Night fell.
As she always did once the castle had grown quiet, Megri slipped out unnoticed and made her way to Kai's house to prepare dinner.
Warm light filled the kitchen. She hummed softly as she worked, handling the ingredients with light, practiced movements.
What had happened at the market earlier that day—Kiki's humiliation—seemed to have left no mark on her at all.
Her singing drifted gently through the kitchen, as if laying a layer of warmth over the night itself.
When Kai returned home, the first thing he noticed was that unfamiliar yet pleasant melody.
He followed the sound toward the kitchen, unconsciously slowing his steps.
At the doorway, he stopped.
Megri was standing there with her head lowered, cutting vegetables, the corners of her lips slightly lifted as her head swayed gently with the tune.
The scene was not showy, not deliberate—yet so natural that it was impossible to look away.
Kai froze for a moment.
Then, without warning, a thought crossed his mind—
She's… far too cute.
He didn't interrupt her. After watching quietly for a short while, he turned and went back to his room to change out of his suit.
Before Megri appeared in their lives, the three men rarely cooked for themselves.
Most days, they simply bought ready-made food from the market and called it a meal.
But now, things were different.
The air was filled with the scent of cooking—
not just the smell of food,
but a warmth that made the place feel like home.
A faint smile curved at the corner of Kai's lips as he slowed his pace and headed to his room.
Not long after, Kino returned as well.
Like Kai, he was drawn in by the singing the moment he stepped inside, his feet turning naturally toward the kitchen.
Standing at the doorway, he watched Megri hum as she chopped vegetables, her head bobbing lightly from side to side, and couldn't help but laugh.
Cute—
and a little funny, too.
He walked into the kitchen and placed a tied cloth bag on the table.
"Megri," he said casually,
"I found these fruits in the mountains. Think you could use them for cooking?"
After that, he poured himself a glass of water, sat down on a nearby chair, and drank deeply.
Megri set down what she was working on and went to take a look.
The moment she opened the bag, her eyes lit up.
"Ah—!"
Kino was startled by her sudden cry and nearly choked on his water.
"They're cacao beans!"
Megri jumped up excitedly.
"With these, I can make chocolate dishes—maybe even cookies or cakes to sell!"
Laughing in pure excitement, she suddenly cupped Kino's face and kissed him on the cheek.
"You're amazing! Thank you so much for bringing these back!"
The moment she finished speaking, she turned back to the table, cradling the cacao beans as countless recipe ideas flooded her mind.
She didn't notice anything strange behind her at all.
Kino stood frozen.
For that split second, it felt as if lightning had struck him, locking his entire body in place.
Heat rushed to his face, and his heart began pounding wildly.
This was the first time in his life he had ever been kissed by a girl.
…She was far too thin, and by this world's standards, not exactly beautiful.
And yet—
Right now, somehow—
she seemed a little cute.
He lifted a hand to touch the cheek she had kissed, his gaze softening without him even realizing it.
"Seeing you this happy,"
he said quietly,
"makes me happy too."
At the same time, someone else—
was misunderstanding everything.
In the room, Kai was in the middle of changing when he heard Megri's sudden cry.
His heart clenched, thinking something had happened.
Without even fastening his buttons properly, he hurried toward the kitchen.
And when he reached the doorway—
he saw it.
Megri kissing Kino.
His heart tightened sharply.
Kai instinctively pressed a hand to his chest, frowning.
"…What's wrong with me?"
"Why does my heart suddenly feel so uncomfortable?"
After confirming that Megri wasn't hurt, he took a deep breath and slowly buttoned his shirt.
"Could it be… that something's wrong with my heart?"
he muttered to himself, half-mocking.
"Looks like I should find time to see a doctor."
What he didn't realize was this—
the cause of his discomfort
was not an illness at all.
It was a feeling, quietly taking root,
one he had yet to recognize.