Tenka Izumo returned later that evening.

  Not immediately. Not impulsively.

  An hour had passed since her earlier visit—long enough that the house had settled back into its usual rhythm. Yuuki Wakura stood at the counter again, adjusting a pot on low heat, the soft clink of utensils filling the room as Unit Seven gathered around the table.

  The door slid open.

  “I knew it,” Tenka’s voice said lightly. “You really were cooking.”

  Yuuki turned, eyes widening a fraction.

  “Commander Izumo,” he said, bowing. “You… came back.”

  Tenka smiled as she stepped inside, hands tucked casually into her jacket pockets. “I stopped by earlier and caught the smell. Thought it would be a shame not to try it.”

  She glanced around the table, eyes briefly meeting Kyouka Uzen’s.

  Then she pulled out a chair.

  And deliberately sat beside Yuuki.

  Yuuki stiffened, posture straightening instantly. He hesitated for half a second—then reached for another bowl.

  “I’ll serve you,” he said.

  Tenka leaned closer as he did, her shoulder brushing his arm.

  “Relax,” she murmured. “I’m not going to bite.”

  Yuuki’s ears warmed. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

  Across the table, Kyouka lifted her chopsticks.

  Her gaze did not move.

  Tenka tasted the food and let out a pleased hum. “Wow. This is actually really good.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I’m glad it’s acceptable,” Yuuki replied.

  Tenka leaned in closer now, close enough that her voice dropped slightly. “You do all the cooking here?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s dangerous,” she teased. “You’re going to spoil everyone.”

  Under the table—

  Tap.

  Yuuki flinched.

  Something nudged his leg sharply. Not hard. Not enough to draw attention.

  Enough to warn.

  He straightened immediately, eyes forward.

  Tenka noticed.

  Her lips curved in amusement.

  “Oh?” she said softly. “Did I distract you?”

  “N-no,” Yuuki answered quickly.

  Tap.

  Another nudge under the table. Firmer this time.

  Yuuki swallowed and adjusted his posture, shoulders tightening as he focused on his plate.

  “Eat,” Kyouka said calmly, without looking at him.

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Tenka chuckled quietly. “You’re strict.”

  “Discipline is necessary,” Kyouka replied evenly.

  Tenka rested her chin in her hand, eyes still on Yuuki. “You’re really obedient, huh?”

  Yuuki didn’t answer.

  Tap.

  This time, the pressure under the table lingered just a fraction longer.

  Yuuki bit back a sound and nodded once. “I’ll… focus.”

  Tenka laughed openly now. “Alright, alright. I get the message.”

  She stood, stretching casually.

  “Well,” Tenka said, opening a portal behind her, “thanks for the food. It was worth coming back for.”

  She glanced once more at Kyouka.

  “Take good care of him.”

  Then she waved cheerfully and stepped backward into the portal.

  It closed behind her with a soft shimmer.

  Silence fell over the table.

  Kyouka’s chopsticks snapped.

  The sound was sharp. Final.

  She looked down at the broken pieces in her hand for a moment—then set them aside without a word.

  Yuuki froze.

  Kyouka stood.

  “I’m done,” she said flatly.

  She didn’t look at anyone as she turned and walked out of the room, leaving her untouched plate behind.

  The door slid shut.

  No one spoke at first.

  Then Shushu exhaled loudly, slumping back in her chair.

  “…Wow.”

  Nei rested her cheek in her hand, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “That was intense.”

  Sahara clicked the magazine into her gun with a quiet snap. “She was furious.”

  Shushu scowled. “Of course she was. Tenka just sits wherever she wants.”

  Nei laughed softly. “Must be nice being a commander.”

  Shushu crossed her arms, cheeks faintly flushed. “If I were a commander, I wouldn’t let anyone else get that close to him.”

  Yuuki stiffened.

  “I-I’m sorry,” he said quickly.

  Nei waved him off. “Not your fault.”

  Sahara glanced at him. “Still. You don’t belong to everyone.”

  Shushu muttered, “Only commanders get to do whatever they want…”

  The room fell quiet again.

  Yuuki looked down at his untouched food.

  Somewhere down the hall, a door closed sharply.

  Far above them all, Ren Yamashiro closed a file and stood from her seat.

  “Prepare the training hall,” she said calmly.

  “It’s time.”

  As silence.

  As a single broken pair of chopsticks.

  unspoken ownership in a system that refuses to name it.

  Others adapt.

  And Yuuki exists in the middle — compliant, observant, and increasingly aware that proximity itself has consequences.

  she noticed.

  Not louder — sharper.