To Kuroba Akira's blatant and loaded pickup line, the girl's response was…
No response at all.
"…"
She just sat there, unmoving, her expression completely unchanged.
His very first attempt at flirting had ended in failure—but Akira wasn't about to back off just yet.
In fact, he was fairly certain he'd at least caught her attention. Though her face was still as cold and expressionless as before, her gaze had shifted—now resting on him, the clearly suspicious intruder.
The line had been a calculated one. Akira had deliberately chosen those words to test her—to see how she'd react. Her reaction would determine his next move.
That was the essence of cold approaches: adapt on the fly, tailor the pitch to the customer.
If she seemed pleased, that meant she really was a kami-machi shōjo—a runaway girl waiting for a "god" to save her. That would make things easier.
If she looked offended, insulted, or even just frowned a little, it would mean she wasn't looking to be "picked up" at all—and was wary of strangers.
But this long-haired, black-haired beauty didn't land on either end of that emotional spectrum. She was right in the middle.
Maybe she didn't know how to respond. Maybe she didn't even understand what he was getting at.
From the look of her… Yeah. She's not doing well.
Not physically—mentally.
Akira had seen this kind of look once before. Back in his previous life, when he was still a university student, he'd volunteered in a disaster zone after an earthquake. There, he'd met a little girl who'd lost her entire family. Her eyes had the same hollow emptiness.
After grief comes the void.
No one left to care for her. Nowhere left to return to. No idea what to do next.
When someone loses all hope—when nothing matters anymore—they fall into this dull, numb state.
No grief is greater than the death of the heart. And her heart was already dead.
But…
What does that have to do with me?
Akira had zero interest in her emotional trauma. He only wanted to know one thing—whether this absurdly beautiful girl in front of him possessed a talent worth his time.
So he shrugged and pressed on, keeping the same flippant tone to probe her further.
"What? You're not a kami-machi shōjo? A high school girl in a sailor uniform, sitting all alone in a place that looks straight out of a horror story—you look like a runaway waiting for a savior."
At the mention of "runaway," her expression finally shifted.
Her face fell. She hugged her knees tighter, curling further into herself like a clam closing its shell for protection.
At the same time, Akira's eyes were scanning her body carefully.
No visible bruises or wounds—so probably not physical abuse. But emotional neglect? Definitely on the table.
Her sailor uniform looked clean. That meant she hadn't been out for long.
No bag. No suitcase. Not even a school satchel. She'd clearly run off in a moment of impulse, with no plan and no preparation.
And judging by her reaction to the words "ran away from home," it wasn't regret she felt—it was something more like sorrow. Which meant… she probably had no intention of going back.
Having talent really makes a difference. My thought process is way clearer now.
Thank you, Class Rep.
Naturally, Akira wasn't about to let her spiral further into despair. He stepped a little closer and continued.
"You're not seriously planning to sleep in a place that looks like it's haunted, are you?"
"..."
Still no response. She buried her face between her knees.
Akira squatted in front of the offering box and started playing a game of "poke and swat" with Blacktail, waiting patiently for the girl to speak first.
Several minutes passed—probably ten or so—before the girl finally lifted her head and spoke, voice soft and hesitant.
"…What… is a kami-machi shōjo?"
"…Huh?"
Akira blinked. That was her first question?
Not what he was doing here. Not who he was. She wanted to know that?
Still, her voice was surprisingly pleasant.
Not one of those squeaky, cutesy affectations. Her tone was low, gentle, and clear. Easy on the ears.
Beautiful face, beautiful voice… what is this, a succubus in human form?
But seriously—she didn't know what kami-machi shōjo meant?
Akira explained.
"It's girls like you—runaway high schoolers with no money, who've had a falling out with their families and don't want to go back. So they sit around hoping some benevolent 'god' will show up and give them food and a place to stay. That's where the term comes from—'girls waiting for a god.'"
She gave a small nod, showing she understood.
Akira scratched his head and added:
"Though I guess calling you that might be off the mark. You don't really look like you're waiting for anyone, let alone a kind-hearted god… So what are you waiting for? Death?"
"..."
Waiting for death?
Those words hit her like a slap, restarting thoughts that had been long frozen. Pulling her—harshly, mercilessly—back into reality.
Yeah… no matter how much self-pity I drown in, I still have to eat, still have to sleep. I'm alive.
Am I really planning to die here?
No…
She asked herself honestly. And realized—she didn't want to die. Not yet.
And if she didn't want to die, then she'd have to figure out how to survive—how to find food and shelter.
That moment marked the first time she truly looked at the boy who'd barged into her world.
She remembered the first thing he said to her. Now, it finally made sense.
"…You… want to take me home?"
If I'm a kami-machi shōjo… then are you the god I've been waiting for?
A god led to me by a cat…
But just then, Akira—like he'd completely forgotten his own bold pickup line—rubbed the back of his neck and gave a sheepish laugh.
"Oh, uh… let's not get ahead of ourselves. I was just joking around earlier. You really took that seriously?"
"..."
At that moment, the girl felt an unfamiliar stir of emotion.
Disappointment.
And a flicker of irritation.
She even had the sudden, irrational urge to snap back, So what? I'm not good enough for you to take home?
Her pride felt pricked.
Because she knew how beautiful she was. She was fully aware of the effect she had on men.
Which was exactly why she distrusted them all. Ninety-nine percent of guys who approached her had an angle.
But the boy in front of her—he was different. Roughly her age, and yet… she couldn't figure out what he wanted.
Still, she knew she had to protect herself. So she made her stance clear.
"Even if you did want to take me home… I have nothing to repay you with."
"No, that's not true. You do," Akira said, smiling wryly. "Don't tell me you don't know."
"..."
She did. She knew all too well.
She knew exactly what the "most valuable thing" she had left was.
Akira raised a finger, pointed at her, and said with a crooked grin:
"Your body… looks real tempting."
She hadn't been waiting for a god.
She'd found a devil.