Among the five, Nino was always the first to rise.
It wasn't that no one else in the household could cook. It was that only she cooked well—a simple, undeniable truth that had naturally elevated Nakano Nino to the position of family chef. A responsibility she wore with quiet pride.
She swung her legs out of bed, stretched, and yawned.
Then froze.
Gap in memory.
She distinctly remembered descending the stairs last night. The hairdryer. The towel. Him. But this bed… her pajamas… the morning light slanting through the curtains…
The deduction wasn't difficult.
Only one person could have carried her upstairs without waking her. Only one person would have bothered.
Nino pushed open her door and descended the stairs with deliberate care, each step a soft whisper.
He was still on the sofa, eyes closed, breathing slow and even.
Still asleep. At 6:30 AM, it was perfectly natural. Diligent early risers like herself were the exception, not the rule.
She approached. Stopped just beside him. Looked.
His face was as infuriatingly well-composed as always—no, that wasn't accurate. It wasn't infuriating anymore. It was just… pleasant to look at. Objectively. From an aesthetic standpoint.
She circled the sofa slowly, like a gallery visitor studying a prized exhibit.
Lately… his attitude toward me has been exceptionally good.
If she were to graph his treatment of her across time, the curve would show a dramatic upward trend. Forty points, once. Now, a solid sixty-five. A 62.5% improvement. She'd done the math. More than once.
He's trying. In his own maddening, withholding way.
She leaned closer, drawn by some gravitational pull she refused to name. Her finger extended, hovering just above his cheek—
His eyes opened.
"What exactly have you been doing since earlier?"
Her finger froze five centimeters from disaster.
He hadn't been asleep. Of course he hadn't. Today's superpower came with some kind of side effect—a low-grade irritability that sat beneath his skin like static electricity.
Nino snatched her hand back as though burned.
"For—for yesterday," she managed, the words stumbling over each other. "Carrying me back. Thank you."
"It's nothing." His tone was measured, clinical. "As a tutor, I can't allow a student to sleep on a sofa overnight. If you caught cold and required absence, it would impede academic progress."
Not a lie. His concern for Nino Nakano was, purely and professionally, pedagogical in nature.
Even if yesterday had generated significant… visual data he was still processing.
"Is that so."
Nino's voice was flat. She had wanted—hoped—for something else. I was worried. I didn't want you to be uncomfortable. I wanted to take care of you.
Instead: impeded academic progress.
But she didn't retreat.
She pushed off her knees, rising to stand before him. "Sakurai-kun. Breakfast. What do you want?"
"I'm not particular."
"There was a lot of food prepared last night. I'll pack you a bento."
It wasn't a question. She didn't give him room to refuse.
He didn't intend to.
Refusing goodwill is needlessly adversarial. This distance is appropriate.
The others descended in waves, not a single unit but fragments of a household waking at their own pace.
"Saki-kun Good morning"
Miku drifted down the stairs like morning fog, her voice a sleepy murmur. She reached the sofa and simply… tilted. Her weight settled against him, her head finding his shoulder with unerring instinct.
"So sleepy~" The words were barely articulated, dissolving at the edges.
Her character sheet has been revised, Saki observed. From 'stoic girl' to 'stoic girl with conditional撒娇 privileges.' A significant update.
Miku's long lashes rested against her lower lids. Her breathing was soft, even.
"You'll be late if you don't rise."
"Ugh Saki-kun is bullying me"
A beat of silence.
Then her eyes flew open. She registered her position—her body inclined against his, her head on his shoulder, his voice far too close to her ear. Color flooded her cheeks.
"Awake now?" Saki asked.
She nodded, mute, and fled toward the washroom with the speed of a hunted gazelle.
Itsuki descended third.
Her star-shaped hair ornament was already fixed perfectly in place. Her posture was immaculate. Her voice, when she spoke, carried no trace of sleep—clear, steady, and reassuringly Itsuki.
"Good morning, Sakurai-kun."
He returned the greeting.
She paused, regarding him with a faint, curious tilt of her head.
She knows I'm evaluating her, Saki realized. And she's tolerating it with dignified patience.
He was, in fact, evaluating her. Stable. Dependable. Zero morning grogginess. A pillar of the household.
Itsuki seemed to accept whatever conclusion he'd reached and continued toward the kitchen.
Yotsuba came fourth.
Her slightly disheveled appearance and the faint sounds of protest still echoing from upstairs suggested she had, as usual, volunteered for the Sisyphean task of extracting Ichika from her futon.
"Good morning, Saki-kun!" Her energy was undiminished by the ordeal. "Ichika will be down soon. I think. Probably. She said 'five more minutes' three times, but the fourth time she didn't say anything, so maybe she's actually getting up now—"
"Yotsuba."
"Yes?"
"Breathe."
"Oh! Right!"
She inhaled demonstratively, grinned, and bounced toward the dining table.
Saki remained on the sofa, the household slowly assembling around him like puzzle pieces finding their places.
Sixty-five points, Nino had calculated.
He wondered what she'd scored him last month.
"Hii hii! Good morning, Sakurai-kun!"
The voice was pure, undiluted sunshine.
"Good morning, Yotsuba."
Saki's response was automatic, his gaze already drifting downward—toward the floor, toward the shadow at his feet, toward the small, dark shape scuttling along the baseboard.
A cockroach.
With a subtle shift of intent, he extended his awareness. Today's superpower draped over him like a second skin: Friendship with All Creatures. Not the highly intelligent ones—no whales or primates—but ordinary fauna. Insects. Birds. The small, skittering things that made girls scream.
He guided the cockroach gently, invisibly, toward the corner behind the television stand. Out of sight. Out of mind.
Girls are universally afraid of cockroaches, he noted clinically. Except for Fujiwara Chika. She picks them up bare-handed. An outlier in every possible metric.
"Good morning, Teacher-chan"
Ichika descended at last, moving with the languid grace of a cat who had deigned to wake. Her uniform was immaculate; her expression suggested she was still, spiritually, in bed.
"Good morning."
She paused mid-step, a mischievous glint sharpening her sleepy features. "So~? Was last night's bathwater useful?"
A trap baited with silk and smile.
"Yes. It was."
Saki answered without hesitation.
Truth is efficient. Truth requires no maintenance.
Ichika blinked. Her smile flickered—genuine surprise breaking through the performance.
…He actually used it.
In the kitchen, Nino's hand convulsed around the miso ladle.
Bath—bathwater?!
The events of last night reassembled themselves with horrifying clarity. Sakurai Saki had stayed over. Sakurai Saki had taken a bath. Sakurai Saki had therefore accessed the bathroom. The bathroom containing the laundry basket. The laundry basket containing her—
That style was way too conservative.
A fresh wave of mortification crested, then receded into something far more dangerous: regret.
If I'd known he was going to see it, I should have worn something bolder.
The thought arrived unbidden, shameless, and she did not banish it quickly enough.
Well. He's already seen it. Crying over soaked underwear won't dry them.
But she had learned a vital lesson this morning—one she would carry with her into every future interaction:
Glasses. Always carry the glasses. Even the old-fashioned frames. Even if they make me look like a librarian from the Showa era. When the contacts fail and the universe conspires against my dignity, I will at least be able to see my fate approaching.
"Breakfast is ready."
Her voice, when she called out, was steady. Composed. The voice of a woman who had never experienced wardrobe malfunctions in front of her tutor.
The table seated six without strain. Conversation was minimal—morning efficiency, not awkwardness. School waited for no one, not even quintuplets with complicated feelings.
The bento distribution was a ritual Nino performed with practiced precision.
One for Ichika. One for Miku. One for Yotsuba. One for Itsuki.
She turned.
Sakurai Saki waited, patient, observant.
She handed him the largest box.
"Here. Your bento."
Her expression was carefully, almost heroically, neutral. A masterpiece of studied nonchalance.
"Have a safe trip~"
'Have a safe trip, dear. I'll see you tonight.' No, wait, that's too much. But he's staying over again tonight? Probably. The rain. We should offer. I should offer. Mother would want me to offer. I'll offer. Casually. Like it's nothing. Like I don't—
"I'm off."
Saki's voice cut cleanly through the spiral.
Nino blinked. Then, despite herself, the corners of her mouth pulled upward.
He said it. He actually said it.
"Nino—your sisters are waiting."
"Ah. Right. Yes." She gathered herself, herded her siblings with gentle urgency. "Come on, we'll be late—"
Saki watched her go.
She wanted a specific reply. I provided it.
A small incentive. A motivational tool, nothing more. A tutor's prerogative to encourage his students.
This distance is appropriate.
This distance is safe.
This distance—
He looked down at the bento box in his hands. Larger than the others. Packed with visible care.
—is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.
He adjusted his grip and walked toward the door.
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