Chapter 6 — The Hoshino Residence (Part 1)

[Yui’s POV]

The morning at the Hoshino residence was quiet.

Not the awkward kind of quiet where nobody knows what to say. The calm kind. The kind that comes from big houses with long halls and thick walls, where sounds stay far away unless you go looking for them.

I hated this kind of place.

When I stepped out onto the balcony, the air felt cool and fresh. The garden below was already bright with sunlight. The grass was neat, the stone paths clean, and the trees along the fence moved softly in the breeze.

It was a peaceful view.

Which was a little strange.

Because the last twenty-four hours had been anything but peaceful.

I rested my arms on the railing and looked down at the courtyard.

It had been a day since Renji brought us here.

One day since Renji decided to hold a “competition” to see who was more suited to date me.

“A short stay,” he called it.

Haruto called it. “a very polite kidnapping.”

Honestly… he wasn’t completely wrong.

I had known Renji for years.

So at first I thought he only wanted to talk. That he would say whatever he came to say and we would leave.

Instead he announced, in the calmest voice possible, that he wanted to “see what kind of person my "boyfriend" really was.”

And somehow that turned into competitions.

Basketball was the first one.

I still remembered standing near the court while the score kept climbing higher and higher.

82 – 0.

Haruto had tried at the start. He really did. But after a while he just laughed every time Renji scored again, like the whole thing had turned into a joke.

Football came next.

17 – 2.

I’m still not sure how he managed to score those two.

The running race was worse.

Renji passed him once, then again, moving easily while Haruto struggled to keep pace.

By the end of it Haruto could barely stand straight.

Watching all of that had been frustrating.

Not because Renji won.

I expected that.

But because I understood what he was trying to do.

Renji wasn’t just competing.

He was proving a point.

Showing that Haruto didn’t measure up.

That someone like him didn’t belong next to me.

And yet Haruto kept accepting every challenge.

Even after losing.

Even when the result was obvious from the start.

I told him he didn’t have to do it.

He just shrugged.

A faint sound reached my ears from the courtyard.

Metal touching metal. Something being moved around.

I leaned forward slightly and looked down.

Near the garden kitchen area, Haruto stood in front of a pan, staring into it with the kind of focus people usually saved for difficult exams.

Renji stood nearby, watching him.

“…I think it’s ready,” Haruto said.

Renji looked down into the pan.

“Are you certain?”

“Pretty sure.”

I adjusted my position so I could see better.

There was a piece of meat in the pan.

Or at least it used to be.

Now it looked very dark.

Very, very dark.

Earlier this morning he had already burned two fish.

I wasn’t sure why Renji kept letting him try again.

Haruto poked it gently with the spatula.

From up here I couldn’t hear everything they were saying.

Haruto said something while holding the plate up like he was presenting a masterpiece. Renji leaned over slightly to look at it.

They talked for a few seconds.

I couldn’t make out the words. But considering the piece of charcoal sitting on that plate, I had a fairly good guess what the conversation was about.

From above, the scene almost looked silly.

I let out a quiet chuckle before I noticed it.

Renji standing there calmly like he was judging some strange contest.

Haruto stubbornly defending something that clearly wasn’t edible anymore.

And somehow, even after everything yesterday…

He was still trying.

He had already lost every challenge Renji gave him.

And now this cooking challenge wasn’t going any better.

He didn’t need to keep doing any of this.

I had told him that already.

But Haruto didn’t stop.

Watching him like that reminded me of something from yesterday.

The clothing store.

The changing room curtain.

The way I heard him talking... about me.

He didn’t know I could hear him.

He thought it was just him and the clerk.

Something about how it wasn’t the “perfect cute-girl” image people liked.

I remembered standing there behind the curtain, my face burning.

Then he added something else.

“When she smiles, you can tell she really means it.”

Back then I couldn’t even look at him after hearing that.

Now, watching him from the balcony, that memory came back again.

Down in the courtyard, Haruto pushed the plate toward Renji.

“Go on,” he said. “Try it.”

Renji looked at the steak.

Then at Haruto.

“…You first.”

I watched them for a moment longer than I meant to.

Haruto crossed his arms like he was completely confident.

The steak looked more like charcoal than food.

And somehow, despite everything, I felt a small warmth in my chest.

Haruto wasn’t perfect.

Not even close.

But he was still there.

Still standing in that courtyard.

Still trying.

Even if he lost every single time.

[Haruto's Pov]

The garden kitchen behind the Hoshino residence was far nicer than anything I’d ever cooked in before—long stainless steel counters polished enough to reflect sunlight, racks of professional pans hanging neatly above the stove, knives laid out in a wooden block that probably cost more than everything currently inside my apartment combined. The kind of kitchen you see on cooking shows where actual chefs prepare elegant meals with steady hands and confident smiles. A place built for skill, precision, and talent.

And somehow I had managed to turn it into a crime scene.

Smoke drifted slowly upward from the pan while the oil hissed in quiet, judgmental protest. I stood over the stove with a spatula in hand, staring down at the steak with the intense concentration of a man who had absolutely no idea what he was doing but refused to admit defeat. Cooking, in my opinion, is largely about commitment. Once you start something, you see it through.

Even if it becomes… questionable.

Behind me stood Renji.

Watching.

Judging.

Silently.

He had been doing that for about ten minutes now, arms folded as he observed the situation with the calm patience of someone who had already accepted that the outcome would be disappointing.

“…I think it’s ready,” I said.

Renji looked down into the pan.

“Are you certain?”

“Pretty sure.”

I nudged the steak carefully with the spatula.

It resisted slightly.

Which, in my opinion, showed character.

“…Okay,” I admitted after a moment. “Maybe slightly overdone.”

Renji folded his arms.

“Slightly?”

I slid the steak onto a plate.

It landed with a small thunk.

Not the soft, juicy sound of a normal steak.

More like the sound a rock might make if you dropped it on ceramic.

For a moment I stared at it.

The steak stared back.

Black.

Shiny.

Emotionally threatening.

Still, giving up now would mean Renji won again, and that man had already beaten me at basketball, football, and running yesterday. The scoreboard of humiliation was already long enough that I was beginning to suspect it had its own dedicated spreadsheet somewhere inside this mansion.

So I nodded to myself.

“You know what,” I said. “It’s fine.”

Renji glanced at the plate.

“How so?”

“Confidence.”

“…Confidence.”

“Exactly.”

He leaned slightly closer to inspect it.

“It appears to be… burnt.”

I glanced down again.

“…Extra flavor.”

Renji was quiet for a moment.

“You burned two fish earlier this morning.”

“They were weak.”

“They were raw.”

“Details.”

In my defense, cooking fish is extremely complicated.

Step one: put fish in pan.

Step two: panic.

I pushed the plate toward him.

“Go on. Try it.”

Renji looked at the steak.

Then at me.

“…You first.”

Before I could invent a reason why the chef should never taste his own cooking, footsteps approached across the courtyard.

One of the house servants stopped nearby and bowed politely.

“Young master.”

Renji turned his head.

“Yes?”

“Miss Miyazaki has arrived.”

For the first time since yesterday, Renji actually reacted.

Not in a dramatic way. Renji doesn’t really do dramatic. But his posture straightened slightly, and the bored expression he had been wearing since this whole competition started disappeared for just a second.

“Miyazaki?” I repeated.

The name poked at my memory like a loose thread I couldn’t quite grab.

Renji nodded once.

“Please show her in.”

A moment later someone walked into the courtyard.

Light brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders, slightly messy in a way that suggested she had rushed here without spending too much time worrying about it. She wore a simple cream cardigan over a pale dress, the kind of comfortable outfit someone might pick when they weren’t trying to impress anyone in particular. In both hands she held a small paper bag carefully against her chest, fingers curled around it like whatever was inside was important.

Miyazaki Rina.

If you’ve ever met Rina, you’ll understand why seeing her here made my brain pause for a moment.

She’s the kind of girl people naturally lower their voices around. Not because she asks them to—she never would—but because being loud around her somehow feels wrong. Soft-spoken, unfailingly polite, the sort of person who remembers everyone’s favorite snacks and quietly brings extras just in case someone forgot to eat. Teachers like her. Cashiers like her. I’m fairly sure even vending machines give her better luck.

In other words, not the kind of person you expect to see walking into the courtyard of the Hoshino residence like it’s a completely normal Saturday.

She blinked when she saw me.

“Ah—Haruto?”

I pointed at her.

Then slowly pointed at Renji.

Then back at her again.

“…Wait.”

My brain started connecting dots that apparently had been sitting there this whole time.

“You two know each other?”

Rina tilted her head slightly.

“Yes… he’s my older brother.”

There was a pause.

A very important pause.

Because my brain needed a moment to process that sentence.

“…Your brother.”

“Yes.”

I looked at Renji.

Then back at Rina.

Then at Renji again.

“…Your brother.”

Renji sighed quietly.

“You may stop repeating it.”

“I’m just making sure my brain didn’t skip a chapter.”

Rina shifted slightly where she stood, still holding the small paper bag in both hands like she had momentarily forgotten it existed.

“I came to visit him,” she explained softly. “But the staff said he was outside.”

Her eyes slowly drifted downward.

Toward the plate in my hand.

“…What are you doing?”

Finally.

A question I could answer with confidence.

I lifted the plate proudly.

“Cooking.”

Rina leaned a little closer to look.

The steak sat proudly in the center of the plate, dark and shiny, looking like a small piece of volcanic rock. Still smoking.

“Oh,” she said.

Encouraged by this clearly positive reaction, I held the plate toward her.

“Want to try it?”

Renji spoke immediately.

“No.”

Unfortunately Rina had already accepted the plate.

“O-okay,” she said politely.

Renji’s calm expression cracked.

Just slightly.

It was the first time I’d seen him lose composure since arriving here.

“Rina, you do not have to—”

Too late.

She carefully cut the smallest piece of steak I had ever seen in my life, like she was worried the plate might take emotional damage if she was too rough with it.

And placed it in her mouth.

For a moment everything was quiet.

Rina smiled.

A very gentle, very polite smile.

“It’s… smoky.”

I nodded proudly.

“Right?”

Her smile didn’t change.

Her eyes, however, started watering slightly.

A tiny cough escaped her.

Then another.

Her shoulders stiffened like she was fighting something powerful.

Renji stepped forward and calmly removed the plate from her hands.

“That is enough.”

He placed it down on the table like it was dangerous evidence.

Then he turned to me.

“You will not poison my sister.”

“Poison is a strong word,” I said.

Rina waved her hands quickly.

“N-no, it’s fine! Really!”

She swallowed with heroic determination.

“It’s just… very rich.”

Renji looked deeply unconvinced.

I crossed my arms.

“Look, cooking is a process.”

“Yes,” Renji replied calmly. “A process that normally ends with edible food.”

Rina suddenly giggled softly.

Not loudly.

Just a small, warm sound that slipped out before she could stop it.

And for a moment the courtyard felt strangely lighter.

Unfortunately the steak was still on the table.