CHAPTER 23: CERTIFIED COCKBLOCKER

From then on, the main work began.

Everyone gathered in the storage room, well everyone who was involved with distribution in one way or the other.

Sunshine Community Center buzzed with a frenetic energy as the phase swung into full gear. It was four o’clock in the late afternoon, so the sun was still fairly at its brightest, streaming through high windows.

"Careful with the eggs! Don’t take more crates than you can carry."

"How many cartons of ramen are left?"

"Will these be going to the foster home or the daycare?" "The foster home." "Okay! Prep these Oreos boxes for the foster homes."

Renji stood amidst the chaos, his schoolbag dumped in a corner, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms smudged with flour from a tipped sack.

The air was heavy with the earthy scent of rice, the tangy sweetness of canned peaches in syrup, and the faint metallic tang of dented tomato cans stacked in wobbly towers.

A part of Renji wanted to hoard some of these supplies and take them home with him. God knew he needed it. Just a tiny percentage of all of this would relieve him of food expenses for a month.

It’s not like they couldn’t just replace it.

It was all founded by Mrs. Hoshizawa’s husband.

Each crate bore the mark of his company’s million-dollar funding.

There were labels that boasted "Premium Organic Oats," procured through a year-long contract with a Scandinavian supplier.

Bags of tricolor pasta, negotiated in a bulk deal with an Italian importer after a wine festival, sat beside jars of wildflower honey, their amber liquid paid for by a beekeeper’s guild donation, some lids sticky from a recent spill.

Protein bars, donated by a health food giant for a tax break, stacked precariously next to boxes of green beans preserved in brine.

It was just a lot of really good food.

Then other daily requirements like tissues, soap, toothpaste and so on.

Heck, Renji wondered if he should just join a foster home and have all of this handed to him.

He bent to lift a crate of canned corn, its weight pulling at his skinny frame, the lids dented from a rough delivery truck ride.

Shuffling toward the open doors of a yellow bus parked outside, he just about managed to reach it before his arms gave out.

Renji wasn’t a particularly strong boy.

Volunteers swarmed around, their aprons stained with sauce and flour, laughing as a young man fumbled a bag of rice, the grains scattering like tiny pearls across the floor.

"Watch it, rookie!" an older woman cackled, scooping them up with a grin.

Renji thanked God that hadn’t been him just now.

He wouldn’t want to disgrace himself near Mrs. Hoshizawa. Then again, he wondered if she would be moved to tend to his wounds herself if he did fall.

But wasn’t intentionally injuring yourself just for a woman’s attention a little bit stalkery and creepy?

He couldn’t go that far...

...yet.

He looked around for where Mrs. Hoshizawa was and found her standing near the bus, her purple hair tied back with a silk scarf, her navy skirt swaying as she moved.

She didn’t have to, but she was fully involved in the packing of the provisions.

Renji saw her bend low to pick up a crate of egg that was left from a pile, her fat ass stretching the fabric taut, the curve so pronounced that Renji nearly dropped the ramen carton someone had just given him to hold.

"Be gentle with that," he heard her chirp to the volunteer that took the crate from her, her motherly voice warm, her breasts jiggling slightly under her cream blouse as she turned, sending another wave of heat through Renji.

Renji needed to talk to her more. The closer they got, the more likely he was to find his way into her house.

He dropped off the box of ramen and headed towards Mrs. Hoshizawa. Hana hadn’t noticed him at first, but once he got closer, her eyes caught his innocent face and a smile lit up hers.

"Hello, Mrs. Hoshizawa," he began, his voice tentative but eager.

"Hey, Renji. Working hard, are we?"

Renji smiled back. "Yup."

Hana nodded. "Well, I hope you know how much I really appreciate you for doing this. It is rare to find many boys your age with such a giving heart."

Renji lowered his head, a nervous smile hidden. He really wished she would stop saying that. It made him feel guilty, and guilt only came in the way of sex and revenge.

"Thanks again, Mrs. Hoshizawa," he said, adjusting his stance after. "Uhm... I was wondering if we could talk about the foster homes?"

"Oh. What about them?"

"Do you already have the list of all the homes you plan to visit? There are some I would like to suggest if that’s fine with you."

His heart thudded in his chest, an anxious excitement bubbling as he crossed his hands like a prayer.

It was ironic of him. Wanting her to stop complimenting him on being so kind-hearted and yet continuously keeping up the kind-hearted act.

Goofball.

Before Hana could respond however, Miyu Ishikawa swooped in like a hawk, her slender frame darting between them with an exaggerated stumble over a stray bag of oats.

’What the fuck?’ Renji thought.

"Oh, Mrs. Hoshizawa!" she exclaimed, her voice pitched high, her brown hair bun bouncing as she flailed.

"We need you over here. The bus driver wants to know what the schedule is. He’s not sure if we can meet up with all the planned locations today!"

Her apron fluttered, a comical whirlwind of flour dust rising.

"Come with me."

Hana blinked, her motherly smile faltering into confusion. "Oh, alright, Miyu dear... let’s fix that," she said, her tone gentle as she followed, her fat ass swaying with each step, the navy skirt hugging her curves in a way that made Renji’s cock twitch again.

Renji just stared, not believing that had just happened.

’What the hell is that Miyu woman’s problem? She’s a certified cockblocker!’ he thought, gritting his teeth as he watched Hana disappear into the chaos.

Undeterred, he planned to try again but each time he did, there was Miyu coming in between him and his MILF target, taking Hana’s attention somewhere else.

She did it so many times that he started to think it was intentional.

’What the hell is her problem?’

Adding to his frustration, Hana’s security guard—the hulking man in a black suit, his sunglasses glinting like obsidian—was always looming nearby.

In fact, he was literally Hana’s shadow.

Each time Renji approached her, the guard stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking on the concrete, his sunglasses locked on him like he was a threat.

How could Renji be a threat?

He was just an innocent eighteen-year-old.

Later, as he tried again with a crate of oats, the guard was there, his glare intensifying. Renji saw his own frustrated expression reflected on the guard’s glasses.

"Stay clear, punk," the guard warned.

Renji’s mind churned, ’This bastard thinks he’s her husband or something. He’s just glued to her.’

Soon enough, the packing wound down. The bus was now loaded with crates, cartons, sacks and bags of everything that mattered.

Volunteers clapped the dust off their hands, filing onto the vehicle, its seats pristine and expensive, the engine’s hum vibrating through the floor.

Renji climbed aboard, his schoolbag slung over one shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the security guard settling next to Hana in the front, his bulk crowding her seat, sunglasses still fixed on Renji.

’Great, he’s her damn babysitter,’ he thought, grunting softly.

He took a seat, feeling overwhelmed and very frustrated. But his focus shifted as Miyu plopped down beside him.

This cock-blocking bitch again.

She fixed him with a glare, her brown eyes boring into his for an uncomfortably long minute, her lips pursed tight, the silence thick with tension.

Renji side-eyed her, but she continued to stare.

He looked at her again, but she didn’t look away, she just kept her face close to his, glaring into his face.

Renji squirmed, his patience fraying. "Uh... what’s the problem?" he asked, his hands clenching the seat edge.

Miyu leaned in, speaking with a hushed hiss. "I know what you’re up to, you little crook."

Renji raised a brow. ’Crook?’

"This time, I’m definitely on to you," she continued. "You think that you can sell that artwork of yours don’t you. You’re trying to cozy up to Hana so she can let you keep the money after the auction. If not, I’m sure you’ll steal it."

"I’ve seen your type. Desperate and scheming. I should have known when I caught you creeping in the bushes that you were no good."

"But don’t worry. I won’t let you get what you want. I’m Mrs. Hoshizawa’s best friend and protector, and I’ll watch you like a hawk!"

Renji stared at her, his mouth agape.

’Has she lost her damn mind? I’m not some broke art hustler. I want to fuck Mrs. Hoshizawa, not rob her!’