Late at night after everybody had gone to sleep, Hiro woke up feeling his throat slightly dry.
He pushed himself up slowly, careful not to disturb the bedcovers. Beside him, Yurei lay sleeping—her pink hair spread across the pillow like spilled silk, her face soft and peaceful. Innocent, almost. As if they hadn't done what they had done only a few hours ago.
Her lips were slightly parted. Her breathing was slow and even.
How does she look so calm after all that? he thought, rubbing the back of his neck.
As soon as Hiro's feet touched the wooden floor, Yurei's eyes snapped open.
"Where are you going?" she asked in a sleepy tone—her voice thick, almost childlike.
Hiro looked back. She was already watching him, one crimson eye barely visible above the blanket.
"Sorry. Did I wake you?"
"No… it's fine." She yawned—small, delicate. "But you didn't answer my question."
"I'm going to grab a glass of water. Do you need anything?"
"No… just…" Her eyes fluttered closed again. "…come back soon."
Within seconds, her breathing had evened out.
"Well… that was something," Hiro muttered under his breath.
He grabbed his robe from the chair beside the bed and slipped it on. The fabric was soft—warmer than he expected. The wooden floor felt smooth beneath his bare feet, the tiredness clinging to him like an old friend.
The hallway was quiet.
No shouting. No explosions. No Daisy calling him an idiot.
It's so strange without the bickering, he thought, passing the girls' closed doors. Peaceful… but strange.
Then he heard it.
Faint noises coming from the kitchen.
Not footsteps. Not breaking glass. Just… clinking. Ceramic against metal. The soft thump of something being placed on a counter.
Hiro wasn't worried. This was the Central City Imperial Base. What idiot in their right mind would break into a place like this?
He rounded the corner.
Elira stood at the kitchen counter, her back to him.
She wore an oversized gray sweater—the hood pulled up but not fastened—and loose black pants. Her eyepatch was still on, even at this hour. Her visible eye was focused entirely on the task in front of her.
She was baking.
A tray of freshly baked cookies sat on the cooling rack beside her—golden brown, perfectly round, still releasing thin wisps of steam. The smell hit Hiro like a wave: butter, sugar, chocolate, something warm and nostalgic.
Another tray was in the oven, its soft orange glow illuminating her profile.
Noticing his presence, Elira turned her head.
"Ah. It's you."
She pulled the new tray from the oven with practiced ease, sliding it onto the counter without burning herself.
"What are you doing this late at night?" Hiro asked.
"Don't you have eyes? I'm baking."
"I can see that. But… why?"
Elira stared at him for a few seconds. Her visible eye was unreadable—neither cold nor warm. Just… tired.
Then she let out an exhausted sigh.
"I'm baking these for my little sister."
She turned back to the counter, busying herself with arranging the new tray of cookies.
Hiro's memory stirred. Wait… Yurei did mention something about her sister the other day.
"The one in the hospital?"
"Yes. That one."
"What happened to her?"
Elira's hands paused—just for a fraction of a second.
"Don't you think you're asking too much now?"
"Sorry. I just want to know."
Another sigh. Longer this time.
"I'll tell you… if you help me make another batch."
Hiro blinked. "Okay. That's great."
Soon, both of them were working side by side.
Elira measured flour. Hiro cracked eggs. She mixed. He stirred. They moved around each other with surprising ease—like they had done this a hundred times before.
"She's… sick, if that's the right word to use," Elira said finally.
Her voice was quieter now. Softer.
"A few years ago… something happened. Something that saved the Captain's life." She paused, staring into the mixing bowl. "And in turn… it put my sister in a hospital. And recruited me into her unit."
Hiro absorbed this quietly.
"So you owe the Captain a lot."
"I don't owe her anything." Elira's voice was firm—but not angry. "Or… that's what she keeps telling me, at least."
She scraped the side of the bowl with a spatula.
"So what's your deal?"
"What do you mean, my deal?" Hiro asked, confused.
"I mean… what's your goal?"
"My goal?"
"I already know the situation—why you joined us." She glanced at him. "But given everything you've seen in the past couple of days… do you have a tangible goal now?"
Hiro thought about it.
"Yeah. It's to help people. And help Yurei become the Matriarch."
Elira stared at him for a few seconds.
Then she said: "I said… what's YOUR goal? Your very own selfish goal. The one that fulfills your own selfish desires."
She turned back to the counter.
"I aim for everything you just said. But I'm also aiming for a cure for my little sister." She placed chocolate crumbles on top of the next batch. "That's my goal."
A pause.
"So… what's yours?"
Hiro was quiet for a moment.
The only sounds were the soft tap of the spatula and the distant hum of the refrigerator.
"If I had to think about it…" he said slowly, "…mine would be to find my mother."
Elira's hands didn't stop moving.
"Your mother. The one who went missing?"
"Yeah. She went missing a couple of years ago. But I know… deep down in my heart… that she's still alive."
He expected her to laugh. Or call him naive. Or ask how he could possibly know.
Instead—
"That's a great goal," Elira said simply.
She spread more chocolate crumble across the cookies.
"Aren't you going to ask how I know she's still alive? Or call my goal stupid?"
Elira looked at him—her visible eye calm, almost soft.
"The same could be said about my goal. How do I know a cure exists? Where can I even find it?"
She shrugged.
"So… both of us are chasing nearly impossible dreams." A small pause. "But that makes me glad."
"Why?"
"Because now I know I'm working with a dreamer. Not a quitter."
Hiro felt something warm settle in his chest.
"Well… that's great to hear."
Silence quickly filled the room again.
The only sounds were the two of them working—spoons against bowls, the soft clink of the cooling rack, the distant hiss of the oven.
Hiro eyed the pile of finished cookies.
Golden. Perfect. Still slightly warm.
"So… can I have a cookie?"
"No."
"At least I tried."
Elira's lips twitched—just barely.
"You can have one before you go back to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be hell for you."
"Why's that?"
"You'll see once you get to the first base."
Hiro frowned. "That's ominous."
"That's reality."
A few minutes later, he grabbed a single cookie—still warm, still soft—and bit into it.
"Oh." His eyes widened. "This is actually really good."
"Of course it is. I made it."
He finished the cookie in three bites, brushed the crumbs from his robe, and headed back toward the hallway.
"Goodnight, Elira."
"Goodnight, idiot."
He didn't even mind the insult this time.
Elira watched him go.
His footsteps faded down the hallway. The door to Yurei's room opened and closed.
She stood alone in the kitchen, surrounded by cooling cookies and warm oven light.
"No wonder the Captain feels something for that guy," she whispered to the empty room.
She picked up a cookie.
Bit into it.
Let the sweetness settle on her tongue.
Then she began packing them into a small container—neatly, carefully—each one placed just so.
"Maybe… you'd like him too, little sister."
The oven clicked off.
The kitchen fell silent.
And somewhere down the hall, Hiro slipped back into bed—where Yurei immediately curled against him without waking, her hand finding his in the dark.