Pitbabe S2, Chapter 36 pg 5
Pitbabe S2, Chapter 36 pg 5
“You okay?”
“Huh… huh?” The Japanese guy looked bewildered, probably expecting a scolding for trashing the kitchen. When he didn’t get one, he short-circuited. “You mean… me?”
“Yeah,” I replied flatly, walking into the kitchen that looked like a warzone. I grabbed the pot lid Kenta was holding and tucked it behind the fridge, then scanned him from head to toe. “You hurt anywhere?”
“Not really,” Kenta shook his head slowly. “Oh! Just a little cut from the knife, see?”
He proudly showed off the small cut on his index finger. Right now, Kenta looked like an innocent kid, even though he’s usually better at this stuff than me. But sometimes, he’s so clumsy it’s shocking. I think it’s because he does everything with too much confidence, like, “This is nothing, how hard could it be?” That overconfidence makes him careless, leading to messes like this.
“Does it hurt?”
“Hmph,” he shook his head again, looking even more like a kid. “I’ve been stabbed before. That hurt way more.”
“Alright, whatever,” I said, losing the will to keep asking after that response. Seems like anything less painful than being stabbed, he’d just say it doesn’t hurt. If it were someone else, I’d ask how they grew up to be like this, but with this guy, the answer’s already obvious. No need to waste my breath.
“Sorry,” Kenta said with a guilty expression as I started cleaning up the ruined ingredients on the counter, tossing them into a black trash bag. “Go back to practice. I’ll clean this up myself.”
“It’s fine. Let’s clean it together.”
“You mad?”
“Not mad.”
“For real?” the Japanese cat asked again. Whenever he messes up, even a little, he’s like this—constantly asking, “You mad?” like it’s some auto-response system. “You’re really not mad?”
“Kenta, I’m not mad,” I said, dropping the trash bag and looking him in the eye, answering his repetitive question firmly, hoping he’d finally stop worrying about nothing. “I rushed here because I was worried about you, not the kitchen.”
Kenta froze. Judging by his stunned expression, I was convinced he genuinely didn’t get my intentions at all. He stared at me, blinking rapidly, as if what I’d just said was too much new data for his outdated brain to process.
“You were worried about me?”
“Yeah, whatever,” I said, losing the will to keep asking after that response. Seems like anything less painful than being stabbed, he’d just say it doesn’t hurt. If it were someone else, I’d ask how they grew up to be like this, but with this guy, the answer’s already obvious. No need to waste my breath.
“Sorry,” Kenta said with a guilty expression as I started cleaning up the ruined ingredients on the counter, tossing them into a black trash bag. “Go back to practice. I’ll clean this up myself.”
“It’s fine. Let’s clean it together.”
“You mad?”
“Not mad.”
“For real?” the Japanese cat asked again. Whenever he messed up even a little, he’d always do this—repeatedly asking, “Are you mad?” like some kind of automated response system. “You’re really not mad?”
“Kenta, I’m not mad,” I said, tossing the trash bag aside and turning to meet his eyes. I answered his incessant question firmly, hoping to finally put his pointless worrying to rest. “I rushed here because I was worried about you, not the kitchen.”
Kenta froze. Judging by his stunned expression, I was convinced he genuinely didn’t grasp my intentions at all. He stared at me, blinking rapidly, as if what I’d just said was too much new information for his outdated brain to process.
“Worried about me?”
This Japanese guy really had an endless stream of questions. Once he understood one point, he immediately launched into the next, like a curious toddler. If I didn’t know his background, who’d believe this was the former right-hand man of a national tycoon? An ordinary person with such physical potential that even after betraying him, Tony didn’t dare discard him. Instead, he chose to keep this clumsy cat by his side, intending for him to be the first ordinary person to receive the sense-enhancing drug.
Thank goodness that drug never worked. If Kenta had been changed, turned into a version of himself I didn’t know, I’d have been pretty disappointed. And I’m sure he’d feel the same.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“You rushed back… to check on me?”
“Yeah.”
“Scared I’d get hurt?” Kenta kept probing.
“Yeah,” I replied, same as before.
“You like me?”
“Maybe.”
“Huh?”
“Huh?”
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