The Professor’s Offer

“You have nowhere to live, do you?”

Sato Chinatsu cast him a sidelong glance, her voice edged with a subtle threat. “Instead of letting you run wild and spread rumors, I’d prefer to keep you under my watch. That way, I won’t have to live in constant dread.”

Genji froze in place.

Moving into his professor’s home? The idea seemed utterly preposterous.

“I… I’ll need some time to think,” he ventured, his voice hesitant.

“Think?” Sato Chinatsu arched an eyebrow, a faint, mocking curve playing upon her lips.

“Didn’t you mention your landlord was forcing you to move out? Or are you suggesting you’d rather sleep on the streets than submit to my ‘supervision’?” She had, after all, presented him with an excellent opportunity—one that brought him closer to her.

Sato Chinatsu almost instinctively concluded that Genji was merely playing hard to get.

She paused, her gaze turning frigid as she fixed him with a stare. “I cannot allow this situation to compromise me, do you understand?”

“Genji-kun?”

Genji swallowed hard.

The apartment wasn’t far from campus, and Professor Sato wasn’t even asking for rent; refusing would be nothing short of inviting trouble.

“But I truly won’t say anything out of turn,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Professor Sato offered no further words, merely turning to collect her lecture notes. Her back remained rigidly straight, as though she were fiercely suppressing some unspoken emotion.

“Alright, thank you, Professor…”

Genji scratched his head, then cautiously broke the quiet. “I’ll move in; I promise not to cause you any inconvenience.”

Sato Chinatsu’s hand stilled for a moment. Without so much as a glance back, she stated, “You had best make good on that promise.”

Genji murmured an affirmative, then practically fled the classroom.

From behind him, Sato Chinatsu turned, her gaze following his retreat. Her lips parted, as if to utter something, but she ultimately drew back her eyes in silence.

The classroom door remained ajar, allowing the sound of rain to permeate the room, yet it couldn’t contain the absurdity that had just unfolded.

Genji returned to the cramped rental room, its wallpaper yellowed with age.

No sooner had he stepped through the door than his phone vibrated – a message from his landlord: [Move out as soon as possible.]

He rubbed his aching lower back, typed a quick [Understood], then spent a few seconds staring at the patches of mold on the ceiling.

With matters having reached this point, further hesitation was no longer an option.

He packed a few worn clothes into a suitcase, then carefully placed his meager personal possessions—a stack of old books—into a cardboard box, sealing it securely with tape.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he pushed open the door and stepped out into the rain.

Shibuya Ward wasn’t a great distance, yet to him, crossing that threshold felt akin to entering an entirely different world.

Standing before a doorway that felt both strange and eerily familiar, Genji was overcome with a profound sense of reflection.

When the door finally opened, that feeling of detachment intensified tenfold.

Behind him, the persistent drizzle continued, and across the dim corridor, it seemed to eclipse the fading twilight, casting an endless, somber gloom.

Sato Chinatsu stood framed in the doorway, clad in soft, beige cashmere loungewear—a stark contrast to the impeccably tailored professional attire she wore at school.

Genji cast his gaze downwards, noting the rain-streaked denim of his own jeans.

The disparity between them felt far more pronounced here than it ever had on campus.

She surveyed his meager belongings, her eyes resting on the cardboard box Genji clutched in his arms. “Is that all you have?”

Genji nodded, feeling a touch self-conscious. “I’m truly grateful for your hospitality, Professor Sato. My landlord actually just evicted me.”

He had messaged Sato Chinatsu beforehand to let her know he was coming, and coincidentally, he’d just received a message from Professor Sato herself.

It was a LINE friend request.

To his relief, Sato Chinatsu hadn’t reacted with the disgust he’d anticipated. Given his initial reluctance followed by his swift arrival that same afternoon, he had expected some scorn.

Sato Chinatsu, however, merely wore an expression of calm expectation. From her perspective, after her “enthusiastic” invitation, who wouldn’t eagerly seize the opportunity?

“The guest room is at the end of the corridor on the right.”

She turned and walked further inside, her voice cool and detached. “I’ve written the house rules on a note and posted it on the refrigerator.”

Genji cautiously followed her into the apartment. This marked his second visit, though this time he was entirely sober and aware.

The floors gleamed with a reflective sheen, and the air carried a faint, crisp scent of cleaning solution.

Having not observed it closely that morning, he now saw the apartment was more minimalist than he’d imagined. In the spacious living room, a towering bookshelf dominated an entire wall, meticulously organized with an array of professional texts and literary works.

He caught a glimpse of the corner, where a trash bin overflowed with plastic bags crammed with takeout containers, the edge of a convenience store bento label peeking out.

He chose not to comment.

The guest room, while simple, was remarkably clean and tidy, and considerably larger than his former rental.

“The restroom is midway down the hall; you’ve already seen the kitchen,” Professor Sato stated flatly. “I’m at school during the day and typically work from home in the evenings, so endeavor not to disturb me.”

“Furthermore, you must coordinate your movements to avoid overlapping with mine, and always be mindful of your presence.”

“I understand.”

Genji nodded, striving to maintain a polite yet assertive demeanor. “Are there any household tasks I could assist with?”

Sato Chinatsu paused, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, as if the question had caught her off guard.

“You can do housework?”

“Yes, having lived alone for quite some time, I’ve picked up the basics.”

“In that case, kitchen sanitation and the weekly deep cleaning will be your responsibility.”

For some inexplicable reason, Professor Sato’s tone stiffened once more. After a brief pause for consideration, she added, “We’ll alternate cooking duties, assuming you’re capable.”

“No problem at all,” Genji affirmed with a nod, inwardly noting that this arrangement was better than he had anticipated.

Sato Chinatsu said nothing further, simply turning and retreating to her master bedroom, the door clicking shut with an air of finality.

By the time Genji had finished unpacking his meager belongings, the fine rain outside still hadn’t ceased, and the sky had fully succumbed to darkness.

He changed into fresh clothes and made his way to the kitchen, intending to prepare something as a gesture of gratitude.

Regardless of the circumstances, Professor Sato was, in essence, his benefactor. He decided he would cook dinner tonight as a token of his appreciation.

The moment he stepped into the kitchen, Genji’s eyes fell upon a note affixed to the double-door refrigerator.

It was covered in densely written rules: no outside visitors, maintain quiet, keep common areas pristine, shower time not to exceed fifteen minutes—

…Genji shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips.

He skimmed the rules, then opened the refrigerator door—revealing only a few bottles of beer, a bag of frozen dumplings, and a half-empty carton of expired milk.

He paused, his gaze lingering on the bag of dumplings for several seconds.

Could this possibly belong to someone who actually cooks?

After a moment’s hesitation, he rapped gently on Sato Chinatsu’s bedroom door.

“Professor Sato, can I go out and buy some ingredients?”

“Whatever,” came a muffled, indistinct reply from within.

Genji made a quick trip to the nearest convenience store, and upon his return, he began bustling about in the kitchen.

The rhythmic chop of vegetables and the gentle sizzle from the oil pan soon broke the apartment’s profound quiet.

Before long, the master bedroom door creaked open.

Sato Chinatsu emerged, wearing a pair of thin-rimmed glasses and clutching a hefty book in her hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Making dinner.”

Genji stir-fried the beef. “Just a simple gyudon (TL Note: Japanese beef bowl dish), it’ll be ready in a moment.”

Sato Chinatsu furrowed her brow, utterly unconvinced that Genji possessed any culinary skills whatsoever.

Such meticulousness seemed beyond the capabilities of someone so seemingly careless.

Leaning against the doorframe, she idly flipped through the pages of the book in her hand, her peripheral vision tracking his busy movements.

“I had assumed your culinary repertoire extended only to instant noodles,” she finally remarked.

Setting two steaming bowls of gyudon on the dining table, Genji said, “When living alone, one inevitably picks up a few skills. Don’t you typically cook, Professor?”

“I can, but I lack the time.”

Sato Chinatsu accepted the bowl, her voice devoid of inflection. “I’m more accustomed to takeout or the school cafeteria.”

“Then what about your ‘alternating cooking duties’?” Genji blurted out. Seeing Professor Sato’s expression grow awkward, he hastily added, “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Sato Chinatsu let out a curt hum, her tone brusque. “I can cook.”

“…Let’s not dwell on that now. Please, try it and tell me if it suits your taste,” Genji said, wisely changing the subject.

They took their seats at the dining table, the atmosphere unexpectedly less awkward than he’d imagined.

Looking at the fragrant bowl of rice, Sato Chinatsu clearly hesitated, then picked up a mouthful and brought it to her lips.

Behind her lenses, her slender eyes subtly brightened, and a faint, involuntary smile touched the corner of her mouth.

“Hmm…”

She swallowed. “It’s adequate.”

“Nevertheless, you’ll be doing the cooking from now on.”

“My skills are limited,” Genji said, failing to notice the subtle changes in her expression and assuming she was genuinely dissatisfied with his cooking. “If you don’t like this, I can prepare a different dish tomorrow.”

The steam from the meal fogged Sato Chinatsu’s glasses, so she simply removed them. “It’s fine,” she said casually. “It’s just to fill the stomach, after all.”

A short while later.

“Could I have another bowl?”

Sato Chinatsu looked at Genji, her voice calm and natural.

Genji paused, then smiled. “There’s still some left.”

When Genji returned with another bowl, Sato Chinatsu said nothing further, simply lowering her head and continuing to eat, her movements noticeably swifter than before.

As her elegant hair swayed, the faint flush on the tips of her ears was subtly visible.

Genji’s gaze drifted to the book beside her hand; the lettering on the cover was somewhat worn, as if it had been read countless times.

He gestured towards the book. “What’s this about?”

“The Mist Chronicle,” Sato Chinatsu replied, glancing at him. “A collection of short stories, Saito Kiyoshi’s latest work.”

Genji nodded, a hint of curiosity in his eyes as he looked at the book.

After a moment of deliberation, she set down her chopsticks and delicately wiped her mouth.

“If you wish to read it, you may take it.”

Seeing Genji look at her with surprise and delight, Sato Chinatsu averted her gaze.

“It contains my annotations. Consider it a reward for your cooking.”