Minamoto Senya entered the passcode on the smart lock, just as Tōma Yōko had predicted he might need to, thanks to the message she'd sent him in advance.
The gate opened, and he stepped inside.
The Tōma residence covered more ground than the Sawamura family's place, though it was still slightly smaller than the Yukinoshita estate. Of course, the Busujima family's home was the largest of all—but theirs had originally been a traditional kendo dojo passed down through generations, later converted into a house. Naturally, it would be huge.
A carefully trimmed lawn circled the Tōma courtyard, framed by evergreen trees that gave the place a tranquil, secluded air. A stone path led from the front gate to the house, lined with old-fashioned bronze lamps.
Unlike the last time he'd visited, dusk had already settled. The lamps flickered to life automatically, their gentle glow casting a soft light along the stones, lending the whole scene a faintly Taishō-era romantic atmosphere.
Senya lifted his head toward the mansion.
Its architecture leaned European classical—cream-colored stone walls, deep brown wood-framed windows, intricate carvings. Grand, but still warm.
Not a single window showed light.
Just as Yōko-auntie had said—her beloved daughter was probably practicing piano.
Senya thought as much, entered the main code at the front door, and slid it open.
"Excuse me—"
His polite greeting as a guest spread into the dark, silent house. It was like tossing a stone into a bottomless crevice—no reply at all.
Now he understood why Yōko had been so insistent about asking for his help.
The bigger the house, the more suffocating the loneliness when you're the only one inside.
Suddenly, his own cramped little home didn't seem so bad. Even the loud cries from Rokka when Tokka scolded her—once annoying—now felt almost meaningful.
A noisy house really is better.
Switching to slippers, Senya turned on his phone's flashlight, made his way to the living room, and flipped the switch. Light spilled across the space, chasing away the biting cold emptiness.
He set down the things he'd brought on the coffee table and glanced around.
Aside from a few cushions tossed haphazardly on the floor, nothing seemed out of place.
Still, he didn't rush. First, he recorded a short video of the living room.
Before sending it, he checked the time in Las Vegas.
Around 2 a.m. … Perfect.
Send.
Sure enough, Yōko hadn't gone to bed yet—too restless, even after leaving things in Senya's hands. The video was marked "read" almost immediately, followed by her reply:
[I called Kazusa earlier, told her some last-minute work piled up and I wouldn't be able to come back. Not just Christmas Eve—even Christmas and New Year's, I probably won't make it. She didn't say anything afterward. With her personality, she's definitely sulking.]
Senya typed back:[Did you tell her I'd be coming?]
[I tried, but she hung up before I could.]
Senya stared at the message.[… So she doesn't know? If she thinks I'm trespassing and calls the police, what then?]
[Hahaha, she won't! I texted her afterward, said I found someone to keep her company, but I didn't say it was you. It's a surprise.]
[Oh, you mean the snacks and cake you told me to bring?]
[Not that. Kazusa may not admit it, but she's just like her mom—she's a sucker for a good-looking face. You get what I mean, right?]
Senya's expression tightened.
Seriously? I worked this hard to better myself, and all you see is my face? What kind of shallow world is this—where even world-class pianists judge people by looks?
More messages popped up from Yōko:[Kazusa's either in her room or the piano room. You can just go find her.][The fridge should have food. Cook something if you like, or just let her order takeout.][If anything happens, call me. I've got nothing to do here anyway. Slept until noon, wide awake now, bored out of my mind.]
Not sleepy and bored?
Senya sighed.[Got it. In that case, Auntie Yōko, rest easy. Leave everything to me.]
[?]
Pocketing his phone, he headed toward the piano room.
The heavy door swung open, and hot, dry air rushed out—stifling compared to the cool living room.
Even for someone with a cold-sensitive constitution, this was excessive. Stay in here too long, and you'd faint.
Senya frowned and stepped inside—then froze.
In the yellow light, curled on the floor beside the expensive grand piano, was Tōma Kazusa. Barefoot. Shivering.
"Kazusa-san? What's wrong?"
He hurried over and lifted her upright. She was trembling, still conscious, but when her bleary eyes recognized him—the boy she'd briefly met before—her guard softened just slightly.
Still, she couldn't speak. Pain had her clutching her stomach.
Senya noticed her pale face, her hands pressing her abdomen, and—beside her—the empty tub of Häagen-Dazs. The 1.5-liter family size.
"…You didn't finish all that yourself, did you?"
He was stunned. In winter, no less. Even in summer, that much would kill you.
"I had some… left half…"
Her voice was broken, strained, brows locked in agony.
The sight reminded Senya of an abandoned puppy in the snow—pathetic and pitiful.
"Half is still way too much! Do you think your stomach is made of steel? Didn't you learn from what happened to your mom? If you don't take care of your body, it'll strike back at you—"
He scolded, words sharp but hands gentle. Without hesitation, he scooped her up.
Kazusa's body went rigid in his arms, her small bare feet twitching in protest. "P-put me… down…" she whispered, mortified.
"If you could walk, I wouldn't be doing this."
He carried her swiftly into the living room and set her on the sofa.
Under the bright lights, her face looked even paler. She wore thin, long-sleeved pajamas—hardly winter wear.
Pulling out his phone, Senya dialed Yōko while asking Kazusa, "Where's your room?"
She blinked at him, still weak but strangely not resistant to his presence. Almost unconsciously, she pointed the way.
Senya hurried down the hall and entered.
Her room was about the same size as Yukino's, but painted in soft sky blue, distinctly girlish—and messy. Clothes scattered everywhere, but the air smelled faintly of lavender, not foul.
Clearly, like the living room, this was another "crime scene" born of frustration over her mother's broken promise.
Small in age, big in temper…
Senya didn't linger. He'd grown used to messy sights back home, thanks to Tokka and Rokka. He grabbed a blanket from the bed and returned.
He draped it over Kazusa just as Yōko picked up the call.
"Auntie Yōko, can you send a doctor over?"
Wealthy families usually had private doctors, and with Yōko's status, time was money—of course she'd have such arrangements.
On the other end, Yōko's voice spiked with tension. "What happened?"
He explained quickly. After a few deep breaths, she answered, tight with worry but calm: "I understand. I'll call someone right away. Keep an ear out for the bell."
Senya hung up, poured a glass of warm (not hot) water, and handed it to Kazusa. "Drink slowly. This should ease the pain."
She accepted, lips trembling, unable to voice her gratitude. But the warmth of his presence, of his words, filled the crack left by her mother's absence. Even her stomach pain seemed to lessen.
A video call soon came from Yōko. She apologized profusely, thanking Senya again and again.
Senya just smiled. To him, "keeping her company" naturally included "taking care of her."
"…Senya, let me talk to Kazusa."
He switched the camera. Kazusa reached for the phone, and he thought she wanted to hold it. But instead, she glared into the screen, spat out a single word—"Liar"—and hung up.
Senya froze. Kazusa pouted, pushed the phone back to him with one finger, then turned away.
Soon after, the doctor arrived—a woman in her thirties, smelling faintly of grilled meat and alcohol, clearly pulled from a gathering. Still, she was cheerful and professional.
Kazusa, surly toward her mother, was meek with the doctor, answering obediently. The diagnosis was straightforward: "No big problem. Just stomach pain from too much ice cream too fast."
Warm water had helped. The doctor advised warm saline, then ginger-red date tea later, plus rest and light food afterward.
Senya listened carefully, asked questions, then thanked her.
When he returned, Kazusa was curled on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, head poking out like some bundled creature. Senya couldn't help but chuckle.
Kazusa noticed—and scowled. "What are you laughing at—mmph!" She bit her tongue mid-retort, making him laugh harder.
"Good thing you earn money with your hands, not your mouth," he teased lightly.
"…Hmph!"
He fetched her more warm saline water. She accepted it wordlessly, staring at the TV, refusing to meet his gaze.
"Do you have a hot water bottle?" he asked.
"…Not sure."
Senya decided to run to the store. At once, Kazusa's reaction was sharp: "You're leaving!?"
Realizing her own outburst, she quickly masked it, murmuring, "Th-thank you… If you go, please lock the door."
Senya softened. She really was like a sheltered princess—awkward, clumsy, but sincere.
"Leave? I brought cake and sweets, didn't I? I'll just be right back."
"…Oh."
He went out, bought a heating pad and ginger, and soon returned.
Kazusa was still on the sofa, watching him bustle around. When he handed her the warm pack, she whispered, "Thank you."
Senya smiled. "No problem."
Another message came from Yōko:[If you don't mind, Senya, why not stay the night? There are plenty of guest rooms.]
Senya glanced at Kazusa, now calmer with the hot water bottle on her stomach, her face finally relaxed.
He typed back:[I'll see how things go.]