Minamoto Senya hailed a taxi by the roadside, pulling the door open but not getting in right away. Instead, he stepped aside slightly and gestured for Tōma Kazusa to enter first.
It was such a simple, natural gesture to him, yet to Kazusa—someone who had lived most of her life without close friends—it struck a trembling chord deep within.
They slid into the back seat together, Senya giving the driver an address. The car rumbled to life.
Kazusa was quietly grateful the radio was on. The lively chatter of the host and guests about everything under the sun filled the silence, helping ease some of her nerves.
It was strange. The last time they met, everything had gone so smoothly, they'd laughed and had fun. Yet now, after only a short absence, there was a new awkwardness between them.
Was it just her who felt that way?
Kazusa couldn't quite understand. She sat stiffly in the far-left seat of the back row, careful to keep a small gap of space between herself and Senya.
At this time of year, she should have been at home practicing piano.
Her mother wasn't around, and it was New Year's—normally a time for families to be together.
She knew other people were gathered around dinner tables, celebrating with warmth and laughter. Comparing that to herself—the big, quiet house with only her in it—loneliness was inevitable. A little bitterness too.
But she had prepared herself for it. She had lowered her expectations as far as they could possibly go.
She had already decided that on this night, when the rest of the world was filled with joy, she would sit in her piano room and play until exhaustion pushed away her solitude. She'd fall asleep right there, and when she woke, morning would have come—the hardest, emptiest hours already behind her.
But now…
Because of Senya's invitation, the most painful night of the year had turned into something entirely different. A night she was actually looking forward to.
Time wasn't about how much you had, but how you used it.
Time never slowed for anyone, but a tiny change in plans could color it with a brilliance she hadn't thought possible.
Kazusa exhaled softly. The car had stopped at a red light. She pretended to watch the pedestrians crossing the street, but really, she was stealing glances at Senya from the corner of her eye.
A sharp, handsome face. A tall, well-proportioned frame. Clothes neat and clean. His gestures casual yet refined. He looked like he had stepped right out of a fairy-tale picture book.
She had to admit it—her very first impression of him had been favorable, even before she truly got to know him. Even if he hadn't saved her mother that time, even if he had been a complete stranger, she probably still would have looked twice.
It wasn't just human nature—biological instinct drew people toward beauty and strength.
In the Tōma household, that tendency was even more apparent.
Kazusa remembered: aside from necessary professional acquaintances, her mother's casual friends were all attractive men. Not a single exception.
Still… none of them compared to the one sitting beside her now.
"Um…"
She'd been working up the courage for several minutes before finally speaking.
"Is it really okay… if I come over to your house like this? I won't be imposing?"
She had never once gone to a friend's house before. Not once in her life.
So this first time was making her anxious—terrified that she'd do something wrong, ruin things, and make her only friend unhappy.
Senya put his phone down after finishing a message, smiling at her reassurance. "It's fine. I already told my parents, and besides—my folks know your mom. You don't have to worry."
"Ah… I see." Kazusa nodded, a little calmer. But she still couldn't completely settle her nerves.
A sudden thought hit her, and her face drained of color.
She'd forgotten a gift.
Every time Senya had come to her house before, he'd brought something with him. And now she was arriving empty-handed? Wasn't that terribly rude?
"Um… maybe we should stop here?"
Kazusa leaned toward him, bracing one hand on the seat. Her coat hung open, and though she was still young, the fitted sweater beneath outlined her figure in a way that was impossible to ignore.
Senya blinked at her sudden shift. "What's wrong?"
She nodded toward the shopping mall they were passing. "If I'm visiting, I should at least buy something to bring."
He understood at once, chuckling. "Don't worry, my family doesn't care about that."
"But still… it feels impolite if I go with nothing."
At that moment, the middle-aged driver—who had been silent until now—suddenly spoke up with a grin. "First time visiting your boyfriend's house, huh? Don't worry about gifts. Just be polite, smile a lot, help out where you can—that'll be plenty."
Kazusa turned bright red, like a shrimp dropped in boiling water. She wanted to correct the misunderstanding, but the words caught in her throat.
Senya intervened smoothly. "Sir, we're not a couple."
The driver nearly swerved from surprise. "Really? You two look so perfect together though!"
What on earth is this man saying?!
Now she felt like a steaming train engine, ready to blow smoke. Still, Kazusa forced her face under control, adding stiffly, "We're… just friends."
"Ah, I see. My mistake. Sorry about that."
It wasn't necessary to apologize—but there was no point saying more.
At last, the taxi pulled up to the Minamoto household. The meter read over fifteen thousand yen.
Kazusa insisted on paying, handing the driver two ten-thousand-yen notes and refusing change.
Once they got out, she noticed Senya's look and stuffed her hands in her pockets, trying to look nonchalant. "What?"
"Nothing," he said with a grin. "Just admiring the elegance of a proper rich lady."
"Idiot. I just thought the poor driver deserved a little kindness, working through New Year's Eve."
"Rich and kind-hearted. If you're not careful, you'll get scammed by some awful guy one day."
"That's none of your business."
Senya laughed and led her toward the front door.
"I'm home."
——
The Minamoto household was lively that night.
By five o'clock, his mother Junko had closed her shop and hurried back to prepare dinner.
Rokka had tried to help, but after accidentally dropping a whole ball of carefully kneaded dough into the trash, she was stripped of her apron and banished to the living room.
In this family, the youngest's main responsibility was being cute. Not helping was, in fact, the greatest help.
A little later, around six, Saeko Busujima arrived.
She lived alone while her father worked abroad, and Senya had invited her long ago so she wouldn't spend the holiday by herself.
Though Eriri had also extended an invitation, Saeko chose the Minamoto household. Not just because her friends Rokka and Yukino would be there, but because—if she was honest—she felt closer to Senya than to anyone else.
She didn't bother to lie to herself about it.
Saeko arrived carrying a three-tiered box of homemade food—black beans, dried herring roe, stir-fried tiny sardines, red-and-white fish cakes. Small in quantity, but carefully prepared, each dish heavy with meaning.
Without hesitation, she tied on an apron and joined Junko in the kitchen. Despite protests that she was a guest, she insisted, and soon the two were laughing and working side by side.
Later, Senya's father Sanada and older sister Tokika returned from closing the family bar.
The kitchen was already crowded, so Sanada greeted the guests warmly and disappeared into the bath for a rare, relaxing soak.
By eight-thirty, little Rokka—posted as look-out in the living room—heard the front door open. She dropped her mandarin orange and dashed to the entryway.
"Mom! Senya's back, and he brought a guest!"
Kazusa stiffened immediately under the curious gaze of the cheerful girl and, moments later, three more faces peeking from the kitchen.
The Minamoto home was nothing like her own. Not large, not lavish. But warm. The smell of fresh food, the hum of the vent fan mixing with the TV's chatter—the air itself seemed alive.
Junko wiped her hands on a towel, smiling warmly as she came forward. "Welcome home, Senya."
Her eyes softened further when she turned to Kazusa. "You must be Kazusa, Ms. Tōma's daughter. Your mother has done me many kindnesses."
"H-Hello…" Kazusa forced a polite smile.
Sensing her unease, Senya smoothly introduced everyone.
"Come in, come in. It's cold out. Senya told me your mother's away—don't hesitate to visit anytime, all right?" Junko urged kindly.
"T-Thank you, ma'am…"
With Senya mediating, Kazusa gradually began to relax.
Junko was gentle and welcoming.
The bright little girl was Minamoto Rokka, his younger sister.
The elegant, more mature-looking young woman was Minamoto Tokika, his older sister.
And the tall girl with sleek violet hair—Kazusa recognized instantly. She had looked her up after Christmas Eve, when she'd found footage of Senya's kendo matches. She remembered the other competitor who'd appeared on screen almost as often as he had.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Saeko Busujima, Senya's upperclassman and club president," Saeko introduced with a warm smile.
Senya added, "She's the captain of my kendo club."
The two shared a glance and smiled in easy understanding.
Kazusa noticed. And for some reason, it left her replying stiffly, "I'm Tōma Kazusa."
Saeko chuckled. "Pleased to meet you, Tōma-san."
Soon, Junko guided Kazusa into the living room, asking Rokka to bring tea.
Senya interjected, "She likes sweet drinks. Bring the juice instead."
"Um… I finished it earlier," Rokka admitted sheepishly.
"That was a 2.5-liter bottle," Senya deadpanned.
"Hehe…"
Junko waved it off, pressing some bills into Rokka's hand. "Run to the store and buy more."
Rokka saluted cheerfully and bolted for the door—until Kazusa, panicked, nudged Senya under the table, cheeks puffed and shaking her head desperately.
"Never mind," Senya called after her. "It's cold. Just make tea."
"Eh? But doesn't Tōma-san want juice?"
"Tea's fine."
Rokka pocketed the money and skipped back happily, earning a light smack on the head from her mother.
At last, Kazusa sat at the kotatsu, fascinated by the warm space beneath the blanket.
Tokika brought out trays of dumpling skins and fillings, explaining, "The kitchen's too small, so I'll prep here."
Senya shrugged off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. "Leave it to me. You've got enough to do."
Tokika's eyes flicked down his frame. Was it her imagination, or had he gotten more solid lately?
"Can you handle it alone? We still have tempura and steaming left."
"I'll be fine."
At that moment, Kazusa spoke up softly. "I… can help too."
Senya frowned. "But your hands—"
A sharp kick under the table shut him up.
Kazusa continued, "It's only light work. I'll be fine."
Tokika gave them a thoughtful look, then returned to the kitchen.
Senya and Kazusa washed their hands and set to work side by side.
Rokka tried to join, but Senya refused flatly. The last time she'd "helped," she'd slipped a coin into a dumpling as a prank. Tokika had nearly cracked a tooth biting down on it, and Rokka's wails afterward had echoed across the whole neighborhood.
"Take off your coat," Senya advised. "It'll be easier to move."
"Right."
Kazusa obeyed, handing it to him.
Rokka's eyes flicked between Kazusa and her chest, before falling silent. After learning they were the same age, she comforted herself by remembering Eriri and Yukino—at least she wasn't last place.
"So… what do I do?"
"Just wrap the filling like this." Senya demonstrated, his hands deft, producing a perfect, delicate xiaolongbao.
"Oh, so we're making steamed buns." Kazusa followed his motions quickly, placing her first attempt beside his.
The comparison made her blush. His was small and elegant. Hers looked like a whole different species.
Senya examined hers carefully. Too much filling, the skin stretched nearly transparent—it would burst in the steamer for sure.
"Looks good," he teased. "Yours is the mother. Mine's the baby."
Expressionless, she reclaimed her "failure" and tried again. By the third, she had already improved remarkably.
Rokka gaped. "Wow, you learn so fast, Tōma-san! You must cook a lot at home too?"
"Not really." Kazusa's reply was polite but reserved.
Rokka only saw humility. She couldn't help but marvel: why did her brother's friends all turn out to be so impressive?
A politician's daughter. A diplomat's daughter. A kendo heiress. And now… the daughter of a world-famous pianist.
Wait.
All of them were girls.
She blinked, suddenly aware of something she hadn't noticed before.
Meanwhile, Kazusa, no longer holding back, leaned into the comfort of Senya's presence. Compared to the unfamiliar warmth of this household, he was her anchor—her lifeline. Working together, side by side, chatting as they cooked—it was more than enough.
"What are the little square crystals in the filling?" she asked curiously.
"Pork aspic."
Her face went pale. "Pork… aspic?"
"It's just the broth from boiling pork skin, cooled into jelly. Kind of like pudding."
Her stomach lurched. "Pudding with pork skin?!"
He snorted. "No! Pudding uses gelatin or agar. No pork involved."
She sighed with relief. As long as pudding remained safe, she didn't care about the details.
Still, she eyed the dumplings warily. Anything made from skin or organs made her uneasy.
"Trust me," Senya said gently. "When they're steamed, you'll love them. They're juicy and delicious."
She wasn't convinced, but curiosity overcame her disgust.
After ten minutes, Senya carried the finished dumplings to the kitchen.
Kazusa washed her hands—and her phone rang.
She stepped aside to answer. "Hello, Mom."
Her mother's amused voice crossed the ocean. "Hmm, you sound cheerful. My little girl must be in a good mood tonight."
Kazusa glanced around. Senya peeling a mandarin for her, Rokka cheerfully refilling her cup, Junko and Tokika bustling from kitchen to table, Saeko laughing softly with them all.
The food was steaming fresh, not reheated in a lonely microwave. The TV's chatter wasn't a mask for silence, but part of the harmony. The kotatsu's warmth wrapped them all closer than central heating ever could.
The Minamoto home wasn't big. But it overflowed with something hers never had.
"Not just good, Mom," Kazusa said softly, smiling for real this time. "I'm… really happy tonight."
...…