Kuroba Akira went downstairs to retrieve his laptop. Earlier, when carrying Shion upstairs, both his hands had been occupied, leaving no room to pick it up.
As he packed away his laptop in the living room, a meow came from just outside.
Only one stray cat would visit the Kobayashi household at this hour: Kuroo.
Akira opened the sliding door to the courtyard with practiced familiarity. A flash of white darted inside—indeed, it was Kuroo.
Acting as if it owned the place, Kuroo leaped gracefully onto the table, licking its paws and grooming its face.
Remembering how this ungrateful cat happily allowed Shion to pet it but extended claws at him, the petty Akira wasn't inclined to be particularly friendly. He rolled his eyes.
"What are you doing here so late?"
"Meow~"
Kuroo responded, turning its head pointedly toward the fridge, clearly aware the delicious snacks were hidden in the cold box.
Are you Tom, you little rascal?!
Granny Kobayashi had explicitly instructed him to give Kuroo whatever it wanted, firmly establishing the cat as the true master of this house. Reluctantly, Akira went to open the fridge door.
Seeing the fridge open, Kuroo jumped down and inspected its "personal food stash." Then it spotted a plate of watermelon slices, immediately pawing at it and meowing insistently.
"Meow, meow, meow!"
A cat craving watermelon… Seriously?
"You really… eat everything, don't you?"
From experience, Akira knew cats were generally picky eaters with delicate stomachs. Yesterday, Kuroo had even demanded milk—another unusual request, since adult cats rarely sought milk, despite kittens thriving on goat's milk powder.
Then again, cats did seem to love yogurt…
Anyway, Kuroo was undeniably an odd cat. It showed interest in all types of food without experiencing the usual stomach troubles. It also had an uncanny knack for appearing whenever snacks were available.
Had cats in this world mutated genetically, or was Kuroo just special?
Though the watermelon slices had originally been reserved for Tashiro-san, in this house, Kuroo outranked her. Still, one or two slices would suffice. The rest could remain for Tashiro-san.
Akira placed one slice in front of Kuroo, who daintily secured the watermelon rind with one paw, nibbling elegantly from the tip, almost human-like in its movements.
"Eat slowly… just leave the rind anywhere; Kobayashi-obaasan will clean up in the morning. Yawn…"
Exhausted after pulling an all-nighter, Akira yawned, planning to head upstairs to sleep. Precious little sleep remained for him.
"Meow!"
Suddenly, Kuroo meowed sharply, grabbing Akira's trouser leg to stop him from leaving.
"What now? You want another slice?"
Ignoring his question, Kuroo released him and trotted toward the entrance.
Akira understood immediately. Kuroo wanted him to follow again.
If it had simply finished eating and wanted to leave, Kuroo would have exited through the sliding door as it had entered. It wouldn't have needed to use the main entrance.
Still, recently, Kuroo seemed eager to involve him more often. Usually, the cat only sought Granny Kobayashi, so why him now?
Yet you still won't let me pet you. Come to think of it, Hijikata-san also refuses to be touched. Is it something about men? You're one fastidious little kitty.
With random thoughts occupying his mind, Akira followed Kuroo outside. They walked along the street in front of the Kobayashi household, turning left, until they spotted someone sprawled beneath a utility pole.
"Ah…"
It was Tashiro-san, collapsed on the ground.
Ah, so this was why Kuroo had come to find him—the watermelon had merely been a bonus.
Kuroo was intimately familiar with every member of the Kobayashi family, unlike ordinary cats who failed to recognize even their own reflections. Besides, Tashiro-san had been the first transmigrator brought home by Kuroo.
But why was Tashiro-san passed out here, so close to home? Had something bad happened?
Akira hurried over, but the strong scent of alcohol answered his question immediately.
Oh, she's just drunk… She probably struggled to get home, but ultimately couldn't make it.
Akira crouched beside the drunken Tashiro-san, gently trying to wake her.
"Tashiro-san, are you okay?"
"Ngh… hic… ah!"
She groaned miserably at first, belched alcoholically, then opened blurry eyes. Upon seeing Akira's familiar face, she exclaimed softly in relief.
Seemingly comforted by his presence, she suddenly flung her arms around his neck, clinging tightly.
Akira felt a soft, squishy sensation pressing against his chest. Such was the blessed bounty of a mature onee-san. While not as impressive as Kozakawa-sensei's, it was still substantial enough.
"Uhh…"
But for Tashiro-san—the socially anxious woman who ran away the moment she saw him—to act so boldly now showed she was genuinely wasted.
"Meow~"
Kuroo meowed at the tangled duo as if to say, "She's your problem now!", then scampered off.
No wonder Kuroo had summoned him. A tiny cat transporting a drunken woman was clearly beyond its capabilities.
Akira carefully lifted Tashiro-san, supporting her unsteady body.
"We're almost home, Tashiro-san. Just hang on."
"Ngh…"
She clamped a hand over her mouth, her sickly expression warning that she might vomit on him at any moment.
"You feeling nauseous? Please, not here!"
What I mean is—don't throw up on me!
Even a beautiful woman's vomit was disgusting! He wasn't that hardcore!
"Mm…"
Whether she understood or simply nodded by instinct, Tashiro-san barely managed to suppress her nausea.
Forget appearances; nobody was around at this hour anyway. Akira decided to carry her home bridal-style, lifting her by the waist and thighs.
Just as he was about to stand, Tashiro-san murmured softly into his ear.
"Shoes…my shoes…"
"Oh."
Akira glanced around, finding her high heels near the utility pole, apparently slipped off when she'd collapsed.
Picking up the shoes, Akira attempted to slip them back onto her feet, only to realize they were a size too large. They simply wouldn't stay on.
Why is she wearing heels that clearly don't fit? Isn't that uncomfortable?
Carrying Tashiro-san required both hands, leaving no room for shoes. Yet, even in her intoxicated state, she remembered them. They must have meant something special to her.
If she could hold onto them herself, things would be simpler.
"Tashiro-san, can you hold onto your shoes?"
No response. Her consciousness had already faded again.
"Then, can I come back for your shoes later?"
"…No…only the shoes…can't lose…"
"…"
Damn it! Then carry them yourself!
Drunk women really were…nothing but trouble!