken in a stranger and asked nothing in return. The woman who had bandaged his wounds and laughed when he flinched. The person who made him want to be better, to stay longer, to come back.
He loved her.
And tomorrow was her birthday.
He was still staring when she turned around and caught him.
"Oi," she said sharply. "Why are you looking at me?"
He jerked like a startled cat, his face flooding with heat. "...Nothing!!"
She raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Don't tell me you've fallen in love with me, hehe."
He spat out his tea.
Tea went everywhere—across the counter, across his lap, across Elizabeth, who produced a sign reading [DISGUSTING] with remarkable speed. Katsura coughed and sputtered, his face burning, his heart pounding so hard he was sure she could hear it.
"...No... No way!!" he managed, his voice cracking embarrassingly.
She laughed—a real laugh, warm and genuine—and something in his chest loosened at the sound. "It's okay, I was kidding."
She smiled at him, that rare, beautiful smile that made everything worth it. He stared at her, momentarily speechless, his heart still racing from the accusation and the denial and the truth he couldn't admit.
She turned back to her work, still smiling, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding.
I have to make her smile like this tomorrow, he thought fiercely. I have to.
He didn't know how yet. He didn't know what he could possibly do to make her birthday special. But he would figure it out. He would move heaven and earth if he had to. He would—
Elizabeth poked him with a flipper and held up a new sign: [YOU'RE STARING AGAIN.]
He looked away quickly, his face heating once more.
Tomorrow. He had until tomorrow.
The next morning, Ikumatsu woke at her usual time—four o'clock, before the sun, before the city stirred. She washed her face, tied back her hair, and descended the stairs to the shop.
She stopped at the bottom step.
The shop was already occupied.
Katsura stood in the middle of the floor, looking incredibly pleased with himself. Elizabeth stood beside him, holding what appeared to be a large sign covered in fabric. Both of them were covered in flour. There was flour on the counter, flour on the stools, flour on Katsura's face in a way that made him look like a very confused ghost.
She stared.
He stared back, his expression shifting from pleased to nervous to desperately hopeful in the span of three seconds.
"Ikumatsu-dono!" he announced, spreading his arms wide. "Good morning! Surprise!"
Elizabeth whipped the fabric off the sign, revealing words written in careful, slightly shaky calligraphy: [HAPPY BIRTHDAY IKUMATSU.]
Ikumatsu blinked. Once. Twice. A third time, as if hoping the scene would resolve itself into something that made sense.
It didn't.
"What..." she started, then stopped, then started again. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"
Katsura's chest puffed with pride. "I have my ways." He gestured vaguely at the windows, the door, the general concept of breaking and entering. "I hid in the shop after you closed last night. And I'm here because it's—"
Elizabeth held up the sign again, shaking it slightly for emphasis.
"—your birthday!" Katsura finished triumphantly. "So we decided to give you a break! Me and Elizabeth will work instead of you today!"
He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like breaking into someone's shop and announcing you were taking over their business was a perfectly normal way to celebrate a birthday.
Ikumatsu stared at him. At the flour on his face. At the earnest hope in his eyes. At the duck beside him, holding up a birthday sign with the gravity of a royal proclamation.
Something warm and terrifying bloomed in her chest.
"No way," she said.
His face fell. "But why?"
She crossed her arms, summoning her best unimpressed expression. "Because you'll turn my shop into a mess."
He looked genuinely wounded. "I would never do that! Besides, last time I was here, I learned all the cooking steps from you. I'm practically a professional now. Let me do this."
He looked at her with those earnest, serious eyes—the ones that made her want to believe him, even when she knew better. The ones that made her want to say yes, just to see him smile. The ones that made her want things she had spent five years convincing herself she couldn't have.
"...No," she said, because she was stubborn and careful and not ready to admit how much she wanted to say yes.
His face crumpled. He took a step forward, his hands clasped together, his eyes going wide and wet in a way that should have been comical but was instead devastating.
"Eh? But please let me do this!" he begged, deploying the full force of what could only be described as puppy eyes. "Please please please please—"
She lasted approximately three seconds.
"Ahh, fine," she groaned, throwing up her hands. "Fine! Do whatever you want!"
His face lit up like sunrise. He spun to Elizabeth, eyes glistening with genuine tears. "Elizabeth! Did you hear her? She said yes!"
Elizabeth held up a sign: [I HEARD HER.]
Katsura stared at the sign. His expression shifted from joy to betrayal in a single beat. "Elizabeth, you're so cruel!!"
Ikumatsu watched them bicker—the fugitive and his duck, arguing over a sign—and felt something crack, just slightly, in the careful armor she had built around her heart.
She sighed, long and loud. "It's going to be a long day."
She had no idea how right she was.
The shop opened at six, as always. But instead of Ikumatsu behind the counter, there was Katsura—flour still on his face, sleeves rolled up, moving with the frantic energy of a man who was absolutely determined to succeed and absolutely terrified of failing.
Elizabeth stood beside him, holding a sign that read: [WELCOME TO THE BIRTHDAY SURPRISE. BE PATIENT WITH THE CHEF.]
The first customer—the old man who always ordered the same thing—looked at the sign, looked at Katsura, looked at Ikumatsu sitting at a corner table with her arms crossed, and burst out laughing.
"Well, this is new," he said, taking his usual seat. "Let's see what you've got, boy."
Katsura bowed so low his forehead nearly hit the counter. "I won't let you down!"
He didn't let him down. Miraculously, impossibly, the ramen came out... edible. Not perfect—Ikumatsu could spot the flaws immediately, the slightly uneven noodles, the broth that was just a fraction off—but edible. Passable. Even, dare she say, a little bit good.
The old man took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and nodded. "Not bad. Not as good as Ikumatsu's, but not bad."
Katsura looked like he had just been given a medal.
The morning continued in that vein. Customers came, customers ate, customers left. Some were confused by the change in staff. Some were amused. Some—particularly the elderly ladies who came specifically to see the "handsome waiter"—were delighted.
And through it all, Ikumatsu sat at her corner table, surrounded.
That was the strangest part. She was surrounded.
The elderly ladies had pulled their chairs close to hers and were chattering about everything and nothing—the weather, their grandchildren, the handsome waiter who kept sneaking glances at her when he thought no one was looking. The young couple who usually sat in the corner had moved to the table beside her and were asking about her birthday plans. The group of laborers had pooled their money to buy her a small cake from the bakery down the street.
She hadn't asked for any of this. She hadn't expected any of this. And yet here it was—kindness, freely given, from people who had simply decided she deserved to be happy.
She smiled. Genuinely smiled. And when she looked up and caught Katsura watching her from behind the counter, his face breaking into that ridiculous grin, she smiled even wider.
He nodded once, satisfied, and returned to his work.
From the kitchen, Elizabeth produced a sign: [THE DUCK APPROVES OF THIS DEVELOPMENT.]
The afternoon passed in comfortable chaos. More customers came. More ramen was served. Katsura made mistakes—a broken bowl here, a slightly burned topping there—but he recovered with such earnest desperation that no one could stay annoyed. Elizabeth acted as sous-chef, sign-holder, and moral support, moving through the kitchen with the quiet dignity of a creature who had long ago accepted that its life was fundamentally absurd.
Ikumatsu stayed at her corner table, accepting the attention of her customers with a grace that surprised even herself. She talked more than she usually did. Laughed more. Felt more.
It was... nice. Unexpectedly, wonderfully nice.
She caught herself looking at Katsura more than she should. The way he moved—still awkward, still learning, but trying so hard. The way he interacted with customers—patient, kind, genuinely interested in their stories. The way he glanced at her every few minutes, checking to make sure she was still there, still okay, still smiling.
She was smiling. She couldn't help it.
Maybe this was what it felt like to be happy again. Maybe this was what it felt like to let someone in. Maybe this was what it felt like to stop being alone.
The thought was terrifying. It was also, she realized, not entirely unwelcome.
The trouble started at five.
The door chimed, and two figures walked in—one with dark hair and a perpetually bored expression, one with longer hair and a perpetually annoyed one. They scanned the shop with the practiced ease of men who spent their lives looking for trouble.
Ikumatsu recognized them immediately. Shinsengumi. Hijikata Toushirou and Okita Sougo—two of the most dangerous men in Edo, sitting down in her shop like ordinary customers.
Her blood ran cold.
"Excuse me," Okita said, his voice light and pleasant in a way that somehow made it worse. "Can we have some ramen?"
Hijikata settled onto a stool, already reaching for the menu. "Mine with mayonnaise on it."
They hadn't noticed Katsura yet. He was in the kitchen, partially hidden by steam, his back to the door. But it was only a matter of time. Only a matter of seconds before they saw him, recognized him, and everything fell apart.
Ikumatsu's hands clenched in her lap. She should warn him. She should do something. But her body wouldn't move, her voice wouldn't work, and the seconds were ticking away faster than she could think—
Hijikata looked up.
His eyes narrowed. His hand drifted toward his sword.
"Ah, ano," he said slowly, his voice taking on that dangerous edge she had heard about but never witnessed. "You look familiar. Could you be Katsura Ko—"
Katsura turned. Saw them. Froze.
For one terrible moment, the shop was completely still.
Then Katsura's mouth opened, and out came:
"Katsura janai, Zura da."
There was a beat of silence. Hijikata blinked. Okita tilted his head. Even Ikumatsu, who was used to Katsura's nonsense, found herself momentarily stunned.
Then Katsura mumbled, barely audible: "Ah, wait, that didn't sound right..."
He didn't get to finish the thought.
The shot came from nowhere—Okita's gun, raised and fired in a single fluid motion. The bullet flew past Katsura's ear and embedded itself in the wall behind him, missing by inches.
"Oops," Okita said, his smile pleasant and utterly terrifying. "I didn't hit Hijikata-san. Well, that's my bad."
"What do you mean, 'didn't hit me,' you bastard?!" Hijikata exploded. "You almost shot me!"
"I was aiming for the criminal," Okita said innocently. "If you got in the way, that's your fault."
Chaos erupted. Customers screamed and scattered. Tables overturned. Chairs crashed to the floor. And in the middle of it all, Katsura stood frozen, his eyes finding Ikumatsu across the room.
She saw it in his face—the calculation, the decision, the moment he chose. He looked at her shop, her customers, her birthday party. He looked at the Shinsengumi, closing in, weapons drawn. He looked at her.
And then he ran.
He burst through the back door like a man possessed, Elizabeth right behind him, their forms disappearing into the alley before anyone could react.
"Hey, wait!" Hijikata shouted, already in pursuit. "After him!"
Okita followed, still smiling, still terrifying, his gun held loosely at his side.
The door slammed shut behind them.
Silence.
Ikumatsu stood in the wreckage of her shop, her heart pounding, her hands shaking, her eyes fixed on the door he had disappeared through. Customers murmured around her, asking if she was okay, offering to help clean up. She barely heard them.
He was gone. He was gone, and she didn't know if he was coming back.
The party was over.
The hours crawled by.
Customers left, one by one, until only Ikumatsu remained. She cleaned the shop on autopilot—righting tables, sweeping broken glass, wiping spilled tea. Her body moved, but her mind was elsewhere. Following him through dark streets. Wondering if he was safe. Wondering if she'd ever see him again.
The cake sat on the counter, untouched.
It was a small thing—simple, white frosting, a few candles waiting to be lit. The laborers had bought it with genuine kindness, and she had accepted it with genuine gratitude. But now it just sat there, a reminder of the day that had been and the day that could have been.
Midnight approached.
Ikumatsu sat at the counter, staring at the cake, watching the clock tick closer to the end of her birthday. The shop was dark except for the single light above the counter. The streets outside were silent. She was alone, as she had always known she would be.
She laughed—a small, sad sound.
"Ah," she whispered to the empty room. "I'm left alone again."
She picked up a match, struck it, and began lighting the candles. One by one, they flickered to life, tiny flames dancing in the darkness. She watched them burn and thought about nothing at all.
The clock struck midnight.
She leaned forward, ready to blow out the candles, ready to make a wish she didn't believe in, ready to end this day and move on to the next—
"Wait!!"
She froze.
The door burst open, and there he was—Katsura, framed in the doorway, gasping for breath, his clothes torn and his skin marked with cuts and bruises. He looked like he had run through hell to get here. He probably had.
Her heart stopped. Then started again, racing.
"Ehh, baka!" she shouted, already moving toward him. "Why are you here?! What if they find you?!"
He waved a hand dismissively, still catching his breath. "Don't worry, I ran away from them. They won't find me." He paused, his expression shifting to genuine regret. "And I'm sorry for the mess I caused. I didn't mean to ruin your party."
She reached him before he could say more, her hands coming up to touch his face, to check his wounds, to make sure he was real. Her fingers traced the cuts on his cheek, the bruise forming on his jaw, the exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
"Baka," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm glad you're back."
He stared at her, something soft and wondering in his eyes.
She pulled herself together with an effort, stepping back. "Wait, I'll get the first aid kit. We need to treat those cuts—"
His hand caught her wrist, gentle but firm.
"Wait," he said. "First, this."
From behind his back, he produced a bundle of flowers—beautiful, fresh, tied with a simple ribbon. He held them out to her, his face slightly flushed, his eyes fixed on the floor.
"Happy birthday," he mumbled. "I... I wanted to get you something. I know it's late. I know the party got ruined. But... happy birthday."
She stared at the flowers. At his hand, slightly trembling. At his face, still turned away, still blushing, still so utterly, fundamentally Katsura that she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
She took the flowers.
They were beautiful. Simple wildflowers, the kind that grew on hillsides and in vacant lots, but arranged with such care that they looked like something from a professional shop. She held them to her chest and felt something crack wide open inside her.
"Arigato," she whispered.
He looked up at that, his eyes meeting hers. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The shop was quiet, the candles flickering, the flowers bright against her apron.
Then she remembered herself, remembered his injuries, remembered that he was standing there bleeding on her floor.
"But now, baka, we have to treat you," she said firmly, crossing her arms.
He grinned—that ridiculous, wonderful grin. "Yes, but first—Elizabeth! Come here! We have a cake to eat!"
From the doorway, Elizabeth materialized, still somehow pristine despite everything. The creature held up a sign: [THE DUCK HAS BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT.]
Ikumatsu blinked. "How rude. I still haven't even blown out the candles."
Katsura's grin widened. "Then do it! It's already midnight!"
She looked at the cake—at the candles still burning, at the wax beginning to drip, at the tiny flames that had somehow survived all this chaos. She looked at the flowers in her hands, at the man beside her, at the duck holding up a sign.
She walked to the counter, set down the flowers, and leaned over the cake. The candles flickered in her eyes, warm and bright.
"So," she said softly, almost to herself. "I'm not lonely after all."
She glanced at Katsura, standing beside her with that earnest expression, waiting. She smiled—a real smile, full and warm and genuine.
"...Thanks to this man."
She blew out the candles.
The shop went dark for a moment, then light returned as Katsura fumbled for a lantern. Elizabeth held up a new sign: [HAPPY BIRTHDAY. FINALLY.]
Katsura laughed—that ridiculous, wonderful laugh—and Ikumatsu found herself laughing, too, standing in her dark shop with flowers in her hands and a man by her side and a future she hadn't expected but was suddenly, desperately grateful for.
It wasn't the birthday she had planned. It wasn't the birthday she had expected. It was better. So much better.
She looked at Katsura, at his earnest face and his terrible hair and his beautiful heart, and thought: This. This is what I've been waiting for.
He caught her looking and blushed. "What?"
She smiled. "Nothing. Just... thank you. For everything."
His blush deepened, but he smiled back—that soft, private smile he only gave her. "You're welcome, Ikumatsu-dono. Happy birthday."
Elizabeth held up one final sign: [THE END.]
Ikumatsu laughed, and Katsura joined in, and the shop filled with warmth despite the late hour and the empty streets and the chaos of the day.
She wasn't alone. She wasn't alone anymore.
And for the first time in five years, that felt like enough.