There was no urgency in the kiss, only certainty.

It was seven in the evening, edging toward eight, with only a few minutes left. The steady ticking of the clock filled the room, accompanied by the faint rush of running water from the sink and the sudden, hollow thud of the stove being shut.

        That was all it took to pull Mikado from sleep. He blinked a few times, sluggish and unfocused, until the familiar wooden ceiling of his room slowly came into view, the lingering clouds of drowsiness peeling away bit by bit.

         Aside from the steady ticking of the clock filling the room, Mikado didn't remember leaving the water running when he fell asleep. In fact, he had never even touched the sink after coming home from school, he'd gone straight to fulfilling his simple fantasy of throwing himself into bed the moment he arrived.

        Nor was there anyone else who could have turned the stove on… and then shut it off. This was a single man apartment, and, as the 'single' implies, Mikado lived alone.

        Was it a… ghost?

        The possibility wasn't zero. He'd learned enough about magic to know better than to dismiss it outright. Still, it felt unlikely. Or perhaps it was simply more comfortable to believe so.

        And even if it was a ghost, what exactly was it doing in his kitchen, pacing back and forth, running water, clattering cookware like it was preparing dinner? As far as Mikado knew, the afterlife didn't include hunger.

        If ghosts really needed to eat, then the world had far bigger problems than his interrupted nap. 

        Mikado continued to stare at the familiar ceiling for a moment longer before finally pushing himself upright. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet dropping onto the cold concrete floor.

        The chill crept instantly through his nerves, sharp and unwelcome, spreading like the many possibilities of madness waiting just beyond his door.

        Nevertheless, Mikado pushed himself up, stretching his back and shaking off the tightness in his nerves before stepping out of his room.

        "—Good morning, sleepyhead." The voice greeted him casually. It was a girl's voice, soft, warm, and far too pleasant to belong to anything remotely ghostly.

        Mikado, however, was in no state to respond. He went straight to the refrigerator, his movements sluggish, and pulled out a plastic bottle of mineral water. Twisting off the cap, he tilted his head back and chugged the entire bottle in one go, as if trying to wash away the lingering unease along with his fatigue.

        "...Right. I should say good evening instead." 

        He tossed the empty bottle into the trash and slumped into a chair by the table. From there, he watched the person at the sink pulling out utensils for dinner, an apron tied neatly around her back. The scene was oddly domestic, too normal for his liking.

        Then she turned around.

        A familiar face came into view, one Mikado had seen not long ago. In fact, to be precise, just this afternoon.

        It was Eto Morioka. The so-called Fire.

        The Fire Empress walked over to the table, calmly placing down plates as if this were the most natural thing in the world, preparing dinner in his apartment.

        "It still honestly puzzles me how you became my girlfriend," Mikado said, his voice low, almost thoughtful, as he looked up at Eto from his seat.

        Eto untied her apron and placed it neatly at the side of the table before sitting across from him. The moment she smiled, the distance between Student Council President Eto and the girl in front of him quietly disappeared.

        This was the same Eto, one of the few Level Six mages in Second Shibuya, dignified, commanding, untouchable in the eyes of many. Yet here, beneath the soft kitchen light, her presence was warm. The sharp edge of her authority had dulled into something gentle, something that belonged only to him.

        Eto leaned forward, close enough that Mikado could feel her warmth, and pinched his cheek between her fingers. Her touch was light, teasing, and affectionate.

        "Are you going to say that every time I come over?" she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.

        Mikado didn't pull away. If anything, he leaned into her hand slightly.

        "Maybe," he admitted. "I'm afraid if I stop saying it, you'll turn back into the version everyone else sees… and I'll wake up."    

        Eto smiled, not teasing this time, but gentle in a way that made Mikado's chest tighten. She withdrew her hand from his cheek only to lace her fingers with his instead.

        "You know," she said softly, "everyone sees the title before they see me. The rank. My family name. The Expectations."

        She squeezed his hand, just a little.

        "But with you, I don't have to be that person. I don't have to stand above anyone."

        Her thumb brushed over his knuckles, slow and deliberate.

        "I chose you, Mikado. Not as the president. Not as a Level Six mage. Not as the heir of the Morioka clan."

        She met his eyes, unwavering.

        "Just as Eto."

        "—Let me remind you," Eto added casually as she reached for the scoop and served rice into both their bowls, "I'm only ever going to have you. Forever."

        She glanced at him, her smile soft. "You're my hero, after all."

        There was little trace left of the Eto the world knew. If anything, what remained, perhaps exaggerated by the warmth of the room, was that of a tender wife, natural and unguarded.

        "Heh. Hero," Mikado echoed, a quiet chuckle escaping him. She had said that more times than he could count by now, yet he still couldn't quite bring himself to accept it.

        "Who would want to be a hero for anyone else but me?" Eto asked, her tone still gentle, still affectionate.

        The words themselves were harmless. But Mikado had known her long enough to recognize when they weren't meant as a joke. Especially when she looked at him like that, eyes calm, focused, searching for something just beneath the surface.

        Despite the late hour and the chill of the season, sweat began to gather at his temples.

        "You seemed to be having fun with that exchange student this afternoon," Eto continued lightly. "The two of you looked so sweet standing at the main gate for thirty minutes—sweet enough that even ants might've been tempted."

        She tilted her head. "What was her name again?"

        "—Okay, let's eat before the food gets cold," Mikado cut in quickly, reaching for his bowl. He grabbed a slice of tonkatsu with his chopsticks, anything to change the subject.

        He'd known Eto long enough to understand that beneath her cold, dignified exterior lived a woman who was… extremely jealous.

        "Mmm, this is delicious," he said, lifting his bowl of miso soup and taking a careful sip, hoping it might wash away the tightening knot in his chest. "I'm really lucky to have you as my girlfriend."

        Eto placed the scoop down after serving herself and sat across from him. Her gaze never left his face, studying him with a sharpness that felt almost intimate, like she was trying to read his soul through his expressions alone.

        Then, without breaking eye contact, she picked up her chopsticks, took a slice of tonkatsu, and gently held it out toward him.

        "Eat," she said softly. 

…

        "What time did you get home?” Mikado asked, his voice calm as Eto leaned in to serve him another bowl of rice. The soft clink of porcelain and the faint steam rising from the food filled the space between them, settling into the familiar, unspoken rhythm of dinner.

        Their relationship was a secret no one else knew. Mikado hadn't told anyone, not even his only friend, Kakeru, and Eto had kept the truth from her own circle as well. It wasn't merely a matter of status, though that alone would have been enough: Mikado, branded a failure, and Eto, celebrated as an elite. The reality was far more complicated. Eto belonged to one of the renowned thirteen Great Magic Clans, a name that carried weight, expectation, and scrutiny. A relationship like theirs would never be forgiven if exposed. 

        Eto handed the bowl to him and settled into her seat before replying. "Around six. The student council was buried in work. And then there was that mess this afternoon, those first-years breaking the rules, using magic, and starting a fight. It all landed on our desks."

        An investigation naturally followed the incident at the main gate. What had begun as a simple conversation between Mikado and Isabella had drawn unwanted attention. Offended by the sight of the well-known exchange student speaking so casually with someone they deemed insignificant, a group of arrogant first-years had stepped in, turning their bruised pride into open provocation.

        They tried to twist the story afterward, lying through clenched teeth and attempting to pin the blame on Mikado.

Fortunately, Isabella didn't stay silent. She stood her ground and defended him, her testimony supported by several witnesses who had seen everything unfold. With the facts laid bare, the council's verdict was inevitable.

        Eto, of course, had never doubted the outcome. Whether Mikado had been right or wrong was irrelevant to her. In any circumstance, she would have stood by his side without hesitation, secretly, quietly, but absolutely. In the end, the instigators were punished, and the matter was closed.

        "So what was their punishment?" Mikado asked his girlfriend.

        "A week of suspension," Eto replied, lifting her chopsticks to her mouth. "I originally wanted to push for a month, but Aida insisted that would be excessive."

        "Well, I think a month is too much," Mikado said, voicing his honest opinion.

        Eto shot him a sharp sideways glance.

        "My dear boyfriend," she said, setting her chopsticks down with deliberate care, "in a school like ours, examples need to be made. Otherwise, those proud students start believing the rules don't apply to them."

        Despite her explanation, it was clear she was being biased this time, after all, her man had been dragged into the mess.

        Speaking of work," Eto continued, her tone shifting back into that of the student council president, "a new student administration is going to be formed. The Public Morals Committee."

        Mikado listened as she went on.

        "It will act as the school's internal police, enforcing regulations and quelling conflicts, especially cases involving illegal or excessive use of magic."

        "Mmm…" Mikado nodded as he listened, lifting the bowl and taking a sip of his miso soup.

        "—And you'll be a member of that committee too," Eto added casually.

        "Cough—cough!"

        Mikado failed to hold it in, choking as the soup went down the wrong way at the sudden remark.

        "What's the problem?" Eto asked, unfazed. "The Public Morals Committee is necessary right now. What happened this afternoon is proof enough."

        She continued evenly, "The student council alone can't keep up while handling its other duties. We need another body to maintain order."

        Mikado, meanwhile, continued coughing, astonished that something as harmless as soup could betray him so thoroughly. Eto was at his side in an instant, setting her own bowl aside, pressing a glass of water into his hands while gently rubbing his back.

        "There, slow down," she murmured.

        He finally caught his breath, his face flushed red. “W-What do you mean… me?" he asked, secretly hoping he had simply misheard her.

        "Exactly what it sounds like," Eto replied. "You'll be a member."

        "You can't," Mikado protested immediately.

        "Yes, I can," she said calmly. "I'm the student council president. You know the authority the council holds."

        "That's not what I mean," Mikado said, shaking his head. "I'm not talking about your power."

        He hesitated, then continued more quietly. "I'm talking about me. You can't make someone like me a member of a new administration. The failure."

        The unspoken words hung heavy between them, the failure, the whispered jokes, the looks of doubt. If he were appointed, there would be complaints. Objections. Students questioning how someone like him could possibly enforce discipline. 

        "And it won't stop with me," Mikado added, lifting his gaze to meet hers. "This will affect you too. People will call it poor judgment on your part. They'll say it stains your image."   

        Eto gently brushed Mikado's cheek, her fingers lingering as she looked him in the eyes, a faint sheen of tears forming.

        "This is why I fell for you," she said softly, affection in every word. "But my image means very little to me. What others think doesn't matter."

        She gave a small scoff, almost amused, yet her eyes remained serious. "What does matter is this, prove them wrong. Prove it to everyone. Show them completely that they were wrong about you… that you're not who they think you are."      

        Mikado didn't reply.

        He simply reached for her, and Eto closed the remaining distance between them leaned in first.

        There was no urgency in the kiss, only certainty. A quiet, unspoken promise passed between them as their lips met, soft and brief, yet heavy with everything left unsaid. For a moment, the weight of committees, rumors, and judgment slipped away, leaving only the warmth they shared in that small, borrowed silence.

        When they parted, Eto rested her forehead against his, her smile faint but resolute.