I Won't Be a Loser

There was a person lying on Haruto's bed. It was the person he met at the door of the apartment when he woke up in the early morning and was about to go out to buy things.

A woman.

Looking at the woman lying on his bed, reeking of alcohol and showing no signs of waking up, Haruto knew who she was.

She was a neighbor, living in a nearby apartment on the same street. Though he couldn't recall her first name—too much time had passed, and they'd never interacted—he vaguely remembered her surname: Takasu. She was a single mother with a son around his age.

She wore a revealing tank top and a leather jacket, the kind of outfit that screamed "bold and fiery." Concerned she might be uncomfortable lying down in her jacket, Haruto gently removed it and placed it on the chair beside his bed.

Originally, he had intended to take her back to her own apartment, but her level of intoxication rendered communication futile. Every time he asked, "Where do you live?" she'd slur nonsensical replies like, "You're handsome. How about we share a drink?"

Resigned, Haruto—who was already unfamiliar with the area after years away—decided he had no choice but to bring her back to his place. He simply couldn't leave her unconscious on the street, so decided to temporarily carry her back to his apartment, letting her rest on his bed until she sobered up.

He even left a note on his desk, explaining that she could leave whenever she felt better. Then he stepped out to buy groceries and some daily necessities.

However, when he returned, she was still lying there, mumbling incoherently in her sleep. Resigned, Haruto crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash. It seemed his new wastebasket would see some use sooner than expected.

Initially, he kept checking on her now and then. But when it became clear she wasn't waking up anytime soon, he turned his attention to tidying up his apartment.

The place was small—a one-bedroom unit of about eight tatami mats. With the bathroom and kitchen already taking up space, there wasn't much room left for furniture. Haruto had picked up a potted cactus at the store, which he carefully placed on the corner of his desk.

By noon, he started preparing his lunch. It had been so long since he'd last cooked for himself that he almost felt out of practice.

Using the pre-made ingredients he'd bought, Haruto began with a simple soup. He chopped carrots into small pieces, dropping them into a pot of boiling broth. The gentle aroma of the soup began filling the air as he replaced the lid and turned his attention to the other dishes.

Takasu Yasuko felt her head throbbing as she stirred awake. Her mouth was dry, and the faint noises around her felt sharp and piercing, a symptom of the hangover.

Just moments ago, in the haze of her dreams, she'd been savoring a bowl of miso soup made by her son. But now, as her eyes fluttered open, she found herself staring at an unfamiliar white ceiling.

"Ceiling? A white ceiling?"

It was such a mundane detail, yet it struck her as completely foreign. Neither her small apartment nor her workplace had such pristine, calming walls.

She also noticed the faint but pleasant scent lingering in the air.

"Ugh—"

Pressing a hand to her temple, Taeko tried to massage away the headache. Blinking away the haze in her eyes, she began to take in her surroundings. The room was clean and minimalistic. Her leather jacket hung neatly on a chair, and on a modest desk sat a single cactus. Beyond the window, she caught a glimpse of a street she vaguely recognized.

Rising slowly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Noticing her shoes were nowhere in sight, she cautiously padded barefoot across the wooden floor toward the source of the faint noises.

Sliding the door open, she froze.

There, standing at the kitchen counter, was a young man. His clean, handsome features contrasted sharply with the world-weariness in his eyes. He was busy cooking, his movements calm and deliberate.

The scene struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her breath hitched, her heart skipped a beat. She didn't know this boy—but she wanted to.

Here's an English translation, adapted for readability in a novel format:

A Woman.

Looking at the woman lying on his bed, reeking of alcohol and showing no signs of waking up, Haruto knew who she was.

She was a neighbor, living in a nearby apartment on the same street. Though he couldn't recall her first name—too much time had passed, and they'd never interacted—he vaguely remembered her surname: Takasu. She was a single mother with a son around his age.

She wore a revealing tank top and a leather jacket, the kind of outfit that screamed "bold and fiery." Concerned she might be uncomfortable lying down in her jacket, Haruto gently removed it and placed it on the chair beside his bed.

Originally, he had intended to take her back to her own apartment, but her level of intoxication rendered communication futile. Every time he asked, "Where do you live?" she'd slur nonsensical replies like, "You're handsome. How about we share a drink?"

Resigned, Haruto—who was already unfamiliar with the area after years away—decided he had no choice but to bring her back to his place. He simply couldn't leave her unconscious on the street.

After a brief internal struggle, he hoisted her onto his back and carried her to his small apartment, letting her rest on his bed until she sobered up. He even left a note on his desk, explaining that she could leave whenever she felt better. Then he stepped out to buy groceries and some daily necessities.

However, when he returned, she was still lying there, mumbling incoherently in her sleep. Resigned, Haruto crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash. It seemed his new wastebasket would see some use sooner than expected.

Initially, he kept checking on her now and then. But when it became clear she wasn't waking up anytime soon, he turned his attention to tidying up his apartment.

The place was small—a one-bedroom unit of about eight tatami mats. With the bathroom and kitchen already taking up space, there wasn't much room left for furniture. Haruto had picked up a potted cactus at the store, which he carefully placed on the corner of his desk.

By noon, he started preparing his lunch. It had been so long since he'd last cooked for himself that he almost felt out of practice.

Using the pre-cut ingredients he'd bought, Haruto began with a simple soup. He chopped kombu and carrots into small pieces, dropping them into a pot of boiling broth. The gentle aroma of the soup began filling the air as he replaced the lid and turned his attention to the other dishes.

Takasu Yasuko felt her head throbbing as she stirred awake. Her mouth was dry, and the faint noises around her felt sharp and piercing, a symptom of the hangover she was nursing.

Just moments ago, in the haze of her dreams, she'd been savoring a bowl of miso soup made by her son. But now, as her eyes fluttered open, she found herself staring at an unfamiliar white ceiling.

"Ceiling? A white ceiling?"

It was such a mundane detail, yet it struck her as completely foreign. Neither her small apartment nor her workplace had such pristine, calming walls.

She also noticed the faint but pleasant scent lingering in the air.

"Ugh—"

Pressing a hand to her temple, Taeko tried to massage away the headache. Blinking away the haze in her eyes, she began to take in her surroundings. The room was clean and minimalistic. Her leather jacket hung neatly on a chair, and on a modest desk sat a single cactus. Beyond the window, she caught a glimpse of a street she vaguely recognized.

Rising slowly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Noticing her shoes were nowhere in sight, she cautiously padded barefoot across the wooden floor toward the source of the faint noises.

Sliding the door open, she froze.

There, standing at the kitchen counter, was a young man. His clean, handsome features contrasted sharply with the world-weariness in his eyes. He was busy cooking, his movements calm and deliberate.

The scene struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her breath hitched, her heart skipped a beat. She didn't know this boy—but she wanted to.

The sound of the door sliding open caught Haruto's attention. He turned to see the woman from his bed—now awake—standing at the doorway in a leopard-print tank top, her long golden curls cascading over her shoulders.

"You're awake," he said, lowering the stove flame. "Would you like some water?"

Reaching for a clean glass, Haruto poured her a drink from his new water pitcher. Holding it out to her, he noticed the way her gaze lingered on him, wide-eyed and distracted.

Taeko blinked, snapping out of her daze. She accepted the glass, her fingers brushing against his. Whether intentional or not, she seemed to cradle his hand for just a moment longer than necessary.

Haruto stiffened, feeling a jolt of something unfamiliar. Quickly, he retracted his hand and stepped back.

"Thank you," Takasu Yasuko murmured, her voice hoarse from the alcohol. Taking a sip, she finally asked, "I must've been drunk last night... How did I end up here? And where is this, exactly?"

"This is Fuji Heights Apartments, next to Horisaka," Haruto replied evenly, turning back to the stove. "I found you passed out near the entrance this morning. I didn't know where you lived, so I brought you here. Your jacket's in the other room."

Takasu Yasuko took another sip of water, her mind racing. "Ah... I see. I'm so sorry for causing you trouble," she said, bowing her head in apology.

Haruto glanced at her briefly, intending to say something dismissive, but his eyes accidentally caught on her neckline. The slight motion of her bow had revealed more than intended.

He quickly looked away, his ears burning.

"It's fine," he said curtly, keeping his focus on the pot. "But now that you're awake, you should head home."

Realizing she was overstaying her welcome, Taeko nodded. "Of course. My name is Takasu Yasuko. I live nearby, so... if you ever need help with anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

She retrieved her jacket from the chair and slipped it on. Before leaving, she stood at the kitchen entrance and bowed deeply.

"Thank you so much for everything! I'll be going now."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the apartment silent. Haruto let out a long sigh of relief. Though the faint scent of her perfume and alcohol lingered in the air, what stuck with him the most was her apology.

"...That was... unexpected."

The smell of something burning snapped him out of his thoughts. Haruto looked down in alarm.

His soup was scorched.

"..."