Natalia closed the heavy door. Her shoulders ached from three hours of telekinetic drills. Coach Haverson had pushed her harder than usual today, making her lift progressively heavier objects until her almost gave out on her.
But the fatigue vanished instantly. Something was wrong.
Silence. That was the first red flag. No explosions from whatever mindless game he usually played. No obnoxious music blaring through his door. The usual soundtrack of her pathetic stepbrother's existence was conspicuously absent.
The second red flag was the smell. Or rather, the lack of it. The miasma of stale food, unwashed laundry, and body odor that perpetually hung in the air had vanished, replaced by the faint, clean scent of lemon polish.
"What… the… hell…?"
The kitchen was spotless. No dirty dishes in the sink. No half empty bags of chips scattered across the counter.
Wait… is daddy home this early?
Natalia rushed toward the west wing, toward his room. If her father had found the disgusting state of the pig's room, there would be consequences. For both of them. Her father had made it painfully clear that keeping the condo in good condition was a shared responsibility.
She didn't knock. She never knocked. She shoved the door open, a biting insult ready on her tongue.
And froze.
The room was clean. Three black trash bags stood neatly tied by the door. The bed was made. The floor was visible. Actually visible, cleared of the usual trash and dirty clothes
And there, in the center of the room, was Satori.
He was on the floor, his arms trembling violently as he strained to complete a push-up. His t-shirt clung to his back, outlining the rolls of fat that rippled with each labored movement.
His arms gave out and he collapsed face-first onto the carpet with a dull thud. "Fuck."
He laid there out of breath with sweat pooling around him like he ran a marathon instead of attempting just one measly push-up.
Natalia stood in the doorway, her mind blank.
What the hell was happening? The pig is supposed to spend his days sprawled on his bed, stuffing his face, watching hentai and leering at her ass when he thought she wasn't looking.
He was not supposed to have a clean room.
He DAMN sure was not supposed to be exercising.
He still hadn't noticed her. He just lay there on the floor, gasping for air, muttering something under his breath.
"Pathetic," she finally said, the word falling flat without her usual venom.
Satori's body tensed. Then, with a grunt, he rolled onto his back and looked up at her.
Something cold slithered through Natalia's stomach. His eyes. They were different. The same amber color, yes, behind the same thick glasses. But the look in them was entirely foreign.
"Natalia," he said, and even his voice sounded deeper. "You're home early."
She crossed her arms. "What are you doing?"
"Push-ups." He sat up. "Well, push-up. Singular. This body is even weaker than I expected."
This body? What kind of weird phrasing was that?
"I meant what are you doing to your room? And the kitchen?" She gestured around them. "What is this?"
He used the edge of the bed to pull himself up to his feet. Standing, he was massive—both in height and girth. He'd always been tall, she knew that objectively, but he spent so much time hunched over that she forgot he towered over her by nearly a foot.
"Spring cleaning," he said with a casual shrug. "Or whatever season it is now. I wasn't aware I needed your damn permission."
Natalia blinked. The pig had never spoken to her like this before. Usually he'd mumble an apology or make some disgusting comment about how good she looked after training. He'd never been so... direct.
"You don't," she snapped. "It's just weird. You're acting weird."
"I've decided to make some changes," he said, grabbing a towel from the desk chair and wiping his face. "No more wasting my life. I'm going to get in shape, clean up my act. Maybe even pass the entrance exam."
Natalia snorted. "You? A Hunter? Don't make me laugh, Pig. You're a Zero. You couldn't hunt a hamburger unless someone delivered it to your door."
"You might be surprised what I'm capable of," he said softly.
"Whatever," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "Just keep the noise down. I have studying to do."
She turned to leave wanting to leave this strange atmosphere that bloomed between them.
"Natalia."
She paused at the door, not looking back.
"I made dinner. It's in the oven. Nothing fancy, just some grilled chicken and vegetables. There's enough for both of us if you're hungry."
Satori... cooked? He never cooked.
"I'm not hungry," she lied, just as her stomach growled traitorously.
Satori's low chuckle followed her down the hall.
Something was very wrong with her stepbrother. It was like someone had scooped out the pathetic boy she knew and replaced him with... nevermind.
She closed her bedroom door and leaned against it. It made no sense. People didn't change overnight. Especially not people like Satori.
The aroma of roasted garlic and herbs wafted under her door, making her stomach growl again. She hadn't eaten since breakfast.
"Fuck," she whispered, sliding down to sit on the floor.
She would not eat his food. She would order takeout or make a sandwich or starve. She would not give him the satisfaction.
But as she sat there, the smell of actual home-cooked food growing stronger, a disturbing thought surfaced.
What if the useless, disgusting parasite living across the hall was actually trying to become... a person?