"They are…" Kotegawa asked, her gaze lingering on the unusual pair. Mashiro's golden hair caught the sunlight like a magnet, drawing eyes without effort.
"She is my sister, Mikan." Rito gestured to the younger girl, who gave a polite bow. "And that dazed-looking girl is Mashiro, daughter of my mother's friend. She came from a foreign country and just transferred yesterday."
Kotegawa blinked, her eyes flicking to Mashiro again. "Transferred…?"
Mashiro, sensing the weight of her stare, tilted her head slightly. "Hello," she murmured, her voice soft but distant, as if her mind was still somewhere else entirely.
Mikan chuckled, nudging Rito lightly. "She's like that most of the time, but she's not a bad person. Just… forgetful."
Kotegawa folded her arms, studying Mashiro with a mix of curiosity and something else—perhaps a faint, reluctant admiration. "I see. Well… if she's transferring here, I suppose I'll be seeing her at school."
"That's right," Rito said, scratching his cheek. "Day after tomorrow, actually."
For a moment, silence hung between them, only the faint rustle of leaves filling the gap. Then Kotegawa crouched, brushing her skirt as she checked on the cat now happily grooming itself on the ground.
"…Anyway, thanks for helping, Yuuki-kun. I was worried it would hurt itself if it slipped."
Rito waved it off. "Don't mention it. I couldn't just leave it there."
Mashiro's amber eyes followed the cat as it wandered off, her lips parting just slightly. "…Cute."
Kotegawa glanced at her again, almost caught off guard by how easily the word left Mashiro's lips. She straightened, brushing her hair back. "Well then… I'll leave you three to your shopping."
Mikan smiled politely. "Take care, Kotegawa-san."
Rito gave a small wave. Mashiro, however, simply blinked once, as though committing Kotegawa's figure to memory before turning her gaze away.
As Kotegawa walked off, Mikan leaned in close to Rito, whispering with a mischievous grin. "Onii-chan, you're racking up encounters with pretty girls again…"
Rito groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Don't make it sound weird."
After parting ways with Kotegawa, the three of them continued down the shopping street. The bustle of weekend shoppers filled the air—children tugging at their parents for sweets, the faint aroma of takoyaki sizzling at a food stand, and the chatter of high school couples passing by.
Mashiro walked quietly at Rito's side, clutching the hem of his sleeve like a lifeline. Every now and then, Rito's hand would reach out, ruffling her silky golden hair with the same ease one might pet a cat. Mashiro didn't resist; in fact, her eyes were half-closed, almost as if she enjoyed the sensation.
Mikan, trailing just a little behind them, watched with a smile tugging at her lips. She knew her brother well enough to understand there was no strange intent behind it—Rito's hand on Mashiro's head carried no weight of lust or romance. To him, Mashiro was simply… soothing. Like a younger sibling he couldn't help but fuss over.
Still, Mikan's smile began to falter. A small pout formed on her lips as she hugged her shopping bag closer. Honestly… 'Onii-chan never pats my head like that anymore. He used to, when we were kids…'
She quickened her steps, sliding up beside them. "Onii-chan," she called, her voice just a touch sharper than usual.
"Hm? What is it, Mikan?" Rito tilted his head.
"…Nothing." She turned her face away, puffing her cheeks just slightly.
Rito blinked. "Eh? What's with that look?"
Mashiro glanced between them, her blank expression unchanging, but her amber eyes flickered with faint curiosity. Then, without warning, she tugged Rito's sleeve tighter and leaned her head against his arm—as if marking her territory.
Mikan's eye twitched. "…Seriously?"
Rito froze. "…Mashiro?"
Mashiro blinked up at him, then simply said, "Warm."
Mikan sighed, pressing her fingers against her temple. "You're so hopeless, Onii-chan. Both of you."
Rito gave a wry smile, scratching the back of his neck. 'Great. Now Mashiro's making me look like some kind of harem protagonist out of nowhere…'
Although in reality he was.
After the takoyaki stand left them satisfied and a bag of Mashiro's beloved bamuchuken was secured from the convenience store, Mikan suddenly clasped her hands together with a decisive nod.
"Next stop—clothes! Mashiro-chan needs some proper outfits, doesn't she?"
Rito froze mid-step. "Eh? Right now?"
"Of course right now." Mikan locked arms with Mashiro, who merely blinked but allowed herself to be led away without resistance. "You just wait outside, Onii-chan. This is girls' territory."
And so, Rito found himself standing stiffly at the storefront of a female clothing shop. Rows of mannequins posed in swimsuits and summer dresses, racks hung with bras and lacy innerwear, the kind that made his ears burn just by glancing at them.
He crossed his arms, trying to look casual. 'This is fine. Totally fine. Just a guy waiting for his family. No big deal.'
Yet every passing second felt like torture. A pair of high school girls giggled as they passed, sneaking glances his way. An older lady gave him a knowing smile. A couple even whispered something to each other before laughing softly.
Rito's lips twitched. 'At least no one's calling the cops… that's… something, right?'
Still, the heat crawling up his neck refused to fade. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, darting his gaze toward the ground. 'I swear, if Mikan takes longer than five minutes, I'm going to—'
"Yuuki-kun?"
The familiar voice made his heart jolt. Slowly, he turned his head…
And there, walking down the street with a small shopping bag in hand, was Haruna.
"Ahh, Sairenji-san. This is… my sister is inside changing with someone, so she asked me to wait outside for the time being." Rito explained, forcing a small smile as he scratched his cheek.
Haruna tilted her head, then chuckled softly. "I see… Actually, you know, boys can also go inside these kinds of shops. You'd probably stand out less in there than looking so nervous out here."
Her gentle laugh carried no malice, but to Rito it felt like a direct critical hit.
"Eh—seriously?!" His voice cracked as his face flared red. He immediately crouched down on the bench nearby, hands covering half his face. "Is that so…"
In his mind, he could already picture it—Mikan's mischievous grin when she dragged him here, the smug little look she'd probably give once she realized he was squirming outside like a cornered animal.
'Damn it… she totally set me up for this!'
Haruna giggled again, her hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You really haven't done this kind of thing before, huh, Yuuki-kun?"
Rito groaned, slumping even lower. "Do I look like I have…?"
Before Haruna could reply, the sliding door of the store opened. Mikan's voice carried out, sing-song sweet:
"Onii-chan, can you come in for a second? We need your opinion on something."
Rito stiffened like a soldier hearing his death sentence. Slowly, he looked up to see Haruna covering her mouth, shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter.
'I knew it… I knew she'd pull something like this…!'
"Onii-chan ~ can you come in for a second? We need your opinion on something."
The sing-song tone was like a guillotine blade.
Rito froze, his face draining of color. "Eh?! N-No, I don't think that's—"
But before he could finish, Mikan's head popped out from the store entrance. She gave him a sly grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Come on, don't be shy. It's not like you'll see anything weird."
Her words only made it worse. The nearby girls shopping inside glanced toward him, some giggling, others whispering. Rito could practically feel their stares drilling into his back.
Beside him, Haruna covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling as she tried not to laugh. "You should probably just go, Yuuki-kun. If you keep refusing, you'll stand out even more."
Rito groaned.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to stand and shuffle inside. The air-conditioning hit his flushed skin, and he nearly tripped when he realized just how many mannequins were modeling swimsuits and lingerie right near the entrance.
"There you are, Onii-chan!" Mikan waved him over, holding a shopping basket filled with clothes. Mashiro stood beside her, already dressed in a simple white summer dress she must have tried on. Her golden hair framed her pale shoulders, and she tilted her head at him.
"…Opinion," she said softly, her amber eyes locking onto him.
Rito's heart skipped. "Eh? O-Opinion on what?!"
Mikan smirked, holding up two different dresses against Mashiro's figure. "Which one looks better on her, Onii-chan? The white one she's wearing now… or this light blue one?"
Rito's brain short-circuited. With Mashiro staring at him so seriously, it felt less like picking clothes and more like a confession test.
"I-I… uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flaming. "They both look… good?"
"Wrong answer," Mikan said flatly, puffing her cheeks. "You have to pick one!"
Mashiro blinked slowly, still watching him. "…Pick."
Rito groaned internally, sweat beading at his temple. 'There's no way out of this…'
Finally, he took a breath and forced himself to speak. "I… think the one Mashiro's wearing suits her best. The white really… matches her complexion."
Mashiro blinked once, then tilted her head slightly, amber eyes fixed on him. "…White is good?"
"Y-Yeah," Rito said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It really… fits you."
Without a word, Mashiro stepped closer and clutched his sleeve, almost as if sealing his answer with her quiet approval. Her golden hair brushed against his arm, her presence soft yet strangely overwhelming.
Mikan raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. 'Ohhh, so Onii-chan can actually compliment someone seriously…'
From outside the shop, Haruna watched the scene quietly. Her gaze lingered on Mashiro's hand holding Rito's sleeve, then shifted to Rito's flustered expression. Something unreadable flickered across her eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or a faint twinge of unease.
"…She's really pretty," Haruna murmured under her breath, her fingers tightening on the strap of her bag.
Inside, Rito tried not to collapse under the weight of Mashiro's quiet intensity. 'This… feels way too much like a flag being raised…'