Haruka disliked markets.

Too boisterous, too hectic, too volatile. Shoppers bumping into each other, words fighting in the air, vendors shouting prices as if engaged in some hidden war. It made her want to dig out of her skin when she was a child.

But today, she strolled with Natsumi, weaving through rows of vegetables and stacks of ice-bundled fish. The sun had hardly crested the hills, but the market was buzzing.

"We need eggs, green onion, and that Tanaka-san tofu," the old woman recited, eyes as sharp as ever under her sun hat. "And maybe sweet potatoes if the price is kind."

Haruka nodded, balancing the reusable bag on her shoulder. She was making tiny, tentative movements, her eyes flicking away from any vendor who attracted her attention.

The first stalls ticked by in awkward silence. Haruka had her head bowed. She didn't know why she was doing this, precisely. She wasn't good at this kind of thing.

Then it occurred.

"Oh, you must be Haruka-chan!" A woman from behind a fruit stall smiled when she saw her. She was in her sixties, with a red apron and a wide grin. "Kaito's always going on about the girl who works at the bakery. You've got magic hands, he says—melt the butter to perfection."

Haruka bristled.

Natsumi chuckled. "She's got the touch. And the right head, too. Don't let her slip away from you with the quiet."

Haruka's ears were burning. She bowed at a minimum, muttering thankfulness, she attempted not to sound like a squeak.

Tanaka-san smiled as Haruka passed by the tofu stand and gave her a free fried tofu with a wink. "Tell that boy of yours not to disappear for days anymore. My daughter misses his sense of humor."

Haruka blinked. Boy of yours?

Natsumi just smiled.

By the last stop—a stand run by an elderly man who sold miso and homemade pickles—Haruka had been stopped four times, received a flower from a florist, and been offered a hot chestnut sample with a sly grin.

Each time, someone had mentioned Kaito's name. Each time, they smiled at her as if she already knew them.

It was confusing.

But also. strangely warm.

She wasn't used to being famous. Not for something kind. Not like this.

As they returned, arms sore from lugging bags, shoulders complaining, Haruka caught a glimpse of herself in the window of a shop. Hair disheveled slightly, skin flushed from the sun, her face set in a moment of contemplation and gentle happiness.

She looked… alive.

Natsumi noticed her halt. "What's wrong?"

Haruka shook her head. "Nothing. It's just… I didn't expect today to be this way."

The older woman patted her arm. "Sometimes the world is softer than we remember."

At the bakery, Kaito was already mixing dough, flour coating his sleeves.

"Hey," he said without looking up. "Survive the battlefield?"

Haruka put the sweet potatoes on the counter, still in a daze. "People recognized me."

Kaito at last glanced up at her, a grin twitching his lips. "Well, yeah. I may've boasted a little."

She had no idea what to say to this. So she said nothing.

Later that afternoon, as she was sweeping the rear room, she discovered yet another sticky note wedged between the broom and dustpan.

Today's note:

"You smiled at strangers today. Even the sky noticed."

Haruka folded it and cupped it in her hand for an extended duration.

For once, the world didn't appear to be something that she needed to escape from.

It felt. nice.