The morning sky hung low, a heavy gray blanket stretching endlessly across the horizon. Thick clouds pressed down like a curtain drawn over the world, swallowing any trace of sunlight. The air carried a damp chill, the kind of moisture that seeped into your skin, and the faint smell of impending rain clung to every breath.
A gentle breeze stirred the curtains by the window, but it couldn't lift the oppressive atmosphere. Even the distant apartment blocks and office towers looked unusually desolate beneath the gloom, as though they had been abandoned, forgotten by the flow of time.
"It's definitely going to rain today," Kasumigaoka Utaha murmured, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. Her elegant profile reflected faintly in the glass, lips curved with the slightest trace of melancholy. Rainy days never quite suited her. They weren't romantic; they were inconvenient—messy hair, damp stockings, and worst of all, soaked heels.
"Yes, and not just today," came the reply from the kitchen. Kasumigaoka Touji, busy at the stove, glanced at the weather report displayed on his phone propped against the spice rack. "The forecast says light to moderate rain today, and light rain for the next two days after that." He gave the pot a stir, the rich aroma of broth drifting into the air. "So, remember to turn on the drying function in the bathroom after washing your clothes. Otherwise, everything will get that musty smell again."
"I know, I know, I'm not a kid." Utaha shot him a sideways glare, her wine-red eyes glinting with faint annoyance. She'd been managing the laundry perfectly fine for half a month now. Did he really think she needed a reminder? Honestly, Touji could be such a nag sometimes.
Still, she stepped away from the window, her long, slender legs wrapped neatly in sheer black stockings carrying her toward the kitchen counter. Her graceful movements made the faint click of her steps feel like the ticking of a metronome—steady, precise, elegant. She leaned forward against the counter, her soft arms and, more conspicuously, her full chest pressing down on the polished surface. Stretching her snow-white neck slightly, she peeked curiously at what Touji was doing.
"Otouto-kun," Utaha's tone softened, a playful lilt sneaking into her voice, "what are we having for breakfast today?"
Touji, still focused on adjusting the filling in the bowl before him, answered without missing a beat. "Shaomai and beef soup."
At that, Utaha's eyes lit up, a spark of delight breaking through her usual cool composure. Her pink lips parted slightly, and she unconsciously licked them, anticipation evident in her gaze. For over a week now, Touji had prepared a different breakfast every single day, never repeating a dish once. To say she was "satisfied" was putting it mildly—she was thoroughly spoiled. And yet, a small part of her wondered just how long he could keep it up before running out of ideas.
She lingered by his side, watching intently as the small, flower-bud-shaped dumplings took form one by one under his hands. Their thin wrappers were stretched neatly, enclosing the fragrant mixture of diced vegetables, meat, and glutinous rice that had soaked overnight. As he lined them carefully inside the bamboo steamer, steam already rising in anticipation, Utaha judged that her underwear and stockings had finished soaking. She gave Touji one last amused glance before turning gracefully toward the bathroom to take care of her laundry.
By the time she returned, the kitchen was filled with a mouthwatering aroma. On the table waited a steaming basket of shao mai, their delicate skins glistening faintly, semi-transparent enough to show the rich fillings within. Beside it, a pot of beef soup simmered, the broth a warm light brown. Fresh green scallions floated on the surface like scattered jewels, while beneath swirled tender slices of beef and slippery sweet potato noodles.
Utaha's stomach gave a quiet rumble. She sat down, clasped her hands lightly, and murmured a polite, "Itadakimasu," before picking up her chopsticks.
The first bite of shao mai nearly made her sigh aloud. The wrapper was soft but not sticky, its slight chewiness contrasting perfectly with the moist filling inside. Shiitake mushrooms, pork, bamboo shoots, and glutinous rice blended together in a harmony of textures, and with each bite, fragrant juices overflowed, coating her tongue with flavor.
Her next sip was of the soup. The hot broth spread warmth through her body instantly, the umami of beef blooming richly on her palate. Her eyes fluttered shut for just a second, and she let out the tiniest exhale of satisfaction. There was no denying it—her taste buds had been thoroughly conquered by Kasumigaoka Touji.
As if struck by sudden inspiration, Utaha turned toward him, chopsticks still poised elegantly in her hand. "So… what's for breakfast tomorrow?"
Touji nearly dropped his spoon. "Oi, nee-san, I haven't even finished today's breakfast and you're already asking about tomorrow?"
He tilted his head, pretending to think seriously, before muttering, "Human body sushi, maybe?"
Utaha's eyes narrowed, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. "Oh? And is my dear Otouto-kun volunteering to be the model? If that's the case, I might actually be looking forward to it."
Kasumigaoka Utaha's lips curved upward, her pink tongue flicking across them in a way that was far too deliberate. Her wine-red eyes narrowed dangerously, scanning Kasumigaoka Touji like a predator toying with its prey.
"It's definitely you who'll be the model! What kind of joke would it be if I were the one lying there?" Touji straightened his back, puffing out his chest with righteous indignation. He lasted a grand total of two seconds before faltering. "…How about… we let Kani Nayuta be the model?"
Utaha's response came sharp and immediate, her tone like the snap of a whip. "No. I only accept Otouto-kun as the model."
Her elegant smile widened as she lifted her chopsticks with the grace of a queen handling a scepter. Tilting her head slightly, she added with a silk-smooth tone, "But if it is Otouto-kun, then adding Nayuta-chan is fine too. I can allow her to enjoy it with me."
Touji froze, his mind filling with exasperated ellipses. What's in it for me then? To be toyed with by the two of you like some kind of… dessert?
He dared not voice the thought aloud. Instead, he chose silence, sipping his soup quietly.
But Utaha was not the type to let things end on his terms. She slowly reached for her phone, her smile curving into something far too devious. "Then… shall I contact Nayuta-chan right now? I think she'll be very excited to hear about this."
"Absolutely not!" Touji nearly dropped his spoon, rushing forward to grab her hand before she could tap the screen. His face twisted in desperation. "I've thought it over—let's just eat something else tomorrow!"
"…Hmph." Utaha's smirk said she had won this round.
And so, after their playful bickering, the two finally settled into finishing breakfast. The tension dissolved back into the warm, comfortable rhythm of clinking chopsticks and quiet chewing. Once the plates were cleared and the kitchen tidied up, Touji and Utaha grabbed their school bags and long-handled umbrellas, stepping out into the gloomy morning together.
On rainy days in Japan, folding umbrellas might be convenient, but everyone knew the long-handled kind reigned supreme. Cheaper, sturdier, and far more reliable against the endless drizzle of the island nation, they were practically an unspoken tradition. Their design even helped avoid conflicts on the train—rain dripping neatly from the tip instead of soaking the floor or fellow passengers.
Touji had no complaints. He followed the custom, walking side by side with Utaha as they made their way briskly to the station.
Please don't rain yet… at least let us reach school first, Touji prayed silently, glancing at the gloomy sky above.
But fate had a sense of humor. No sooner had they boarded the train than fat droplets began to fall, quickly escalating into a downpour. The sound of "pitter-patter" against the windows filled the carriage.
Touji sighed and turned toward the blurred, rain-streaked scenery outside. Tch, what rotten luck.
"It's raining heavily now," he muttered.
"Mm. 940 hectopascals," Utaha replied calmly, as if reading off a weather report.
"…Why are you reciting atmospheric pressure, nee-san?" Touji groaned.
Before Utaha could answer with her usual sharp tongue, the train slowed, pulling into Kotake-Mukaihara Station. The doors slid open with a hiss, a few passengers trickled out, and then a crowd of new commuters poured in.
Immediately, Touji felt it—the heavy, oppressive aura of authority pressing against his chest. His brows twitched, and he reluctantly turned toward the entrance.
Striding aboard with the confidence of someone who ruled the carriage itself was none other than their homeroom teacher: Kojima Kana.
She was as striking as ever. Light makeup highlighted her sharp features, her hair tied into a slightly messy bun that somehow made her look even more alluring. She wore her signature black OL suit, a crisp white blouse beneath, the fabric stretched taut across her… assets, which were, Touji begrudgingly admitted, even larger than Utaha's.
Below, her waist pinched in sharply, flowing into a sleek black pencil skirt that hugged her curves a little too well. Her legs, long and plump, were wrapped neatly in black stockings, the faint sheen drawing more than one wandering gaze.
Yet no one dared to linger. That fierce, steel-eyed glare of hers was enough to send shivers down anyone's spine. The moment her eyes swept the carriage, all guilty glances were averted, and the air around her cleared as though by instinct.
Despite the crowded train, there was a perfect half-meter of space surrounding Kojima Kana, like an invisible barrier none dared to cross. Even in the chaos of Tokyo's morning rush hour, she stood isolated, a lone empress amid trembling peasants.
Touji exhaled slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching.
As expected of you, Kojima-sensei… truly terrifying.