When Eri Kisaki emerged from the bathroom, the water droplets clinging to her jawline had been wiped away, but the faint, stubborn flush of pink on her earlobes refused to fade.
Tōhō Getsukai was already seated at the dining table.
Two sets of porcelain bowls and chopsticks sat perfectly aligned on the placemats.
“Auntie Eri, sit down.
The soup is getting cold.”
Eri pulled out a chair and sat.
Her movements were fluid, her posture impeccably straight.
From head to toe, she projected an absolute, unshakeable aura: I am the Queen of the Legal World, and I am entirely unbothered.
Then, the hand gripping her chopsticks gave a microscopic tremble.
Tōhō didn’t look up.
He kept his gaze lowered, calmly ladling steaming miso soup into a bowl.
Inwardly, however, a countdown had already started.
Three, two, one…
Right on cue.
Eri’s eyes darted to the ceiling molding, then to the sliding balcony glass, before finally dropping to the white rice in her own bowl.
She absolutely refused to look across the table.
The symptoms were glaringly obvious.
The fragmented memories of last night had resurfaced.
The drunken slurring, the uncharacteristic whining, clinging to his waist, forcefully demanding a lap pillow, the drool…
not a single humiliating detail was missing.
The dignified Ms.
Eri Kisaki, a woman who could verbally dismantle a room full of seasoned prosecutors without breaking a sweat, was currently locked in an intense, unblinking staring contest with a bowl of rice.
She looked exactly like a marble statue.
Tōhō placed the miso soup gently in front of her.
With smooth, practiced movements, he picked up a perfectly golden, square piece of tamagoyaki and set it on her side plate.
“You’ve worked hard today, Auntie Eri.
Eat while it’s hot.” His voice was pitched perfectly—soft, girlish, and gentle, entirely devoid of any teasing undertones.
“I made sure to use less sugar in the tamagoyaki today.
It pairs much better with the savory miso.”
Subtext: Nothing happened last night.
I am an innocent maiden who remembers absolutely nothing.
Eri’s chopsticks hovered over the rolled egg for two agonizing seconds.
She shot a covert, lightning-fast glance at the boy.
She searched for any trace of a ‘I hold your darkest secrets’ smirk.
Nothing.
The silver-haired boy merely kept his head down, sipping his soup with a quiet, elegant, and perfectly well-behaved demeanor.
His entire existence seemed to radiate a single, comforting truth: I am the most considerate little home angel in this apartment.
Fine.
They would just pretend nothing ever happened.
She picked up the tamagoyaki and placed it in her mouth.
Tender.
The subtle, sweet fragrance of the egg melted effortlessly across her tongue.
The saltiness was dialed in to perfection, and every delicate layer was rolled tightly together.
Not bad at all.
Emboldened, she reached for a piece of the hamburger steak.
The moment her teeth sank into the meat—Eri’s spine stiffened.
The chronic, aching soreness buried deep in her shoulders and neck began to evaporate.
The lingering irritation from being relentlessly badgered by the opposing counsel for three hours in court, the sheer mental exhaustion of a client constantly shifting their demands, the dull migraine that had been building behind her eyes all afternoon…
it was all being washed away.
Her hand froze in mid-air.
She took another bite.
The sensation washed over her again, the soothing effect hitting even harder this time.
She stared down at the remaining meat on her plate.
It was just a standard, home-style hamburger steak.
Minced onions, egg yolk, breadcrumbs.
No extravagant plating, no premium ingredients.
Yet the restorative effect was so utterly absurd that even a fiercely logical legal mind like hers couldn’t formulate a rational explanation.
Across the table, Tōhō ate quietly, his peripheral vision tracking the sudden, rapid increase in Eri’s chopstick movements.
Here it comes.
The healing buff from his Cooking Heart skill, currently outputting at maximum power.
Eri demolished her first bowl of rice three times faster than her usual measured pace.
She paused, her chopsticks clicking against the porcelain, and threw a cautious sidelong glance across the table.
Tōhō was busy shoveling rice into his own mouth, completely ignoring her.
Safe.
She pushed her chair back, walked straight to the rice cooker, and served herself a second heaping bowl.
Tōhō chewed his steak, silently tallying the score in his head.
The second bowl of rice vanished just as quickly.
By the time Eri finally set her chopsticks down, the rigid tension in her shoulders had completely melted away.
Her entire body slumped into a state of visible, blissful relaxation.
Tōhō stood up to clear the empty dishes, casually sliding a steaming cup of freshly brewed roasted tea into her hands.
Eri cupped the warm ceramic in her palms.
After a long, comfortable silence, she adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat.
“Today’s meal…
was acceptable.”
“Let me know in advance what you’d like to eat next time, Auntie Eri.”
“…Whatever.”
“Alright, then I’ll make curry tomorrow.”
Eri offered no objections, taking small, measured sips of the roasted tea.
The rising steam quickly fogged up her lenses, so she simply pulled the glasses off and folded them onto the table.
Without the sharp, angular frames, her facial features softened dramatically.
Even at thirty-seven, her skin was so flawlessly maintained it could easily drive a twenty-year-old college girl mad with jealousy.
“By the way,” Eri asked casually, swirling the amber liquid in her cup.
“How is school?
Are you adapting well at Sobu High School?”
Tōhō turned on the faucet, the rush of water filling the sink as he pumped a dollop of dish soap onto a sponge.
“It’s quite good.
I actually joined a club today.”
“A club?” Eri rubbed her tired eyes.
“What kind of club?”
“The Service Club.”
“…What a strange name.”
“A volunteer club dedicated to helping people solve their troubles.
Sounds very serious and upstanding, right?” Tōhō scrubbed a plate without looking back.
“It’s just that the club president is a bit difficult to deal with.”
“Difficult to deal with?”
“Yeah.
She speaks in pure sarcasm the second she opens her mouth.
Her emotional defenses are as solid as a reinforced steel fortress, and before she even initiates a conversation, she pre-loads three rounds of verbal ammunition in her head.”
Eri took a slow sip of tea.
“It’s rare to find someone you’d consider difficult to deal with.”
I suspect she’s just a very awkward little girl.
Tōhō felt a bead of sweat form on his brow.
Auntie Eri, your psychological insight is practically a dimensional strike when you use it in court.
Could you please turn it off at home?
It’s kind of terrifying.
“She’s not exactly awkward, either,” Tōhō replied smoothly, rinsing the suds off a bowl and placing it upside down on the drying rack.
“She’s just far too used to being alone.”
Eri didn’t press the issue.
She stood up, carrying her teacup to the kitchen doorway, and leaned casually against the wooden frame.
Tōhō was bending over, maneuvering a heavy pot into the sink.
The movement caused the hem of his loose cotton T-shirt to ride up on one side, exposing a smooth, pale stretch of his waistline.
A pair of casual gray shorts hung precariously low on his hip bones, and below the hemline, his legs stretched out—straight, slender, and unfairly long.
He stood barefoot in soft cotton slippers, the tips of his toes flushed a faint, healthy pink against the cold floor.
Eri stared over the rim of her teacup at that back for three solid seconds.
A slender waist.
Long legs.
Narrow shoulders.
His movements were clean, efficient, and practiced.
Watching him bustle around the sink in a simple apron felt incredibly gentle, the very picture of domestic perfection.
If this child were…
a girl—
No.
Eri violently jerked her head away, taking a massive gulp of hot tea and nearly choking on it.
What on earth are you thinking, Eri Kisaki!
He is someone you watched grow up!
A boy!
A genuine, biological boy!
Even if he looked better in a pleated JK skirt than an actual high school girl.
Even if he possessed more domestic culinary virtue than a seasoned housewife.
She shook her head vigorously, desperately trying to dislodge the chaotic thoughts rattling around her brain.
“Ahem.” Eri set the teacup down on the counter, instantly snapping back into her Legal Queen persona.
“I have to work overtime to organize a mountain of case files this weekend.
I’ll likely be stuck at the office for both days.
In the fridge…”
“I’ll prepare a few bento boxes and leave them in the fridge.
You can just take them to the office and microwave them, Auntie.”
“…Mm.”
Eri turned on her heel and headed for her bedroom.
As she passed behind Tōhō, she paused for a fraction of a second.
“Yuekui.”
“Hm?”
“…For tomorrow’s curry, add more meat.”
The bedroom door clicked shut.
Tōhō curled his lips into a smirk, staring down at the fading soap suds in the sink.
He rinsed off the final bowl, dried his hands on a towel, and untied the apron from his waist.
Kicking off his slippers, he padded back to his own bedroom, flopping heavily onto the mattress and stretching his limbs out with a satisfied groan.
Today’s output had been excellent.
He had cast a long, promising line at the Service Club, and his daily interactions with Auntie Eri were yielding stable, consistent returns.
Both conquest routes were progressing side-by-side with maximum efficiency.
Next, he needed to figure out his plans for the weekend—
Ding.
His phone screen lit up the darkened room.
He rolled over and squinted at the lock screen, where a rapid-fire string of notifications was piling up.
Sender: Ran Mouri.
It was her signature chain-message bombing technique.
Tōhō tapped the screen to unlock it.
“Sister Tōhō!!!”
“Weekend weekend weekend!!”
“Sonoko said her beach villa is available!!
A joint stay!!!”
“The swimsuit try-on battle and sun protection all depend on you, oh!”
“I’ve picked out a few, but I can’t make up my mind; can you help me take a look!”
“Also, also, can you help me pick out sunscreen?
You know best that my skin is prone to allergies!”
The final message in the barrage was an image file.
He tapped the thumbnail.
It expanded into a rough, hand-drawn sketch by Ran.
The pencil lines were slightly crooked and amateurish, but the core concept was unmistakably clear—it was a two-piece bikini.
Tōhō held the glowing phone above his face, staring blankly at the screen for two full seconds.
The weekend.
Auntie Eri was working overtime and wouldn’t be home.
A joint stay at a luxury beach villa.
Beautiful girls.
Swimsuits.