Ookami-san Wa Taberaretai [RECOMMENDED]

Ookami-san choked on a fish cake. “I am NOT— we never— you didn’t even ask —“

“So,” he said, pulling a small bento box from his backpack, “I made too much lunch. Ginger pork with a honey-soy glaze, tamagoyaki, and pickled daikon. It’s not subpar.” Ookami-san wa Taberaretai

“I’ll still bite you,” she warned. Ookami-san choked on a fish cake

She let him carry her down the mountain, limp and warm in his arms, her nose buried in the crook of his neck. The village children saw them pass and whispered. The old women at the shrine crossed themselves. But Takeda just walked, one hand cradling her head, the other holding the nikujaga pot. That spring, the school principal found Takeda in the staff kitchen, stirring a huge pot of zoni while a silver-haired woman in an oversized sweater sat on the counter, feet dangling, stealing pieces of kamaboko . It’s not subpar

It was impossibly soft. She flinched, then leaned into his palm, and a sound escaped her—a whimper so small and lonely that it cracked something in his chest.