Chapter 1 — Mission: Breakfast

The mission began at 06:00 hours.

The objective: prepare breakfast.

The subject: female, age five. Preferences unknown. Behavior unpredictable.

The agent known as Kenji Masato stood in the kitchen, motionless.

A frying pan rested in his hand like a weapon he had never trained to use.

“…This is more complicated than expected.”

He had infiltrated high-security compounds. Disarmed explosives with seconds to spare. Escaped death more times than he could count.

But this?

This was different.

He glanced at the small notebook in his hand.

**Operation: Breakfast**

Step 1: Cook eggs

Step 2: Serve

Step 3: Success

“…Simple.”

He turned on the stove.

Five seconds later, smoke filled the air.

“Papa?”

The voice came from behind him.

He froze.

Slowly—carefully—he turned around.

There she stood.

Small. Sleepy. Hair slightly messy. Hugging a stuffed toy almost as big as her arm.

His daughter.

“…You’re awake.”

She blinked at him.

Then she smiled.

“Good morning, Papa!”

The words hit harder than any bullet ever had.

He looked away.

“…Good morning.”

A pause.

“…Why is there smoke?”

He immediately turned back to the stove.

“Minor error.”

The pan was black.

The eggs were… no longer eggs.

Five minutes later, the kitchen window was open.

The smoke had cleared.

The problem had not.

He placed a plate on the table.

On it sat something that vaguely resembled food.

“…Breakfast.”

She climbed onto the chair, her small legs swinging slightly.

She stared at the plate.

Then at him.

Then back at the plate.

“…Papa?”

“Yes.”

“…Is it supposed to look like that?”

“…Yes.”

She picked up her fork.

He watched closely.

Too closely.

Her reaction would determine success or failure.

She took a bite.

Chewed.

Paused.

He prepared himself.

Interrogations. Torture. Near death. None of it had required this level of mental preparation.

She swallowed.

Then—

“It’s yummy!”

He blinked.

“…It is?”

She nodded happily.

“Yeah! It’s crunchy!”

“…Crunchy.”

That was not the intended texture.

Kenji Masato wrote something in his notebook.

**Result: Acceptable. Subject satisfied. Texture anomaly noted.**

He looked at her again.

She was smiling.

Bright. Warm. Completely genuine.

“…You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying!”

She puffed her cheeks slightly.

“It’s really yummy because you made it!”

He stopped writing.

“…Because I made it?”

“Mm-hmm!”

She grinned.

“Papa made it, so it’s special!”

…

He didn’t respond.

Instead, he turned his head slightly.

“…I see.”

He added one more note.

**Conclusion: Subject values emotional context over food quality.**

A moment passed.

Then she tugged lightly on his sleeve.

“Papa.”

“Yes.”

“Can we make breakfast together tomorrow?”

He paused.

That had not been part of the plan.

“…Together?”

“Yeah!”

She smiled again.

That same bright, dangerous smile.

“…Alright.”

He closed the notebook.

**New Objective Added.**

From the outside, it looked like an ordinary morning.

A father.

A daughter.

Breakfast at a small table.

But if anyone looked closely—

They might notice the man watching the room like a battlefield.

They might notice the notebook filled with “missions.”

They might notice the way the girl held his sleeve like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And they might realize…

This was not a normal family.

But somehow—

It was becoming one.

“Papa?”

“Yes.”

“…Can we not burn it tomorrow?”

“…Understood.”