---
By midday, I was already tired.
Not physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Existentially.
The kitchen incident had left me with mild PTSD and a strong aversion to the smell of soy sauce. Since then, everyone had been on edge—hovering near me like I was the last snack at a party full of sugar-deprived wolves.
Except Ayame.
She'd spent the whole day grinning like she knew a secret no one else did. That smug, fox-like expression on her face sent a different kind of chill down my spine. Mischief was brewing. I could smell it. And it smelled like expensive perfume and plotting.
Sora tried to "casually" trip Ayame during lunch.
Rin started training louder than usual in the courtyard. With the shirt off.
Akane glared at me like I owed her money.
Elira, in full princess mode, had a servant "dust" the room I'd be sharing with Ayame—then "accidentally" left one of her lace dresses across the bed like a trap card.
Subtle. Real subtle.
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