The table buzzed with life dishes clattering, laughter bursting forth, and the soft hiss of steam escaping from still-warm plates. The aroma of roasted meats and spiced broth filled the air, mingling with the sweet scent of freshly baked bread.
This wasn't the kind of breakfast Zemin was accustomed to; it was a whole different flavor, a different vibe.
He sat quietly, letting the lively scene envelop him. Across the table, Sévon slid a piece of bread onto Pixia's plate without uttering a word. She didn't say thank you, but her smirk spoke volumes it was an old routine, something they didn't need to voice.
Meanwhile, Tasia leaned over three seats just to heap more food onto Lokei's plate, completely ignoring his annoyed groan.
"You'll eat it and thank me later," she said with a grin, giving his shoulder a friendly pat before piling another serving onto Taura's plate.
Everywhere Zemin looked, there were these little gestures rough around the edges but so genuine. The playful teasing, the half-serious debates, the casual sharing of food it was chaotic, loud, and… warm.
This was all new to him. Meals had always been quiet, just a means to fuel his body, nothing more. But here, the laughter made the food taste richer, and the chatter added a unique sweetness to the air.
Zemin lowered his gaze to his plate, his fingers tightening slightly around his fork. He didn't say much or contribute to the noise, but inside, he felt something unfamiliar stirring.
A gentle warmth, almost unsettling in its softness.
So this is what it feels like… he thought, watching the crew bicker like siblings who had long since stopped caring about winning. A family.
He allowed himself the tiniest smile, so brief that no one at the table noticed.
The soft atmosphere went on for a while until one voice startled everyone.
"Man this is some bull, how are we celebrating a mere rookie who hasn't been even on a single mission."
Everyone at the table went silent. All eyes were on the person who stated the already obvious. Some were still staring while some were annoyed and continued eating like they did not here a single word from the person.
"Why are y'all staring at me? You know I'm right."
"Kiichi are you really stating the literal obvious." Sévon said while about to eat some more food.
"I am so what Sévon you still know I'm on point though."
"I won't lie you are telling the truth but do you actually understand why we are doing this?"
"And why is that?"
Sévon stared deep into Kiichi's eyes in order to tell him the reason for the small family welcoming celebration, but then stops himself.
"You know what forget it."
"See I told you there is no reason we are just doing this for fun."
Zemin continued to eat in silence, his gaze occasionally drifting toward Kiichi. The man had a sharp edge to his voice, a chip on his shoulder that grated against the room's warmth like sandpaper.
Most of the crew chose to ignore him; Taura rolled her eyes, Pixia let out a scoff under her breath, and even Tasia shook her head with an exaggerated sigh. Yet, the silence hung heavily in the air, like a crack splitting the table in two.
But Kiichi wasn't finished. He slammed his chopsticks against the table, leaning in closer. "I'm just saying what you're all thinking. He's suspicious. A guy shows up out of nowhere, acting like he's some kind of big shot, and suddenly he's part of our crew? Come on. You can't tell me that doesn't raise some eyebrows."
The tension in the room thickened.
Finally, Zemin looked up, his expression calm and unreadable. He set his fork down with a soft clink against the plate.
"Suspicious, is it?" His voice was low and steady. "That's one way to describe someone you don't quite get."
A few crew members glanced his way Taura with a smirk, Pixia with raised eyebrows, both curious to see how this would unfold.
Kiichi sneered, "So you can talk. Good. Maybe now you'll earn your spot at this table. Because right now, all I see is dead weight, not a fighter."
The atmosphere shifted, laughter and warmth giving way to a tense anticipation.
Shuren, still seated, let out a slow breath. "Kiichi." Her voice was steady, but her eyes held a warning.
He stood up anyway, tossing his napkin onto the table. "No, Shuren. Let's cut the act. If he wants to sit with us, he needs to prove he belongs. Just a simple spar. That's all."
The room fell silent again, every gaze flicking between Kiichi and Zemin.
Zemin didn't flinch. A faint smirk played on his lips. "A spar, huh? You really want to go there?"
That one line sent the tension soaring.
Some chuckled quietly. Tasia muttered, "Oh sh*t, here we go again…" while Sévon pinched the bridge of his nose, as if this was all too predictable.
Finally, Shuren stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. "Fine." She shot a long look at Zemin, then at Kiichi. "You want a spar? Let's do it right. Follow me."
Without another word, she turned and strode out of the hall.
The crew exchanged glances and pushed back their chairs, trailing after her. Zemin was the last to stand, brushing a crumb from his sleeve, his gaze steady on Kiichi. Neither of them spoke as they walked side by side, the crew buzzing with whispers behind them.
They reached a set of polished metal doors at the end of the hall. Shuren pressed a button, and with a soft chime, the elevator doors opened.
"Downstairs," she said simply, stepping inside.
The others piled in, excitement bubbling up. Zemin stepped in last, calm as ever, while Kiichi cracked his knuckles, eager for the challenge.
The doors slid shut.
The warmth of breakfast faded, replaced by the heavy air of an impending clash.