Here's the translation of the text into English:
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It was a Thursday that dawned with District 20 covered by a clear sky, the pale blue streaked with wisps of clouds that the sun pierced with a cold, timid light. Luka woke up early, his body already accustomed to the rhythm of college and his internship, but still carrying a fatigue that seemed to have roots deeper than sleepless nights. The clock on the nightstand read 7:10, its cracked glass reflecting the faint glow that slipped through the window, and he got up slowly, his muscles protesting as he rubbed his brown eyes, the dark circles beneath them like permanent shadows under his pale skin. His gray t-shirt was wrinkled, his jeans tossed in a corner of the room, and the clean hoodie hanging on the chair creaked as he pulled it on, the rough fabric brushing his arms as he dressed.
In the kitchen, the smell of cheap coffee filled the air, the old pot on the stove releasing steam that fogged the window above the sink. His mother had already left—her morning shift at the store started at 6:00—and the house was silent, the only sounds being the gurgle of the coffee and the clink of the metal mug Luka grabbed from the cupboard. He filled it, the black liquid spilling hot and staining the edges, and sat at the small table, his brown eyes fixed on the scratched surface as he took a sip, the bitter taste burning his tongue and sliding down his throat. The thermos sat beside him, already filled to take to the attic, its metal gleaming with beads of condensation, and he thought of her—Hana, the ghoul who'd been living up there for what? Two months? Three? Time had become a blur, a line he could no longer trace clearly.
It had been almost three months, he calculated, his fingers drumming on the mug as the coffee cooled. Three months since the alley where he'd found her, her blood staining the asphalt, her black-and-red eyes staring at him as if he were a mistake she could erase. And now she was there, in the attic, a presence that had become part of the house like the crooked beams or the smell of dust. He'd brought her more stuff a few days ago—a small tube TV he'd found in the basement, its cracked plastic and remote missing buttons, but which he'd fixed one Saturday afternoon with a soldering iron and old wires. He'd carried it up the ladder, the weight of the casing leaving his arms sore, and spent an hour teaching Hana how to use it, his brown eyes flickering between the set and hers as he explained the buttons, his voice coming out hesitant but steady. She'd stayed quiet, as always, her brown eyes half-closed as she fiddled with the remote, the staticky sound of a news channel filling the attic until she landed on a documentary about wolves, the screen's glow reflecting off the black mask she sometimes set aside.
Luka took another sip of coffee, the warmth rising to his face as he thought about it, a faint unease tightening his chest. It wasn't a big deal, he told himself, his brown eyes fixed on the thermos, sweat trickling down his neck in the kitchen's silence. He just wanted her to have something to do, so she wouldn't spend all day staring at the ceiling. But the way she'd looked at him that day—her brown eyes glinting with something that wasn't anger, her strong body relaxed on the mattress—kept coming back, an image he pushed away with a quick thought: *She's a ghoul. It doesn't mean anything.* His heart gave a slight jolt, and he frowned, rubbing the back of his neck as he finished the coffee, the lukewarm liquid now a weight in his stomach.
He grabbed his backpack, the weight of his medical textbooks dragging his shoulders down, and headed up to the attic quickly, the retractable ladder creaking under his boots. He pushed the trapdoor open, the stuffy smell of dust and old paper mixed with traces of rain and dried blood hitting him as he stepped inside. Hana was there, sitting on the mattress, her legs folded beneath her, the TV on low volume, the sound of a narrator talking about sharp fangs echoing in the space. The black mask lay beside her, her face exposed, her cracked lips slightly parted, her brown eyes fixed on the screen until he entered. She turned her head, her gaze sliding to him, and Luka stopped, the thermos in his hand as sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Brought coffee," he said, his voice coming out hoarse, the tone awkward as he held up the thermos, its metal glinting in the dim light. "Thought you might want some." He hesitated, his brown eyes darting between her and the TV, his heart beating a little faster as he thought of the alley, the touch of her arm days ago—a memory he didn't want to revisit now.
Hana nodded, a short motion, and reached out, her cold fingers brushing his as she took the thermos, the contact brief but firm. "Thanks," she murmured, her raspy voice low as she unscrewed the cap, steam rising in thin spirals. She took a sip, her brown eyes narrowing in subtle pleasure, and Luka stood there for a second, the weight of that gesture sticking in his mind before he turned and climbed back down, the trapdoor clicking shut behind him.
Kamii University was a twenty-minute bus ride away, the route passing through narrow streets and gray buildings the sun barely reached. Luka arrived at 8:30, the campus already buzzing with students rushing between buildings, the smell of wet grass and cheap coffee wafting from the courtyard. He pulled the hoodie over his t-shirt, the hood up against the cold wind, and headed to his morning classes, the weight of his backpack on his shoulders a constant reminder of the long day ahead. The first few hours were a blur—anatomy with a monotone professor, the projected slides full of muscle diagrams he scribbled in his notebook, and pharmacology with a surprise quiz that made his brown eyes sting with exhaustion as he tried to recall medication dosages.
At the break, at 11:00, he met his two college friends in the courtyard—Kenta, a lanky guy with messy black hair and crooked glasses who always had a biochemistry book in hand, and Aya, a short girl with brown hair tied in a ponytail, her lively eyes always full of questions. They sat on a bench near a barren tree, the cold wind rustling the dead leaves on the ground, and Luka opened his backpack, pulling out a stale roll he'd brought from home, the crumpled plastic crinkling as he chewed in silence.
"You look awful," Kenta said, his tone light but his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he flipped through his book. "What's killing you this time? The internship or the exams?" He laughed, the sound echoing in the courtyard as Aya nodded, biting into an apple with a loud crunch.
Luka sighed, the dry bread sticking in his throat as he took a sip of water from the bottle they shared. "Everything, I guess," he said, his hoarse voice low, his brown eyes fixed on the ground. "I'm stressed as hell. I don't sleep right, the internship's heavy, and… I don't know, it feels like I can't breathe lately." He hesitated, the weight of Hana in the attic pressing on his mind, but he swallowed the words, the secret lodging in his throat like a knot. It was just exhaustion, he told himself, his brown eyes shifting to his friends as he tried to smile.
Aya frowned, her ponytail swaying as she tilted her head. "You need to relax, Luka. You're turning into a zombie." She tossed him the rest of her apple, the piece landing in his lap with a soft thud, and laughed. "Let's eat out today. There's a good café near Anteiku—we'll take you there after class. No excuses."
"I don't know if—" Luka started, the forgotten bread in his hand, but Kenta cut him off, snapping his book shut.
"No way, man. You need decent food and fresh air. We'll drag you if we have to." He grinned, his glasses slipping down his nose, and Luka gave in, the weight of his exhaustion outweighing his urge to argue.
Classes ended at 12:30, the sun now higher but still weak, the cold wind cutting through the campus as Luka followed Kenta and Aya through the streets of District 20. The café was a few blocks from Anteiku, the smell of roasted coffee and fresh bread rising in the air as they approached, its large windows reflecting the clear sky. It was the same place from the series—a quiet spot where humans and ghouls sometimes crossed paths unknowingly, the wooden sign swaying in the wind, the name "Anteiku" echoing in Luka's memory from scattered conversations. They pushed the door open, the bell above chiming with a clear ring, and the warmth inside hit them, the scent of coffee and sugar mingling with the murmur of low voices.
Kenta picked a table near the window, the wooden chairs creaking as they sat, the tabletop scarred from years of use. Luka dropped his backpack on the floor, his brown eyes wandering the space—the dark wooden walls, the crooked landscape paintings, the counter where a short-haired barista worked an espresso machine. Aya grabbed the menu, the crumpled paper in her hands as she read aloud, and Kenta laughed, pointing to a sandwich he swore was the best there. Luka stayed quiet, the weight of the attic still on his mind, but the warmth of the café and the chatter of his friends muffled the unease, at least for now.
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The interior of the Anteiku café was a warm refuge against the cold wind of District 20, the smell of roasted coffee and fresh bread wrapping the air like an invisible blanket. Luka sat in the wooden chair near the window, the seat creaking under his weight as he dropped his backpack on the floor, the worn leather sliding against the polished floorboards. The round table in front of him bore the marks of years of use—deep scratches and cup stains no one had bothered to erase—and the sunlight streamed through the large windows, reflecting off the fogged glass and casting crooked shadows across his pale face. Kenta was already flipping through the menu with his thin fingers, his crooked glasses slipping down his nose as he read the items aloud, while Aya laughed, her ponytail swaying as she pointed to a chocolate cake she swore was "better than the one from the corner bakery." Luka stayed quiet, his brown eyes wandering the space, the weight of the attic—and her—still clinging to his mind like a shadow he couldn't shake.
The café counter stood a few meters away, a dark wooden structure polished by time, its soft sheen reflecting the lights hanging from the ceiling. Behind it, a girl with short purple hair worked an espresso machine, steam rising in spirals as the hiss of heating milk cut through the low murmur of conversations. Touka Kirishima—Luka didn't know her name, of course, but his brown eyes caught her for a moment, her pristine black-and-white uniform contrasting with the steady way she moved her hands. Beside her, a boy with black hair and an eyepatch handled a tray, his movements slow but precise as he wiped cups, the sound of the cloth against ceramic an almost hypnotic rhythm. Kaneki Ken, though to Luka he was just another student, an ordinary face in a place that seemed too peaceful for District 20. Further back, an older man with gray hair—Yoshimura—arranged cans of coffee beans on a shelf, his calm gaze sweeping the room with an attentiveness that didn't draw attention.
**Luka's Point of View:**
Luka rubbed the back of his neck, sweat trickling down his skin despite the chill still lingering in his bones, and grabbed the menu Aya tossed him, the crumpled paper folding in his shaky hands. "I think I'll get a coffee," he murmured, his hoarse voice low as his brown eyes skimmed the crooked lines of the menu, the Japanese words dancing in his tired vision. "Something strong. I need to wake up." He tried to laugh, the sound coming out forced, and Kenta looked up, his glasses glinting with the window's reflection.
"Just coffee?" Kenta said, his tone light but with a hint of teasing as he pointed at the menu. "Get a sandwich, man. You're looking like a skeleton." He laughed, the sound bouncing across the table, and Aya nodded, her lively eyes sparkling as she poked Luka's shoulder with her finger.
"He's right. Eat something or you'll pass out in the next class," she said, her wide grin showing her teeth as she tossed her hair back. Luka sighed, the weight of his backpack on the floor tugging at his shoulders, and nodded, his brown eyes returning to the menu as he tried to focus. The stress he'd vented about in the courtyard was still there, a pressure in his chest he couldn't explain, and the smell of coffee in the air made him think of the thermos, of Hana sipping slowly in the attic, an image he pushed away with a quick thought: *It's just coffee. It's nothing.*
Touka approached the table, notepad in hand, her purple—or maybe brown, Luka couldn't tell in the dim light—eyes fixed on them with an expression more bored than friendly. "What do you want?" she asked, her firm voice cutting through the air, her pencil tapping the pad with a dry sound. Luka looked up, his heart giving a slight jolt as he met her gaze, her uniform impeccable but her shoulders tense, as if she carried something she didn't show.
"A black coffee, strong," he said, his hoarse voice hesitant, his brown eyes flicking to the menu before returning to her. "And… a cheese sandwich." He paused, sweat trickling down his neck, and she scribbled quickly, the pencil scratching the paper before turning to Kenta and Aya.
**Touka's Point of View:**
Touka Kirishima wrote down the hooded boy's order—black coffee and a cheese sandwich—the pencil moving swiftly across the pad as her purple eyes sized him up for a moment. He was thin, pale, with deep dark circles that screamed bad nights, his messy brown hair falling over a sweaty forehead. Nothing special, just another Kamii student, but his smell hit her like a stray breeze—coffee, yes, but something else, something she knew all too well. Ghoul. Not from him, of course; his racing heartbeat and human sweat were proof of that, but clinging to him, a faint trace of dried blood and raw flesh that came from his clothes, his skin, somewhere he didn't even realize he carried. She kept her face neutral, lips pressed tight as she jotted down the other two orders—a latte for the ponytail girl, a ham sandwich for the glasses guy—the pencil pausing on the paper as she turned back to the counter, her shoulders tense but her step steady.
In the corner, Kaneki looked up from his tray, the black eyepatch hiding his left eye as he wiped a cup, the cloth halting in midair for a second. He sensed it too, Touka knew—his nose was sharper now, honed by months of survival. His gray eyes met hers, a silent question flickering in them, and she tilted her head toward the hooded boy, a subtle gesture no one at the table would notice. Kaneki frowned, the smell reaching him—human, but with that trace of ghoul, a mark that didn't belong to the boy but that he carried like an invisible weight.
Yoshimura approached the counter, his movements calm as he picked up a can of coffee beans, his gray eyes sweeping the room before settling on the students' table. He felt it too, Touka saw in the way his shoulders stiffened for a moment, but his face remained serene, the usual mask intact as he ground the coffee, the machine's hum drowning out anything he might have said. "Touka," he called, his voice low and steady as he handed a clean cup to Kaneki, the tone too casual for anyone who didn't know the signs. "Grab Nishiki's order from the kitchen when you pass by."
Touka nodded, the perfect excuse as she headed to the back, her purple eyes flicking to the hooded boy one last time. In the kitchen corner, Nishiki Nishio fiddled with a stack of sugar packets, his messy brown hair falling over his glasses as he grumbled about the shift. "What's up?" he asked, his sharp voice cutting through as she stopped beside him, the smell of coffee and cleaning supplies clinging to him.
"The hooded kid," she said, her voice low as she crossed her arms, her eyes fixed on the door leading to the main room. "Smells like ghoul. Not him, but it's on him. Like he slept with one." Her tone was dry but loaded, her fingers tapping her arm as she waited for his reaction.
Nishiki laughed, the sound low and sarcastic as he tossed a sugar packet onto the shelf. "Seriously? A human with ghoul perfume? Either he's hanging out with one, or he stumbled into a nest and doesn't know it." He tilted his head, his glasses glinting in the dim light. "Doesn't look like the type to survive that. Too weak."
"Maybe," Touka murmured, her eyes narrowing as she grabbed the tray with the orders, the cold metal pressing against her fingers. "But the smell's strong. It's not just passing." She turned, her uniform swaying as she headed back to the main room, her face neutral again, the secret kept between them.
**Luka's Point of View:**
Touka returned with the tray, the black coffee in a steaming white cup, the cheese sandwich on a simple plate beside it. Luka took the cup, the heat burning his hands as he sipped, the bitter, strong taste hitting his tongue like the jolt he needed. "Thanks," he muttered, his hoarse voice low as she nodded, her purple eyes lingering on him for a second before moving to the other orders. He ate slowly, the melted cheese sticking to the warm bread, the taste simple but good, and listened to Kenta and Aya talk about the pharmacology quiz, their voices a noise that muffled the weight in his mind.
Lunch passed quickly, the sun climbing higher in the sky as they paid the bill, the clink of coins echoing on the table. Luka hefted his backpack, the weight of the books tugging at his shoulders, and followed his friends outside, the bell above the door chiming again as the cold air of District 20 hit him. Kenta and Aya headed to the bus stop, quick waves before disappearing around the corner, and Luka took the path home, his boots thudding on the asphalt as the day's exhaustion clung to his bones. The smell of coffee still lingered on his clothes, mixed with sweat, and he thought of Hana, the thermos, the TV buzzing in the attic, a faint unease rising again that he pushed away with a firm thought: *It's just routine.*
He got home at 2:00 PM, the front door creaking as he stepped inside, the hallway dark and silent, his mother still at the store. He dropped his backpack in the living room, the weight hitting the floor with a dull thud, and climbed the retractable ladder to the attic, the steps creaking under his boots as he pushed the trapdoor open. The smell of dust and dried blood hit him, the faint light from the fogged window illuminating Hana on the mattress, the TV on low volume, the sound of a forest documentary echoing in the space. She turned her head, her brown eyes staring at him through the mask's holes, the empty thermos beside her, and Luka paused, his heart beating a little faster as he gripped the edge of the trapdoor.
"I'm back," he said, his hoarse voice low, his brown eyes fixed on her as the weight of the day—and the scent he didn't know he carried—hung in the air between them.
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