Page 135 of Faking the Goal

She stuffs both hands into the pockets of her hoodie as we make our way down the front steps. "Yeah." She lets out a slow breath, her shoulders lifting in a small shrug. "I mean... there's really nothing else we can do now except leave it to the police." A tiny smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. "Hopefully they figure this out before whoever this psycho is decides to escalate from creepy gifts to mailing me actual body parts."

I don't even crack a smile.

"...Too soon?"

"Way too soon."

She sighs dramatically.

"Tough crowd."

*****

TAYLOR

After we leave the police station, Kentaro and I go straight to Sakura Café, and even though it's still morning, I already feel completely wrung out from everything that's happened. Between the report, the questions, and having to talk about the stalker all over again, my brain feels like it's been put through a blender. Right now, I just want to be in my happy place, and that's Sakura Café.

The second we walk in, the smell of coffee and books hits me, along with that warm, cozy atmosphere I've started associating with shutting the rest of the world out. After devouring two slices of strawberry shortcake—which has officially become my favorite thing on the menu and possibly one of the few reliable sources of happiness left in my life—I head straight for the shōjo section.

I drag my fingers along the spines, pulling out anything that catches my eye long enough to inspect the cover and read the summary on the back. Eventually, I wander farther down to the smaller section stocked with the original Japanese editions. I can't actually read most of the titles, but that has never stopped me from judging a book entirely by its cover like the responsible reader I am.

My attention catches on one series near the end of the shelf.

Curious, I slide the first volume free and turn it over in my hands.

The cover is beautiful, with a much older, almost legendary feel to it than the other manga I've been browsing. The characters are dressed in flowing robes covered in intricate patterns, the colors muted and elegant, and the whole thing looks less like a modern romance manga and more like someone took an ancient folktale and turned it into a graphic novel.

I flip through a few pages, and somehow the inside is even prettier. Sweeping landscapes, elaborate costumes, sword fights, dramatic close-ups, beautiful men with suspiciously tragic expressions—all very promising.

Too bad I can't understand a fucking word of it.

Every speech bubble is filled with Japanese characters and enough kanji to make me painfully aware that recognizing the occasional symbol from anime subtitles does not, in fact, qualify as literacy.

"What are you reading?"

I don't bother looking up. "No idea. It's the Japanese edition." I flip another page. "Looks really good, though."

I'm about to slide it back onto the shelf when Kentaro takes it from my hand and glances at the cover.

"Genbu Kaiden."

The Japanese rolls effortlessly off his tongue, warm and melodic in a way that makes me wonder why I've never asked him to speak it more often. There's something softer about his voice whenever he switches languages, the usual clipped edges of his English smoothing out until even two words sound unfairly nice coming from his mouth.

Then the corner of his lips lifts.

Not quite a smile. More like he's remembered something.

My brow arches. "What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing. I just remembered this was one of Miho's favorites." He looks down at the volume again. "She kept telling me I had to read it."

"But...?"

He scratches the back of his neck. "I just never really thought it was something I'd be into."

"Too girly? Too mushy?"

His mouth quirks. "Maybe."