Chapter 3: Can Adjustments Be Shaped?

It was a pleasant weekday morning, specifically 7:28 AM as per the digital clock on my study table.

I pulled the curtains open, letting the fresh morning sunlight slip into my room. The mess of reviewers and academic books sprawled across my bedroom floor caught light, exposing my hidden flaw of procrastination.

It was meant for the end of term exams, which takes place next week.

This is the result when your work-life-school balance collapses. You put cleaning out of the equation, you leave the notes in various stages of completion.

I shoved off everything under my bed and dragged myself out of the room.

The mirror on the hallway exposed the situation I'm in—my hair was a disaster. But it's not like somebody in here would give me a critical judgment about it so I disregarded the bedhead and stumbled towards the kitchen.

“Morning,” I muttered halfheartedly as I pushed open the sliding door.

"Good morning, Kaede!"

"Good morning, Kaede-chan~"

My old man and Misaki-san were already at the table—dressed neatly for work. My father in his pressed suit and tie, my stepmother in her tidy blouse and skirt, hair pinned into a bun. Both were equally ready to go out yet failed to erase the drowsiness from their faces.

But still, the contrast between them and me was painfully obvious.

And, of course, my father’s sharp eyes found me instantly.

“Kaede,” he said, his lips twitching as if suppressing a laugh. “That hair…did you wrestle with a bear in your sleep?”

“...No?” I deadpanned.

“Don’t be so proud of it! It looks like you stuck a fork in a power outlet.”

Misaki-san chuckled softly behind her hand. “Don’t tease him, dear. It’s just a bedhead.”

"No, no, I raised him to be responsible for his appearance." he insisted. “Having bedheads is a stain in the face of manhood.”

"He’ll naturally realize that when he’s older. At least, let’s appreciate that he's an early riser, unlike my Shiori-chan~"

I half-listened to their exchanges before proceeding toward the sink.

As the cold water splashed against my face, I thought—not for the first time—that my life had taken a sharp turn recently.

It wasn’t just about waking up earlier or sharing space. There were two new residents in this house, both of them women.

Which meant: no more wandering the hallway in just my boxers. No more brushing my teeth shirtless while checking my phone. Even something small—like messy hair—felt like I was breaking some unspoken rule.

So this is what it means by the ‘adjustment’ Asahina-san and I agreed on—I wasn’t just Fujimiya Kaede anymore, I already took the role of a stepbrother, a role that required erasing the routines I'm comfortable with and shaping them into something more disciplined and orderly.

In addition, this role required me to increase my awareness not just of myself, but for the people around me. Because a single slip-up could spiral into disaster and misunderstanding.

Shaking off the thought, I turned back toward the table. That’s when I noticed something off.

As the boy who always took care of the kitchen and washed dishes, I would immediately notice the absence of dirty plates.

A clean kitchen doesn't necessarily mean that they have already taken care of the clutters. There should've been an excess scent of dishwashing liquid or spare servings.

We didn’t have that.

“…You haven’t eaten yet?” I asked cautiously.

My father let out a nervous laugh while scratching his head.

“So you really haven’t?” I repeated.

“We’ll just pick something up on the way,” Misaki-san replied, fastening her watch. “It’s quicker.”

Somehow, the thought of them buying breakfast didn't sit well with me. I might be labeled as an asocial teenager by most people—and, technically, a loner—but that doesn't mean I don’t care about the people around me.

“That’s unnecessary. You shouldn't just rely on ready-to-eat meals. You’ll just spend extra money, and end up standing in long lines.”

My father shrugged. “That’s what adults do.”

“And this is what families do.” I said firmly, grabbing a frying pan. “It's still too early, so sit down and I'll cook something.”

Asahina-san’s words about not making this home a stranger’s place seemed to take place today, and cooking for them is my first step towards it.

"Isn't that too much to ask from you, dear?" Misaki-san asked.

I shrugged. "We barely even spend time together due to our conflicting schedules. At least I can do something useful this morning while we’re still here."

There was a pause.

Then Misaki-san smiled softly, like I’d just given her flowers.

“Kaede-kun…you’re really caring. At this rate, you’ll grow up to be a husband material, just like your father.”

I coughed. “…You don’t have to compare me to him.”

“Oi,” my father said indignantly. “Take that as a compliment. Most children look up to their parents and want to follow their steps, right?”

“Maybe you should cook once in a while too, honey,” my stepmother teased. “That way, the father will follow the son’s footsteps.”

“I have pride, honey. Besides, his skills are better than mine anyway.”

“…You’re both way too easily swayed,” I muttered, but the corner of my lips twitched despite myself.

And so, the familiar rhythm started. The eggs cracked easily into the bowl, and I whisked them with practiced ease. The rice warmed in the pan, the sizzle filling the silence.

Being alone at home most of the time for a couple of years made me excel in the craft that I love—cooking. After all, it’s one of the first things you learn to achieve independence.

No, I didn’t become an expert immediately. Just like everyone, I had disasters in the kitchen. I only put effort in trying again until I made mistakes into my own victories.

The surroundings were soon enough filled with the scent of butter, eggs, and faint soy sauce. Even though it was a feat so welcome to me, I still can’t help but be distracted by the sight of an empty chair across the table.

It was Asahina-san's.

Yes, I was the one that wanted to keep my distance. I was also the one that drew the line that wasn't supposed to be there on the first day. And yet, this kind of absence was pressing at my chest.

Was she still asleep?

Avoiding this room because I'm here?

I'm not concerned as an individual, I'm concerned as an older brother.

She was right—being perfect siblings is simply out of the picture given our shared history. But I can't let my parents worry about the awkward silence between us either.

If they noticed it...we would become their burden. And that, I couldn’t allow.

I let the thoughts dial down themselves as I plated the omurice neatly, garnished it with ketchup, and placed steaming bowls of miso beside them.

“Alright,” I said, placing the last dish down. “It’s ready.”

That’s when I heard it—footsteps from the hallway.

The sliding door opened, and Asahina-san stood there—expression neat and unreadable as always. She's already dressed in her Meishin uniform, her bag slung over her shoulder.

“…I’ll be going ahead,” she said flatly, already turning toward the door.

“Eh? Shiori-chan, wait.” My stepmother’s voice was gentle but firm. “It’s too early to leave. Sit down and have breakfast with us.”

For a moment, she just stared at us blankly, as if weighing her options.

But then, her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. “…I have to go early. I have to cram, exams are coming up.”

Her tone carried no emotion and no room for argument.

My stepmother in return, smiled knowingly, tilting her head. "Is that so? That's too bad. Today’s breakfast happens to be omurice, cooked by your amazing brother~”

The reaction was instant. Asahina-san froze.

Her eyes darted, almost unwillingly, to the table.

I don't know what charmed her, her mother's voice or the fact that there's a perfectly folded omelet, golden and glossy, garnished with ketchup in neat strokes resting on the table.

Noticing the shift in her expression, Misaki-san chuckled accordingly.

“It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

“…Hah.” She let out the faintest sigh, shoulders sinking as if conceding defeat. “Fine. Just for a little.”

It might have been true that she had to cram. However, it’s also possible that she wanted to stay but was keeping distance. It's only fair that she stayed at the sight of food this irresistible.

She sat down stiffly across from me.

The empty seat I’d gotten used to seeing…suddenly filled. Strange how heavy one extra presence felt.

“Yoshi [1], a complete family breakfast!” my father said cheerfully, already digging in. “Kaede-chan’s cooking is top-notch. You’ll regret it if you miss out.”

“He’s getting more and more like you, honey,” Misaki-san teased. “Responsible, good with housework. Husband material, really.”

…Husband material, huh.

Please. I was just trying to save you from wasting money on overpriced convenience store sandwiches without nutritional value. That was all.

I was halfway across my portion and Asahina-san still hadn't touched her plate across the table. She just stared at it, chopsticks resting neatly beside her hand.

Was it suspicion? Or…hesitation? She probably didn’t want to eat food cooked by me. I could understand that. If I were her, I wouldn’t want to eat it either.

I stabbed a spoonful of rice and egg, chewed slowly, and tried not to think about it.

And then quietly, almost cautiously, Asahina-san lifted her chopsticks.

She took a bite.

Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes softened. And for the briefest moment—something lit up her face.

It's not the sunlight, not even the kitchen lights.

That ray of light only beams out when someone experiences something they never had before.

Was that a smile?

But I had no time to deduce further as it was wiped away in an instant, replaced once again by her cool and aloof expression.

I swallowed my food and kept my gaze firmly on my plate.

My parent's banter filled the room again.

But inside, my thoughts wouldn’t settle.

Had I imagined it?

Or had I really just seen Asahina Shiori smile—because of something I made?

[1] "Yoshi" (よし) is an interjection meaning "Alright!", "Good!", or "Okay!", used to express enthusiasm or affirmation.