A Mourning Princess and Warm Sweets

The villa’s kitchen was a huge space of stainless steel and marble, bathed in the pale morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Senri had been there for hours, moving with a focused, almost frantic energy that left flour dusted across the countertops and a stack of misshapen, discarded attempts cooling on a rack.

In the center of the chaos sat three manju.

They were… okay.

The dough was a little too thick in places, the pleating on top clumsy, where it was supposed to be artful.

He’d filled them with anko, sweet red bean paste, and, remembering their conversation on the balcony, a hidden core of fresh, macerated strawberries.

He wasn’t even sure she would want them.

After yesterday, after his harshness, she might just look at them with those guarded eyes and refuse to touch them.

But he had to try.

The soft shuffle of footsteps on tile made him turn.

“Morning,” Senri said, wiping his hands on a towel.

Hibiki stood in the doorway, already dressed in tailored, charcoal-gray streetwear, his black hair perfectly styled.

He didn’t return the greeting.

His silver eyes, usually warm and welcoming, were chips of frost.

They swept over the flour-strewn kitchen, the six place settings at the table he had prepared for everyone, then landed back on Senri.

The silence stretched uncomfortably.

“Want some breakfast?” Senri offered, gesturing vaguely at the mess.

Hibiki walked past him to the professional espresso machine.

He selected a capsule, slotted it in, and pressed the button with a soft click. The machine whirred aggressively.

“It depends,” Hibiki said, his voice flat, devoid of its usual melodic warmth. He didn’t look at Senri.

“Are you going to say something about it in your next confessional?”

Senri blinked, taken aback. “What?”

The espresso poured into a tiny cup.

Hibiki picked it up, finally turning. He took a slow sip, his cold eyes holding Senri’s over the rim.

“The kind Senri Amano is making breakfast for everyone. It’s good content. Heartwarming even, right?”

The words were delivered with such detachment that they felt surgical. Senri’s face heated.

“That’s not…”

But Hibiki was already draining the cup.

He set it down in the sink with a quiet clink and walked out of the kitchen without another word.

Senri stood frozen, the accusation hanging in the air like a knife.

Was that what it looked like?

A calculated play for the audience?

His gut twisted.

From Hibiki’s perspective, maybe it did.

The friendly guy from yesterday was gone, replaced by this cold, assessing stranger.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

The atmosphere shifted when the others trickled in for breakfast.

Sachiko arrived first, her blue ponytail swinging, offering Senri a sunny “Good morning!” that felt jarring after Hibiki’s chill.

Momo followed, yawning, and Shou soon after, already in running clothes.

They settled at the large dining table just as the front door opened and closed.

Hibiki reappeared in the archway, his bag slung over one shoulder.

His entire demeanor had transformed.

The frost had melted into his usual, pleasant smile as his eyes found Sachiko.

“Tamaki-san,” he said, his voice warm honey.

“I have to head out for work today. I’m sorry, I won’t be able to work on our photoshoot concept.”

Sachiko waved a hand, smiling.

“It’s perfectly alright! I’ll use the time to train. We can brainstorm tonight.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Hibiki’s gaze swept the table with a general, polite nod.

“Everyone, have a good day.”

And he was gone.

The silence he left behind was different from the one in the kitchen.

It highlighted, with painful clarity, the stark difference in his behavior.

The chill for Senri, the warmth for Sachiko.

A line had been drawn.

They were starting on a fruit platter when Nataria appeared.

Senri’s breath caught.

She was in all black again, a sleek, long-sleeved dress that made her pale skin seem almost luminous, her violet hair a shocking cascade of color against the somber fabric.

A pink ribbon barrette held her hair back from her face.

She looked like a mourning princess.

“Good morning,” she said softly, her eyes scanning the table but not truly landing on anyone.

“Hidomu-san! Come sit here,” Sachiko said, patting the empty chair beside her. Her smile was genuine, unchanged from yesterday.

“I like your hair ribbons,” Momo added, her voice shy.

“Morning,” Shou grunted, not looking up from his phone, but it wasn’t hostile.

The small, simple welcome was odd in its normalcy; they made the previous day’s collective cold shoulder feel even more pronounced.

They’d all been complicit, Senri realized.

Except for Sachiko, who operated on a wavelength of inherent kindness.

Nataria gave a slight nod and took the offered seat.

She carefully avoided the space where Senri sat directly across from her.

That avoidance was a physical ache in his chest. Now, he thought. Do it now.

He pushed his chair back. The legs scraped loudly on the tile. Every eye at the table swung to him.

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbled, and hurried into the kitchen.

His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs.

He grabbed the small plate holding the three manju, their imperfections suddenly glaring under the kitchen lights.

This was a terrible idea. It was too much, too public, too…

No. He’d done the public judging. The least he could do was a public apology.

He walked back into the dining room, the plate feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds.

The conversation had died completely.

Sachiko watched with curious eyes.

Momo’s gaze darted between him and Nataria.

Shou had even looked up from his phone.

Senri stopped beside Nataria’s chair. He set the plate down in front of her gently.

She stared at it. At the three cream-colored buns. Her expression was utterly blank, her mask perfectly unreadable.

Then, slowly, she looked up at him. Her black eyes were guarded and shadowed underneath. The sight sent another bolt of guilt straight through him.

“You said you liked sweet pastries,” Senri said. “So I made these. For you.”

He took a half-step back, bowed deeply at the waist, and spoke to the floor. “And I am truly sorry for what I said yesterday. For making you cry.”

The silence in the room was absolute.

He straightened.

Nataria was staring at him.

Her lips were slightly parted, her black eyes huge and swimming with something that looked like pure, unadulterated disbelief.

As if he’d just performed a magic trick instead of an apology.

“I…” she began, her voice a whisper. She blinked, rapidly. “I wasn’t mad at you.”

“You should be,” Senri said earnestly, “But I’m glad you’re not.”

For a long second, she just looked at him.

Then, the tension around her eyes softened.

The line of her mouth eased into a small smile.

It was a smile of confusion, as if he’d said something odd rather than apologetic.

“Thank you,” she said, “Thank you for saying that.”

Across the table, Sachiko’s hands were clasped under her chin, her smile radiant. Shou was watching Senri with a new, assessing look.

Momo’s eyes were wide, fixed on Nataria’s face.

Senri felt exposed, his ears burning, but a heavy stone had been lifted from his throat.

He managed a jerky nod and sank back into his chair.

Nataria looked down at the manju.

With careful, almost reverent movements, she picked one up. She took a small bite.

Her eyes closed.

A beat passed. Then another.

A soft, barely-there sigh escaped her.

When her eyes opened, they were different, softer, the guardedness momentarily swept away by a simple, palpable pleasure.

She looked at the manju in her hands with an almost childlike wonder.

“It has strawberries inside,” she stated, her voice filled with quiet awe.

Senri’s grin broke free then, wide and relieved.

His heart gave a single, powerful twist in his chest.

Because in that moment, this girl in her uniform of black sorrow,

this so-called “Ice Queen”, was genuinely, adorably delighted by the discovery of hidden fruit in a clumsy pastry.

The conversation at the table gradually resumed, tentatively at first, then flowing more naturally.

Sachiko asked Momo about her live.

Shou mentioned a new song he was working on.

Senri barely heard any of it.

He watched, a warm feeling spreading through his chest, as Nataria finished the first manju.

She picked up the second.

Then the third.

She ate all of them, each bite slow and savoring, that small, wondering smile lingering on her lips the entire time.