Tuesday afternoon at Hoshikawa High buzzed with energy.
The upcoming Autumn Festival was all anyone could talk about—classroom walls were half-covered in glittery signs, students were painting banners in the hallways, and someone had already accidentally glued themselves to a table. Twice.
Naoto watched it all with quiet amusement. The school looked less like an elite academy and more like a chaotic art project gone wrong.
Rika, meanwhile, was sitting on top of a desk in her classroom, scrolling through festival booth ideas with her group. She didn't look thrilled.
"We're still doing fried snacks, right?" one of her classmates asked.
"Yeah, but we'll need someone who can cook without burning down the gym."
Everyone turned to Rika.
"…What?" she said flatly.
"You're rich. Don't you have like... a personal chef gene or something?"
Rika narrowed her eyes.
Naoto, passing by the open door with his hands in his pockets, caught the exchange. Their eyes met for a split second.
Rika looked away first.
---
After School: A Not-So-Voluntary Kitchen Reunion
"Why am I here again?" Naoto asked, setting down a bag of groceries on the counter.
"Because," Rika said, grabbing vegetables, "I need someone to supervise me before I deep-fry my own fingers."
"You say the most heartfelt things."
"Shut up and chop onions."
Naoto smirked and obeyed.
They stood side by side again—this time a little closer than before, their movements more in sync. He noticed she was more focused today, more careful with her hands.
"You're improving," he commented.
She didn't look up. "I watched a few videos."
"Oh? You're taking this seriously?"
"…Maybe."
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "What happened to 'I hate this, I hate you, I hate cooking'?"
"I still hate you," she said quickly.
He chuckled. "Sure you do."
---
Minor Explosions, Major Progress
An oil pop startled her, and she nearly dropped the tongs.
Naoto grabbed her wrist gently. "Careful. Oil bites."
She looked at his hand holding hers. Then looked away again. "I wasn't scared."
"I didn't say you were."
"…You sounded like you were going to."
He let go. "Fine. Next time I'll let it attack you."
"That's more like it."
But her voice was softer now. Teasing. Less sharp.
---
Later That Night
The food turned out surprisingly good. Even the housekeeper peeked in and gave Rika a rare, approving nod.
"Don't let it get to your head," Naoto said as they cleaned up. "You've just earned the right to operate a stove without an adult."
Rika flicked a bit of flour at him. "And you've earned the right to shut up."
Flour war ensued. Laughter followed.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the mansion's kitchen echoed with something other than silence.
---
On the Balcony: Another Message
Naoto's phone buzzed in his pocket. He wiped flour from his cheek and read the message under the soft moonlight.
> [Unknown]: "You laughed today."
> Naoto: "So?"
> [Unknown]: "You don't do that when you're with me."
He stared at the message, his expression unreadable.
> Naoto: "Different kind of warmth. Doesn't mean one matters more."
He didn't hit send.
Not yet.