In a world where a single glance can condemn you and a kind heart is easily mistaken for a threat, Gouda Takeo has long accepted his fate. Two meters tall and built like a fortress, he's used to the fearful stares, the empty seats, and the children who cry at the sight of him. But when he saves a delicate girl from a molester on a packed train—only to flee before she can even learn his name—Takeo's life is set on a collision course with a misunderstanding of epic proportions.
Because the girl h
My Love Story!! Beyond the Misunderstanding - Gorilla Eats an Angel's Cake
The air after school had a different color than usual.
April was drawing to a close, and the evening sunlight fell soft and warm, dyeing the town orange. Gouda Takeo walked out the front gate of Shuei High School and headed, as always, down the road toward Minatosaka Station. Two meters tall, a hundred and twenty kilos. His massive frame, clad in a custom-made navy blazer in size 4L, caught the setting sun at his back and cast a long shadow across the asphalt.
(Today, I'm going straight home.)
He'd decided that in his heart.
Yesterday, Yamato Rinko had given him handmade cookies in the classroom. Ever since that day, his head had felt strange. Even during class, that chestnut hair would surface at odd moments. Those big brown eyes, gazing straight up at him.
(Stop it. What am I even thinking, a guy like me.)
Takeo shook his head.
Yamato liked Sunakawa Makoto. That day, when Suna had appeared in the classroom, Rinko had greeted him politely too. That's what it meant. He'd been through this same thing three times already in his life. Every girl he fell for ended up falling for Suna. This time would be no different.
(I know. I know that.)
His feet stopped on their own.
Before he realized it, he was standing in the station-front redevelopment district. In front of him stood a stylish, glass-fronted shop. On the white wall, gold lettering read "Patisserie Lumiere." Three minutes on foot from the station's east exit. One of the few Western confectioneries in Minatosaka City capable of proper French pastry.
(Why the hell did I come here?)
Even he didn't know the reason.
Yamato Rinko worked part-time at this shop. He'd learned that from the messages they'd exchanged that day. *Thank you for helping me earlier. I'm Yamato Rinko.* In the end, Takeo had never managed to reply to that message.
(Came all the way here with no business at all.)
A few evening shoppers walked past the front of the shop. Through the glass, he could see a display case lined with cakes in every color. Strawberry shortcake, chocolate tart, yellow lemon pie. Every one of them sparkled like a jewel.
(Not a place that suits me.)
Thinking that, he turned to leave.
That was when it happened.
Deep inside the shop—through the gap of the door leading to the kitchen—he caught sight of a girl.
Soft chestnut hair falling to her shoulders. Wearing a white chef's coat, she was making something with a serious expression. In her hands, a silver bowl and a whisk. No hand mixer—she was whipping the cream by hand.
It was Yamato Rinko.
Her profile was more serious than any expression he'd ever seen on her, and yet, somehow, she looked like she was enjoying herself. Her fluffy hair tips swayed in the air-conditioning. Her big, round brown eyes were fixed intently on the cream in the bowl.
*Ba-dump.*
Something deep in his chest throbbed hard.
(C-cute...)
Takeo thought his heartbeat might actually be audible through the glass.
(She's making cake so seriously. Incredible focus. Yamato really is amazing.)
Just then, Rinko looked up.
Those big eyes caught sight of Takeo standing beyond the glass. For an instant, they went wide with surprise. Then, like a flower bursting into bloom, her whole face lit up in a smile.
Rinko set down the whisk and waved her small hand vigorously.
"Takeo-kun!"
He couldn't hear her voice. But he could tell from the shape of her lips that she'd called his name.
Takeo tried to flee.
(Oh crap. She spotted me.)
His body started to turn away. But his feet wouldn't move. It was like roots had grown into the ground.
Rinko poked her head out the shop entrance. Still in her white chef's coat, apron on, chestnut hair swaying, she trotted over to him.
"Takeo-kun, hello. What's going on? Were you just walking past the shop?"
She looked up toward his chest and tilted her head. Her small frame—barely five feet—looked like a little bird standing before the two-meter Takeo.
"O-oh... no, I just, uh, happened to be passing by..."
Takeo's gaze darted everywhere. He was embarrassed to have his gorilla face seen in such a bright place. The cakes in the display case looked unbearably dazzling.
"If you'd like, come inside. We're making a test cake right now. I'd love for you to try it, Takeo-kun."
Rinko clasped her hands in front of her chest and looked up at him. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.
(Like I could say no.)
Takeo sighed internally. No—not a sigh. A resolution.
"O-oh. Well, just for a bit..."
Shrinking his two-meter frame as small as he could, Takeo stepped through the door of Patisserie Lumiere.
*Chime.* The doorbell rang.
The inside of the shop was filled with a sweet fragrance. Butter and sugar and freshly baked batter. Just the smell made Takeo feel somehow dizzy.
"Over here—the eat-in seats are open."
Rinko pointed to a small table by the window. On the white tablecloth sat a single pink flower in a tiny vase.
Takeo cautiously lowered himself into the chair. *Creak*—the chair groaned.
(Is this chair gonna hold? It's not gonna break, right?)
Rinko went back to the kitchen and returned right away with a white plate. On it sat a single small cake. Fluffy sponge piled high with white cream. And on top, one bright red strawberry, perched neatly.
"This is a test cake we're working on right now. It's called the 'Thank You Cake.' I wanted you to be the first to try it, Takeo-kun."
Rinko set the plate in front of him.
"'Thank You Cake'...?"
"Yeah. I wanted to make something to thank you for helping me. When I asked the chef, he said, why not try a test batch?"
Rinko fiddled with the hem of her apron and smiled, a little bashful.
"I don't know yet if we'll sell it in the shop... but I really wanted you to eat this cake, Takeo-kun."
Something deep in Takeo's chest tightened.
(For me? Yamato made a cake for me?)
(No. Get it together, Gouda Takeo. This is a thank-you for helping her on the train. She's the kind of girl who'd do this for anyone. Yamato is kind.)
Takeo repeated it to himself inside his head.
"...Can I eat it?"
"Of course! Please, go ahead."
Rinko pressed her hands together and said it happily.
Takeo picked up the fork.
(My hand's shaking.)
Holding a tiny fork in his huge hand. The silver fork looked like a toy in his grip.
He cut off a bite of cake. The sponge gave way softly. The cream glistened.
Takeo put it in his mouth.
—Delicious.
Beyond words.
The fluffy sponge melted apart in his mouth. The lightly sweetened cream dissolved on his tongue. The tartness of the strawberry tightened the sweetness.
(What is this? It's too good. Best cake I've ever eaten.)
Takeo's face broke into a grin.
His thick lips loosened on their own. His small eyes narrowed. His gorilla face crumpled into a goofy smile.
"It's good."
That was all he could say.
"Really!? Thank goodness!"
Rinko's face lit up. That smile was sweeter and warmer than any cake in the shop.
"Takeo-kun, you've got such a wonderful face right now. That's the face I wanted to see."
Takeo snapped to attention and covered his face with his hand.
"D-did I just make a weird face?"
"No. You looked so happy. It makes me glad."
Rinko narrowed her eyes and gazed at Takeo.
(Stop it. Don't look at me like that. My heart can't take it.)
Takeo screamed inside his head.
(I like her.)
(I like Yamato.)
(But I can't say it. Because Yamato likes Suna.)
Takeo shoved the rest of the cake into his mouth all at once.
"...It's good. Really, really good."
"Ehehe. Thank you. I'll make more."
Rinko smiled happily.
Just then, a man appeared from the back of the kitchen.
A tall man with light brown hair styled carelessly. Must have been a hundred and eighty centimeters. A red bandana around his neck, a white chef's coat. A sweet-looking face—what people would call a handsome guy.
Ichinose Subaru. The owner and chef of Patisserie Lumiere.
Ichinose glanced at Takeo's massive frame seated at the eat-in table with a briefly puzzled look. Then he turned toward Rinko.
"Ichinose here—Rinko-san, how were the test-cake reviews?"
"Oh, Chef. Takeo-kun says it's absolutely delicious!"
Rinko turned around and reported happily.
Ichinose looked at Takeo again. His eyes swept him from top to bottom.
(What's with this guy? He's staring at me.)
Takeo straightened his back.
Ichinose opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but when he saw Rinko laughing so happily, he let out a small breath.
"I see. That's good, Rinko-san."
That was all Ichinose said before returning to the back of the kitchen.
(What was that about?)
Takeo tilted his head.
"The chef can be a little scary, but he's really kind. And he's amazing at making cakes."
Rinko said it in a small voice.
"O-oh."
Takeo stared at the empty plate.
(The cake was delicious. The cake Yamato made. The best in the world.)
(But there's something I have to ask.)
(Yamato likes Suna, right?)
(I have to confirm it. Otherwise I'll misunderstand again.)
Takeo started to speak.
"Um, Yamato—"
"What is it?"
Rinko tilted her head. Those big brown eyes looked straight up at Takeo.
The moment he saw those eyes, the words died in his throat.
(Like I could say it.)
(In front of this smile—"You like Suna, don't you?")
(There's no way I could ask that.)
Takeo bit his lip.
"...Thanks for the food. It was delicious. I'll come again."
Takeo stood up. The chair creaked.
"Yeah. I'll be waiting, Takeo-kun."
Rinko smiled, looking a little lonely.
(Don't make that face. I won't be able to leave you behind.)
Takeo fled the shop.
The doorbell chimed.
Outside, it was already fully dusk. The sky was stained purple.
Takeo stopped a short distance from the shop.
"Why can't I just ask, damn it..."
Takeo clutched his head in his huge hands.
(When I see Yamato's smile, there's no way I could ask something like that.)
(I didn't want to cloud that smile.)
(But if I keep doing this, nothing will ever change.)
(Am I going to misunderstand again, hurt myself on my own, and give up on my own again?)
Takeo clenched his fist.
"Damn it..."
That was when it happened.
"Takeo."
A voice came from behind him.
He turned around. Sunakawa Makoto was standing there. His silky black hair swayed in the evening breeze, and his cool, narrow black eyes were fixed on Takeo. From his neck hung his usual single-lens reflex camera.
"S-Suna!? What are you doing here?"
"On my way back from shopping. I saw a huge guy like you clutching his head in front of the station."
Suna said it with his usual deadpan expression.
"Y-you saw that..."
"I saw it. So, did you talk to Yamato?"
Suna glanced toward Patisserie Lumiere.
"...I talked to her. Ate cake. It was amazing."
"I see."
Suna gave a small nod.
Takeo looked at Suna's face. His best friend's profile, backlit by the setting sun, was as perfectly formed as ever. The kind of face girls couldn't leave alone.
(Suna really is good-looking.)
(No wonder Yamato would fall for Suna.)
Takeo made up his mind.
"Hey, Suna."
"What."
"I think Yamato likes you."
Takeo said it, looking straight into Suna's eyes.
Suna's words caught for a moment.
The evening breeze blew through the space between them.
Suna's narrow eyes wavered, just slightly.
"...I see."
That was all.
Suna said nothing more, staring at the ground with a complicated expression.
(Suna, what are you feeling right now?)
(Are you happy? Troubled? I can't tell.)
Takeo couldn't gauge what Suna's expression meant.
"...Well, you know. If it's you, you'd treat Yamato right."
Takeo forced a smile.
"...Takeo."
Suna raised his head.
"Are you saying that seriously?"
"Huh? W-what do you mean?"
Suna stared hard at Takeo.
(What's with this atmosphere? Is Suna angry?)
Takeo was bewildered.
"...No, never mind."
Suna looked away.
"Let's go home. Before it gets dark."
"O-oh."
The two of them started walking side by side.
Silence followed.
Normally, this kind of silence wouldn't bother him. But now,
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