Page 209 of Celestial Combat

“Okay,” I muttered. “He’s… Fine.”

Kali laughed, full and bright.

We sipped our lattes and stayed too long. The café blurred around us into warm wood and soft meows.

And then, just as Kali leaned into me mid-laugh, a white-and-orange cat leapt onto her shoulder like it had rehearsed the timing. She shrieked, startled, then laughed even harder as it tried to rub its head against her cheek.

And I…

I laughed too.

Not the usual smirk, not the amused exhale. A real one. Deep, full, pulled from somewhere buried. I felt it all the way in my ribs.

She turned, catching the sound, and her eyes softened like she’d waited a long time to hear it in the past week.

I cleared my throat, trying to reel it back in, but she was already leaning across the cushions to kiss my cheek.

“You’re the sweetest tough guy I’ve ever met.”

I raised an eyebrow, feeling my cheekbones heat. “Don’t tell the cats.”

She laughed again.

And in that ridiculous, bowtie-wearing cat bubble of a café, with a kitten snoring on my lap and her smile directed at me – I didn’t feel haunted.

I just felt…

Incredibly happy and lucky.

It started with one bowl.

Then Kali turned it into a challenge.

The hum of vending machines, a hundred different smells fighting for attention – fried garlic, soy broth, grilled meats, the faint metallic hint of subway air rising from the grates.

Kali clung to my arm as we crossed another chaotic street in Shibuya, weaving between bikes and people.

“Best ramen wins,” she declared, pointing her chopsticks at me like a weapon, before leaning and whispering in my ear. “Loser gets tied up.”

Then she pulled back, winking.

I grinned. “You’re on.”

We hit two places, each picked by one of us – tiny counters, glowing curtains, ramen joints tucked behind vending machines and upstairs through blinking pachinko parlors.

Eventually, we stumbled into our final stop – a cramped noodle joint with walls covered in marker-scrawled signatures and hearts. Names in every language layered over each other in chaotic, tangled devotion. Couples had left pieces of themselves here for years.

By the end, we were both too full to stand straight.

Kali slurped the last of her miso broth, then leaned her head on my shoulder.

“Alright,” she said. “Best ramen?”

I looked at her sideways. “The unnamed shop in the alley. Near the shrine.”

“That one was good.” She narrowed her eyes. “Mine was on literal fire, though.”

“Yours almost burned your eyebrows off.”

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