Minamoto Senya arrived at the entrance of the girls' locker room inside the gymnasium.
It was just past five o'clock. The sky hadn't darkened yet, and the place was buzzing with after-school activities as various sports clubs practiced with energy and noise.
Relying on his handsome, almost too-perfect little face, paired with the natural warmth that radiated from his unusually high charisma, Senya had no trouble striking up a conversation with a passing female student. Before long, he'd successfully persuaded her to fetch the clothes that Takanashi Toka had left in the locker room.
"Thank you, onee-san," Senya said sweetly as he accepted the clothes, his small voice dripping with charm.
The girl just waved her hand dismissively, returning the locker key. "Don't mention it, it was nothing."
Hugging the uniform tightly, Senya left the gym. Once he was sure no one was around near the flowerbeds outside, he quickly unfolded Toka's uniform and tucked her undergarments neatly inside.
It wasn't part of his original plan. Only now did it occur to him that when doing gymnastics, girls would obviously be wearing sports bras.
When he returned to the nurse's office, Senya handed the bundle of clothes to Takanashi Toka.
He was about to pull the curtain around the infirmary bed and respectfully turn away when Toka spoke.
"No need, I'll just slip them on directly."
Senya nodded, realizing she was right. Then, without thinking, he asked, "Do you need me to help?"
The words left his mouth before his brain caught up, and he immediately regretted it.
She only sprained her ankle—her hands work just fine, idiot!
But to his surprise, Toka only nodded seriously. "In that case, could you bring me my schoolbag?"
Relieved, Senya quickly did as asked and handed it over. Sensing what she was about to do, he turned his eyes firmly toward the window.
Sure enough, Toka discreetly slipped her underwear and over-the-knee socks into the bag before naturally changing into her uniform and pleated skirt.
As Senya crouched by the bed, Toka hesitated a moment, looking at her new little brother—who, in reality, was just a sixth grader.
"Senya… why don't you support me a little? I can walk if I lean on you."
"It's fine. You just need to trust me, Toka-nee."
Senya's tone left no room for argument. Unable to insist further, Toka leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and slowly lowering herself onto his back.
Senya slid his hands behind him to steady her, his palms brushing against a softness he had to consciously ignore. He tugged at the hem of her skirt, making sure it didn't ride up indecently.
Then, with steady footing, he stood and carried her out of the infirmary.
"Senya, if it gets too tiring, you can put me down anytime. Don't push yourself," Toka said softly.
Her words were meant with kindness, but to Senya, they sounded like a challenge.
Don't push myself? You have no idea how strong I am!
Perhaps because he'd been stuck in a child's body long enough, sometimes Senya's mindset slipped into childish impulses.
As they descended the staircase, Senya suddenly leapt over the last three or four steps in one bound.
Toka gasped sharply, startled by the sudden motion. Though she didn't scream outright, her arms and legs instinctively tightened around him.
"Immature brat," she muttered once her heartbeat calmed, realizing he'd only done it to tease her for that earlier overprotective remark.
Senya chuckled, triumphant. "Sorry, Toka-nee. You're so light on my back that I almost forgot you were there and just went down like I usually do."
Toka's lips curled slightly. "If you're really that tough, why don't you carry me all the way home like this?"
"Not yet. Maybe in a few years, though."
They kept chatting as they walked.
For the first time since becoming part of the same family, the two of them shared such a long, unbroken conversation. Without realizing it, the distance between them grew smaller.
Later, as Toka sat on the back seat of Senya's bike, her arms around his waist, the evening wind brushing against her face, she felt oddly exhilarated. Even the dull ache in her ankle seemed to fade.
Her new little brother—despite being young and sometimes insufferably smug—was unexpectedly reliable.
"Senya, Mom and Uncle don't know I got hurt yet, right?"
"Mm-hm."
"Then let's not tell them. It's not that serious, and I don't want them worrying."
"Well… it'll be easy enough to keep it from Aunt Junko since she's on her business trip. But Dad's bound to notice once he sees your ankle."
"His schedule's the complete opposite of ours. As long as I'm careful at home, he probably won't."
"Alright, I get it."
"What do you want for dinner tonight?"
"Dinner? Toka-nee, you're injured. You shouldn't even be worrying about that."
"Then maybe we can order out. That works too."
Before leaving, Aunt Junko had slipped Toka some money, telling her to look after her younger siblings while she was away.
Today, with her sprained ankle making it hard to stand for long, ordering takeout was perfectly reasonable. Tomorrow, though, she'd need to get back into the kitchen—after all, her siblings were still growing, and proper meals mattered.
"I mean," Senya said firmly, "you should rest. I'll cook dinner tonight."
He said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Aunt Junko had always kept their home perfectly managed, so lately their lifestyle had been comfortable to the point of indulgence—meals ready, laundry folded, nothing to worry about. But as nice as that was, Senya occasionally missed the satisfaction of cooking for himself.
It had been a while since he'd last done it. He wondered if his skills had dulled.
Toka thought back to the earlier events of the day and chose not to question him. Later, she would be grateful for her silence.
When they returned home, she limped to the kitchen doorway, hand against the wall, ready to step in if anything went wrong.
But to her surprise, her little brother wasn't just reliable in daily life—he was apparently a seasoned cook as well.
His knife moved cleanly through vegetables, his motions fluid and practiced. When he tossed ingredients in the wok, the sizzling sounds were rhythmic, almost musical. At one point, he even flipped the pan midair, the food flying up before landing perfectly back in the wok. The sight was strangely mesmerizing.
In about half an hour, Senya had finished: three dishes and a soup, all steaming hot, neatly set on the table.
Toka and her younger sister, Rikka, exchanged astonished glances. Neither of them had known that since the first grade, Senya had taken up the role of "family chef."
"Come on, dig in. Don't hold back. If anything's off, let me know so I can adjust next time."
With Senya saying it so naturally, neither Toka nor Rikka hesitated.
Toka scooped up a bite of mapo tofu. The moment it hit her tongue, her eyes widened.
It was still mapo tofu, but the flavor was on another level—the initial sharp spiciness giving way to a tingling numbing sensation, distinct from both her mother's cooking and restaurant versions.
Despite her ankle injury dampening her appetite earlier, she now found herself suddenly hungry. She felt like she could polish off an entire bowl of rice with just the sauce alone.
"How is it?" Senya asked, watching her carefully. This was the first time he'd cooked for the Takanashi sisters, and he wasn't sure how they'd react.
"It's delicious!" Toka nodded vigorously, scooping up another spoonful of tofu, blowing on it before quickly popping it into her mouth.
Rikka, meanwhile, had taken a huge bite of hamburger steak and was currently fanning her mouth, cheeks puffed as she let out little bursts of hot air. She couldn't even answer yet.
…