"Kasumigaoka-senpai, come down and eat!"
"I heard you, I heard you. Stop yelling. If it's bad, don't blame me when I step all over you."
Brisk footsteps echoed from the stairs as Kasumigaoka Utaha descended, voice sharp as ever.
Lately, Yukima Azuma hadn't needed to call her much.
Usually, she'd appear at the table right on cue, especially when it was time to eat.
Only when she was deep into her writing did he have to remind her.
But even then, her feet obeyed more than her mouth did.
Her tongue, as always, remained venom-tipped.
Still, actions spoke louder.
She'd been eating only Azuma's cooking lately.
Not a single pineapple bun had disappeared from the pantry in weeks—her once-beloved guilty pleasure.
Without looking up from plating breakfast, Azuma saw her slide something across the table.
A fat envelope.
"Here's the money for next month's meals."
He didn't even glance at it.
"Just leave it."
His tone was casual, but firm. "I'm heading to Osaka this afternoon for an official tournament. Dinner's in the fridge."
Kasumigaoka gave a soft "oh" in reply, not looking at him.
"I'll bring back a souvenir for you, Senpai."
That got a reaction.
A flicker of light danced in her eyes before she masked it with a huff, turning her head slightly.
But he'd already seen it.
Expectation.
Azuma chuckled under his breath.
"I'm off."
"Safe travels."
The official tournament in Osaka wasn't much of a challenge.
His opponent—a professional fourth-dan—was solid, but ultimately predictable.
Azuma took the game into the endgame with calculated precision and secured a clean victory.
In the endgame, skill gaps became glaringly obvious.
He capitalized on every misstep with machine-like coldness.
Seven straight wins now.
He left the shogi hall and stepped into the warm Osaka sun, silently tallying his record.
Just one more victory, and he'd hit sixth-dan.
In pro shogi, ranking up wasn't based on fame or buzz.
Only wins.
Only numbers.
A high win rate meant faster promotion.
A streak accelerated it even more.
"If I hadn't withdrawn three years ago…"
Azuma mused to himself, "…I'd probably be 8-dan, maybe even 9-dan by now."
Sora Ginko hadn't been wrong.
"If I keep this up, I'll get to 7-dan. Then aim for the Ryuou title. If I win that, 8-dan."
"And if I win the Ryuou five times in a row…"
"Eisei Ryuou."
"9-dan. The youngest in history."
He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.
Too smooth. Too clean.
Real life never unfolded that conveniently.
To even challenge for the Eisei Ryuou, he'd eventually have to face the Meijin—a mountain no one scaled easily.
Still, it was a dream worth chasing.
Azuma stepped into the largest shopping mall in Osaka.
He hadn't forgotten.
A promise was a promise. He would bring back a souvenir.
As he walked, a girl brushed past him, wearing a fuzzy headband with twitching cat ears.
He paused.
"Koshian?"
The look triggered something.
It took a second, then he remembered—
The mascot from that viral anime.
Over ten million views on the original artwork alone.
Cat ears, bunny suits, teasing fang-tooth smile.
It was everywhere online lately.
Azuma turned toward the mall entrance.
Sure enough, a giant poster displayed an anime exhibition.
Apparently, today was the opening of a major mangaka event.
'Should I buy a bunny cosplay set for Kasumigaoka-senpai?'
The thought flashed through his head.
Just as quickly, he dismissed it.
She'd absolutely kick him the moment he stepped through the door.
Still… the image made him smirk.
He was about to keep walking—
when a familiar voice called out behind him.
"Ah, is that Yukima-kun?"
He stopped.
That voice was unmistakable.
Polished, refined, with a calm warmth that lingered even after three years.
He turned around.
Immediately, he smiled.
A perfect, polite, senior-like smile.
Before him stood two girls—well, technically, one girl and one woman—but both so similar they looked like sisters.
On the left, a blonde girl with twin braids in a plain green tracksuit.
Her lips parted in shock, and a tiny fang peeked through.
On the right, a woman with violet hair, also in braids, wearing a tasteful kimono.
One hand rested gently on her cheek, her expression elegantly amused.
Sawamura Spencer Eriri.
And her mother, Sawamura Sayuri.
His ex-girlfriend.
And the mother of his ex-girlfriend.
"Sayuri-obasan. It's been a while."
Azuma gave a respectful bow.
Sayuri waved lightly, smiling with all the poise of nobility.
"Yukima-kun, you don't need to be so formal."
Then she nudged the stunned blonde beside her.
"Eriri, don't just stand there. Say hello."
"M-Mom!"
Eriri yelped, voice cracking with panic.
But under her mother's stern gaze, she lowered her head slightly and turned toward Azuma.
Her expression twisted with conflict.
So much time had passed—yet in this moment, all the words she'd rehearsed vanished.
She wanted to speak.
But didn't know how.
If she could handle this meeting calmly…
If she could greet him without choking on her pride…
Then they never would've broken up like they did.
So in the end, it was Azuma who broke the silence.
"It's been a while, Sawamura-san."
That single line—simple, cold, and distant—hit her like a slap.
"Ha!?"
The shock burst out of her before she could stop it.
Just like with Kasumigaoka—
Yukima Azuma had found the weak spot and struck it with surgical precision.
The classic tsundere—flustered, flailing, exposed.
Eriri's expression twisted as the chaos inside her overflowed.
It had only taken five words.