Am I The Only Male Tenant Here?

By the time our lively group lunch finally ended, the sun was already leaning lazily toward the horizon.

It was almost three in the afternoon. My ears were still ringing from the endless laughter and chatter.

College girls were dangerous. They had an infinite stockpile of gossip, and no matter how many topics they burn through, there's always another one locked and loaded. If idle talk were a sport, they'd take home Olympic gold without breaking a sweat.

"We still have classes tomorrow, so everyone should go back and rest as soon as possible," Shiraishi-senpai announced, clapping her hands like a class president dismissing a meeting.

"Eeeh, already?"

"Time went by too fast…"

Even though they pouted, the girls eventually gathered their bags.

"Thank you for your hard work today, Ginjo-san. See you at school tomorrow."

"Likewise, Shiraishi-senpai."

After waving them goodbye, I started heading back toward my apartment, looking forward to collapsing on the bed—

Ding ding ding.

My phone vibrated with the familiar LINE notification sound.

"Sousuke-kun, will you be back for dinner tonight?"

It was from Tomoko.

"I'll be there, Tomoko."

On the way home, I happened to pass by the vegetable market she frequents. The smell of fresh produce hit me, and a thought struck.

…Wait. Why don't I cook for her tonight?

Tomoko had been taking care of me non-stop… maybe it was time I returned the favor. A small surprise, just for her.

Besides, I could cook. Not gourmet chef level, but enough to make edible—and sometimes even delicious—home-cooked meals.

Today… she would taste the real thing.

After a quick round of shopping, I left the market with a bag heavy enough to use as a dumbbell: a large lamb leg, some fresh pork ribs, and vegetables like corn and carrots.

The plan: stir-fried lamb and sweet corn–pork rib soup. Mutton was rare in Japan, so it'd be something special. And the soup would be perfect for… well, nourishment.

When I finally reached the apartment around four, I knocked and heard the sound of hurried footsteps.

The door swung open to reveal Tomoko, her hair loose, eyes a little sleepy—as if she'd just woken from a nap. She was wearing a loose silk nightgown that barely skimmed over her hips.

I swear, the room temperature went up five degrees instantly.

"Look what I bought, Tomoko," I said, holding the grocery bag high like a hunter presenting his kill.

She peeked inside, tilting her head. "Oh? What's all this?"

"I'm cooking tonight. Time to show you my hidden skills."

"Eh? Sousuke can cook?" She smiled faintly, but her eyelids still looked heavy. "Don't trouble yourself, I can do it—"

"No, no, no. Tonight, I'm the chef. You'll see." I grinned. "Remember the food from the mall last time?"

"Mmm… that was delicious. I've even been looking up recipes online lately, but I haven't tried cooking any yet."

"Perfect. Tonight's menu: my personal challenge—authentic Ginjo Sosuke cuisine."

She rummaged through the bag, pulling out the lamb and then a small pouch of red berries. "And this? Looks like something from a pharmacy…"

"Goji berries. For the soup. Healthy, hydrating, and good for the skin." I leaned in with a mischievous smile. "Tomoko, you've lost a lot of… moisture lately, right?"

Her cheeks flushed instantly. "S-Sousuke… you're teasing me again…"

Her slim fingers fidgeted against her thighs, the silk fabric whispering softly with the movement.

I carried the bag to the kitchen and started unpacking. She said she'd "change clothes" to help me, but when she returned, it was just the same nightgown with a yellow floral apron tied over it.

…Was that supposed to make things less distracting?

"I'll handle the meat, Tomoko. You take the vegetables."

"Okay, Sousuke-kun. I'm surprised—most college boys can't cook at all."

"Self-taught," I said with mock pride. "Tonight, you can be my assistant."

I sliced the lamb thin, rinsed it with baking soda and salt water to tenderize it. Then I blanched the ribs, skimming off the foam, while Tomoko washed carrots, corn, and onions like a perfect sous-chef.

The small kitchen quickly turned into a sauna. Beads of sweat trickled down her neck, disappearing into the nightgown's neckline.

Focus, Sousuke. Meat first.

When the soup ingredients were finally in the pot—ribs, ginger, corn, carrots, plus those goji berries and some red dates—I set it to simmer.

"Phew… so hot. Let's step out while the soup cooks," I suggested.

On the sofa, I gulped water while she fanned herself with her hand. Every now and then, she tugged at her loose neckline to let in some air.

From this angle, I couldn't help thinking that if she ditched the nightgown entirely and just wore the apron—

… Hmm.

Suddenly, I pulled her gently into my arms.

"Kyaa! S-Sosuke-kun?!"

She didn't resist—just melted against my chest, her breath warm against my shirt.

Her lips glistened faintly, and before I knew it, my mouth had found the curve of her neck. She trembled softly.

"S-Sousuke-kun… the soup…"

"It needs forty minutes," I murmured. "Plenty of time."

"O-Okay…"

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