My soul has entered hibernation / Waiting for the day you return.

  During the worst of her "withdrawal," Haruka filled her diary with a single, frantic sentence, scrawled until the pages tore:

  Why won't you come back?

  Why won't you come back?

  Why won't you come back? Why won't you come back? Why won't you come back? Why won't you come back? Why won't you come back? Why won't you come back?

  Finally, on the last page, she wrote three words:

  "I hate you."

  Eventually, Haruka stopped writing in the diary altogether.

  She knew Jun had succeeded. She no longer needed him to breathe. She had learned to exist as an individual. But at what cost?

  When they finally met again at a quiet cafe, Haruka looked at the hollow, melancholic boy across from her. He looked as broken as she felt.

  In that moment, she realized she could finally have him back. Not as a parasite, but as an equal.

  She handed him the diary.

  "I don't know if I'm supposed to love you anymore," she whispered. "Or if I’m supposed to kill you."

  The limousine pulled out of the shadows and into the city lights.

  Haruka stared out the window, snapping herself out of the dream. Her aunt’s question echoed in her ears: “Why do you keep chasing him?”

  "Because," Haruka whispered to the glass, "I once felt a love for him that scaled the peaks of heaven... and a hate that plumbed the absolute depths of hell."

  _______

  After witnessing the System's simulation, Haruka found it difficult to define her feelings for Jun.

  Did she love him? In the dream, he was her savior, but he was also the one who cast her back into the abyss to "teach her a lesson."

  Did she hate him? Of course. But she couldn't deny that his "cure" had worked. Even when she wrote "I hate you," she could still feel the phantom warmth of his touch.

  The emotions were like looking at a landscape through a thick veil—blurred, distant, yet undeniably there.

  Haruka decided that her "hatred" was actually a form of romantic obsession. She was a blank slate that Jun had colored with his own dark hues. She only knew one thing for certain: she had to keep him within her sight. If some random girl snatched him up while she wasn't looking, she’d lose the only person capable of pulling her out of the darkness.

  She had to save her aunt. But if fate couldn't be changed, Jun was her only lifeline.

  I won't let him get away, she vowed.

  Jun, of course, had no idea he had already spent six hundred days in a toxic relationship with Haruka in a parallel timeline. Right now, he was facing a much more immediate problem.

  He was unemployed. Again.

  What is the common denominator here? he wondered.

  A certain black-haired heiress flashed through his mind. If Haruka was the one sabotaging his "Hustles," there wasn't much he could do about it yet.

  He walked into a convenience store and bought a cup of Oden. He hadn't eaten enough at the dinner, so he’d use this to fill the gaps. He stood by the store's back exit, looking out at the neon lights of Kichijoji.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Kichijoji was a paradox—a mix of high-end boutiques, lush parks, and grimy back-alleys. It was constantly voted the "#1 Place People Want to Live" in Tokyo.

  But standing there, Jun only had one thought: This Oden is way too expensive.

  He began to strategize. If Haruka really wanted to force him into her family, he needed a contingency plan. In the world of business, there was a term for it: the "Hostile Takeover." If he was forced to be a "trophy husband" for the Mochizuki family, he’d spend every waking hour learning how to seize their assets.

  The Hustle King would not be a mere accessory. He would be the King of the Empire.

  "Hey, handsome. What are you doing back here?" a voice asked.

  "Contemplating the most efficient way to embezzle a billionaire’s fortune," Jun said, biting into a piece of oil-fried tofu. The savory broth splashed against the side of the paper cup.

  He turned around. The girl standing there looked familiar. He’d seen her an hour ago.

  "Aren't you that idol?" Jun asked, pointing his skewer at her.

  "Hey! I might be into you, but pointing a stick at a lady is a major point-deduction!" The girl snatched the skewer and tossed it into a nearby bin.

  "You’re one to talk. Thanks to you, I’m out of a job," Jun said, popping a fish ball into his mouth.

  "Well, we’re even then. As of ten minutes ago, I’m officially a 'former' idol," Haruyo Kurusu said, giving him a practiced, "on-camera" smile.

  "Don't tell me that's my fault. You’re the one who clung to me in front of the fans," Jun said, his guard up. He’d met enough "clinger" types to know a trap when he saw one.

  "I’m not blaming you. I was looking for an exit anyway. If you’d said yes to my proposal, we would have actually dated. Since you didn't, I just used the scandal to break my contract." Her smile faded, replaced by something much more genuine.

  Jun didn't ask why. He’d seen enough broken homes and stage-moms at the orphanage to guess the story.

  The silence of the alleyway was highlighted by the distant roar of the city.

  Haruyo walked away without another word.

  Jun stood there and finished his Oden. He didn't throw the cup away; there was still some broth left, and it was too expensive to waste.

  A man with a high-end DSLR camera approached him, asking if he was a professional model.

  "You have the perfect look for Kichijoji," the man said, framing a shot with his hands. "The stoic vibe, the coffee cup... it’s the perfect blend of urban grit and high-end fashion."

  Jun gave him a dry chuckle and swirled the liquid in the cup. "It’s not coffee. It’s Oden broth."

  "Oden?" The photographer paused, then his eyes lit up. "Even better! It adds 'everyman' soul to the shot! The 'Humble Prince' aesthetic!"

  The man took his photos, thanked Jun profusely, and left.

  Haruyo returned, holding her own cup of Oden. "You’re better at this 'Idol' thing than I was," she noted.

  "Unlikely." For Jun, the "customer service" he’d done tonight had been a form of mental torture.

  The two of them stood by the back door—the "Hustle King" and the "Fallen Idol"—looking like characters from a late-night indie drama.

  "Do you like Kichijoji?" Haruyo asked suddenly.

  "It’s efficient. Good transit, plenty of amenities," Jun replied.

  "I didn't ask for a Yelp review. I asked if you liked it." She leaned in, searching his eyes.

  "Does it matter?"

  "It matters to me." Her eyes were bright, reflecting the neon signs.

  "Not really," Jun admitted. "It’s too polished. Too fast. I feel like a visitor here, even when I'm working."

  "Good! I hate it too!" The girl hopped up, splashing some of her broth on the pavement. "I knew we were kindred spirits! My name is Haruyo Kurusu."

  "A bit late for an introduction, isn't it? Nice to meet you, Haruyo-san." Jun downed the last of his broth and tossed the cup. He was ready to head home.

  "Wait, wait!" She scrambled to block his path. "Are you sure you won't reconsider the dating thing?"

  "I'm not interested in 'flighty' girls. Sorry." He stepped around her.

  "Mmph-mmph!" Haruyo’s mouth was full of fishcake. She swallowed hard and ran after him. "I’m not flighty! I’ve never even held a guy’s hand! I’m a total amateur!"

  "A girl who asks a stranger to date her three minutes after meeting him doesn't have much credibility on the 'amateur' front," Jun said, suspecting she was just trying to find a new place to land.

  "I have my reasons!" she sighed. "My mom told me I either had to be the #1 idol in Japan or find the #1 most handsome man in Japan to marry."

  "Then go back to being an idol." Jun didn't stop to ask if he fit her second criteria. He quickened his pace, leaving her behind.

  "Hey! At least give me your socials!" she shouted at his back.

  "If we’re meant to meet again, we will," Jun called out. "And if we do, maybe I’ll actually listen to whatever story you’re making up."

  At the train station, Jun waited for the midnight express.

  I guess I have to take that job the Director mentioned, he thought.

  He pulled out a business card. It read:

  TSC Vanishment Services.

  Vanish into thin air. Restart your life.

  "What a sketchy-sounding job," Jun muttered. "I really hope I don't regret this."

  ______

  TSC Vanishment Services: We help you disappear and start over!

  Jun stared at the company's homepage.

  “Vanish into thin air... restart your life...”

  The tagline resonated with him. As a reincarnator, "restarting life" was basically his specialty.

  In Japan, "Yonige-ya" (Night-moving companies) were a specialized niche. They helped people escape domestic abuse, crushing debt, or toxic environments by erasing their digital footprints, moving their belongings in secret, and providing secure housing. Over a hundred thousand people in Japan used these services every year.

  This was the job Director Meiko had recommended. The CEO was an old friend of hers.

  With no other "Hustles" on the horizon, Jun decided to give it a shot.

  The CEO, Tamaki Okuhara, was a kind-looking woman in her late thirties.

  "Nice to meet you, Matsue-kun. Meiko-san spoke very highly of you. She’s like a mother to me, so consider me your 'Auntie Tamaki' while you’re here."

  After the introductions, Tamaki’s expression turned serious.

  "I only have one question. Our work involves risk. You will encounter angry family members, debt collectors, and occasionally violent individuals. Can you handle that?"

  "Not a problem." Jun wasn't joking. He’d spent his middle school years "cleansing" the neighborhood around the orphanage. He knew how to handle himself.

  "I don't mean to be arrogant," Jun added, "but is there an entrance exam or a physical?"

  Tamaki smiled. "How strong are you, Jun?"

  Jun didn't answer. He simply gripped the heavy oak office desk and lifted it several inches off the floor with a grunt of effort.

  "That will be more than sufficient," Tamaki said, eyes wide. It had taken two professional movers to get that desk into the room.

  "The pay isn't amazing, and the male staff have to do the heavy lifting and security. A few of our guys quit recently, so we’re short-handed. Since Meiko-san vouched for you, you’re hired."

  "Where did the other guys go?" Jun asked.

  "Construction, carpentry, demolition... jobs that pay better and have fewer people screaming at you," the CEO sighed. "Anyway, it’s a bit sudden, but are you ready to start today?"

  Jun Matsue: Emergency Hire.

  "Working for a 'Night-moving' company in broad daylight feels a bit ironic," Jun remarked as he sat in the passenger seat of a white unmarked van.

  Tamaki was driving to save on costs. "Natsumi can explain the logistics to you," she said as they hit a red light. "You guys go to the same school, right?"

  Jun looked into the back of the van.

  Natsumi Imukawa was sitting there, fiddling with a camera. Her expression was focused and calm—a far cry from the stuttering, blushing mess she was in the Journalism Club.

  Natsumi didn't say anything. Jun waved a hand in front of her face. "Imukawa-san? You there?"