Wa Taberaretai | Ookami-san

Takeda held up his hands. “Just a lost hiker. And… you dropped your rice ball.”

“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.”

“I’m trying to feed you,” Takeda said. “There’s a difference.” Ookami-san wa Taberaretai

“And a heated blanket,” he added. “And a refrigerator full of meat. And I’ll cook for you every single day.”

“I brought nikujaga ,” he said softly, kneeling beside her. “Beef and potatoes. Simmered for four hours.” Takeda held up his hands

“You’ll have a kotatsu.”

“You’ll come back tomorrow,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Ginger pork with a honey-soy glaze, tamagoyaki, and

“It’s from the convenience store in the valley,” Takeda said, stepping closer. “The salmon one. I had one for breakfast.”