[ ᴠᴀʀɪᴏᴜꜱ! ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ x ᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ]
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𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇'𝐒 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄 that can latch onto the body's living heart and eaten at it, replacing it with a cursed heart. No matter the way the living body di...
As feet amble along the sunlit sidewalk, the rhythmic slaps of black sandals blend into the lazy afternoon hum.
With a casual turn, the dark-haired man finds himself slipping into what he dully dubs the Red Lantern Alley, a stretch adorned with twinkling lights dancing along the facades of adjacent buildings.
To him, it's a hidden enclave reminiscent of the cozy little noodle joint in the corner.
The aroma, oh, the aroma!
It's like a siren's call, teasing his senses with promises of spicy delights.
Despite receiving coupons from a cheerful college girl weeks ago, he's never seized the chance to indulge in the shop's offerings, thanks to its clandestine location.
Yet, each time he passes by, the irresistible scent of exotic spices lures him in, painting vivid images of flavours yet to be savoured.
As fate would have it, the girl from before, her shift concluded, rushes back to the shop, only to find the door swinging open.
"Thank you for ordering! Come again!" The cheery farewell accompanies the customer's exit, prompting the girl to step aside.
Her brown eyes meet his irises, and in that fleeting moment, a silent exchange occurs.
She sees him, tall and robust, with a mop of ebony hair cascading over his shoulders. His gaze is a captivating shade of dark blue. But her attention is drawn to the scar near the corner of his lip.
With a courteous gesture, she holds the door open to prevent it from hitting him on his way out. He does exist, though not without a quiet acknowledgment of her presence.
'Tall, handsome,' she muses, a blush tinting her cheeks.
'Short, ugly,' he counters inwardly, his thoughts shrouded in self-deprecation.
