“Getsukai.” Eri Kisaki’s voice was entirely muffled against the fabric of his trousers.
“Hmm?”
“Today at the victory banquet…
someone asked me if the child I’m raising is my daughter.”
“…And then?”
“I said no.”
“Hmm.”
“Then they said, ‘That must be your younger sister, she’s as beautiful as you are.'”
“…”
“I didn’t deny it either.”
Ah, that was exactly to be expected.
In social situations, Eri never bothered to explain his actual gender.
It wasn’t an intentional deception; it was simply far too exhausting to correct people.
Anyone who caught a glimpse of his photo would immediately praise her gorgeous daughter or sister.
Correcting a misunderstanding a hundred times was vastly inferior to just staying silent once and letting them believe what they wanted.
Eri rubbed her cheek against his lap, shifting her weight until she found a more comfortable angle.
“Getsukai.”
“Hmm.”
“After you get married in the future…
will you still make hangover soup for me?”
“Auntie Eri, that’s still a very long way off for me.”
“Answer me.”
Tōhō Getsukai lowered his gaze to the woman resting on his lap.
The living room lights were completely off.
Only the muted, shifting glow of the television screen illuminated her face, highlighting her slightly furrowed brows and tightly pressed lips.
She was entirely serious.
She might have been thoroughly intoxicated, but this question wasn’t just drunken rambling.
Eri Kisaki was a woman whose heart was as soft as her tongue was sharp.
She could verbally dismantle anyone in a courtroom without breaking a sweat, but here at home, she had to rely on a high school student for a warm bowl of soup to settle her stomach.
“I will,” Getsukai said softly.
His hand rested on the crown of her head, his fingers slowly smoothing down her hair.
“No matter what happens in the future, if you get drunk and call me, Auntie, I’ll have that soup sitting right in front of you within twenty minutes.”
Eri’s shoulders trembled slightly against his legs.
Then, she wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tighter.
“…You child.”
Her voice was thick, carrying a heavy hint of nasal congestion.
[Ding—]
[Completed Intimate Interaction Task: Late Night Hangover Relief · The Gentle Protection of a Confidante!]
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining: Culinary Mastery · Heart of Cooking (Passive Skill)!]
[Effect: Any dish prepared by the host will automatically come with a healing attribute.
The consumer’s fatigue, anxiety, and negative emotions will be significantly relieved.
The more care put into the cooking, the stronger the healing effect.]
Holding the alcohol-scented legal queen in his arms, Getsukai stared at the glittering new text on the system panel.
He couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from curling upward.
Heart of Cooking.
His culinary skills were already practically flawless, and now they came equipped with a magical healing buff?
Didn’t that just make him the ultimate legendary supportive partner?
No, wait.
That made him a legendary good sister.
He looked down again.
Eri had already fallen fast asleep on his lap.
The deep crease between her brows had completely smoothed out, and the corners of her lips were tilted up just a fraction, as if she had finally drifted into a pleasant dream.
…
Six o’clock the next morning.
Eri had not woken up.
As Getsukai stepped out of her bedroom, he paused in the doorway and glanced back.
Her Majesty the Legal Queen was curled tightly into a ball beneath her quilt, only half of her face exposed to the morning air.
A tiny, unglamorous trail of dried drool marked the corner of her mouth.
Last night’s lap pillow session had dragged on for over twenty minutes.
Eri had clung to his waist the entire time, rambling a continuous stream of drunken nonsense.
When he finally scooped her up bridal-style to carry her to bed, the thirty-seven-year-old beauty had subconsciously nuzzled deep into his chest.
She had mumbled exactly one coherent sentence before passing out completely.
“Getsukai…
want to eat…
French toast tomorrow…”
Were you placing a takeout order?
Even deep in her dreams, she never missed an opportunity to exploit her adopted son’s labor.
Ms.
Eri Kisaki’s capitalistic instincts had clearly sunk all the way into her subconscious.
Getsukai walked into the kitchen wearing a set of loose white pajamas.
His long silver hair was casually pinned behind his ears, exposing a nape so pale and flawless it seemed to catch the morning light.
He pulled open the refrigerator door.
Eggs, milk, a thick loaf of toast, and butter.
Alright, French toast it was.
He cracked the eggs into a glass bowl, poured in a splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar, and whisked the mixture until it was perfectly smooth and pale yellow.
He submerged the thick slices of toast into the egg bath, letting them soak up the liquid, before dropping a pat of butter into a hot frying pan.
Sizzle—
A rich, caramelized aroma instantly bloomed through the kitchen air.
He hadn’t actually tried using his Hamon Breathing in a real fight yet, but it was proving to be absurdly useful for domestic chores.
His overall sensory perception had been elevated to a superhuman level, making his control over the stove’s heat ridiculously precise.
He could hear the exact moment the butter began to brown.
He fried the toast until both sides were a perfect, even golden-brown.
The exterior developed a delicate, satisfying crispness, while the inside remained soft, fluffy, and completely saturated with flavor.
He sliced a handful of fresh strawberries for the plating, arranged them neatly over the toast, drizzled a generous spoonful of honey across the top, and finished it with a light dusting of powdered sugar.
Perfect.
He set the plate on a wooden tray, pairing it with a cup of freshly ground black coffee and a small, steaming bowl of miso soup.
Even though Eri constantly claimed to prefer a Western-style breakfast, her abused stomach desperately needed the warm, savory soup to soothe the lingering hangover.
He covered her portion with a sheet of plastic wrap and stuck a yellow sticky note to the edge of the tray.
Task complete, Getsukai sat down at the dining table with immense satisfaction and began to eat his own portion.
He took a bite.
The French toast crunched lightly against his teeth before melting on his tongue.
The deep sweetness of the honey perfectly balanced the bright, acidic tartness of the strawberries.
Hmm.
With cooking skills this incredible, combined with a face like this—he could dominate both the drawing room and the kitchen.
Whoever married him was getting the absolute steal of a lifetime.
Pfft, pfft, pfft!
Why the hell did he just use the word “marry”?!
After finishing his breakfast and quickly washing the dishes, Getsukai retreated to his own bedroom.
He pulled open the wardrobe doors.
Hanging neatly on the left side were three pristine sets of the Sobu High School girls’ uniform.
Hanging on the right were two sets of the boys’ suit uniform.
He had worn the boys’ uniform exactly once, on his very first day of school.
He hadn’t touched it since.
It wasn’t that he was physically incapable of wearing it; it was just aggressively ugly.
The dull gray suit pants paired with a dark blue, boxy jacket created a silhouette so stiff and uninspired that no amount of clever tie-knotting could save it.
On a normal student, it looked like a cheap rental.
On him, it made him look like a grieving widow who had wandered onto the wrong set at a funeral.
The girls’ uniform, on the other hand, was a masterpiece of design.
It featured a sleek black sailor collar top adorned with a vibrant red bow, paired perfectly with a dark blue pleated skirt.
The hem of the skirt was tailored to sit exactly five centimeters above the knee.
When paired with black over-the-knee socks and polished brown leather loafers, the aesthetic gap between the two outfits was astronomical.
The girls’ uniform left the boys’ version choking in the dust.
Getsukai quickly stripped off his pajamas and changed into the sailor uniform, slipping his delicate toes into the black socks.
He pulled them up his thighs, his fingers carefully adjusting the elastic bands at the top.
This required precision.
If he pulled them too tight, the elastic would dig into his skin and leave unsightly red marks.
If he left them too loose, they would inevitably slide down his legs while walking, which was even worse.
He adjusted them until the sliver of exposed skin between the skirt hem and the socks—the absolute territory—was flawless.
Finally, he tied the red bow at his collar, pulling the knot just tight enough to sit perfectly centered.
He stepped back and looked at the full-length mirror.
The person staring back lifted their chin slightly.
Long, silken silver hair cascaded over his chest, the tips curling naturally inward.
The jawline was smooth and completely devoid of sharp, masculine angles.
The bridge of the nose was high but elegant, entirely non-aggressive, and his thin lips carried a natural, faint pink hue that required zero makeup.
His long, narrow eyes tilted just slightly upward at the outer corners.
The pale irises held a natural, frosty distance, yet whenever he looked directly at someone, that frost melted into three parts pure gentleness.
The overall visual impact of his face could be summarized in three simple words.
Gifted by God.
Getsukai tilted his head to the left, then to the right, analyzing the angles in the glass.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, raised it slightly above eye level, and snapped a quick picture.
He opened the gallery to inspect the result.
“Hmm.
Beautiful today as well.”
His expression didn’t shift.
His tone was completely flat and calm, merely stating an objective fact.
Daily narcissism quota fulfilled, he pocketed his phone, grabbed his schoolbag, and walked out of the room.
As he pulled the front door shut, he cast one last glance toward Eri’s bedroom.
Total silence.
She wasn’t waking up anytime soon.
He locked the door and headed downstairs.
During the short walk to the train station, Getsukai pulled out his phone to check the notifications he had ignored last night.
Ran had sent him seven messages in a row.
The final text read: “When will Sister Tōhō come to Teitan to hang out with me?
Do we really have to wait until the weekend to see each other?”
Getsukai stared at the screen, his thumb slowly sliding over the glass.
Teitan High School.
He had, in fact, attended the middle school division there.
For three entire years, he and Ran had been inseparable.
They went to school together every morning, walked home together every afternoon, and sat on the roof to eat their bento boxes together every single noon.
Whenever Ran had to stay late for karate club practice, he would sit quietly on the wooden bench outside the dojo, reading a book while he waited for her to finish.
Those three years had been peaceful and idyllic.
Then, the moment middle school graduation ended, Eri Kisaki abruptly transferred him to a different high school.
Her reasoning had been absolutely bulletproof.
“Ran is far too clingy to you.
She looks to you for everything, relies on you to solve every single problem she encounters.
If this continues, she will never learn how to handle the world on her own.”
When Eri had delivered that verdict, she had pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, looking every inch the terrifying professional lawyer.
“Besides, you are a boy—even though you don’t look like one in the slightest.
Having my daughter glued to your side all day wouldn’t look good for either of you if word ever got out.”
Getsukai hadn’t argued with her at the time.
Eri was entirely correct.
Ran was far too dependent on him.
Whenever she encountered the slightest bit of trouble, her first instinct was never to think of a solution herself.
Her first instinct was always to run and find Sister Tōhō.
Even when she got into massive screaming matches with her stubborn father, she wouldn’t go to Sonoko to vent her frustrations.
She would call Getsukai and cry into the phone for half an hour first.
A beautiful young girl in the prime of her youth needed to learn how to grow independently.
She couldn’t spend her entire life hiding safely in her older sister’s shadow.
That was exactly why he now attended Sobu High School.
It was located in Chiba City, the neighboring prefecture.
It was neither too far nor too close—exactly a twenty-minute train ride away.
They could still meet up on weekends whenever they wanted, but they were no longer glued together for eight hours every single day.
This maneuver by Eri was a surgical strike.
As expected of the Queen of the Court.
Even raising a child was executed with the careful, calculating precision of fighting a winning lawsuit.