The Next Morning
As dawn broke through the windows of Sakurasou, the soft light filtered over the room in golden streaks. Nozomi stirred awake, blinking away the remnants of a dream-filled sleep. The warmth pressed against his side belonged to Mahiru, who was still nestled beside him, her breath slow and gentle like the rhythm of a lullaby.
He leaned in and, with a soft smile, pressed a kiss on her forehead.
She didn't stir, but her lips curled slightly in response—like even in dreams, she could feel his presence.
Of course, it wouldn't be fair if he forgot the other one.
Sayu, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets on the other side of the room, looked too peaceful to disturb—but Nozomi didn't need to say anything. He'd already kissed her goodnight hours ago. He had a feeling she hadn't forgotten.
As expected, both his chefs-in-residence—Sayu and Mahiru—were still lost in dreamland. Which meant...
Today, it was his turn to take over the kitchen.
Stepping out of the room, Nozomi stretched lazily, walking with the kind of relaxed energy that only came with a good night's sleep. But the moment he opened the sliding door leading to the hallway...
There she was.
A foreign beauty stood in the corridor, her long golden waves catching the morning light like a halo. Her piercing blue eyes locked onto his the moment the door opened.
She didn't speak for a second. Just stared.
Then, her lips curved into a picture-perfect smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Nozomi," she greeted, voice honeyed and polite.
Nozomi's instincts tingled.
"Good morning, Miss Rita," he replied, maintaining his usual calm. But inwardly, he was on guard.
That smile… was a total lie.
He could tell. It was too polished. Too mechanical. That wasn't the smile of someone truly happy to see him.
But he let it slide. He had breakfast to make.
Without saying another word, Nozomi passed by her, washed his face, rolled up his sleeves, and tied on a navy apron. The clang of pots and the rhythm of chopping filled the kitchen. With practiced hands, he worked methodically, preparing not just breakfast, but lunchboxes for everyone else.
He hadn't done it in a while. It felt nostalgic.
All the while, he could feel it.
Rita's stare. Like a silent ghost haunting the kitchen doorway.
After a while, she walked in. Hesitant at first, then curious, and finally unable to help herself.
"I didn't expect you to know how to cook," she murmured. "And… it smells good, too."
Surprise colored her voice.
Nozomi didn't turn around. He just gave a faint smile and continued sautéing.
"If it smells good, eat more later."
Rita puffed her cheeks in frustration.
"You don't mind me freeloading?"
"How could I? Sakurasou welcomes all beautiful guests," he said smoothly. "Besides, you're not just Mashiro's friend. You know Chihiro-sensei too. You're free to stay as long as you like."
"…But I still want to take Mashiro back to England," Rita said suddenly, voice cautious. "Can you accept that?"
He stopped stirring for a moment, then looked over his shoulder.
"I don't want her to go," Nozomi said honestly. "But I believe you'll respect her decision. You're her best friend, aren't you?"
His voice was steady, neither accusing nor pleading. Just… honest.
"She always talked about you, you know. I was really curious what kind of person you'd be."
"Oh?" Rita arched a brow. "And now that you've met me? What do you think?"
He took a moment, finishing up the omelets before answering.
"A beautiful girl. But also someone who hides behind a fake smile. Someone who's still a little lost in life."
The smile on Rita's face cracked.
"You—! You actually said I was faking it?!"
"Wasn't I right?"
He looked at her, eyes calm and unwavering.
"You think I corrupted Mashiro. That because of me, she doesn't want to go back to England. That she stopped painting because I ruined her."
"…Didn't you?" Rita snapped, gritting her teeth. "You're with two girls at the same time, Mr. Nozomi! That's disgusting!"
"Haha. It's not so bad."
"That wasn't a compliment! You're shameless!"
Rita puffed up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "And just because you saw through my smile, don't act like you know me! What do you know?!"
Nozomi simply grinned, flipping the final pancake onto a plate.
"Then, Miss Rita," he said, voice light, "will you give me the chance to get to know you?"
She froze.
Trap.
She was almost tricked.
Narrowing her eyes, she folded her arms.
"Later. I doubt you even have time now."
"As you wish," Nozomi said, nonchalant as ever, plating the rest of the food.
Rita had to admit… his cooking was dangerously good.
Was this the secret?
Had he won over Mahiru and Sayu with just his culinary charm?
As if reading her thoughts, Nozomi added:
"By the way, Mashiro didn't just stay because of me. She always wanted to draw manga. That didn't start here. It started with you."
Rita blinked. "Huh? That's ridiculous."
"Think about it," he said, patting her lightly on the shoulder before carrying the dishes to the table.
----
Soon after breakfast, the residents of Sakurasou left one by one, heading to school.
Rita remained behind, now the lone guardian of this quirky, peaceful household. With no duties to distract her, she wandered onto the veranda, her gaze drifting toward the cherry tree outside. A plump tabby cat was curled on a branch, its rhythmic breathing blending with the rustle of sakura leaves in the breeze. The scene was picture-perfect, like a still from an anime—but Rita's heart was far from calm.
She leaned on the railing and sighed. "Nozomi…" Her mind drifted back to that morning—his casual smile, his words, his warmth. She couldn't shake it.
How on earth did this guy manage to steal the hearts of girls like Shiina Mahiru and Ogiwara Sayu? And not just one—but both! Even Mashiro… she wasn't immune to his charms.
Rita bit her lip, torn between frustration and confusion. She had come all the way from England with one clear goal: bring Mashiro home. Yet here she was, aimless, with her mission in shambles and her emotions in a stormy haze. She couldn't even tell anymore if her irritation was because of Nozomi's influence—or her own growing curiosity about him.
"What kind of sorcery are you working with, Nozomi?" she murmured to herself. Still, no answers came. Only the soft purring of the cat and the drifting petals gave her company.
------
Meanwhile, at Toyonosaki Academy…
"Good morning, Sawamura-san!"
"Morning, Sonoko."
"You're still as stunning as ever!"
Heads turned. Murmurs filled the air. Wearing a pristine school uniform, twin golden ponytails swaying behind her, Sawamura Spencer Eriri entered the campus like a character making a grand anime entrance. Her skirt swished with every step. Her long legs, wrapped in sleek black knee-high socks, drew the eyes of even the most stoic students.
She was a walking blend of every beloved anime archetype: the elegant ojou-sama, the tsundere with bite, the secretly artistic beauty. Cute tiger teeth that peeked out when she smiled, a doll-like face, and the poise of a half-European, half-Japanese elite—it was no wonder boys and girls alike admired her.
But as Eriri strode through the halls like a queen, her expression soured when her eyes locked onto another figure. A girl with long jet-black hair, seated quietly under a tree, wearing the same uniform—but with a crisp white headband and jet-black stockings that perfectly complemented her cool, mysterious aura. Kasumigaoka Utaha.
No words were exchanged. They simply passed by one another, like rivals in a slice-of-life drama. But tension crackled in the air.
----
Lunch break.
Eriri burst onto the rooftop, practically radiating frustration. There, sitting gracefully on a bench like she owned the skies, was Kasumigaoka Utaha—her long legs crossed elegantly, her eyes closed as she basked in the sun's warmth.
"You! Kasumigaoka Utaha! What's your deal?!" Eriri shouted, practically fuming.
Utaha, a second-year with an aura so composed it was almost infuriating, slowly opened her eyes.
Her lashes fluttered like butterfly wings as she looked at Eriri and smiled with the calm superiority of an anime onee-san character.
"Oh? Are you talking to me? You should really refer to me as 'senpai,' you know."
"Cut the crap, you oversized temptress in black stockings!" Eriri snapped, arms crossed and glaring daggers.
Utaha raised an eyebrow, amused. "My, such harsh words for someone so… flat. It's always the smallest ones who shout the loudest, isn't it?"
Eriri twitched. Her fists clenched. "You… you take that back, you black-stockinged witch!"
"But is it not true? Shall we tell the world about the secret life of the school's most admired girl—how Sawamura Spencer Eriri moonlights as the infamous ero-doujin artist… Kashiwagi Eri?"
"AHHHH!! Shut up, shut up! I swear if you say one more word—"
Tears welled in Eriri's eyes as she shouted, trembling with rage and embarrassment.
Utaha, seeing her kouhai utterly defeated, chuckled and elegantly brushed her hair back. "Well, I suppose I'll spare you… if you finally deliver the illustrations you promised me."
Eriri gritted her teeth. "I knew it! You only came to tease me again!"
Utaha tilted her head with a knowing smile. "Oh, Eriri-chan… you make it so easy."