When Kikukawa Kyo arrived in front of Taki, the girl was practicing latte art.
Her striking violet eyes—beautiful in color—were usually undercut by their sharp, upturned corners and piercing gaze, stripping them of any inherent elegance or mystery. Instead, they made her look fierce, almost intimidating.
At the moment, those fierce, focused eyes were locked onto the coffee in the small cup before her, as well as the steady stream of frothed milk she was carefully pouring from the pitcher in her right hand. She was so concentrated that she didn't spare even a fraction of her attention elsewhere.
Kyo wisely kept silent. She clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward slightly, watching Taki's latte art practice with great interest.
Hmm… still making the classic beginner's mistake. She's being way too cautious. Pouring this slowly means the milk flow is too thin, which causes the frothed milk to separate from the liquid. The foam gets stuck in the pitcher instead of blending evenly, leaving no foam at the start of the pour—only for it to all dump out in one big blob at the end.
Kyo instinctively analyzed Taki's technique, feeling a strange sense of nostalgia watching her make such a textbook mistake. After all, she had made the same error when she first started.
Still, it was rare to see Taki acting this careful and deliberate.
Shifting her gaze away from the gradually forming latte art, Kyo studied Taki's expression—tense, her movements deliberate and restrained.
Normally, Taki was all energy and fire, just like how her sharp, dangerous gaze clashed with the graceful violet of her irises. Her usual manner—relentless critiques, blunt and often tactless remarks—also didn't match the refined beauty suggested by her sleek, long black hair and the small tear mole at the corner of her eye.
Well, then again… Kyo mused. Taki's fierce, almost princely air is its own kind of beauty. Especially when she's drumming—her powerful, decisive movements, the rhythmic strikes, whether frantic or measured—it's always something to admire.
"Ah—!"
Taki suddenly gasped, just as Kyo had predicted. Because the milk had been poured too slowly, the foam had fully separated from the liquid. Now, as the milk neared the bottom of the pitcher, all the foam came rushing out at once.
Letting out a sigh, Taki set down the coffee cup and the pitcher, running a hand through her hair in frustration as she looked at the ruined latte art, now nothing more than a blob of foam.
"Pfft, the whole pattern just got buried under the foam."
"Wha—!? Kyo?! When did you get here?"
It wasn't until Kyo finally spoke—her amused chuckle breaking the silence—that Taki, who had been wholly focused on her work, jerked her head up in surprise and realized she had an audience.
"Not too long ago," Kyo replied easily. "I was chatting with Ririko-neesan earlier. I just happened to see you practicing when I came over."
So she saw… the entire… failure unfold?!
"You—! If you were here, you should've said something! Were you just enjoying watching me mess up?"
Taki's face flushed, and her instinctive reaction was to lash out.
Kyo, however, didn't take offense. She knew exactly why Taki was acting this way.
Taki always held herself to high standards, so being caught failing at something—especially by someone else—left her feeling embarrassed.
A more introverted and sensitive person, like Tomori, would respond to that embarrassment with silence or by running away. But Taki? She lashed out, using sharp words as a shield.
In that way, she was a lot like Sakiko.
So many spikes.
A vivid image popped into Kyo's head—one blue hedgehog and one black hedgehog jabbing at each other, neither willing to back down.
She was willing to bet that the day Sakiko left the band, she and Taki must have clashed at least once.
And so, Kyo chose to completely ignore Taki's outburst.
Because she knew—once Taki cooled down, she'd start agonizing over how to apologize.
—And then, inevitably, get stuck in a shame-induced spiral of frustration.
"Can I try that cup of coffee?"
"Hah?" Taki let out a disbelieving scoff. "It's just a failed attempt. Why would you want to drink it?"
"Well, it's a free cup of coffee. Might as well not let it go to waste," Kyo replied with a leisurely smile, deliberately stretching out her words. "You're not planning to just throw it away, are you? That would be such a waste."
"What else would I do with it? There's no way I'd serve a failed product to a customer… Wait a second—"
Kyo, of course, wasn't listening. The best way to deal with Taki was to be shameless about it. If you reacted directly to her sharp words, she'd just double down and keep attacking.
So instead, Kyo simply leaned over the counter, swiftly reaching out to grab the coffee cup by its handle.
"I said—!"
Taki moved to stop her, grabbing Kyo's outstretched wrist. Her intention was to push Kyo's hand back, but the sudden clash of movements caused the nearly full cup of coffee to slosh, spilling a few droplets onto Kyo's pale hand, leaving behind a couple of small brown stains.
Freshly made coffee with steamed milk—especially one that had just been heated with a steam wand—was still scorching hot.
Kyo let out a small hiss of pain, but thankfully, it wasn't a full spill—just a few splashes.
Taki, on the other hand, reacted far more strongly.
She immediately released Kyo's wrist. "Are you okay? Do you need a wet towel?"
Damn it. Why was she panicking over something like this? If Kyo wanted to drink the coffee, she should've just let her. It was just a failed attempt anyway. She had only just started learning how to make coffee—of course there would be failures.
And yet, somehow, she had managed to turn this into such a mess.
Taki pressed her lips together, her hands instinctively clenching into fists. Her usual sharp, upturned eyes furrowed into a frown, making her look downright furious.
If Kyo hadn't already seen this exact expression a few times back in CRYCHIC, she might've actually been fooled into thinking Taki was angry.
In reality, Taki was just… not very honest with her feelings. And she was just as sensitive as she was sharp.
"Alright, alright, I'm fine. It's just a couple of drops—nothing serious."
Now that Taki had let go, Kyo smoothly picked up the coffee cup, setting it securely on the counter before showing her hand to Taki.
"See? Just a little stain. No burns, no peeling. It'll fade in no time."
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Taki's clenched fists had loosened—just a little.
Then, she heard something she hadn't expected at all.
"…Sorry."
The voice lacked Taki's usual force, but it was still loud enough for Kyo to hear it clearly.
Holy crap. Taki just apologized?
No, no, it wasn't that Taki shouldn't apologize. It was just that Kyo had fully expected her to express it in a roundabout, awkward way—something that barely sounded like an apology at all.
She stared, eyes wide. Before she could even respond, a third person in the room made a noise.
Thud.
A small object hit the ground.
Following the sound, Kyo turned her gaze toward the entrance, where a girl in a leather jacket and matching leather pants stood. Underneath the jacket, she wore a red inner shirt, completing her cool, striking look.
Her face was expressionless—at least, at first glance. But upon closer inspection, her mouth was slightly open—too deliberately so. One hand was raised to partially cover it, as if she were dramatically feigning shock.
The object that had fallen was a small box of orange-flavored milk pudding, decorated with a panda design.
"What's with that look on your face!?"
Taki's face turned an even deeper shade of red as she let out a low, guttural sound—like a beast about to pounce.