The soft hum of refrigeration units filled the air, the sterile glow of fluorescent lights flickering faintly above. Akio moved down the grocery aisle with a basket hooked neatly over one arm, the picture of composure. His errands were nearly complete. Bread, tea, sugar, cream—check. All that was left was dish soap.

  He paused briefly in the biscuit aisle and reached for a familiar box of butterscotch biscuits, turning it over in his hand before dropping it gently into the basket. These were Gabriel’s favorite. He figured he’d drop by later, check in, maybe leave them on the counter if Gabriel was still asleep. The thought softened him for a moment, pulling a faint, private smile to his lips.

  He turned into the next aisle, eyes scanning the shelves filled with an assortment of cleaning supplies—and froze.

  Standing dead center in front of the dish soap display was… a goose.

  A large, white feathered, orange beaked, chaos incarnate goose.

  Its beady black eyes locked onto him with a level of intensity that suggested it knew things—ancient, terrible things—and perhaps that it was considering sharing them through violence.

  Akio blinked once, twice, very calmly. His posture remained straight, his face composed, though every muscle in his body had gone taut.

  Why is there a goose in the grocery store?

  The goose tilted its head. It honked softly—just once—but it was the kind of honk that carried meaning. Power. Threat. Akio’s fingers tightened slightly around the handle of the basket. He wasn’t afraid, of course. That would be irrational. It was just… respect. A healthy awareness of avian unpredictability. Completely reasonable. Nothing to worry about.

  The goose took a step closer.

  Akio didn’t move. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though calculating trajectory, wind speed, and potential escape routes. He glanced left, spotting a teenage grocery clerk mopping lazily near the aisle.

  “Excuse me,” Akio said, his tone as even and polite as if he were asking for a price check. “There’s a goose in the store.”

  The teen looked up, took out one headphone, and followed his gaze. The goose was now pecking methodically at a bottle of lemon scented detergent.

  “Oh yeah, that’s Gary,” the teen said with a shrug, “He comes in sometimes. Likes the tiles. He’s pretty chill.”

  Then he just… walked away.

  Akio stared after him, unblinking. Then back at Gary. The goose had moved on to knocking over sponges, one by one, clearly for sport. He exhaled slowly through his nose.

  “Chill,” he repeated under his breath. “Right.”

  He crouched down with deliberate calm, as though not to startle the creature. His eyes flicked to a fallen sponge nearby. He picked it up, weighed it in his hand like a man preparing to throw a grenade, and nodded to himself. It would have to do.

  With perfect aim and the steady hand of a trained professional, he tossed the sponge.

  Thunk.

  The sponge hit Gary squarely in the side. The goose honked indignantly, flapped twice, and retreated half a meter—then immediately stepped forward again. It stared at the sponge. Then, with malicious intent, picked it up in its beak and began smacking it against the shelf.

  Akio flinched, almost imperceptibly. His calm expression did not falter, but his eyes betrayed something close to quiet despair.

  This would be so much easier in gear, he thought grimly. One clean shot, from a safe distance. Problem solved. Goose neutralized.

  But alas—he was not the Dawn Hound right now. He was just a man in a grocery store with a basket full of biscuits and too much dignity to lose a standoff with poultry.

  Akio was still calculating his next move when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He looked up and, to his quiet dismay, saw none other than Damien strolling toward him, a grocery basket hooked effortlessly over one arm. Of course. Even in a grocery store, the man moved like he was walking onto a stage. The worst part was that Akio could already see the flicker of recognition in his eyes—the inevitable spark of rivalry that lit whenever they crossed paths. He could practically feel Damien’s unspoken judgment radiating off him.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  And now, with a goose between him and the dish soap, Akio absolutely refused to let Damien realize he was losing this particular standoff.

  “Ah, Damien,” Akio said smoothly, voice calm and measured as if this were perfectly normal. “What a coincidence running into you here.”

  Damien arched an eyebrow as he approached, his tone dry. “If your goal was to stand there and block the aisle, you’ve succeeded magnificently.”

  Akio smiled faintly. “Just assessing the local wildlife.”

  Damien gave a dismissive wave, not yet noticing the feathered threat ahead. “I don’t have time for your nonsense. Move.”

  Akio stepped aside, posture relaxed, hiding his relief behind a carefully neutral expression. Damien brushed past him, striding forward with confidence—only to stop mid step. His gaze landed on the goose. His expression froze. Slowly, his eyes flicked from the bird to the shelf of misplaced dish soap, then back again.

  “...Why,” Damien said at last, voice dead flat, “is there a goose in the grocery store?”

  “Apparently,” Akio replied from a safe distance, “his name’s Gary. Staff says he’s a regular.”

  Damien stood still for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, with the slow inevitability of shared misfortune, he took a single step back until he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Akio again. His arms crossed.

  “This is absurd,” Damien muttered, his tone cuttingly dry. “Birds should never be allowed to inconvenience convenience stores.”

  Akio smirked. “Afraid of a goose?”

  Damien scoffed. “As if. I could easily eliminate this creature if I desired.”

  Akio gestured toward the aisle, perfectly deadpan. “Go ahead. The floor’s yours.”

  Damien’s jaw twitched. “Not right now.”

  Akio’s smirk deepened. “So you’re lying.”

  “No. I’m cautious.”

  “Reframing it doesn’t change the truth.”

  Damien shot him a sideways glance, his lips curved faintly. “Well then, Avenis, if you’re so brave—please. Be my guest.”

  Akio looked toward the goose. Gary was now trying to jump onto the bottom shelf, wings flapping as several bottles tumbled to the floor. Akio could feel Damien’s smug gaze on him. He didn’t move.

  “You do realize,” he began calmly, “geese are direct descendants of Anseriformes—one of the few avian groups to survive the K–Pg extinction. They’ve had sixty five million years to perfect aggression.”

  “Exactly,” Damien said, folding his arms with academic pride. “They’ve remained unchanged since the Pleistocene. That kind of evolutionary stagnation only comes from apex efficiency.”

  “Or lack of ambition.”

  “You’re insulting perfection.”

  “You’re defending poultry.”

  “Statistically,” Damien said, “goose related injuries outnumber shark attacks per year.”

  “Yes,” Akio replied evenly, “because sharks have the decency to stay in the ocean.”

  A sharp honk interrupted them both. Their attention snapped forward. Gary had successfully climbed onto the display shelf and now sat triumphantly atop the pile of fallen products like a conquering monarch. He fluffed his feathers, spread his wings, and honked again—a declaration of victory.

  Damien’s eyes narrowed. “Pretentious feathered narcissist.”

  Akio didn’t miss a beat. “Are you projecting?”

  Damien turned sharply toward him. “Why would I ever want to be this low level, bird brained creature?”

  Akio huffed faintly. “You were just calling it perfection.”

  Damien smirked. “Now who’s projecting?”

  More bottles clattered to the ground as Gary continued his reign of chaos. Akio and Damien stood there in silence, two grown men staring at a goose as though it were a puzzle beyond comprehension. Then, from the far end of the aisle, a woman in a store uniform appeared. She stopped, blinking once at the sight of Gary, before breaking into a fond smile.

  “Oh, Gary! There you are, cutie!” she cooed, stepping forward without hesitation. “Look at the mess you made again, huh?”

  The two of them watched in stunned silence as she approached the goose and simply scooped him into her arms. Gary honked affectionately, flapping his wings as if apologizing. The woman hummed cheerfully, one arm steadying the bird while the other effortlessly rearranged the bottles back onto the display. When she was finished, she gave the goose a little pat.

  “Come on, let’s get you back outside.”

  Without a second thought, she walked off with Gary in her arms, the honks fading down the aisle until they disappeared completely.

  Akio blinked once. Then again. The aisle was pristine now, spotless, as if the chaos had never happened. The world had returned to order. He was free to get the dish soap.

  He glanced sideways. Damien’s expression was unreadable, but the faint tension around his mouth said everything Akio needed to know—they were both relieved and both deeply, painfully aware of how ridiculous this entire ordeal had been. Their eyes met, and a rare, wordless understanding passed between them.

  “We’re never speaking of this again,” Damien said evenly.

  “Agreed,” Akio replied without hesitation.

  He stepped forward, finally reclaiming his original mission. His eyes scanned the neatly restocked shelf—rows upon rows of colorful bottles. After a moment of deliberation, he reached for one labeled Citrus Rain. Clean, sharp, understated. Very him.

  As he turned, he caught sight of Damien doing the same on the other side of the aisle, holding a bottle with an unnecessarily elaborate label that read Black Orchid Twilight.

  Akio raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

  “Dramatic choice,” he said. “Smells like it’s trying too hard.”

  Damien glanced at his bottle, then back at Akio, his expression smug.

  “At least mine has personality,” he said smoothly. “Unlike your… lemon scented mediocrity.”

  Akio’s eyes gleamed, his smirk deepening as he started toward the register. “I’ll take practicality over theatrics any day.”

  “Ah,” Damien replied, following him with his usual unbothered grace, “so blandness is a lifestyle choice, then.”

  Their voices faded into easy, argumentative rhythm as they walked, their debate on fragrances dissolving into a quiet back and forth about citrus plants and flower oils. Somewhere in the distance, a faint honk echoed from outside the store—one final salute from Gary, the victor of the dish soap aisle.

  ─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─

  Yoru / Lyla