"This is my room."
Shiina Mashiro brought Rita into her bedroom.
Taking in the impossibly tidy space, Rita couldn't help raising an eyebrow. Wasn't this a bit too neat? Back in England, Mashiro's room had never once looked like this.
Even the bed was made, perfectly crisp—which, to Rita, was frankly impossible.
Had Mashiro tidied up ahead of time because she knew Rita was coming?
Unlikely. From everything Rita knew about her, Mashiro simply wasn't the type to do something like that—nor was she capable of it.
Seeming to catch the puzzlement on Rita's face, Mashiro said softly, "Mio tidied it. For me."
"She tidied it because she knew I was coming?"
Mashiro gave a small shake of her head. "Mio didn't know you were coming. She tidies it for me every week."
"Every week?"
To Rita's mind, Mashiro could turn a room into a disaster zone in a single day. Tidying once a week? There was no way it could still look this pristine.
While Rita was still puzzling over it, she heard Mio's voice float in: "So this is where you two got to. I brought you some fruit—but don't eat too much, dinner's almost ready."
Once Mio had set the fruit plate down, Rita spoke up. "Mind if I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"How do you keep Mashiro's room this tidy?"
"I just lay out the clothes Mashiro's going to wear ahead of time," Mio said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
She'd once considered letting Mashiro be a little more independent, but every time she made Mashiro find her own clothes, the room ended up a catastrophe. It was simply too much hassle, so to avoid it, Mio always prepped Mashiro's outfits in advance.
"And the bed? You make it for her every day?" Rita pointed at the neat bedding.
"No, actually. That bed's been made for over a month now. Mashiro basically always sleeps in my room."
"She sleeps with you?"
"That's right. Is there a problem?"
Rita opened her mouth, reflexively about to say something—but on reflection, there didn't seem to be any problem at all.
"Well, if there's nothing else, I'll go get dinner going."
After Mio left, Rita let out a long, quiet sigh. She'd come worried that Mashiro might be struggling here—but now it looked like her worry had been entirely unnecessary.
Shirai Mio was far more capable than she'd imagined.
Rita glanced at Mashiro, who was busy eating fruit, then wandered over to the corner where Mashiro's artwork was stacked. She picked up one of the paintings at random—and immediately spotted Shirai Mio on the canvas.
There was nothing strange about that, in itself. But then Rita realized that more than half the pieces here were of Shirai Mio.
Mio drawing. Mio cooking. Mio asleep...
Every single one was exquisite—yet Rita couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
Why was it all Shirai Mio?!
Sure, Mio was beautiful, no argument there—but that hardly warranted this many paintings, did it?
"Mashiro, how come every single thing you've painted is Shirai Mio?"
"Mio. Pretty." Mashiro swallowed the food in her mouth, then said, with utter earnestness, "And—I like her."
At first Rita didn't quite register it. She assumed the "like" was the kind you felt between friends. But the more paintings she looked through, the more she realized that the "like" Mashiro was talking about wasn't the friend kind at all—it was the kind between... lovers.
The realization made her jerk her head up, staring at Mashiro in shock. "You like Shirai Mio? That way?"
"Mm. I like her."
Rita was about to ask whether Mashiro even knew what "like" really meant—but then she remembered the paintings she'd just been looking at. The answer was already obvious.
Mashiro had barely been back in Japan any time at all, and she'd already fallen for someone—and a girl, no less.
It was more of a jolt to Rita than she'd expected.
Before she could recover, Mio's voice rang out again. "You two—dinner's ready, come on out."
The moment she heard dinner, Mashiro shot to her feet and bolted out of the room, unable to wait a second longer.
Then, seeming to remember something, she doubled back to the doorway and told Rita, "Rita, come on—Mio's cooking is really good."
"C-coming."
Rita let out a soft sigh, then got up and followed Mashiro to the dining table.
They hadn't even started eating yet, but just the aroma alone was already making her mouth water.
Right then, the front door swung open and Sengoku Chihiro strolled in.
From how casually she made herself at home, Rita could tell she was clearly a regular at this table.
Once Mio had set the last dish down, she said, "Alright, let's eat."
Rita had already thought highly of Mio's cooking—and after her first bite, her opinion climbed another notch.
"By the way, Miss Rita, would you like to stay the night?"
"Can I... really stay?"
"Of course. I've got a spare guest room, and there's Mashiro's room to sleep in as well."
At Mio's words, Rita suddenly recalled Mashiro's earlier confession about being in love with Mio. The two of them slept in the same room—so didn't that mean—
She was curious, but the setting wasn't right for that kind of question, so she swallowed her curiosity and resolved to ask Mashiro about it in detail after dinner.
Dinner came to an end.
Sengoku Chihiro slowly rose to her feet—and just as she was inching toward the door, someone caught hold of her clothes.
Mio's voice followed right behind. "Chihiro-sensei, the dishes aren't washed yet. Where exactly do you think you're going?"
"I—I just wanted to go grab something. Do I really look like the type who'd run away from dish duty?" Chihiro forced out a couple of dry laughs, and in the end, under Mio's genial gaze, she trudged into the kitchen and got to washing.
Mio, of course, wasn't idle either. After helping load the dishes into the sink, she said, "Chihiro-sensei, can I ask you something?"
"What is it? If it's about romance, you've come to the right person."
"Mashiro's teacher and Miss Rita—they didn't come here to talk Mashiro into going back to England, did they?"
"Not at all. They just came to check in on her, that's all. Don't you worry." A faint smile curved at the corner of Chihiro's lips.
Looks like my little cousin's efforts aren't going to waste after all, she thought. If Mio didn't have feelings for my cousin, she wouldn't be wearing that worried expression.
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