The morning light slipped through the linen curtains of the south-facing room, soft and faint, hesitating like it wasn't entirely certain it belonged there.
Hayasaka Ai lay on her back, her blonde hair spread across the pillow in a tangled halo, her blue eyes fixed on the ceiling.
The bed felt wonderfully soft, the freshly laundered sheets added a crisp comfort, and the gentle warmth of the room made it an inviting place to relax.
She found herself at a complete loss, unsure of how to spend her time or where to direct her energy, drifting aimlessly as the minutes ticked by.
For years, she woke each morning with a sense of purpose.
A mission to fulfill, a task to complete, a role to inhabit, a mask to keep in place, and a lie to uphold.
Even in her bleakest moments, when she couldn't stand herself or longed to vanish entirely, there was always something waiting for her, something she was expected to do.
But now, there was absolutely nothing at all—no sound, no movement, not even the faintest trace of life or color, just an endless, heavy stillness that seemed to stretch on forever.
She lingered, expecting that usual heaviness of responsibility to press down on her chest, but it never arrived.
She placed her hand over her chest, feeling the calm, steady thump of her heartbeat beneath her palm.
She was alive, truly alive, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she was free.
The weight that had pressed down on her for so long was gone, and the open world stretched out before her like an unwritten page. Yet, as exhilarating as it was, the sheer vastness of possibility left her standing still, unsure where to begin or what steps to take next.
Right now, in the room, she wasn't alone. Beside her, Nouno released a low, rumbling "Grrrrr…" — a sound that began deep in her chest and sent vibrations rippling through the mattress.
The enormous Persian cat lay curled at the foot of the bed, her plush gray fur fluffed like a regal mane around her neck, her flat little face buried in the duvet as though the very idea of had insulted her.
Hayasaka looked down at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "You're judging me right now, aren't you?" she asked. Nouno lazily opened one amber eye, the golden hue catching the light.
She blinked once—slow, deliberate, and unhurried. The message was clear: Yes, she was judging her and had already confirmed it.
Then she closed her eye and went back to sleep, her tail flicking once in what could only be described as disdain.
Hayasaka's lips twitched ever so slightly, as if on the verge of forming a smile, but it never quite made it past that fleeting moment.
She slowly pushed herself upright, the blankets slipping down from her shoulders. Her fingers instinctively reached for the blue scrunchie around her wrist, twisting it once, then again.
The fabric felt soft and familiar, its edges frayed from years of wear. It was the very same scrunchie Kaguya had given her back when she was just seven years old.
She pressed her thumb against it, her mind drifting back to the girl who had given it to her—the heiress. A lonely heiress with striking crimson eyes and no one she could truly trust.
The girl who had broken through the invisible wall between them, reaching out to a servant with a simple, heartfelt offer: "Let's be friends."
Hayasaka had said yes without a second thought, but the next ten years turned out to be nothing more than a series of letdowns and betrayals. The burden of it all seemed to settle heavily on her shoulders, making her chest tighten and her throat feel like it was closing up.
"Haa..." Letting out a small sigh, she rose to her feet and walked to the window. Below, the garden stretched out, green and still, the herb beds glistening with morning dew. The balcony was deserted, and in the distance, the lake glistened with a silvery sheen.
—•°•—•°•—•°•—
At the same time, the kitchen reeked of chaos, with the sharp tang of burnt food blending with the heavy scent of smoke and a faint hint of something long past fresh.
Kaguya Shinomiya stood at the stove, her long dark hair pulled back with a sleek black ribbon, crimson eyes locked on the pan before her with the focus of a commander strategizing over a crucial battle plan.
The pan was smoking. The eggs inside it were not eggs anymore—they were a brown, crispy, unrecognizable mass that looked more like a science experiment than breakfast.
Hisako Arato watched from the counter, her clipboard in one hand, her expression perfectly neutral. She had been silent for the last three minutes, but her pencil was hovering over the paper, ready to document whatever catastrophe was about to unfold.
Erina Nakiri leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, her magenta eyes narrowed with barely contained disdain. Her golden hair was perfect. Her uniform was perfect. She looked like she had never made a mistake in her life.
"You're burning them," Erina observed.
Kaguya didn't look up. "I'm aware."
"You could salvage them if you—"
"I didn't ask."
Erina started to say something, then stopped, her mouth snapping shut. A faint blush crept up her ears, turning them a soft pink. "I was just making an observation," she mumbled.
"Then maybe observe from somewhere else."
"I'm just standing in the doorway. Not getting in the way."
"You're breathing too loud."
Erina began to speak but quickly closed her mouth. She cast a hopeful glance at Hisako, but Hisako kept her eyes fixed on the clipboard, her pencil paused mid-note.
From his spot behind the counter, Izanami Jun observed the scene with the easy amusement of someone who'd already witnessed this same exchange at least five times in the past week.
He leaned casually against the counter, a freshly laundered towel draped over one shoulder, his dark eyes was calm and warm with not the slightest hint of concern.
"The miso's in the cupboard," he said, his tone calm and neutral, offering a way out without choosing sides.
Kaguya waved it off with a casual shake of her head. "It's fine, I know exactly where the miso is."
"Then why isn't it in the pot?"
She finally glanced up at him, her sharp crimson eyes locking onto his. "Because I'm trying to master the eggs first."
"Ah." He gave a slow nod. "Strategy... I respect that."
"Don't patronize me, Jun..."
"I wouldn't dream of it, wife."
Erina let out a short, amused snort, while the corners of Hisako's mouth twitched in barely contained laughter. Kaguya's cheeks bloomed with an uncharacteristic, vivid pink that crept up from her neck to the tips of her ears.
Determined to salvage the situation, she turned back to the pan with fierce focus, as though sheer determination could somehow coax the eggs back into something edible.
A short while later, Hayasaka showed up in the doorway.
She lingered in the doorway, unnoticed for a moment, taking in the chaos Kaguya was battling with a pan of burning eggs.
Erina's silent judgment radiated across the room.
Hisako stood ready, clipboard in hand, poised to jot down every detail.
Jun watched with a calm, almost amused expression.
The kitchen buzzed with life — loud, messy, and utterly electric.
She had no idea what to do with herself.
Ririka Momobami glanced up from the table, where she had been neatly aligning chopsticks with calm precision. Her platinum hair hung loose, spilling over her shoulders, and her face was uncovered—no mask, no pretense. Just Ririka, plain and unguarded.
She gave a small, gentle smile, her voice warm and easy as she said, "Good morning, Hayasaka."
The room seemed to freeze for a moment. Kaguya slowly turned around, Erina lifted her gaze from whatever she was focused on, and Hisako's pencil came to an abrupt halt.
Hayasaka could feel the heavy press of their attention on her, like a spotlight she couldn't escape.
Every instinct told her to step back, to shrink away until she vanished from sight, but she fought the urge.
She stayed exactly where she was, rooted to the spot, refusing to give in to the impulse to disappear.
"Good morning," she murmured, her voice raspy, still laced with the drowsiness of sleep and tinged with something deeper, a weight she had been shouldering for years.
Ririka motioned toward the vacant chair next to her with a small smile. "This spot's for you," she said.
Hisako was quicker than anyone else, already at the stove, tipping a fresh stream of tea from the clay pot on the counter.
The liquid was a warm amber-brown, carrying the toasty scent of roasted leaves that curled upward in a lazy drift of steam.
She placed the cup on the table, right next to the spot Ririka had only just finished setting.
Hayasaka glanced at the tea, then shifted her gaze to Hisako. Hisako remained silent, but her expression spoke volumes—words weren't necessary.
Jun set a plate of golden tamagoyaki on the counter, each layer folded with precision, the edges sharp and neat.
The warm aroma of dashi and sweet egg drifted through the air, wrapping the kitchen in comfort and effortlessly overpowering the bitter haze from Kaguya's charred attempt.
"Breakfast," he announced with a smirk, "before the eggs decide to rise up and take over the kitchen."
Kaguya finally gave up on the pan, pushing it aside with a soft, resigned clatter.
She made her way to the table, each step deliberate and controlled, carrying herself with an air of unshakable grace—despite the tiny smear of egg marring her cheek.
Hayasaka settled into her seat, feeling the comforting heat radiating from the cup of tea in her hands.
The aroma of the warm food filled the air, mingling with the gentle heat that seemed to embrace the entire kitchen. Everything around her exuded a sense of cozy warmth.
She wasn't quite sure what to do with herself, so she just stayed there, cradling the cup of tea in her hands, letting the gentle heat soak into her palms and spread through her fingers, as if the warmth might somehow bring a little clarity to her restless mind.
Nouno shuffled into the kitchen with a slow, swaying gait, each step deliberate and unhurried, as if savoring the quiet start of the day.
She'd been asleep, blissfully lost in dreams, until the mouthwatering scent of tamagoyaki pulled her back to reality.
Padding into the room, she stopped halfway across the floor and let out a low, rumbling "Grrrrrr…"—her signature morning complaint.
Whether it was aimed at Jun for crafting the tamagoyaki with infuriating perfection, or at the entire world for having the audacity to disturb her slumber, was anyone's guess.
She wandered over to Hayasaka's feet, gave a quick sniff, then settled down in place. Tilting her head slightly, she fixed Hayasaka with a steady glare, those half-lidded amber eyes glowing with quiet intensity.
"Let me know if she bites," Jun remarked with a half-smile.
"She already bit me," Erina mumbled under her breath. "She's got no filter at all."
Nouno let out a sharp hiss, then settled back down with an air of defiance.
Hayasaka glanced down at the cat. "She's fine," she said softly. "Just watching." Nouno responded with a low, rumbling "Hrrrmmm…" in acknowledgment.
The cat nudged her head against Hayasaka's shin, a soft purr rumbling from her. Hayasaka's hand drifted to the cat's head, scratching gently behind her ears. The cat leaned into the touch, her purr growing deeper as Hayasaka's shoulders eased just a bit.
The table gradually became occupied as more people arrived and settled into their seats.
Ririka sat to Hayasaka's left, her sketchbook spread open on the table, pencil gliding in slow, deliberate strokes.
She seemed to be sketching something—perhaps a branch or a delicate flower—each line placed with quiet precision. Her gaze was calm and intent, softened by the focus of her work.
Erina sat across from them, methodically picking at a piece of tamagoyaki with almost surgical precision. Beside her, Hisako had taken a seat, her clipboard resting flat on the table as her focus drifted between jotting down notes and glancing at the food in front of her.
Kaguya stood at the stove, having given up on the eggs and now turning her attention to salvaging the meal by cooking rice instead. Jun remained close at her side, his hands steady as he worked, his voice low and calm as he spoke.
"That's too much water," he said.
"I know."
"Just a little less next time."
"I know."
"Kaguya."
"What?"
"Stop pushing it too much—just give the rice some space to settle and breathe naturally."
She glanced at him, her gaze sharp but shadowed by something else—fatigue, maybe fear. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"You're learning. That's what learning looks like."
Hayasaka heard those words echo in her mind, mixing with the memory of her mother's voice in the garden: "What do you want, Ai?" She had no answer then, and she still didn't.
Her eyes dropped to the tamagoyaki on her plate. She thought about the burnt eggs in the pan, about how Kaguya had kept trying to fix them, again and again. She thought about how Jun had let her fail but still passed her more ingredients.
She thought about failure—the way it could hit like a punch to the chest, make you want to walk away, and yet somehow push you to try one more time.
She still didn't know what she wanted. But she knew she wanted to keep learning.
—•°•—•°•—•°•—
The meal buzzed with noise, conversations tangling and weaving through the air like threads in a tapestry.
Erina was in the middle of a spirited debate with Hisako over the perfect pickling time for radishes, while Ririka launched into a tale about Kuro's latest blunder—a heating pad that had transformed her bedroom into something between a sauna and a steam room.
Kirari, who had slipped in unnoticed and was idly scrolling on her tablet, interjected to correct the technical jargon.
Erina responded with an unrestrained snort, Hisako's lips curled into a knowing smile, and beneath the table, Nouno announced himself with an insistent "Meow!"
Hayasaka watched them, feeling like a stranger in her own skin.
She wasn't sure how to exist like this—this woman, this version of herself who had already been forgiven.
It was as if she'd stepped into a role she didn't remember auditioning for, one that felt both foreign and uncomfortably close all at once.
Kaguya's gaze lingered on her, and she quietly set her teacup down. "You're not eating," she observed.
Hayasaka blinked slowly, replying, "I'm not hungry."
Kaguya's eyes drifted to the untouched cup in front of her. "You haven't touched your tea."
Hayasaka gave a small shrug. "I'm not thirsty."
Kaguya studied her in silence for a long moment, those deep crimson eyes giving nothing away. Then, without another word, she rose from her seat and made her way around the table to stand beside Hayasaka. "Come with me," she said, her voice soft yet unwavering.
Hayasaka almost spoke up, but she swallowed her words and held them in. Rising from her seat, she trailed after him, the soft shuffle of her footsteps the only sound breaking the stillness.
The kitchen, once filled with the clatter and hum of activity, now sat in a calm, almost heavy silence.
After breakfast, everyone went their separate ways. Jun busied himself with the coffee machine, while Erina settled into her usual corner with a book.
Hisako was in the pantry, taking stock of supplies.
Out on the balcony, Ririka was lost in her sketches, and Kirari was absorbed in her own work.
Back to just the two of them, Kaguya guided Hayasaka to the far end of the counter. She quietly poured two cups of tea, sliding one over to Hayasaka without a word.
The silence lingered between, not oppressive but full of unspoken understanding. It was the kind of pause that felt patient, the kind that carried a gentle assurance—an unspoken "I'm here."
Hayasaka gazed at the tea. It was flawless, the steam curling gently upward, the cup radiating a comforting warmth in her hands.
After sitting in silence for a moment, she finally spoke, breaking the stillness. "I didn't just fail once," she said, her voice low and unsteady, raw with emotion, carrying the heavy weight of years gone by. "I failed every single day, For ten years."
Kaguya set her cup down gently. "What do you mean?" she asked.
Hayasaka drew in a breath, each inhale scraping like shards of glass.
"My father died before he could pass down even one lesson or moment to me," she said, her voice quiet and rough. "Before he could teach me anything that truly mattered. And my mother—she was too busy shielding me, trying to keep me intact in a world that never wanted me to exist."
"I was never meant to be anything more than a servant, just a tool for others to use. My hands were nothing but commodities, meant to be bought, sold, and traded as if they held no part of me at all."
She fixed her gaze on Kaguya, her eyes sharp and unyielding, though they burned with an intensity she refused to let show through a blink.
"I just wanted to be more," she murmured softly. "I wanted to be good. If I could be perfect—if I never messed up, never needed help, never asked for anything—maybe then I'd finally be worth something."
Kaguya remained silent, her expression steady, offering nothing but her presence as she listened.
Hayasaka's voice wavered, but pressed on.
"I told Oko everything—your schedule, your meetings, your secrets. Even the things you whispered to me in the dark, thinking no one else would ever hear. I laid it all out for him because I was scared of what might happen if I kept quiet. And then I'd come back to you, see you smile at me, and all I could think about was the betrayal I'd just committed."
Hayasaka's voice wavered, but she pushed on.
"The morning after I first reported, you handed me this." She lifted her wrist, revealing the blue scrunchie. "You told me it was your favorite. You told me I could keep it. You told me we were friends."
"And in that moment, all I could think was, 'If you knew what I had just done, you'd despise me.'"
Kaguya set her cup down and leaned forward, reaching across the table until her hand rested over Hayasaka's. Her thumb moved in slow, steady circles over the blue scrunchie wrapped around Hayasaka's wrist.
"What do you want me to say?" she asked in a calm, measured tone. "That I'm angry? That it's fine?"
Hayasaka's shoulders tensed, a subtle strain running through her posture. "I want you to hate me, just like you said earlier... it would make things so much easier."
Kaguya's thumb stopped mid-motion. "No."
Slowly, Hayasaka lifted her gaze to meet hers.
Kaguya's voice was steady and sure. "You were still just a child back then. They turned you into a weapon, and you did what you had to do to survive...
...I understand what it's like to be used as a tool, Ai...
...The only difference is that I was born into it, while you were taught into it...
...But in the end, we both had to find our own way out."
Hayasaka's voice cracked, trembling with uncertainty. "I don't even know who I am anymore."
"Then you figure it out," came the calm reply.
"How?"
"By stumbling. By picking yourself back up. By allowing yourself to become someone other than the version they shaped you into."
Hayasaka's throat constricted, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. "But what if I'm not worthy of that?"
Kaguya gently clasped her hand. "And who exactly gets to decide something like that?"
Hayasaka stayed silent, and Kaguya's hold grew firmer. "You don't need to have everything figured out. You don't need to know exactly who you are right now. All that matters is that you're here."
The silence hung heavy in the air, and Hayasaka's hand shook ever so slightly.
"Stay," Kaguya repeated, her tone gentler this time. "That's all I'm asking—just stay, keep putting in the effort. Stay, and give me the chance to choose you."
Hearing this, Hayasaka's breath hitched, and for a moment, it felt like even the kitchen itself was holding its breath.
Kaguya released her hand, reached for her tea, and took a slow sip. "You want to learn something, Ai? Today, you're going to cook with me. We're going to make mistakes, we're going to fail together, and then we're going to keep moving forward."
Hayasaka blinked. "Cook? I don't know how."
"Then it's perfect," Kaguya said with a small smile. "That's exactly how it begins for me, and it will be the same for you."
Kaguya smiled, a small and delicate expression, yet one that carried genuine warmth. "Good. Now, give me a hand with the vegetables. And don't worry about the little mistakes—we'll manage just fine. The miso's in the cupboard."
Hayasaka turned toward the counter, her hands shaking and her heart still aching. She reached out and picked up a knife, uncertain of her intentions or what might come next.
She went ahead and got started, the kitchen enveloping her in its cozy, warm atmosphere.
At some point, Jun drifted in, quietly tending to the grill with his back turned, keeping out of the way. Meanwhile, Kaguya stood next to Hayasaka, calmly walking her through the process of making a simple miso soup—slicing the tofu with quick, sure movements, adding the miso, and giving it a gentle stir.
Hayasaka's fingers fumbled slightly, her knife slipping into uneven cuts. The tofu ended up a bit too thick, and the miso had a few stubborn lumps that refused to dissolve.
Still, Kaguya didn't step in or offer corrections. She simply stood by, watching quietly, allowing Hayasaka to work at her own pace, to settle into her own rhythm, and to build her own quiet sense of competence.
It was dragging on far longer than she had expected, and the broth had turned cloudy and unappealing, leaving her feeling unsure about the whole thing.
She was on the verge of apologizing when Kaguya suddenly froze, her gaze drifting past her. Curious, she turned to see Jun casually leaning against the counter, a small knife in his hand.
With deliberate ease, he popped a piece of tofu into his mouth, chewing with a quiet, focused expression.
"It could use a bit more miso," he remarked casually, his tone giving nothing away.
Kaguya glanced over at her with a calm but expectant expression. "You heard what he said, and you know you can make it right."
Hayasaka took a deep breath, swallowing before twisting open the jar. She carefully scooped out a measure of the contents, watching as the grains slowly melted away into the steaming broth, swirling and blending until they became one with the fragrant liquid.
She gave it a gentle stir, brought the spoon to her lips, and took a sip. The sharpness eased away, melting into something smoother, while the taste grew richer and more layered with every moment.
Kaguya glanced at her with a calm expression, a faint smile playing on her lips as she simply said, "Good."
Something in Hayasaka's chest seemed to ease, like a knot finally loosening. The urge to cry welled up inside her, but she held it back. Instead, she drew in a steady breath, gathered herself, and kept moving forward.
The meal was calm, not with the weight of tension but with the fullness of contentment. It was the kind of silence that lingers when all the important words have already been spoken, leaving only the comfort of shared presence.
Kaguya and Hayasaka sat side by side, their fingers still marked with traces of miso and salt from earlier. Jun lingered at the table, quietly keeping them company, while Nouno lay curled up at their feet, softly purring in her sleep.
"Thanks," Hayasaka said softly.
"For what?" Kaguya asked.
"For never giving up on me." Kaguya met her gaze with quiet certainty.
"I never will." Hayasaka felt her throat tighten.
"Kaguya…" But Kaguya just shook her head gently. "You don't need to say it, Ai. I already know."
They sat together in an easy, unspoken calm, the kind that didn't need words to feel right. Hayasaka noticed a quiet sense of relief loosening in her chest as she let her gaze drift down to Nouno.
The cat gave a soft, inquisitive "Mrrp?"—as if asking, "Feeling better now?"
Hayasaka found no words to respond, so instead she leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against Kaguya's shoulder.
Kaguya remained still, simply allowing her to stay there, wrapped in the warmth of the kitchen, the scent of miso lingering in the air, and the low, steady hum of the refrigerator filling the quiet.