Accidents in life come without warning.
Sometimes, no matter how unprepared you are, they sneak up on you with mischievous timing.
The maid had risen from the side of the bed. Her pale legs—uncovered, bare without pants—stood out starkly against the dark floor in the dim glow of the nightlight. Her feet were just as delicate, white as porcelain.
…No, that wasn't the point.
Minamoto Senya quietly waited as Hayasaka Ai stepped out of the bathroom, her expression looking much more relaxed than before. This time, though, he focused more closely on her shirt.
The golden button on the collar, the loose fit that hung almost like an oversized garment, the hem draping down to mid-thigh and covering her small hips—it was clearly a men's shirt, far too large for her. Even the cuffs had been rolled up; otherwise, her hands wouldn't have slipped out at all.
The longer Senya observed, the more his suspicion grew firmer.
In a world where there are countless clothes to choose from, the chance of someone wearing the exact same design was already low. And yet, here she was, a girl, wearing an ill-fitting men's shirt…
The more familiar details he caught, the more all the clues seemed to line up.
After a moment of cooling down, Senya typed something in their chat window—only to glance at it and delete the draft.
Asking directly would be inappropriate. This wasn't a subject one could just casually bring up. If he guessed wrong, it would be awkward for both of them.
Granted, the odds of it being a coincidence were slim, but… not impossible.
Later, as they kept chatting, Senya's God's Eye didn't stop. He even caught Hayasaka at one point tugging the collar up, burying her nose into it, and inhaling deeply.
Her eyes went hazy afterward, her expression melting into a dreamy, intoxicated look—like someone tipsy on alcohol, savoring the warmth.
Senya: "???"
Wait, Ai… what the hell was that?
He immediately pulled back his God's Eye. Watching any longer would've just felt wrong.
That night, turning over in bed, unable to let go of the suspicions burning in his chest, Senya barely got any sleep.
The next morning, he woke up by six.
And with something heavy on his mind, there was no way he could fall back asleep.
Well, it was early, but not unreasonable. At this time, he could already head over to wake Rokka for school preparations.
He walked to her door and knocked.
No response. He knocked again. Still nothing.
Which wasn't strange at all. Rokka slept like the dead, never stirred by ordinary noise. That kind of quality sleep was enviable, really.
Senya sighed, pushed the door open, and went in.
Rokka lay sprawled diagonally across the bed, her head dangling off the edge, looking like she might fall at any second. Her belly was uncovered, pajamas hiked up, exposing her pale little stomach and tiny navel. How she could sleep like that was beyond him—wasn't it uncomfortable?
"Rokka, wake up. Time to get ready for school."
Senya gave her a shake, and she groggily stirred.
"…Eh? Senya, you woke me up today? The alarm didn't get me?"
Her eyes cracked open, a small yawn escaping. The loose pajama top slid further, baring one slender white shoulder to the cool air.
She squinted at the clock on her desk. Then rubbed her eyes in disbelief, realizing it was only a little past six. Her whole face turned sour.
"It's only six!"
"Six is still time to get up."
"That's your routine, not mine! I don't have morning training!"
"Alright, alright, don't be so grumpy. If you want, go back to sleep—but first, unlock your phone."
Senya held up her phone from the nightstand.
The sleepiness faded from her eyes, replaced by caution. She looked at him warily.
"…What for?"
"Nothing major. You've been managing my social media accounts, right? I just want to see how you usually reply to followers."
"Oh, that's all?"
Reassured, Rokka obediently unlocked it and passed it over, even resting her head on his shoulder as he scrolled.
She puffed her chest proudly. "With me on it, you can relax. I reply super nicely to everyone. Even a pro customer service rep couldn't do better. I never give you trouble!"
"…Sure you don't."
Senya brushed it off.
His follower count had ballooned past 360,000 recently, especially after winning the Ranpo Award. The influx of messages was insane, overwhelming even him. Which made his current line of thought harder to confirm.
But there was another way.
He pretended to skim through, praised her efforts, and thanked her for the work she'd done.
The praise from the "most important person at home" made Rokka practically beam, her ahoge standing tall.
Seizing her good mood, Senya asked casually, "Remember when you sent one of my shirts to that fan?"
Her smug smile froze. Her eyes softened into a guilty puppy look.
"That was ages ago! You're not still holding that against me, are you? I already massaged your shoulders for a month as punishment, didn't I? I've been so good lately too—folding your laundry, cleaning your room. Don't tell me you're digging that up again!"
"You've misunderstood. I'm not blaming you. I was just thinking—since you said that fan really supported me, maybe I should send her a signed copy of my book as thanks."
"Ohhh, that's it? That's easy. Leave it to me."
"There are so many messages in your inbox, and you still remember exactly which fan that was?"
"Of course! She was super active back then. And she donated the most to my… I mean, your fan group. Plus, she still pops up sometimes. No way I'd forget."
"…I see."
Senya nodded, watching as Rokka opened the group chat, scrolling until she found a heart-shaped icon. She started typing a message.
"Wait." He stopped her midway. "Don't say it's from me. Just tell her it's a perk you secured for her. Say it's your idea."
"Eh? Why?"
"I heard from Ms. Kudou that public figures shouldn't have direct private interactions with fans. Could cause trouble."
Total nonsense, but it worked.
Rokka nodded earnestly, impressed by his supposed wisdom. "Got it. Leave it to me!"
She deleted her draft and rewrote the message exactly as Senya instructed.
Watching her comply, Senya couldn't help but think how convenient it would be if Toka were just as easy to fool.
Then—speak of the devil.
From the crack of the half-open door, he suddenly caught Toka's gaze peeking in.
She stiffened when he looked back, her head retreating slightly.
Senya just smiled. "Morning, Toka."
Rokka turned too, waving. "Morning, sis! What's for breakfast?"
"Morning… grilled fish, tamagoyaki, salad, and miso soup."
"Not bad."
"Thanks, Toka."
She shook her head, unconcerned. But she stepped inside, asking, "What are you two doing?"
"Oh, just planning a little fan giveaway," Rokka explained, showing her phone.
Toka scanned the room. Her sister's pajama top hung loose, but clearly just from her usual messy sleeping habits. Both siblings looked guileless.
"…Half an hour until breakfast." She left without closing the door.
Rokka waited a while. No reply from the fan yet.
"She's probably still asleep. Not everyone's as hardworking as me."
"…The audacity you have to say that with a straight face."
Senya pinched her cheek.
She leaned into it, grinning.
"Anyway, let me know if she replies. I'm off to train."
"Roger, boss!"
Chuckling, Senya left the room.
———
6:30 AM.
At the Sawamura household.
Mr. Spencer woke on time as always.
His wife wasn't in bed. No doubt she'd gone ahead to prepare breakfast. Thoughtful as ever, even after all these years.
Such devotion… all thanks to his irresistible charm.
Smiling, he went to the living room, only to find his precious daughter already awake. She had the TV set to the morning news and a dish of freshly washed cherries waiting on the table.
His smile widened. Not just his wife—now his daughter was caring for him too.
So thoughtful. His little angel, preparing fruit for him, setting up his favorite program. Truly, the warmest cotton-padded jacket for his heart.
He coughed lightly, drawing her puzzled glance. Then, smugly, he sat down.
"My Eriri really has grown up," he said warmly.
"…Huh?"
He knew this stage well. Teenage girls had trouble showing their feelings, so they masked embarrassment with irritation. He understood.
So he said nothing more, just smiled at her. Smiled until she began looking creeped out.
Crossing his legs, he popped a cherry in his mouth—only to see the disgust on her face.
"Dad, what are you doing?"
"…Eh?"
"'Eh?' What do you mean, 'eh'? If you want cherries, wash your own! And you didn't even brush your teeth yet, did you? Overnight bacteria multiplying in your mouth, and you just swallow it down with fruit—gross."
She snatched the plate, scooting far away.
His bright mood shattered instantly.
Pale, trembling, he pointed at the TV. "The news, then…?"
"That's for me! They're broadcasting Senya's interview. He even mentioned me in it—said my illustrations helped him so much! I have to record it."
Her eyes sparkled. Her smile bloomed. Her whole being radiated joy just at the thought of her childhood friend.
Then she looked back at her father. The frown returned.
"So stop distracting me. And seriously, brush your teeth. You reek of garlic breath."
…
The golden hair of Mr. Spencer seemed to grey all at once.
His little angel, once the tender jacket for his heart, now pierced him with daggers instead.
Years of doting, and he still couldn't compare to one boy next door.
It was tragic. Utterly tragic.
His wife must have heard, because she came rushing in with two cups of coffee.
Hope returned to his heart. Ah, his true partner, his eternal love.
From attraction, to marriage, to years of devotion—yes, she was his real companion. The one constant.
Smiling, he reached for the coffee.
But she walked past him. Sat beside Eriri. Handed her the cup instead.
"Has it started yet?"
"Not yet, just commercials."
"Good, I made it in time. Let's watch together. I want to see how Senya praises my daughter."
"Mom~!"
The two clinked their cups happily.
Mr. Spencer's hand froze mid-air.
"Dear," his wife finally noticed him. "What are you doing? I don't have time to make breakfast, heat some toast yourself. And shave that mess of a beard. You look awful."
Strike one. Strike two. Both critical hits.
His hope crumbled into dust. His very soul felt petrified.
Slowly, lifelessly, he rose and turned away.
Neither wife nor daughter noticed—or cared.
The news had begun.
The camera panned to Minamoto Senya, microphones clustered before him, his handsome face composed and commanding.
Text at the bottom listed his achievements.
His words were graceful, his presence magnetic.
Mrs. Sawamura gasped. "He looks even better on TV. Did he… wear makeup?"
"No way," Eriri said proudly. "Senya just has great skin. He works out, too. That's his natural look."
"Ah, there! He mentioned you. Said your illustrations brought his vision to life. See? You really helped him."
"Shh, Mom! I can't hear him!"
She cranked up the volume.
Meanwhile, Spencer's heart broke further. His family, enraptured by another man, forgot him entirely.
The reporter asked: "What drove you to succeed?"
Senya answered: "Of course, my family and friends supported me. But the greatest influence came from mentors and elders. The teachers at Kawarane Academy. The parents of my friends. Some shared wisdom about humility and respect. Others taught me perseverance and effort. And some, working in politics, gave invaluable advice that broadened my horizons. I truly owe them."
Then he bowed ninety degrees, holding it with sincerity.
"…Eh~"
Mrs. Sawamura turned playfully to her husband. "A politician mentor, huh? He must mean you."
A joke—but he seized it like a lifeline.
"Of course he does! Who else? I've invited him over, talked politics, global affairs, the stock market—we clicked instantly. Naturally, I influenced him."
Eriri frowned. "But Yukino's dad is also—"
"It's me!" he barked, cutting her off.
He beamed with pride. The boy who stole his place had now… acknowledged him!
"See? He respects me. We're close! No wonder he succeeded."
Eriri almost protested again. But her mother gently rubbed her head and winked, silencing her.
Resigned, she sighed and muttered, "Yeah… I think he really did say you were the one he respected most, Dad."
Mr. Spencer leaned back, laughing heartily. "Ha! Well, perhaps I am just slightly above average, compared to others. Hahaha! Eriri, why hasn't Senya visited lately? Invite him over!"
"He's busy. He barely even has time for school."
"All the more reason! A young man mustn't drown in books alone. Invite him, keep him balanced. Learn from him."
Eriri rolled her eyes.
Mrs. Sawamura just sighed.
Now she knew exactly where her daughter got her troublesome, embarrassing, hopeless personality traits from.