As a weirdo, I like being a Kamen Rider.

Chapter 75 Daily Life

The warm yellow light from the barbecue restaurant shone through the condensation-covered glass windows, casting a blurry halo on the wet street.

The shop was filled with smoke, and the sizzling beef on the hot plate, mixed with the aroma of caramelized sauce, filled the entire small shop.

"Cheers!"

Four glasses clinked together, beer foam spilling onto the table. Takahiro Omuro frantically tried to wipe it up with his sleeve, only to be slapped on the back of the hand by Sumiko Ozawa: "Use a rag, not your sleeve! You still have to wear this uniform tomorrow."

Omuro shrank back, letting her laugh as she went to get a rag. Hikawa Makoto, unusually not in his uniform, had changed into a dark gray hoodie. His hair, without gel, hung limply over his forehead, making him look several years younger than usual. He held a beer glass, his fingers still trembling slightly—a physiological reaction from the muscles after intense combat, not tension.

Lin Chen noticed it.

But he didn't say anything; he simply picked up the serving chopsticks and began placing slices of perfectly grilled beef from the hot plate, one by one, into Bingchuan's bowl.

Bingchuan stared at the pile of meat in the bowl for a moment, then smiled and said, "Mr. Lin Chen, I can't eat that much."

"You've used up a lot of energy today," Lin Chen said succinctly, continuing to grill the meat.

Sumiko Ozawa took a big gulp of beer, and when she put the glass down, foam stuck to her upper lip. She wiped it off with her sleeve without a care, took a pen from her pocket, and pulled out a napkin to lay on the table.

"Look, this is G3-X's energy output curve for today." She dipped her chopsticks in sauce and drew a wavy waveform on a napkin. "From the start to the end of the battle, it remained consistently above 85% of its optimal output range. Glacier, do you know what that means?"

Bingchuan Cheng put down his chopsticks and shook his head seriously.

"That means you've reached almost 90% of the theoretical limit of the G3-X today. My maximum design load is 92%, and 100% is the theoretical value. You've achieved 89% today."

9

She put down her chopsticks and looked at Bingchuan Cheng with unusual seriousness: "You've improved a lot."

Bingchuan Cheng looked down at his still trembling fingers. He clenched his fist, and the trembling in his knuckles slowly subsided.

"It wasn't my doing," he said.

Ozawa raised an eyebrow.

"It's all thanks to Mr. Lin Chen's excellent teaching." Bingchuan Cheng turned his head to look at Lin Chen, who was flipping the roasting beef. "The things you taught me, like predicting the center of gravity shift and the shoulder angle when extending the leg, are excellent."

"The meat is almost burnt," Lin Chen interrupted.

Bingchuan Cheng shut his mouth. He watched Lin Chen flip the grilled meat over, his movements unhurried. But his hand paused very slightly as he flipped the meat. Bingchuan saw that momentary pause.

Ozawa tapped his fingers lightly on the table, a slight smile playing on his lips, before quickly hardening his expression: "Anyway, I'll write tomorrow's mission report. Hikawa, get some rest. Ostomach, give me the G3-X maintenance list tonight."

"Huh? Tonight?" Omuro's face fell.

"Then tomorrow morning at eight o'clock."

"Thank you, Director Ozawa!"

"Before midnight tonight."

"Director Ozawa!!"

Bingchuan Cheng laughed. After laughing, he picked up his beer and raised his glass to Lin Chen.

"Mr. Lin Chen, this toast is for you."

He didn't say what he wanted to toast. Lin Chen picked up his own glass and gently clinked it against his. The crisp, short sound of glass colliding was drowned out by the sizzling of the metal plate and the groans from the tail section.

The dinner party ended at 11:40. Ozawa had drunk the most, and his steps were unsteady. He was muttering, "We need to recalibrate the neural connection synchronization rate tomorrow," and he was being supported by Omuro as he walked ahead.

Hikawa Makoto stopped at the base entrance and turned around. The automatic door slid open behind him, letting in cold, white light.

"Mr. Lin Chen," he called out to Lin Chen, who was about to mount his motorcycle, "I wouldn't have been able to find that weakness under his jaw today if you hadn't been there."

Lin Chen put on his helmet, rolled down the windshield, and used his knee to push open the support. The engine roared, startling a crow on a telephone pole.

"You typed it yourself."

The red taillights trailed an arc as they disappeared around the street corner in the direction of Shinjuku. Hikawa Makoto stood there, looking down at his hands. His fingers had stopped trembling.

Shinjuku was much quieter at night than during the day. Lin Chen rode his motorcycle through the empty streets, the cold wind blowing through the gaps in his helmet. As he turned into the alley where the noodle shop was located, the headlights illuminated the condensation on the glass door.

Lin Chen gently pushed open the side door, and the warmth from the heater wafted out, carrying the lingering aroma of pork bone broth that had been simmering all day. Xiao Xue was asleep, slumped over the counter.

She was wearing pink pajamas, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a badly chewed colored pencil was pressed under her face. Scattered around her were three or four drawings, all depicting the same person—a man in black, holding hands with a little girl. One was only half-finished; the sun wasn't even finished being colored. Another had a curled corner, patched up with clear tape.

She's painted many pictures like this lately. Since giving away the first one, she's painted one every few days; some she gave to Lin Chen, and some she kept for herself. Grandpa Sato even joked with her the other day, "Xiaoxue's going to cover the whole wall with them!"

Lin Chen walked over very quietly. She was still asleep, her breathing soft and even, a trace of drool hanging from the corner of her mouth, glistening in the orange glow of the heater.

Next to the cash register at the counter, there was a small wooden photo frame. The edges still had a rough, hand-polished feel. Inside the frame was a photograph—Lin Chen squatting down to take Xiao Xue's drawing, Xiao Xue tiptoing to pat the flour off his shoulder. It was taken a week ago by Nakamura Yuko with a digital camera.

He didn't know he was being photographed. He also didn't know when the old man had the photos developed and placed here.

Lin Chen stared at the photo frame for a long time. Then he looked away, hung his coat on the hanger, and tied on his apron.

He washed the dishes and utensils in the sink, wiped the grease off the stove three times, and mopped the floor. After doing all this, he took off his apron, folded it neatly, and placed it on top of the refrigerator.

Then he walked to the counter and squatted down. Xiaoxue was still asleep; a colored pencil had rolled off her face and onto the counter. Lin Chen reached out and brushed the stray hairs from her forehead, and she stirred groggily.

"Brother Chen is back————"

Lin Chen's hand froze in mid-air. She wasn't awake; she was talking in her sleep.

He draped his coat, which had fallen to the ground, over her shoulders, supported her back with one hand, and lifted her gently by the back of her knees with the other. She was as light as a falling leaf.

He took each step carefully as he went upstairs, trying not to make a sound on the wooden stairs. Xiaoxue snuggled closer to him, her fingers instinctively gripping the collar of his T-shirt tightly.

Grandpa said—Brother Chen will always be here—

Lin Chen paused for a moment. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, then relaxed, and a smile appeared on her lips.

She was clutching an orange-flavored milk candy in her hand; the wrapper was crumpled, and most of the orange pattern printed on the plastic packaging had been worn away.

He had gotten it from the children's group chat that afternoon and put it in his pocket. Before she fell asleep, she took the candy out again and clutched it in her palm.

Lin Chen didn't speak. He carried Xiaoxue to the end of the second-floor corridor. He pushed open the sliding door to the children's room, and moonlight streamed in through the window, casting soft patches of light on the floor. The walls were covered with her drawings from this period—the earliest ones had peeling edges and had been patched up several times with transparent tape. In the corner of each drawing, there was a man in black and a little girl holding hands.

Lin Chen gently placed her on the tatami mat and pulled the blanket over her. Xiao Xue's hand was still clutching his collar; she turned over and let go. He tucked the blanket in, stood by the bed for a moment, then turned and left the room, closing the sliding door with a two-finger gap.

He leaned against the wall in the hallway. The hallway was unlit, save for a sliver of light drifting up from the kitchen. Steam rose from the fireplace downstairs, mingling with the aroma of pork bone soup that had been simmering all day.

He stood there for a long time.

The second hand of the wall clock ticked round and round. The last embers of the firewood in the stove burned down to ashes in the hearth, making a soft clattering sound. The old man was already fast asleep in the inner room; his soft snoring could be heard through the paper door. The old man's sleep was becoming increasingly light; he was often awakened in the middle of the night by the meowing of cats in the alley. He would slip on his slippers, walk to the window, and only after confirming that there was nothing amiss downstairs would he lie back down.

Lin Chen then slowly went upstairs and returned to his room.

The room was small. There was a book next to the pillow, an old novel that Ichiro Suzuki had brought him last week, with a bookmark stuck in the middle, and it hadn't been turned for several days.

He lay down on the bed, but did not close his eyes.

A gust of wind picked up outside the window. The late autumn night wind swept through the alley, making the trash can on the street corner shake a few times, producing a dull thud. Leaves and dust rustled against the windowpane.

He mentally reviewed the speed of the Battlefish Venerable, the reaction time of the Glacier, and the performance of the G3-X in the rain.

Although this world did not have Agito, it accelerated the birth of G3-X.

Lin Chen turned over and picked up the Orga phone next to his pillow. The cold metal casing was warmed by his palm.

He put it back next to his pillow.

As dawn broke, the grey-blue morning light seeped through the gaps in the curtains, drawing a thin line of light on the floor. Sparrows in the alley began to chirp on the power lines, their calls growing louder and louder.

Lin Chen opened his eyes. He had slept unexpectedly soundly that night, not even waking up when the milk delivery truck drove by downstairs. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and a corner of his hair sticks up from being pressed down by the pillow.

I could hear Grandpa Sato opening and closing the refrigerator downstairs, followed by the rhythm of chopping scallions. Tap, tap, tap, one stroke at a time, neither too fast nor too slow.

Lin Chen put on a white T-shirt and jeans. He went to the bathroom, washed his face with cold water, and pressed his unruly hair back down.

I looked no different in the mirror than I did yesterday.

He dried his face and pushed open the door. The aroma of miso soup already filled the hallway.

It was just another ordinary day.