Steam curled upward in thin ribbons as Knox set the plates down — one after another — on the wooden table. Crispy golden katsu glistened under the light, paired with a mound of rice blanketed by a perfectly folded omelet, the sheen on its surface almost too beautiful to eat.
Israfill tilted her head, eyes widening a little. "This looks… amazing. What do you call it?"
Knox smiled proudly, arms folded. "Ah, this—" he gestured with his chin toward the plate, "is katsu omurice. A humble dish from a faraway land where people express love through carbs and frying oil."
Israfill blinked once, then laughed softly. "That's… oddly poetic."
Dana leaned forward slightly, inspecting the plate with a cool gaze. "So… rice, egg, and fried meat?"
Knox gasped dramatically. "Oh, Saintess, you wound me! It's an experience, not just ingredients." He leaned closer, lowering his voice with mock gravity. "It's the fusion of warmth, crunch, and soft bliss— an edible symphony."
Israfill chuckled under her breath. "He does have a way with words."
Dana exhaled, the faintest curl of a smile ghosting her lips. "We'll see if it's more than talk."
Knox straightened, gesturing gallantly toward the plates. "Then— please, my lovely judges, let your taste buds ascend."
Israfill shook her head, amused, before slicing into the omelet. The knife slid through effortlessly— the golden layer parted, and the soft inner egg spilled open like molten gold over the rice beneath.
Both Saintesses paused. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then the buttery aroma hit— rich, comforting, and intoxicatingly warm.
Israfill blinked, caught between awe and disbelief. Dana's composure faltered—just slightly—as her eyes followed the gleaming trail of egg.
Knox leaned his cheek against his hand, watching with a smug little smile. "No clothes exploded, huh?"
Israfill nearly choked. "W–what?! Knox!"
He grinned wide, eyes bright with mischief. "What? I was expecting divine light, feathers, maybe a choir or two. You know— the 'it's so good I ascended' kind of thing."
Dana pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering, "You're ridiculous." But the tone wasn't sharp—there was the faintest hint of amusement beneath it.
Israfill covered her mouth, laughter spilling out. "You're… unbelievable."
Knox pressed a hand to his chest, eyes closing dramatically as a radiant smile bloomed on his face. "Ehh, not unbelievable~ Just irresistibly talented, maybe?" he said, voice lilting with that teasing, musical charm—half boast, half joke.
Israfill laughed again, bright and genuine this time. Even Dana's lips twitched, almost betraying a smile before she looked away.
The sound of quiet laughter mingled with the aroma of warm food, filling the safehouse with a kind of peace that felt… rare.
Israfill set her fork down with a satisfied sigh. "That was… truly delightful," she said, her eyes soft. "It's been a while since I've tasted something that warm and comforting."
Dana gave a small nod, arms tetap disilangkan tapi ekspresinya lebih tenang dari biasanya. "The texture's perfect. You didn't overdo the seasoning either."
Knox wiped his hands with a napkin, grinning. "Heh, hearing that from you two—Big Sis Israfill and Big Sis Dana—it's worth every second of effort."
Israfill blinked, then let out a small laugh. "Big Sis…hehe" she said with amusement, her tone gentle.
Dana raised an eyebrow. "Big Sis?" she repeated, her voice flat but not cold—just… mildly questioning.
Knox tilted his head innocently. "Well, calling you 'Saintess Dana' or 'Saintess Israfill' all the time sounds way too stiff. And long. And kinda exhausting."
He shrugged lightly, tone playful. "Besides, it's not like I can call you 'Auntie' or something—"
Suddenly, the air went dead still.
Israfill's smile froze mid-curve, her eyes still closed but clearly radiating divine pressure. Dana didn't say a word—just turned her gaze slowly toward Knox, her eyes narrowing.
Knox blinked, looking between them. "...Huh?"
Israfill opened her eyes, her voice still sweet, but there was a dangerous lilt behind her tone. "What was that, Knox? I didn't quite catch it."
Dana cracked her neck lightly, her aura humming like a storm ready to break.
Knox immediately straightened up, waving his hands. "Ahaha—! I said—uh—whether my lovely big sisters here want seconds!"
A long pause.
Then Israfill burst into laughter—soft and melodic, but clearly amused at his panic
Dana exhaled through her nose, barely suppressing the corner of her lips from twitching upward. "...Watch your words next time."
Knox grinned sheepishly. "Noted, Big Sis Dana."
Israfill smiled warmly. "You're hopeless," she said. "But it does sound… nice."
And just like that, the air eased again—warm, almost homely.
Two days passed quietly.
After their little "feast," Israfill and Dana had left the safehouse at dawn the next morning, saying they had matters to settle in the nearby district. Knox hadn't asked for details—mostly because Dana's "don't ask" stare said enough.
By the second day, his body had almost fully healed. The soreness was gone, his movements lighter, though faint traces of exhaustion still lingered like dust on glass. With nothing urgent to do, he began wandering through the house, letting his curiosity guide him.
Upstairs, behind a half-closed door and a layer of neglect, he found what seemed to be an old study. The air was still, carrying the faint scent of parchment and time. A single cabinet stood against the wall, its wood dulled with age, corners chipped and softened.
Inside were shelves of old books—some thick and heavy, others fragile, their bindings nearly undone. Dust floated lazily in the air as his hand brushed across the spines, stirring faint motes of light from the lingering traces of mana sealed within.
He took one at random, not out of purpose but simple curiosity, and settled by the window. Outside, the morning light filtered through the trees, scattering gentle patterns over the pages.
Hours passed unnoticed. The safehouse, usually filled with Israfill's soft hums or Dana's clipped remarks, was now filled only with the quiet turning of pages, and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
For the first time in a while, Knox wasn't fighting, training, or pretending to be fine.
He was simply… there—resting, reading, and letting the world move without him.