The clouds above began to rumble faintly. Not quite rain, not quite thunder—just a warning.
Rover's stomach growled. Again.
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, ignoring the pain that gnawed at his insides. Days had gone by with little more than half-eaten bread or expired snacks scavenged from trash bins. The market was nearby—maybe he could swipe something if the vendors weren't paying attention.
The streets grew busier. The scent of grilled fish and steaming noodles wafted through the air, sharp and cruel to his empty gut. Children ran past him laughing. A mother scolded her toddler for nearly dropping a fruit. An old man haggled over the price of rice.
Rover kept his head down. Kept walking.
Until—
"You again."
The voice cut through the market noise like a whisper through silence.
He looked up.
Professor Kuroda, standing near a vendor stall, holding a small brown bag. A skewer of hot dumplings in one hand. A reusable cloth sack over his shoulder, slightly heavy with groceries.
Rover froze, unsure what to say.
Kuroda didn't smile. He just nodded to the bench beside him.
Professor Kuroda:
"Sit."
Rover hesitated, then slowly sank onto the wooden bench. The professor didn't speak immediately. He handed Rover the bag.
Professor Kuroda:
"Take it."
Inside: two steamed buns, a banana, and a boiled egg. Simple. Warm. Real.
Rover stared at it. His pride screamed at him not to accept it. But his body betrayed him. Hands trembling, he clutched the bag.
Rover (barely a whisper):
"...Why?"
Professor Kuroda:
"Because I've seen that look before.
On a boy who sat where you're sitting now, twenty years ago."
Rover glanced up, surprised. The professor looked ahead, not at him.
Professor Kuroda (quietly):
"He ran from everything. Family. Expectations. Pain.
He thought the streets were freedom.
But he didn't know they could chain you tighter than any home ever could."
A long silence settled between them. Rover nibbled on the bun slowly, like it might disappear if he moved too fast.
Professor Kuroda:
"You don't belong out here.
I know you're carrying something. Pain. Regret. Maybe worse.
But this world won't heal you if you keep running from shelter."
Rover (voice cracking slightly):
"There's no shelter for people like me.
No home. No place that wants me."
Professor Kuroda (firm, but not unkind):
"Then let me offer one."
Rover blinked.
Professor Kuroda:
"I run a small boarding house for... students. Misfits.
People the world overlooks.
It's not fancy. But it's warm.
There's food. Clean water. A bed."
Rover said nothing.
Professor Kuroda (softer now):
"You can keep wandering, pretending you're not starving.
Or you can come with me.
No contracts. No obligations. Just rest."
Another silence. This one felt heavier.
Rover looked down at the bag. Then back at the professor. Something inside him—something cold and brittle—started to crack.
Rover (quietly):
"I... don't deserve it."
Professor Kuroda (rising from the bench):
"Deserving is a lie people invented to deny kindness.
You're alive. That's enough."
He began to walk.
Then paused.
Professor Kuroda:
"If you change your mind...
Second alley behind the temple, brown door with a cracked bell.
I'll leave it unlocked."
Then he vanished into the crowd.
Rover sat there, staring down at the half-eaten bun. The market noise faded around him.
And for the first time in a long while,
he didn't feel completely invisible.
To be continue....