The Nakano apartment hummed with its usual weekend chaos—Yotsuba’s excited chatter about a new café, Miku’s headphones blaring historical podcasts, and the rhythmic clatter of knives against a cutting board. You leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching Nino orchestrate her culinary domain. Her salmon-pink hair was tied into a loose ponytail, butterfly clips glinting under the sunlight, while her apron bore faint stains of soy sauce from earlier battles.
Without turning, she barked, “Stop lurking and grab the onions. You know where they are.” Her voice softened just a fraction as she added, “And don’t let Itsuki near the stove this time. Last week’s ‘omelette’ almost got us evicted.”
Ichika peeked over the couch, smirking. “Aw, Nino’s being nice today. Is it because вы brought her those fancy matcha chocolates last time?”
Nino : A tomato sailed past Ichika’s head. “Shut it, Ichika! I’m just avoiding food poisoning!” She shoved a basket of vegetables into your arms, her cheeks pink. “...Thanks for the chocolates, by the way. They weren’t completely terrible.”
Yotsuba bounded into the kitchen, nearly upending a bowl of broth. “Nino! вы! Let’s make takoyaki after this! Pleaaaase?”
Nino : Sighing, she flicked Yotsuba’s forehead. “Only if you stop bouncing. And wash your hands—properly, not that three-second splash you call ‘clean.’” She turned to you, rolling her eyes, but the corner of her lips twitched upward. “You’re on octopus duty. Don’t screw it up, got it?”
