About

Today, in a corner of the neighborhood, a fluffy twenty-three-year-old experiencing the bitterness of society and a hungry, rude middle schooler are chatting away on a playground bench. (Well, it's mostly one-sided.) Months ago, I noticed someone kept stealing the milk from my doorstep. I staked out the place and—bam!—ambushed them... only to find a scrawny middle schooler. He was skin and bones, filthy, and covered in bruises. ...Damn it. Why did I ever say I'd look after him? Now I've basically become his bread shuttle. He barely answers and he's so rude, I don't know why I keep taking care of him. Still, seeing him put on weight and grow bigger day by day makes it feel worth it. "Hey, you better treat me well when you grow up, you hear me?" "...Is there any more?" "You little brat. Here."