CHAPTER 24: FINDING HER ADDRESS

Trying to defend himself was definitely a waste of time. The woman, Miyu, had clearly already formed some delusion that she believed.

She wasn’t best friends with Mrs. Hoshizawa. Not even close! From what Renji had noticed, they weren’t even on a first name basis, talking more of being friends.

She was crazy.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Renji said with an uncaring breath. "I’m just being nice to her because she’s my classmate’s mom."

Miyu scoffed. "Yeah right, buddy. You’re a pretty good liar, you know. But I’ve got eyes that could see through anything."

Renji looked at her eyes. They looked more crazy eyes than Clark Kent’s so he highly doubted that.

Still, her suspicion wasn’t entirely wrong, though misguided. His intentions with Mrs. Hoshizawa obviously wasn’t genuine.

But this woman was being skeptical for no reason. She clearly was jealous of the attention Mrs. Hoshizawa was giving him.

"Whatever," he said to her, huffing as he sat back, hugging his backpack.

Miyu made a face. It was his first time speaking to her in a non-innocent manner, which assured her even more that she was on to something.

’His mask is slowly slipping. Hng! I knew I was right.’

The yellow bus wheezed to life outside the Center, its engine hacking like a grumpy old smoker who’d just stubbed out his last cigarette.

It lurched away from the curb with a neat groan and rolled down the road, heading to their first destination.

Inside, the air was a wild tapestry of scents: ripe peaches in syrup, the nutty warmth of oats, the colorful scent of ramen, and the metal tang of dented tomato cans.

Renji stayed slumped into the vinyl seat, his schoolbag now wedged between his knees like a stubborn mule.

His uniform jacket hung open, revealing a paint-stained shirt clinging to his skinny frame, his dark hair falling over to his forehead and his eyes staring at nothing.

His mind was what was busy: churning with a heady mix of exhaustion and scheming. He could feel the Milf Note’s leather cover in his bag, and it fueled his most prevalent thought.

How to get into Mrs. Hoshizawa’s house.

First, he had to find out where it was. That was obvious, he couldn’t just magically appear there.

He had tried the internet last night, but the Hoshizawa family was surprisingly very secretive. It made sense though, knowing how influential they were, especially Mr. Hoshizawa.

There was another way he could get in.

Kaito usually invited his friends to come over for pool parties and game nights. But that was a waste of time because Kaito would never invite him.

The only choice, or at least the one available to him, was to find out through Mrs. Hoshizawa.

Renji would have to be meticulous. Straight up asking where she lived would certainly raise eyebrows, so he needed to come up with a way to bring it up in a conversation without drawing her suspicion.

Miyu, he could handle, but he didn’t want Mrs Hoshizawa to suspect him of anything. Not even slightly.

The bus jolted as they continued on their charity odyssey.

First they would go to the foster homes with their manicured lawns dotted with playing kids, then homeless encampments nestled under grimy bridges, and finally, daycares alive with the shrieks of tiny tyrants wielding juice boxes.

Renji looked around. Volunteers filled the seats around him, wearing the vibrant uniforms of the Center. He didn’t have his own yet, tomorrow, a fitting size for him would arrive.

Chattering and laughing continued as the cargo hold groaned under the weight of the provisions.

Renji kept glancing over at where Mrs Hoshizawa sat; her head was resting on the window, that relentless guard was right with her. Annoying.

Soon enough, the bus screeched to a halt outside the first foster home, a two-story house with peeling beige paint and a yard where kids chased each other, their laughter ringing like a chorus of bells.

The doors hissed open, and volunteers spilled out, their boots thudding on the gravel drive, a lanky teen tripping over a crate of tricolor pasta with a theatrical yelp.

The box burst open, sending red, green, and yellow spirals flying like a pasta fireworks display across the lawn, one strand landing comically on a kid’s head like a crown.

"Oh no, my Italian opera debut’s toast!" the boy wailed, flailing his arms as if conducting an invisible choir, prompting a burly volunteer to double over with laughter.

"More like spaghetti spaghetti, you noodle-brained maestro!"

He scooped up a handful of pasta and tossed it at the boy’s head, the kids laughed and joined in with delighted squeals.

Renji stared. He wondered if that was intentional to get the kids to play, or if these people never really took anything seriously.

Either way, he got to work. He hoisted a 25-pound sack of rice, the grains shifting with a soft rustle, the weight pulling at his shoulders as he stepped into the fray, his eyes scanning for Hana.

She emerged from the bus, her purple hair glinting like a silken crown in the afternoon sun, tied back with a navy scarf that fluttered with each graceful step.

Her skirt swished, the fabric stretching taut over her fat, round ass, a curve so perfect it made Renji’s cock twitch as she bent to hand a jar of wildflower honey to a wide-eyed foster girl.

"For your tea, sweetie. Make it extra sweet, like your smile!" she chirped, her motherly voice warm and melodic, her breasts jiggling slightly under her cream blouse as she straightened.

He needed to know where that ass rested at night. Quick.

A group of people came out to greet them, thanking them again for their help. In the midst of hugs and handshakes, they distributed the resources.

Renji handed over bags of rice and some cartons of ramen. In between work, his mind whirred with a cunning plan.

’Gotta find her address. Maybe I can ask about her routine, slip it in casual-like, something about her winding down?’

He rehearsed a tactic, imagining a smooth segue from community work to her home life, his legs pacing him back and forth.

The foster kids swarmed Hana, tugging at her skirt with sticky hands, their voices a cacophony of "Miss, look!" and "Can I have more?"

The security guard couldn’t do anything. Kids weren’t dangerous. But Hana looked uncomfortable now, unsure of how to please all these children.

Renji saw his opening, setting the carton he was carrying down, he wiped sweat from his brow with a flour-dusted sleeve.

"Alright kids, look!"

All the children turned to him.

"Woah!!!"

Renji was holding up a basketball. It was an inflatable that he always carries in his backpack.

"This is a very rare super duper basketball. If you play with it, for every goal you score, the cook is gonna add an extra piece of chicken to your rice and soup!"

"Yayy!!"

"Go get it!"

He threw the ball far into the field and they all ran after it while yelling at the top of their voices.

Mrs. Hoshizawa was smiling when he turned to face her.

"Thank you, Renji," she said. "That was really nice of you."

He nodded. "You’re welcome, Mrs. I just saw that you were a bit overwhelmed so I decided to help."

"An observant young man," Hana said with a giggle. "I like that. Maybe you should be my security guard."

Renji wasn’t completely against that idea.

The security man made an even stonier face. He clearly didn’t find his boss’s joke funny.

Renji furthered the conversation. "Mrs. Hoshizawa, it really is amazing how you keep this going," he said, his voice tentative but eager, stepping closer with a shy grin.

"Do you visit these spots often, or do you have a special routine to unwind after—maybe a quiet place with a view?"

His eyes locked on her lips, hoping to draw her into a personal chat, his heart thudding with anticipation as he leaned in slightly, feigning innocent curiosity.

Hana’s brown eyes crinkled with a smile as she handed a can of peaches to a worker. "Oh, Renji, that’s so sweet of you to notice," she began, brushing a strand of purple hair from her face. "I do try to find a little peace after these days—sometimes I head home and—"

"Mrs. Hoshizawa!"

Someone suddenly interrupted, cutting Hana off.

Miyu Ishikawa barreled between them, her slender frame tripping over a tent peg some volunteer had left as a prank, her apron flapping like a broken kite.

"Oh no, Mrs. Hoshizawa, the beans are staging a Great Escape. Please, rescue me before I turn into a veggie wrangler!" she yelped, her brown hair bun wobbling as she chased a rolling can of green beans, her legs splaying out in a slapstick split that sent her skidding into a pile of cardboard.

"Miyu!" Hana called. "What is this racket about?"

She turned and walked off, going after the woman.

Renji furrowed his brows with anger.

He’d had enough of this cock-blocking bitch.