Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 165: Where Destiny Ordered Coffee

[Renji’s POV—Coffee House—Later]

The evening crowd had thinned. Warm light humd from the ceiling, and the sll of roasted beans clung to the air like a comforting blanket.

Mika leaned across the counter, chin propped on her hands as she watched wipe a table for the fifth ti.

"...I think you’ll be accepted this ti," she said suddenly.

I paused, glancing at her with a faint smile that barely curved my lips.

"Let’s not get ahead of ourselves," I murmured. "We don’t know anything yet."

Mika made a face, her ponytail bouncing as she leaned closer.

"You’re always so gloomy about job interviews. Oh! Speaking of gloomy lives—" she clasped her hands dramatically, "I have a friend. Super handso, tall, very mature, works out, slls like cologne and good decisions—AND he’s bisexual—"

"I’m married, Mika."

Said it automatically. Instinctively. Like breathing. She didn’t even blink. She heard this twice a week.

"Renji," she sighed, crossing her arms, "you have been saying that for months now."

"I will say that again: I am married."

"But he’s no longer with you," she said gently. "You can’t cling to a past that doesn’t exist anymore. You have to move on."

I stopped wiping.

Slowly, I lifted my head and looked at her.

"...I love my husband," I said quietly.

Not dramatically. Not desperately. Just truthfully.

"So much," I whispered, fingers curling around the cloth. "And I don’t think any other man can take his place in my heart."

"Renji..." she breathed, her voice softening, almost pitying.

I forced a smile. "Mika, I’m not ready to welco anyone else into my life. You should’ve given up matchmaking by now."

She laughed weakly. "...Yeah. I should have."

But her eyes softened, the humor fading into sothing more serious.

"I wonder," she whispered, tilting her head, "what your ex-husband gave you... to love him so deeply. Even though he’s no longer with you."

I froze.

Mika didn’t notice. She rambled on, her voice quieter. "I wonder what he did to make you hold onto him like this. And..." her brows pinched together, "I wonder why he abandoned you."

The cloth slipped from my fingers.

I inhaled—slow, sharp, painful.

"...He never abandoned ."

Mika looked up.

"He never abandoned ," I repeated, my voice barely above a breath. "It wasn’t like that."

"Then what happened?"

A thousand mories flickered behind my eyes.

Alvar running through a battlefield, covered in blood. Alvar whispering my na like it was sacred. Alvar smiling at with all the tenderness. Alvar snuggling closer to his heart.

My chest tightened so hard I had to grip the counter.

"...Destiny," I whispered, the word scraping raw. "Destiny was too cruel to us."

Mika went silent.

She didn’t joke this ti. Didn’t smile. Didn’t protest. She just watched —eyes wide, soft, and aching—like she finally realized the truth.

That I wasn’t clinging to a mory.

I was clinging to a love powerful enough to follow across worlds.

A love only I rembered. And as I turned away to refill the sugar jars, blinking back the sting in my eyes, Mika whispered under her breath—

"...Renji... Just how much did you love him...?"

I didn’t answer.

Because the answer lived in the hollow ache inside my chest.

In every breath I took alone. Every morning I woke without him. Every night his na trembled on my tongue.

"Sotis," I said softly, wiping the counter, "we can’t asure love, Mika. We just... love the other person."

She made a dramatic groan and tossed her cloth aside. "You always have an answer when I bring up your husband. Always!"

I chuckled weakly. "That should tell you sothing."

She rolled her eyes but smiled—soft, fond, defeated. She wouldn’t win this argunt, and she knew it.

Then—DING!!!!

My phone buzzed in my apron pocket. I wiped my hands and pulled it out.

A new notification. From Kurosawa Corporate. My heart stuttered—not with hope, but with habit.

I opened it.

And just as expected—

We regret to inform you...

Rejection.

Again.

I stared at the email. Then smiled faintly—not bitterly, not angrily. Just... tired.

"It’s fine," I murmured, slipping the phone back and picking up a rag. "I knew it."

And I returned to cleaning tables, as if nothing had changed. Because nothing ever did.

***

[The Next Day—Coffee House]

Morning ca quietly.

The sa chi of the store bell. The sa sll of roasted beans. The sa soft background music we’d been playing for weeks.

Office workers shuffled in, already half-asleep, muttering orders. I tied my apron, brushing aside the heaviness in my chest.

"Good morning," I said with a small smile. "What can I get for you?"

"One cappuccino, please."

I punched the order into the register. The familiarity of the routine steadied , like muscle mory built over loneliness.

But as I reached for the cups—The doorbell chid again.

JINGLE—♪

I didn’t look up at first. Another custor. Another normal day.

But then—a shift. In the air. In my heartbeat. Sothing deeper—like my soul—flinched.

"Oh... do you work here?"

My breath froze.

I didn’t need to look.I knew that voice.I knew that warmth.I knew that gravity.

Slowly—slowly—I lifted my head, and there he was.

The sa man from last night. Long dark coat. Snow dusted across his shoulders. Blue eyes—calm, steady, piercing right through .

I bowed stiffly. "Good morning."

He smiled—gentle, polite... tender in a way that shook sothing loose inside my chest. "How are you, Renji-san?"

The way he said my na—it shouldn’t have ant anything. But it did.

"I’m good," I murmured. "May I take your order?"

"One black coffee."

"Right away."

I tapped his order into the register, trying—failing—not to et his gaze again. But his eyes didn’t leave . Not once.

"Did you receive the email?" he asked.

I stiffened. "...Yes. Thank you for giving the opportunity to interview."

His brows drew together.

"Why do you speak," he asked slowly, "as if you received a rejection email?"

I blinked at him. "...Because I did."

"What?" His voice sharpened—quiet but unmistakably irritated, as if sothing had gone terribly wrong.

Before I could say anything more, he stepped back, pulling his phone from his pocket with a quick, urgent movent.

He turned away, jaw tight. I continued working, taking another order, handing out change—but my eyes kept drifting to him.

He wasn’t talking.

He was pissed and angry. Low voice. Tight grip on his phone. Brows drawn. A sharp sigh cutting through the café noise. He rubbed his temples in frustration. Then—He glanced at .

That one look made my stomach twist.

"Black coffee is ready," Mika whispered, pushing the cup toward .

I swallowed and carried it to his table. "One black coff—"

He cut off abruptly.

"Do you know how to manage multiple phone calls?"

I blinked. "...Yes?"

"Handle emails? Manage schedules?"

"Y-Yes. I an—I’m not perfect, but—"

"Good." He stood up slowly, his chair scraping lightly against the floor. "Because I want you to be my personal assistant."

The cup nearly slipped from my hand.

"...Your personal... assistant?"

My voice cracked embarrassingly. His gaze softened a fraction. "Will you accept the offer?"

"I—I don’t think I deserve—"

"Renji."

The way he said my na—low, steady, almost intimate—made my breath stop.

He stepped closer.

Close enough that I could see the subtle flecks of silver in his irises. Close enough that warmth rolled off him in quiet waves. Close enough that old mories stirred like soone whispering across ti.

"You deserve," he murmured, "far more than you think."

My heart slamd into my ribs so hard I swayed. His lips twitched—gentle, reassuring, almost fond.

"I think you’d be excellent at handling my schedule," he continued, pulling out a sleek business card. "But I won’t force you."

He held the card between his fingers—offering, not demanding.

"This," he said softly, "is my personal number. Call when you decide."

I stared at the card.At his hand.At his eyes.

He smiled—quiet, warm, aningful.

"I hope," he said, voice dipping just slightly, "that you say yes."

He picked up his coffee, nodding once before turning away. "I’ll be waiting for your call, Renji-san."

And then—he walked out.

Leaving the doorbell jingling softly behind him, and my heart pounding loud enough to drown the entire world.

The bell kept ringing in my ears long after the door stilled. My heart? It was pounding so violently I thought the counter would feel it through my palms.

I stood frozen, staring at the empty doorway like an idiot stuck between two worlds.

Finally—A head popped over my shoulder.

Mika.

"So," she whispered dramatically, "you’re definitely accepting it, right?"

I nearly jumped. "Mika—don’t sneak up like that."

She ignored , leaning closer to my hand—specifically to the card I was gripping like a lifeline.

"Renji," she hissed, eyes sparkling, "this is a CEO. An actual CEO! Do you understand the level of luck you’re standing on right now?"

I blinked, slowly lowering my gaze to the card.

Bold black letters.Elegant print.Expensive stock.

Hayato Kurosawa, CEO

"A... CEO?" I whispered, as if the words might bite.

My fingers trembled around the edges of the card.

But should I accept it? Should I accept a fate that might break further?

I didn’t say a word.

But Mika didn’t need one.

"Yes," she declared. "You should accept it."

I stared at her. "I... didn’t say anything."

"You didn’t have to." She rolled her eyes. "I know you, Renji. And I know exactly what your brain is doing right now—overthinking."

She poked my forehead gently. "You said you wanted to cut every remaining tie with your mother, including the debt, right?"

"Yes."

"Then this is your chance. Your way out. Your way up." Her voice softened. "Please... take it. For yourself."

Her words hung between us.

Soft.True.Unavoidable.

I lowered my gaze again, staring at the na printed across the card.

Hayato Kurosawa.

The man who looked like my past. The man who spoke like a stranger. The man whose presence pulled at sothing I thought had died inside .

My fingers tightened around the card.

"...Hayato Kurosawa..."

My voice trembled despite myself.

And then—Snow drifted past the window.

Warm coffee machines humd.

I stared at the card with a mix of fear, longing, and sothing dangerously close to hope and the future waiting quietly on the other side of one phone call.