Kirisu Mafuyu stood before him in a white apron that cinched at her narrow waist, the fabric pulling taut across her chest with each breath. She lowered her head, pink hair cascading forward to fra her delicate features, and twiddled her fingers together—the picture of adorable contrition.
"Um, Nozomi, you don't mind one extra person for dinner today, do you?"
Her voice ca out small, almost childlike, completely at odds with the mature curves the apron struggled to contain.
"That person refers to Mafuyu's sister, Miss Miharu, right?" Hozuki Nozomi smiled warmly. "I certainly don't mind. But I'll have to trouble Mafuyu to help out. How does that saying go? 'Working together, a man and a woman, it's not tiring.'"
She's already wearing the apron. Good girl.
Kirisu Mafuyu's eyes brightened imdiately. "No problem! Leave the washing of vegetables and such to !"
She patted her chest for emphasis—palm pressing against the soft swell of her breast through cotton and linen, the fabric dimpling beneath her fingers before bouncing back. A gesture ant to convey confidence, though the slight flush creeping up her neck suggested she'd only just realized how the motion drew attention to her figure.
He's not ntioning the earlier disaster. Thank goodness. At least he has that much tact.
"Excellent. Then let's begin."
Hozuki Nozomi pretended not to ntion her previous cooking catastrophe, stepping smoothly into the role of head chef.
Kirisu Mafuyu's gaze softened as she watched him organize the workspace with practiced efficiency. Sothing warm unfurled in her chest, spreading outward like honey dripping slow.
He's... considerate. More considerate than any man I've encountered.
Whatever happened, she absolutely could not let Miharu witness her dostic incompetence. The collapse of her perfect-older-sister image would strike the poor girl's heart like a teor.
"Wash these first." Nozomi handed her a bundle of bok choy, their fingers brushing. "Then the scallions. We'll do a stir-fry and a soup."
"Understood!"
Under his guidance, Mafuyu ran cool water over the vegetables, rubbing dirt from pale stems with her thumbs. The task was mindless, ditative—she found herself hyperaware of his proximity, the warmth radiating from his body as he moved behind her to retrieve a cutting board.
Too close. He's standing too close.
But she didn't step away.
"Now cut these." He slid a pile of ginger and garlic toward her, followed by several stalks of green onion. "Thin slices for the ginger. Mince the garlic. Bias-cut the scallions—about this angle."
He demonstrated, his hand briefly covering hers to adjust her grip on the knife. Callused fingers against soft skin. Her breath hitched.
His hands are warm.
Despite her kitchen disasters, Kirisu Mafuyu wielded a blade with surprising competence. Each cut landed precise and clean— shk, shk, shk —the vegetables arranging themselves into neat piles. Perhaps it was a beautiful girl's innate talent. Certainly better than Yui Yuigahama's chaotic hacking, which had once produced onion chunks the size of golf balls.
At least I can do this much. At least I'm not completely useless.
She surveyed her arranged plates with quiet satisfaction. Though she hadn't cooked the dishes herself, by assisting—by rounding up—today's al contained her contribution. A small victory.
Then Hozuki Nozomi took command of the wok.
Oil shimred and crackled as it heated, releasing that distinctive sll of impending deliciousness. He moved with fluid confidence—tossing ingredients, the heavy pan rising and falling in controlled arcs. Sizzling filled the small kitchen.
Ssssshhhhh—
"Kyaa!"
Flas erupted from the wok, orange tongues licking toward the ceiling. Kirisu Mafuyu clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes wide, her body instinctively pressing back against the counter. If not for the earlier incident, she would have grabbed the nearest water source.
Fire! That's—oh. Oh, he did that on purpose.
"That's called wok hei," Nozomi explained calmly, swirling the pan. The flas died as quickly as they'd appeared, leaving behind perfectly seared pork belly glazed in caralized soy. "The high heat seals in flavor. Gives everything that smoky edge."
"I-I knew that," Mafuyu lied, face burning.
He continued cooking, occasionally sharing small tips—how much oil to use, when to add aromatics, why you never crowd the pan. Each piece of knowledge felt like a gift, and Mafuyu absorbed them greedily, even as embarrassnt coiled tighter in her stomach.
I'm older than him. His teacher. Yet in this kitchen, I'm the student.
Her cheeks flad. Steam curled around them both, carrying the rich scent of garlic, ginger, sesa oil, and char-kissed at. Sweat beaded at her temples from the heat, and she beca acutely aware of how the apron clung to her damp skin.
If he already knows my shaful secret... then what's left to hide?
Sothing shifted inside her. A letting-go. If he'd seen her at her worst—surrounded by smoke, fighting burnt rice, face sared with sauce—and still treated her kindly, then perhaps... perhaps she could stop pretending.
I could rely on him.
The thought ca unbidden, settling into her chest like a warm coal.
And Hozuki Nozomi noticed. The subtle relaxation in her shoulders. The way she'd stopped flinching every ti he moved near. He gave himself high marks for this strategy.
If you're bold enough, Mafuyu will take maternity leave.
His ambition had never been modest.
---
On the sofa, Kirisu Miharu stretched her neck like a curious erkat, peering toward the kitchen doorway.
What are those two doing in there?
Her sister's occasional squeaks and soft exclamations filtered through the apartnt— "Kyaa!" and "Eh?!" and once, disturbingly, what sounded like a breathless "Mmm..." —and Miharu's imagination ran absolutely wild.
She'd offered to help cook. Her Nee-san had refused, claiming she was a guest.
But Hozuki Nozomi got to stay in the kitchen. Hozuki Nozomi, who was also a guest. Who was also younger. Who was also—technically—her sister's student.
Sothing's definitely wrong here.
The math didn't math.
Miharu hugged a throw pillow to her chest, legs tucked beneath her, mind spiraling. Compared to blood-related family, her perfect Nee-san seed far more comfortable with that... that handso predator!
Boys alone with cute girls turn into wolves. I read about it in manga.
She pictured her innocent sister cornered against the refrigerator, that tall boy looming over her, his hand tilting her chin upward—
No! Absolutely not!
"I must defend my sister's purity," Miharu whispered fiercely to the empty living room.
---
When the dishes finally arrived at the table, arranged beautifully on ceramic plates, Miharu forgot all her suspicions.
Sniff, sniff.
The aroma hit her like a wave—rich, savory, complex. Ginger-garlic pork belly glistening with glaze. Stir-fried bok choy, stems still crisp, leaves wilted perfectly. Silken tofu in a clear dashi broth scattered with scallion rings. Steam rose from each dish, carrying promises of umami and warmth.
"It slls so good!" Miharu's eyes sparkled, mouth already watering.
As expected of Nee-san! Even her cooking is perfect!
The girl automatically credited her sister. After all, Hozuki Nozomi was just a boy. A pretty face didn't put food on the table. In her understanding of the world—shaped by ani and manga—n of their generation rarely cooked unless they'd inherited a family restaurant.
She remained blissfully, stubbornly oblivious.
---
"Itadakimasu!"
Both sisters pressed their palms together, voices harmonizing, then reached for their chopsticks in perfect synchronization.
The first bite made Miharu's eyes go wide.
Chew, chew.
Flavor exploded across her tongue—savory-sweet pork fat lting against caralized edges, the subtle kick of fresh ginger, a whisper of sesa oil tying everything together. The texture: crispy where it should be crispy, tender where it should yield.
"Mmmmm~!"
She made an embarrassingly rapturous sound, cheeks puffing with food, expression pure bliss.
Across the table, Kirisu Mafuyu wore an identical expression. Her eyes had grown slightly moist, chopsticks frozen midway to her lips, a piece of glazed pork trembling between the lacquered tips.
Why does his cooking taste so good?
The question echoed through her mind, edged with despair.
How am I supposed to go back to convenience store bentos after this? To cold takeout containers eaten alone at midnight?
She chewed slowly, savoring. The tofu dissolved like clouds against her palate. The vegetables retained their crunch, dressed in just enough oil to make them glisten.
Wuwuwu, I ate today, and I want to eat again tomorrow...
Her gaze drifted to Hozuki Nozomi, who was calmly enjoying his own cooking, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having.
He ntioned having empty rooms.
The thought slithered through her defenses before she could stop it.
If I moved in... I could eat like this every day. I could ask him to help with the garbage. The cleaning. The laundry...
Her face flushed scarlet, but she couldn't banish the temptation.
Hozuki Nozomi noticed her lingering stare. He offered a small, knowing smile and nothing more.
Patience. These things take ti.
"Wuwuwu, it's so delicious!"
Miharu's emotional outburst broke the mont. The younger Kirisu slamd her chopsticks down, tears genuinely welling in her eyes, and fixed her sister with a look of profound determination.
"Nee-san, I've decided! I'm going to co over often for free als from now on! Please teach how to cook!"
Kirisu Mafuyu's expression cracked.
Teach you? I can barely boil water without summoning the fire departnt!
"Um... Miharu, you still have university, right?" She forced lightness into her voice. "How can you possibly co over often?"
And what happens when she shows up and Hozuki Nozomi isn't here? Am I supposed to recreate this?! I can't even make rice properly!
"Wuwuwu, Nee-san, don't you welco ?"
Miharu's lower lip trembled. Her eyes glistened with the threat of tears—weaponized sisterly guilt deployed without rcy.
"Ah—of course I welco you!" Mafuyu's smile turned brittle, stretched thin as tissue paper. "How could I not welco my own sister?"
I'm lying through my teeth. Why am I lying through my teeth? I love Miharu. I do. But—
"Hehe, that's good!" Miharu bead, tears evaporating instantly. "We still have a few days of university holiday, so I'm staying with Nee-san!"
"...Ah?"
Kirisu Mafuyu's entire body went rigid. Her spine locked. Chopsticks clattered against her bowl.
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