Chapter 10: Morning Light & Growing Bonds

Location: Akira’s Residence – Early Morning

Akira woke just as pale morning light seeped through the gauzy curtains, spilling long, warm bands of gold and muted amber across his small kitchen. The place had that early-day stillness—a hush that felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the first sound to break it. The gentle rustle of leaves outside the window added a soft, whispering backdrop.

He moved through the kitchen with practiced rhythm—setting the kettle on to boil, scooping rice into the glossy white cooker, the soft click of the switch breaking the silence. The gentle hum of the cooker blended with the quiet sizzle of eggs in the frying pan. The scent of miso and wakame rose steadily, warm and familiar, wrapping the air in comfort.

Akira moved through his morning routine, each familiar motion—measuring rice, cracking eggs—feeling strangely different now. The apartment no longer held its usual quiet; it carried her presence, a faint warmth that lingered from the bedroom, gentle as her breath when she slept.

He caught himself recalling the sight from only about 10 to 15 minutes ago—Tsukiko, still half-asleep, wrapped loosely in his oversized shirt.
The fabric had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the delicate slope of her collarbone, a hint of skin kissed by the dawn’s light.
Her turquoise blue hair spilled in tangled waves across the pillow, catching the glow like threads of moonlit silk. One knee drawn beneath the blanket, her tail curled lazily beside her, she’d looked impossibly serene.

The image lingered now, unbidden. For a heartbeat, he’d simply stood there earlier—struck by how she looked both out of place and perfectly at home in his room. Beautiful. Unreachable. Human in a way that made something inside him ache.

He drew in a slow breath and forced his focus back to the pan. Don’t drift. The eggs sizzled, grounding him again. He rolled the tamagoyaki with deliberate care, each small motion helping him reclaim composure.

Now, standing at the stove, he could still feel the faint heat at the back of his neck. He shook his head lightly, muttering under his breath, “Focus. Breakfast first. Daydreams later.”

From the bedroom came the soft rustle of sheets. Tsukiko’s lashes fluttered open, drawn by the aroma wafting through the room. She moved carefully, her bare feet meeting the cool wooden floor, her steps quiet but sure. When she reached the kitchen doorway, she paused—partly from the lingering ache in her injuries, partly because she found herself caught in the sight before her.

Akira stood with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, sunlight tracing the curve of his shoulders as he flipped the omelet with steady, practiced motion. Steam from the soup curled upward, catching in his hair like threads of light.

Her gaze, though, quickly shifted to the line of strange, humming devices on the counter. “This one… steams rice by itself?” she asked softly, pointing toward the rice cooker.

Akira glanced over his shoulder, his earlier fluster easing into a gentle smile. “Yeah. You just measure rice and water, press a button, and wait. Makes it easy when you’re cooking other things.”

Tsukiko’s curiosity overcame her hesitation. She padded closer, leaning slightly over the counter to peer at the glowing buttons. Her hair brushed the edge of Akira’s arm as she did so, and he froze for half a second at the unexpected closeness. She didn’t seem to notice—her focus was entirely on the sleek, glossy machine.

Her fingers trailed along the warm side of the cooker before drifting toward the kettle. She tapped the base lightly, tilting her head as if listening to the faint hum. “This heats water without a fire? How do you know when it’s ready?”

Akira chuckled. “It clicks when it’s done. And the toaster—” He reached past her to point, and she instinctively leaned back, bumping lightly into his chest. Her ears flicked, and a faint pink brushed the tips before she turned her attention to the shiny little appliance.

“And this?” she asked, pointing to the toaster.

“That’s for bread. You drop slices in, push the lever, and it pops them back up when they’re ready.”

She made a soft, surprised noise. “The bread… jumps?”

Akira grinned. “Yeah. You’ll see it one morning.”

Her exploration ended with the refrigerator. She tugged its handle gently and stepped back in mild surprise when the door swung open with a soft suctioned thunk. A cool breath of air brushed her face, and she peered inside at the neatly organized shelves. Her tail gave a faint flick. “Cold magic…?” she murmured, as if still deciding whether this was sorcery or science.

When Akira finally handed her a steaming bowl of miso soup, she took it with careful hands. “You cook like this every day?” she asked, sitting at the small table.

“When I have time,” he said, sliding the tamagoyaki onto a plate. “It’s a standard breakfast—miso soup, grilled fish, pickles, tamagoyaki. You’ll like the egg. It’s a little sweet.”

A small, almost shy smile curved her lips, soft as the morning light spilling across the counter.

“I want to learn,” she said, her voice carrying the quiet conviction of someone making a promise to herself as much as to him. “At the palace… I never chose my meals. They were brought to me, perfect and prepared—silver trays, porcelain bowls, food so polished it felt almost untouchable. But it wasn’t mine to choose, or to make.”

Her words slowed, the light in her gaze dimming just a little.
“And when I was… running,” she continued, her tail swaying in a faint, restless arc, “I did eat—bought food here and there when I could. But whenever I wanted something specific, something at just the right time… I had no idea where to even start. I didn’t know what to use, or how to cook. That’s why I want to learn to cook, so I won’t have to trouble anyone, and I can cook and mix things the way I think might be a good combination for my own stomach.”

Her eyes drifted back to the small, humming appliances like they were treasures in a dragon’s hoard. The rice cooker with its warm, patient hum; the sleek electric kettle with a tiny green light; the squat toaster with its polished chrome sides; the tall refrigerator humming faintly in the corner, its handle reflecting soft gold from the curtains.

She leaned a little closer to the rice cooker, brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear. The faint pink still lingered there—not from embarrassment this time, but from a quiet, budding excitement, like a child on the edge of their first adventure.

Akira found himself watching her more than the food now. The way her fingers hovered over the buttons but didn’t quite press them, the way her ears twitched ever so slightly when the kettle clicked, the way her tail tip flicked when she noticed the toaster’s timer ticking down. Every small movement felt unguarded, honest—like she’d let her usual composure slip without even realizing it.

“Here,” he said gently, stepping beside her. “For the rice cooker—you measure one cup of rice, rinse it until the water runs clear, then fill it to the line here.” He guided her hand to the marked line inside the pot. Her brows furrowed in focus, the tip of her tongue peeking out slightly in concentration—an expression that made something in his chest tighten.

She followed each step carefully, glancing at him between motions as if silently confirming she was doing it right. He showed her how to push the start button, and her ears twitched again at the satisfying click of the latch.

Next came the toaster. “This one’s simple,” Akira explained, placing two slices of bread inside. “You push the lever down and wait until—”
“—it pops up on its own?” she guessed, a small spark of pride in her voice.
“Exactly.”

She mirrored his movements, pressing the lever and watching the coils inside glow to life, her tail swaying in small, absent arcs as if keeping time.

Akira’s heart stirred at her quiet determination, the softness in her voice, the hopeful gleam in her eyes—it struck a chord deeper than any clash of steel or victory fanfare ever had.

And then it happened. A subtle shimmer flickered at the edge of his vision, like sunlight catching glass. The SigilBound interface unfolded like a delicate origami sculpture of translucent light, glowing faintly in hues of soft blues and golds.

< Daily Mission Completed >
[Routine: Domestic Sharing]
[Bond Status: ++0.01%]
[EXP Gained – Passive]
[Crysts +4]

Akira blinked once, then twice, a quiet chuckle escaping his throat. Even cooking together counts?

Apparently, the system didn’t just reward grand battles, life-or-death decisions, or epic quests—it acknowledged connection. The small, unremarkable moments. The ones that stitched themselves quietly into the fabric of their shared life, one thread at a time.

They ate together, the soft clink of chopsticks against ceramic bowls and gentle murmurs of appreciation filling the cozy room like a quiet melody. Tsukiko savored each bite slowly, her eyes half-closed in peaceful contentment, her blue-silvery tail swaying lazily behind her in a slow rhythm, as if mirroring the calm happiness settling within her. The simple act of sharing a meal—something she had long taken for granted—stirred a quiet warmth in her chest, a feeling she hadn’t realized she’d missed so much.

Akira watched her closely, drawn not just by the food, but by the delicate way she interacted with it—the tentative tilt of her head, the soft sigh she let out after tasting the sweet tamagoyaki. Her ears twitched occasionally, the soft pink tips subtly alive with every new sensation.

At one point, Akira’s eyes caught a small grain of rice clinging stubbornly to the corner of her mouth. Without thinking, he reached out with his chopsticks and gently plucked it away. Tsukiko froze mid-chew, her breath catching slightly as her ears flicked upright, eyes wide with surprise. A faint blush—soft and shy—crept up the shells of her ears, tinting them a delicate rose. She swallowed quickly, mumbling with a tiny pout, “I… could’ve gotten it myself…” but she didn’t pull away or brush his hand aside.

Akira’s face warmed at the sudden closeness, the tips of his own ears tingling as he cleared his throat softly and turned back to his meal, cheeks tinged with a quiet heat.

Akira set down his chopsticks and tilted his head toward her. “By the way… do you know anything about potions or cooking magic? I was thinking—it might make things easier if I can learn a few tricks from you while you learn from me.”

Tsukiko’s ears twitched slightly, and she shook her head with a soft laugh. “Potions? Not really. I’ve never made them myself… but I can teach you some basic magic,” she offered, her voice gentle but firm. “If you help me with cooking, I can show you how to channel energy, even just a little. It might make things simpler, or at least… interesting.”

Akira blinked once, then smiled faintly, feeling that familiar warm hum of the bond stir. “Deal,” he said softly. “We teach each other, then. Cooking and magic—sounds fair.”

Her tail flicked in a small, approving arc. “Fair,” she agreed, a quiet spark of excitement lighting her eyes. “I’ve never done this before… but I want to try.”

Later, he led her into the small living room, where a modest flat-screen television was mounted above a low bookshelf crammed with a jumble of worn paperbacks and a few neatly stacked DVDs. The kotatsu table rested at the center, its soft quilt spread invitingly on the tatami mat floor.

Handing her the remote with a gentle smile, Akira’s fingers brushed hers accidentally. Tsukiko tilted her head, her eyes flicking down to their contact with a flicker of surprise, but she quickly averted her gaze, a faint flush blooming on her cheeks. Her tail swished behind her—a slow, deliberate movement betraying her awareness of the moment.

He patiently showed her how to turn the TV on, flip through the channels, and adjust the volume. When she landed on a commercial featuring an annoyingly catchy jingle, her eyebrows knit together and she muttered with mock seriousness, “This… is dangerous magic.” Akira chuckled quietly, the sound warm in the room.

Then he pulled out his laptop, setting it carefully on the kotatsu table. As he leaned in to open it, Tsukiko, curious, scooted a little closer—just close enough for their shoulders to brush. A soft jolt of electricity seemed to spark through the contact.

“This is a trackpad,” Akira explained, pointing to the smooth square. “Move your finger here to move the cursor, and tap to click.”

She tried, but her first attempt sent the cursor darting wildly across the screen like a startled animal. Akira chuckled, placing his hand gently over hers to guide the movement. The warmth of his palm lingered softly on the back of her hand, and for a brief second, Tsukiko stilled—her ears twitching delicately, the faintest flick of her tail tip betraying a flutter of nerves. She quickly refocused, biting her lower lip with determination.

“Let’s look up ‘Japanese breakfast tutorials,’” he suggested, typing in the search bar with ease. Tsukiko watched intently, her eyes following the fluid motion of his fingers before leaning forward to try again. Her sleeve brushed against his arm, and a subtle, fresh scent—clean, with a hint of wild woodsmoke—wafted into his senses. He kept his voice steady, though his heartbeat quickened with the contact.

She shifted closer; a loose strand of aqua-turquoise hair tickled his neck, and the warmth of her breath grazed his ear.

Focus, Akira. She’s learning how to *Doogle, not how to ogle. (*Doogle : Search engine in this world. )

Her fingers curled softly in her lap as she spoke quietly, voice earnest and tinged with vulnerability. “I want to learn. Not just to survive, but to share meals like this—with someone. To find comfort in making something with my own hands. So I won’t have to trouble others… or you. And so I can make things the way I imagine them.”

Akira’s smile deepened, touched by the honesty and quiet courage shining in her eyes. “I’ll teach you. We’ll take it slow. Cooking isn’t just about food—it’s about care, rhythm, and sometimes even magic. You’ll get it.”

Her eyes brightened, a genuine smile tugging at her lips as her tail gave an almost imperceptible wag of resolve before settling. “Then I’ll try harder. For you. For us.”

At that precise moment, the SigilBound shimmered softly into view in the corner of Akira’s vision, glowing gently like a beacon affirming their quiet promise.

{Astral Affinity}
(Passive Special Skill)
[Bond Status: +0.01%]
[EXP Gained – Passive]
[Crysts +4]

Akira glanced at the glowing panel, then back to Tsukiko, and thought—not for the first time—that these small, intimate moments were worth far more than any grand quest or victory could ever be.

Tsukiko tilted her head slightly, the morning light catching the silver strands of her hair.
“Akira… do you know what we should do next? What the SigilBound wants us to do?” Her voice was soft, carrying a quiet mixture of curiosity and concern.

Akira shook his head gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not yet. The SigilBound hasn’t sent any major notifications this morning. But… don’t worry. If it does, I’ll tell you right away. I promise.” He reached out to brush a loose strand of hair from her face, the gesture simple but comforting—a quiet reassurance that they were facing this uncertain world together. Only after his fingers had moved did he realize how intimate the motion felt, and he wondered—was it the subtle effect of the Astral Affinity skill, or just the bond between them already pulling them closer than he expected?

Location: Akira’s Residence – Morning

After their quiet morning together, Akira gathered his things with a calm sense of purpose. Before stepping out, he paused beside Tsukiko, offering a soft smile that carried the easy intimacy of a couple settling into their shared rhythm. “I’ll be back for dinner,” he said gently, the words warm and reassuring. Tsukiko returned his smile, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she nodded, her tail swaying slightly with quiet happiness.

Before leaving, Akira moved with careful attention to prepare for Tsukiko’s day. He set up a playlist of videos on the laptop—cooking tutorials, calming nature scenes, and light entertainment—curated to keep her company and curiosity alive so she wouldn’t feel bored or lonely while he was away. Nearby, he stacked a small selection of books—some novels, some illustrated guides to herbs and cooking—within easy reach on the low table, knowing she might want to switch between screen and page.

In the kitchen, he made sure Tsukiko would have easy access to food and drinks he prepared earlier—bottled water, herbal teas, and some snacks he thought she might like—placed neatly on the counter and tucked in the fridge. The space was arranged thoughtfully, designed so she could find comfort and independence, a little sanctuary she could call home.

Stepping outside, Akira was greeted by the late morning sunlight, which bathed Tatsumori’s streets in a warm, honeyed glow. The sun seemed to linger lovingly over weathered wooden storefronts and narrow alleys. The air pulsed softly with cicadas hidden in leafy branches overhead, their steady chorus blending with distant voices and the cheerful clatter of a bicycle bell.

The familiar scents of the town drifted lazily on the breeze—freshly watered earth from small gardens, the faint, comforting aroma of brewing tea from open windows, and the clean, salty hint of the nearby river carried downstream. The soft warmth of the sun brushed against Akira’s skin like a protective embrace from an old friend.

His footsteps found their usual rhythm along the cracked pavement, steady and sure. He passed old shopkeepers tending to their potted plants, their faces lifting with warm nods and quiet smiles born of years steeped in peaceful routine. A child sped past on a squeaky red bicycle, laughter trailing behind like a bright, fleeting ribbon of joy. Nearby, laundry fluttered gently on a line, whispering soft secrets to the breeze.

As he walked, Akira’s thoughts lingered on the morning’s small, tender moments—Tsukiko’s shy curiosity exploring the kitchen, the way her eyes lit up with wonder at the simplest things, and the quiet warmth that had settled deep within his chest. Fragile yet growing, it blossomed quietly in his heart.

Turning into a familiar alley on his way to the clinic, Akira’s gaze caught something unusual. The narrow passage where he’d spotted the faint, shimmering portal to the Astral Realm the night before was now completely blocked off. A tall Temporary Barrier, emblazoned with “Construction Site” warnings, sealed the entrance like an impenetrable wall. The subtle glow of the portal was gone, replaced by dull plywood and orange cones.

He paused, a flicker of unease passing through him. The passage to that otherworldly space had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, hidden now from the world he knew. For a moment, the hum of cicadas and chatter seemed distant, and the weight of mystery settled quietly in his chest.

Shaking off the moment, Akira continued onward. The path led him to the veterinary clinic, nestled snugly between a traditional tofu shop and a shuttered bookstore. Above the sliding door, a hand-painted wooden sign creaked gently: Shiraishi Animal Wellness Clinic. The clinic stood serene, its small garden blooming with wildflowers nodding a silent welcome.

Inside, the soft rustle of fur and the gentle padding of paws greeted him like old friends. The scent of antiseptic mingled with warm blankets and dried herbs—a sanctuary of healing. Older cats with wise eyes and a patient Shiba Inu with a graying muzzle looked up trustingly as he entered. Amidst the quiet work of care and compassion, Akira found a calm steadying his restless spirit.

Yet even as the clinic’s familiar calm wrapped around him, Akira’s thoughts lingered elsewhere—on the soft glint of silver hair catching the morning light, the shy curve of a smile across the breakfast table, the quiet promise of we’ll learn together.

He exhaled softly, the scent of antiseptic and herbs grounding him once more. For now, he had work to do, a life to maintain between two worlds. But beneath that calm surface, the SigilBound pulsed faintly at the edge of his awareness, waiting like a heartbeat he could no longer ignore.

He glanced toward the storage room, the faint golden shimmer of the interface whispering against his vision before fading again. “Not yet,” he murmured under his breath, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. “After this.”

Outside, the cicadas carried their summer song over Tatsumori’s rooftops, their voices threading through the soft light spilling into the clinic. Akira turned back to his duties, unaware that even this quiet moment—routine and unremarkable—was already being recorded by the SigilBound’s unseen eye.

The day moved on, calm and bright, and somewhere beneath that still rhythm, the next mission quietly prepared to unfold.

============== End of Chapter 10 ===============