The three of them finally emerged from the small forest, looking worse for wear. Their original plan for a casual lunch out was now untenable; they were a mess of dirt, scratches, and frayed nerves.
"So, where to now?" Jahy asked, carefully stowing the mana stone in her bag.
Her own mission was complete. The next move was up to the other two.
Masao turned to Yukinoshita.
"What do you think, Yukinoshita? Should we head back, or try to find a restaurant?"
Yukinoshita's gaze swept over Masao's disheveled form.
"We should return," she stated decisively. "We need to clean up and do a proper check for any injuries."
"Home it is, then."
—
They retraced their path and soon arrived back at the house. The familiar, quiet interior was a welcome relief.
"Yukinoshita, would you like to use the bath first?" Masao offered.
She shook her head.
"A simple wash will suffice. I'm not that dirty." Her eyes then fell on him. "You, on the other hand, Masao-kun, should take a bath and change. Those clothes aren't wearable anymore."
"Right. Make yourself at home, then." He nodded. He'd been thinking the same thing.
Gathering a fresh set of clothes, he retreated into the bathroom. The hot water was a blessing, washing away the grime and tension of the morning.
As he scrubbed, he looked at his discarded shirt, the back torn and stained. There was no saving it; it was destined for the trash.
—
Stepping out of the steamy bathroom, Masao heard a soft clatter from the kitchen. Curious, he went to investigate.
He stopped in the doorway, surprised by the scene before him.
Yukinoshita Yukino was moving around the kitchen, a simple apron tied over her clothes. Her twin tails had been twisted up into a practical, yet surprisingly elegant, bun at the back of her head.
The transformation was striking. The sharp, aloof honor student was gone, replaced by a picture of domestic efficiency.
For a fleeting moment, she looked like a young wife preparing a meal, a vision of gentle competence that sent a jolt through his system.
'She has no idea,' he thought, 'the effect her usual self has. But this… this gentle, capable version is a whole different kind of lethal.'
"Yukinoshita-san? What are you doing?"
She turned, a ladle in her hand. "You're finished. Good. Lunch will be ready shortly."
"That's not what I meant. Why are you cooking?"
"Jahy mentioned she was hungry, and it's already quite late," she explained, turning back to the stove. "Going out would take too much time. We failed to study this morning, so we must focus and study this afternoon. I decided it was faster to prepare something here."
A grin spread across Masao's face.
"I've never had the privilege of tasting your cooking. I'm looking forward to it."
At his eager tone, a faint, mischievous smile touched her lips. It wasn't a warm smile, but one laced with a hint of playful malice.
"If my memory serves, Masao-kun, you are allowed only one cheat meal per week and you used yours yesterday." Her voice was sweet, too sweet. "But don't worry, I'll prepare a special portion just for you. How does boiled chicken breast and steamed broccoli sound?"
Masao's hopeful expression shattered into one of horror.
"Yukinoshita! On a day like this, you'd be so cruel? Can't you grant a little clemency? Just this once?"
Watching him deflate, her smile widened into one of satisfaction.
The incident in the woods—him seeing her in a vulnerable state, him carrying her—had been an accident. She held no real blame against him, but a lingering sense of embarrassment and irritation remained.
Seeing him squirm now settled that score.
She turned back to the counter, her tone shifting to one of practicality.
"Oh, stop being so dramatic. We'll all be eating the same thing. Preparing a separate meal for you is more effort than it's worth."
"Thank goodness," he breathed in relief. Not wanting to leave, he gestured to the sink. "Let me at least help with something. I'll prepare some fruit."
"Very well."
She moved aside, giving him access to the sink.
Masao meticulously washed a handful of strawberries and arranged them in a glass bowl. Finding it too sparse, he discovered a box of lychees in the refrigerator. He peeled several, adding their glossy white flesh to the bowl until it looked abundant and appealing.
Satisfied with his contribution, he set it aside.
"Is there anything else I can do?" he asked, leaning against the counter.
Without looking up from her work, she shook her head.
"I can manage on my own. But you can set the table and check on the rice in the rice cooker."
He did as he was told, laying out the placemats and chopsticks.
As he waited for the rice cooker to chime, he watched her. There was a fluid, practiced grace to her movements—chopping, stirring, plating—each action precise and elegant.
It was mesmerizing, like watching a dedicated artisan at work. It reminded him of those immersive, silent cooking videos, the kind that demanded a soft, downtempo soundtrack.
'She's the epitome of elegance,' he mused.
—
In under thirty minutes, lunch was served.
Yukinoshita had arranged three trays, each with a plate holding two perfectly seared meat patties, two golden-brown rolled omelets, and a bed of fresh greens. A small side bowl held seasoned bean sprouts, and another was filled with steaming miso soup.
Masao added bowls of fluffy white rice, completing the simple, well-balanced meal.
They sat down at the table, placed their hands together, and spoke in unison.
"Itadakimasu."
Masao took an exploratory sip of the miso soup. It was rich, savory, and perfectly balanced. He looked across at Yukinoshita, a playful glint in his eye.
"You know, Yukinoshita, this is the part where I'm supposed to deliver the classic line."
She regarded him coolly.
"What line would that be?"
"This one," he said, his tone lightly teasing. "I think I'd like to drink the miso soup you make every day from now on."
Yukinoshita's eyes narrowed into sharp, knowing slits.
"Masao-kun, saying something like that could be interpreted as a confession. If that's the case, I must refuse."
_____
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