Yura sleeps. Sort of.
She knows that she's closed her eyes a few times, only to open them and check the time to see that a decent chunk had passed. So, she must've gotten some amount of sleep.
Not that she feels like she has.
As such, the sun is barely rising when she gives up and pulls herself out of bed. She digs through her suitcase for some sweatpants and a shirt, the kind of outfit she's used to wearing when doing chores around whatever house she's occupying at the time.
Her instinct to be invisible continues to nag at her, but she doesn't want the Daesun family to think she's rude or that she dislikes them. She hasn't had enough time around them to decide on any feelings, and she knows that being useful makes it more likely that she won't be sent somewhere else to start the same endless cycle of moving that she endured as a Quin.
Yura leaves the guest room and silently weaves through the hallways that feel like a maze until she finds the kitchen exactly the way she hoped it would be: empty.
It's obvious to her that there are housekeepers who handle the cleaning, so Yura won't be able to use her steadfast diligence in that manner of household tasks as an incentive for the Daesuns to let her live here, if only until she's an adult and able to leave for university.
It's not a lot to ask. She'll work for them in the meantime if they want. Otherwise, she's fine living like she's invisible. Aside from attending whichever school she's sent to in order to finish her degree, she'll stay tucked away in the room she's using. That's fine. She can accept that kind of life for just a couple of years.
Yura doesn't know what everybody in the Daesun household likes, so she sticks with recipes that are on the simple side. Nothing too flavorful or too spicy to start the day. Just... comfort foods.
Sure, she knows that at least one chef is employed by the family, and what she's doing could be seen as a pointless task. However, she can at least show her sincerity.
She hopes that'll be enough because she doesn't have anything else.
For the next few hours, as the sun slowly rises and fills the home with its early rays of golden light, Yura works. The process of using her hands and having a clear goal in mind helps take the edge off her anxiety about being in another new house, and the smells filling the air of the kitchen add a level of comfort that she's doing something useful.
Rice porridge is, naturally, where she starts, seeing as it'll need to simmer if she wants the right texture. With the incredible stock of ingredients she finds in the kitchen, it's easy to move onto other dishes. A whole steamed fish. Steamed egg. Pickled vegetables. She puts on a pot of tea, not knowing if the family prefers that or coffee when she finds an array of both in the pantry. Tea feels more fitting for her meal.
Yura doesn't notice that the family's chef has arrived until his hand gently touches her shoulder, and she spins around at the sudden contact, having been lost in her thoughts and the rhythm of cooking.
"Young Miss," he says, a title that's unexpected and feels foreign. "It's my job to cook. You don't need to worry about such things here."
Yura doesn't know what—if anything—he's been told about her. If he's only been informed about the fact that there was a mix-up at the hospital when she was born and that she's arriving as the girl she was switched with was leaving, then she understands why he would see her as a young miss of the family. However, she's not even sure if she'll be allowed to keep using the guest room she was put in the day before.
For her, that's a sign that she won't be a permanent part of this place and definitely isn't a young miss if that's the case.
Instead of laying out her fears, Yura just says, "I wanted to cook. To show I'm sincere."
Now that she's looking at him properly, the chef seems like a decent man. He's older, and his hair is gray where it hasn't receded completely, but his bushy moustache is thick in comparison, the perfect complement to his round face and stout build. Even his presence feels rounded instead of the sharp-edged auras Yura is used to being around.
The chef looks at the dishes she's created, then back at her. "Young Miss, you don't need to show your sincerity to your own family. The master and madam are glad for the chance to know you after years without their real daughter. You let this old Chef Byo take care of the work."
She understands what he means, hearing the sentiment behind his words and the kindness in his voice. But the family dynamic he describes is one she's never experienced.
"I just want them to know that I can earn my place here," she says. "If I can stay until I graduate, then I'll move to university and won't bother anyone anymore."
Even though Yura spent the night thinking about earning her place, admitting out loud that it's all she's asking for snaps a string in her heart that she never realized was pulled taut enough that one admission would be enough to break it.
The tears start falling down her cheeks before she can stop them, and Chef Byo gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze from where his hand rests on it.
"Young Miss," he says, his voice now tinged with his own sadness. "What was your life like that you expect your own family to abandon you?"
There are a lot of ways she could describe her life so far, especially when it comes to the way she's been treated by the people who were supposed to be her family, even if she ended up not being their real daughter. However, one word sticks out as being the truest description in her mind.
"Lonely."