Rin is very thorough about the story they come up with if the doctors inquire about the nature of her injuries. She makes Sato repeat the story, discouraging him from adding more details. Only liars provide meticulous answers, she tells him. It earns her a look that makes her think that she's grown two extra heads.

"Got involved in a hit-and-run," she reiterates, making Sato roll his eyes in exasperation, "You found me and drove me here. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less. You're the good samaritan, and I'm the poor victim."

The ED is partly full. A doctor barely looks Rin in the eye while he checks her shoulder. However, all the staff and the patients turn their heads when Sato rushes in. The whispers are audible, and the stares are heavy. Against their best wishes and obligated by laws, the doctor and nurse draw the curtains around the bay Rin has been shoved into.

After she gives them her registration number, the doctor informs her, "We'll have to pop your shoulder back in its place."

Joy. What a fantastic way to end her night.

When Sato insists on sitting beside her, one of the young nurses wedges herself between him and the bay area. "Sir, what is your relationship with the Sergeant?" She demands.

"Oh, he just found me—"

"Friends," he cuts Rin off firmly. "We're close friends—childhood friends, in fact." Rin's frozen expression cracks only when he shoots her his full-beam grin. She doesn't know why he's lied to such a magnitude but still manages a wobbly yet convincing smile.

The nurse blinks in surprise but leaves them be. Instead of a stress ball, Sato offers Rin his (non-dominant) hand as moral support. When the doctor cracks her shoulder back in place, Rin's vision goes white. She's pretty sure she goes deaf for a moment as well before the pain begins. The strangled cry from her lips throws Sato off. He clutches her hand tighter, murmuring repeatedly that he's here and that it's okay.

The doctor frowns. He nods at the nurse who guides Sato out of the bay with a firm 'Sir, if you will come this way.'

"May I?" The doctor asks, gesturing at Rin's black t-shirt. His frown deepens when he lifts the fabric. There's blue-black bruising, and Rin knows the path the doctor's mind is taking. "Sergeant," he says gently, "I'm obliged to ask. Would you like us to call anyone? If...this injury was intentional..."

"It wasn't." She sounds too defensive and angry. The doctor's heart is in the right place, but accusing Sato of something like this doesn't sit well with Rin.

"The blunt force trauma on your ribs cannot happen from being hit by a vehicle." He lowers his voice and assures her, "This is a safe space, Sergeant. You're protected. I know it is difficult, but please, do not hesitate to ask for help."

Rin musters a smile. "Kenji isn't capable of thinking about anything other than baseball," she says, "I'm fortunate that it was him who found me. Thank you for your concern, Doctor, but he isn't the one who did this to me."

Fifteen minutes after being passed through several machines, Rin is given ample painkillers and a shoulder brace. When a nurse tells her that she'll need at least six weeks to recover and about two weeks of medical leave from work, it's like music to her ears. The spring in her step, when they leave the hospital, makes Kenji scowl.

Gesticulating heavily, he exclaims, "You will not believe the questions they asked me."

"I can." She nods. "They asked me the same."

"Well, what did you tell them!?"

"That you're not the type to get violent with a woman—"

He freezes mid-step. "What," his voice goes up a pitch, "are you talking about?"

They stare at each other for a long stretch of silence, neither moving even a hair's breadth. Then Rin looks away and clears her throat. "Can you drive me home?" she asks. I can call myself a taxi if you can't."

Kenji drags out a dramatic sigh and points at the parking lot. Rin gives verbal instructions on how to get to her apartment. Her street is narrow and cramped, with just enough space for Kenji's car to drive through. He squints at the overabundance of (now mostly closed) stores, neon signs, windows, and balconies—all squeezed into one lane, stacked one on top of another. There are still a few ramen carts and an old diner open with their lights on. Through the wide glass windows, they see the owner of the antique store fanning himself while watching TV at the counter. There are three customers inside the 24x7 laundromat, one of whom is reading at a table.

Kenji inclines over the steering wheel, gaping up through the windshield. He obviously has several questions as they come to a halt in front of her landlady's fried chicken store.

"This is where you live?" He blurts as Rin tries to twist and turn to unbuckle her seatbelt.

She stops struggling and glances at him. "No need to mock my lower-middle-classness."

"What—no, no, no, no," Kenji panics, waving his arms to refute her allegations. "I wasn't mocking. It wasn't mockery in any form. It was just...an observation. I was only observing. Out loud." He hesitantly holds her gaze and watches her return to fumble with the seatbelt. Without another word, Kenji leans across, invading Rin's personal space. For the fraction of time he's unbearably close to her, Rin stops breathing.

It's been some time since a man's come this close to her. Sato Kenji is obnoxiously handsome, and Rin isn't broken enough not to acknowledge that. But she mostly stops breathing because his cologne is overwhelming.

Kenji unbuckles her seatbelt for her, still preoccupied with scrutinising a ramen bar across them. He doesn't notice Rin mumbling thanks until the door slams shut and she flees. He steps out after her, both keenly aware that her landlady has her cheek pressed against her store window, watching them like a hawk.

"Do...you need any help?" Kenji asks unsurely.

Rin pauses and frowns over her shoulder, "I don't walk using my arms."

"No," he rolls his eyes, "like, around your house."

She stands at the foot of the staircase entrance, sensing the enormous waves of curiosity coming from her landlady. "No, thank you." When he doesn't look convinced, Rin sighs, "Really, Kenji. Thank you for offering, but you have other, more important things to focus on. I'm quite capable of getting by."

The use of his first name with such casualness doesn't fluster or startle him. But there's a little bit of triumph on his mouth anyway. "Okay," Kenji nods, "Um...in case you need anything, feel free to call me any time. Except when I'm in the middle of a game. Or, you know, training. Or with the baby. Actually—"

Rin cuts him off, eager to go to bed, "I'll call Mina. Don't worry. Good night, Kenji. Drive safe."

They don't move from their spots—both waiting for the other to leave first. Rin adjusts her shoulder brace. Kenji brushes off invisible dust from the car bonnet. The landlady sighs in disappointment when she isn't served the melodrama she wants and turns off her store light.

"You know," Kenji breaks the silence between them, "Only my parents call me Kenji."

"Is that so?" Rin hums, turns towards the stairs, and leaves.

By the time she's unlocked her door, taken off her shoes, and hobbled to the window, Kenji's car is long gone.

The following week consists of the best days of Rin's life. She has friends who rush over, fussing and fretting. Her landlady brings her food. Her colleagues insist that she take a few more days off. A kind neighbour offers to take out her trash, and another does her grocery run for her. It's oddly addictive, having no responsibilities and being taken care of. Even when she has other people doing things for her, Rin has never felt more in control of her life.

She takes longer showers, spends more time lying in bed, eats at her leisure, and stares out of her balcony, down at the passersby.

Not to mention, there's radio silence from her parents' end. Neither of her brothers bothers to call her as well. Life has never been more...serendipitous.

It hurts, of course, to move and do insignificant chores. But the trade-off is so outrageously amazing that Rin finds herself secretly wishing that Baby had shattered her arm instead.

"What am I thinking," she chides herself the second the thought crosses her mind, "I could've had permanent damage." Rin doesn't think about worsening her condition again.

She keeps up with Kenji's games out of curiosity and to catch up with how he's doing. He's never played more disastrously in his career. Rin almost believes that her watching him play has jinxed him. But she sees the bags under his eyes on the large screen and watches him struggle to run the lap (she doesn't know what it's called), and concludes that he's living off coffee fumes and sheer tenacity while trying to handle raising Baby. She feels bad upon hearing the commentary and reading the newspaper. Every day is a new slanderous headline featuring Kenji's face.

Mina video calls her once in a while so that Rin can reassure Baby that she's recovering and that she'll be back for more playdates really soon.

Kenji, on the other hand, sends her voice messages and video recordings. They often range from a five-minute report of how Baby's been doing to a brief video of her learning how to wave or clap to a rhythm. Kenji rarely mentions his career or how bleak his game is. Instead, at the end of every message, without fail, he asks how she's doing. The asks turn into demands when she replies with short sentences, which, after consulting with Watanabe, she learns sound flat and distant.

She arrives at HQ at the end of her leave one day, a few hours before her colleagues shoo her back home. They gasp and whisper, trading theories on how it could've happened. Rin isn't aware that outside their cabin, a few officers have already started discussing that it was Ken Sato who brought her to the hospital.

"So," she frowns deeply, having shared her concerns about Kenji's messages with her senior, "What exactly does he expect me to say?"

Watanabe fiddles with the air conditioner settings. "Tell your friend about your day!" he says, like it's obvious. She hasn't told him who her friend is. Or why he's contacting her. "Honestly, Ryuzaki, how did you manage to have friends and boyfriends?"

"That's different."

Her friends have known her since university. They're well acquainted with her ticks and icks, and her social ineptness. The men she had attracted over the years, on the other hand, were all into the kuudere type. (She had to deeply research that phrase the first time she had heard it, thinking it was some slur or expletive city kids used).

"Senpai," Flying Officer Mori sighs, looking up from his desk. "Have you considered the possibility that they're asking for updates because you're hurt?"

"Really?"

"Good grief," Watanabe grumbles, "They need to fix the AC. It's like they don't give a hoot about our department."

The three jump a little when Flight Sergeant Nagato slams his palm flat on his desk. "Hey, Ryuzaki," he spins around on his swivel chair, pointing a highlighter at her, "You wanna tell us why Logistics is talking about you and former Dodgers' player Ken Sato?"

"What?" The men gasp. The AC remote slips from Watanabe's grasp. Mori pushes his swivel chair towards Rin until their armrests collide. "Go on," he prods, "Tell us."

"No," she shoves him to his desk.

He slides back to her, "You really want me to believe gossip over the source?"

Watanabe clears his throat harshly. He covers his mouth with his fist, but Rin cuts him off before he can speak. "If you try to coerce me into answering, it'll count as an abuse of power."

"I wasn't going to coerce you," Watanabe sucks in a breath, offended, "I was going to say 'please, please, tell me' and then shoot you with my pitiful sad face that not even my daughters can say no to." He does just that. Raises his eyes, somehow making them glossier, and downturns the corners of his mouth. He resembles a puppy.

Rin averts her eyes. "If I tell you," she says, "do you promise never to make that face again?" Even Mori and Nagato cringe at his expression.

"Depends," Watanabe bats his eyelids.

"Please, stop doing that."

The men give her every shred of their attention, forgetting the projects and deadlines and the training course starting in the next ten minutes. This is the most excitement they've had since Doctor Onda walked in on one of the engineers doing an impression of him on the tarmac.

Rin could see why her colleagues were so enthusiastic to get her to talk. She was aware of her unusual quietness and aloof attitude. Everyone she knew growing up treated her like she was only just discovering humanity and their pastimes. While that was true in the case of pop culture references and current affairs, Rin hadn't exactly enjoyed the feeling of alienation. She had tried to keep up, to speak more, to smile and laugh more. She wasn't a psychopath or even a sociopath, as her psych eval had reported. But still. Something just...hadn't clicked inside her.

Unfortunately, Rin couldn't afford to stress about it while growing up. Her parents and half-brothers had demanded her attention for years. These traits had, in a way, helped her to cope.

"Kenji and I—"

Mori leans over to Watanabe and giggles behind his palm, "She said Kenji."

Rin's mouth presses into a thin, unimpressed line. He coughs and shrinks back into his chair. "Kenji and I were childhood friends," she fibs because who knew what the hospital had blabbed about her, "We reconnected recently. We're not that close. But he drove me to the hospital when I got hurt."

"Wait a second," Watanabe gapes at her, "Is this the 'friend' you were asking me about? He's keeping tabs on you because you're hurt?"

She blinks.

In unison, he and Mori go 'aww' in a tune that makes her arm feel itchy. Nagato, on the other hand, glances at his phone again. He reads the group chat—gossip his coursemates sent him, no doubt—and asks, "So, he didn't beat you up?"

Rin's temper skyrockets at once. The men wince at her furious scowl. "Stop spreading that," she snaps, making them shudder, "The doctors were rightly worried, yes, but chitchatting about my life and medical condition is a violation of my right to privacy. Not to mention, it's slander that Kenji does not need right now."

Her colleagues bow their heads repeatedly, even Watanabe, apologising. "Of course," Mori puffs his chest proudly, "I never doubted Sato. He's so amazing. He's like—"

"Completely garbage on the field?" Nagato offers dryly. He shakes his head disapprovingly, "He's bringing his Americanness into Japanese baseball. The Giants have never been this bad. And god, do you remember his presscon? Bastard was so cocky."

Mori instantly takes offence. "Hey!" He exclaims, "He needs time to adjust."

Amidst their argument, Watanabe nudges Rin. "If he's worried," he tells her gently, "then the least you can do is let him know. Friends take care of each other. You know that."

Over the weekend, Rin finishes her routine early to visit Kenji, Mina, and Baby Kaiju. Cooking with one hand takes a lot of time but she manages to put together a bento box that would last a day or two. Given how much he's running around, trying to manage everything, Kenji might not have time to eat properly, even though he has an AI who can get him anything he wants. In her hurry, Rin misses the fact that he has a game today.

Mina welcomes her with a warmth that nearly convinces Rin that the AI is actually a flying spherical ship being operated by a tiny person inside. She extends a mechanical arm for a fist bump and simultaneously scans Rin's arm.

"I am glad that your shoulder is recovering," she says, "Ken was concerned about you, but the last few messages you sent him put him at ease. He's at the Dome for another match today. Would you like some tea while we wait?"

Rin nods, offering the bento box. "I brought some food for him. I thought he might need it."

Mina takes the box, her artificial face displaying gratitude. "That's very thoughtful of you. I'll make sure he gets it."

While Mina prepares tea, Rin heads downstairs. In her containment unit (maybe Rin should start calling it a playpen), Baby Kaiju is busy running one of Kenji's cars in circles like it's Hot Wheels. She picks it up with both hands and rattles it, giggling and chirping.

"Someone's having fun," Rin says, walking towards her.

Baby snaps her head up. She rocks back and forth in excitement, nearly throwing the car away, and hops to her feet. She slaps her palms against the glass wall, stomping her feet thrice. Mina lowers the walls, and Baby rushes over to her. However, when she's close enough to see Rin's shoulder brace, her ear fins droop, and she stops short. She chitters sadly, bending her knees and holding her hands together.

Rin points at her injury, "Oh, this? Don't worry about it. The doctor said I'm okay. In a few weeks, I'll be able to play more with you. Now, has your dad shown you what sock puppets are? Mina, can you help me with this, please? I'm a little short on limbs."

The adorably pink creature brightens up, making a cooing noise that fills the room. She watches Rin and Mina intently, clapping along to the songs the AI plays. She projects Kenji's old games from when he was in LA when Baby begins to sniffle for him. Baby Kaiju giggles and hops, mimicking a dance from one of the children's shows they watched earlier. Rin can't help but laugh and cheer her on while Mina does the choreography with her. For a brief thirty minutes, they fixate on the fish swimming past the basement windows (can they be called windows? Rin doesn't know the exact word). Though, to be honest, it's Rin who is more taken by the colourful shoals that pass them by.

Kenji walks in, weary and aggravated, after Baby loses interest in Mina and Rin. He drags his feet through the front door, pausing when he spots Rin in his expansive living room. She's watching the sun set over the bay while Mina hums a small conversation.

"Here to throw me a pity party?" Kenji snaps, his tone sharp.

"What?" Rin turns around in surprise. "Oh. No. I thought I'd come over to see how you're doing. I was with—"

He scoffs, flinging his baseball cap across the floor. "Hold that thought, yeah?" He refuses to look at her and makes his way to the elevator. "It's feeding time."

Kenji disappears. A few seconds later, the ground trembles. Twenty minutes later, he reappears smelling of fish.

"Kenji—"

Baby's screeching cries effectively cut off Rin from the basement. Mina flashes an emergency red. Rubbing his temple, Kenji waves Rin off. "Can't talk. I need to clean up her vomit." His curt dismissal stings, but Rin bites her tongue.

Another thirty minutes pass. When Rin goes back downstairs to check, she finds the basement empty. She sits in Kenji's room, overlooking the rest of the basement. Not wanting to intrude too much, Rin squeezes herself on one end of the curved sofa and takes as little space as possible. Her gaze wanders over the numerous Power Rangers figurines and comic books lining the display shelves. A few minutes later, Mina hovers down first. When Ultraman bangs his fist on the glass windows, she quietly opens the hatch separating the basement from the ocean. Kenji rushes in with a wave of water, hugging a sleeping