The morning light filtered through the curtains, warm and sleepy. Dust floated in lazy patterns, stirred only by the subtle hum of a ceiling fan.

In the cluttered kitchen, the hiss of a kettle filled the silence, followed by the click of a switch. Sena reached for the mugs with a soft hum under her breath—something light and off-key, the kind of sound that said today might be okay.

Yuuta wandered in with his usual half-awake scowl, rubbing his temple as he blinked against the brightness.

“Coffee?” Sena offered, holding up a mug with a cheerful smile.

“Only if you’re not putting some experimental syrup in it again,” he muttered, taking it anyway.

“Hey! That maple-garlic combo was bold.” She sipped from her own cup, then added, “Boldly disgusting.”

Yuuta chuckled despite himself. “Well, at least you admit it now.”

Their quiet laughter filled the space. It was rare—this kind of easy morning. The kind where the world didn’t demand too much from either of them.

At the corner drafting table, Shiho paused her pen for a beat, then resumed sketching with sudden intensity. Her headphones were on, but her eyes flicked once—briefly—toward Yuuta and Sena. She was drawing faster than usual. Too fast for detail.

From the hallway, a loud yawn echoed before Hiro shuffled in, draped in a fuzzy hoodie that had once been white but was now an undefined grey-blue.

“Why is it that every time I enter the kitchen, you all look like you just buried a body?” Hiro grumbled, grabbing a banana. “Please tell me we didn’t.”

“No bodies today.” Sena replied dryly. “Unless you count your career.”

“Ouch. That’s the second hit today. I just woke up!” Hiro pointed at Yuuta. “Do something about your assistant!”

Yuuta blinked. “Which one?”

“I… uh…” Hiro looked from Sena to Shiho and back. “No comment.”

Shiho suddenly stood, pulling off her headphones. “Yuuta.”

Her voice was even, but slightly sharp.

“I need your input on a panel—the transition scene between Chapter 38 and 39. It’s… not working.”

Yuuta hesitated. His eyes flicked to Sena for just a second.

“Now?” he asked.

“Yes.” she replied, already walking over with the clipboard and draft pages.

Sena stepped back quietly, her smile fading just a little.

Shiho leaned in closer than she needed to, flipping to the specific spread. “This one. The way the shadows fall on the character’s face—it’s not carrying the tension right. Should I increase the contrast here?” she pointed, her voice quieter now, more intimate.

Yuuta studied the page, his brows furrowing. “Maybe not in contrast. Maybe a change in angle?”

They talked for a few minutes. Sena stepped back, her hand brushing against the counter. Her smile didn’t fade, but it paused—subtle, but there.

Hiro watched from his spot on the couch, eyeing the exchange with a spoon halfway to his mouth.

“Well, this room suddenly got some tension.” he said aloud, biting into a bowl of cereal he’d scavenged from somewhere.

Sena shot him a warning glance.

“What?” Hiro held up both hands. “Just observing the ecosystem. Shiho the silent predator, Sena the cheerful distractor, Yuuta the—uh—terminally confused.”

“I can hear you.” Yuuta deadpanned.

“That’s the point.” Hiro grinned.

After a couple moments, they all heard the scratching of Shiho’s pencil as she returned to her desk without a word.

Later that morning, Sena passed Hiro a fresh stack of inked pages. “You’ll need these for the cleanup.”

He took them, then looked at her a little more carefully. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just a little… off.”

“Shiho?”

Sena paused. “She’s changed a little. She’s talking more. To Yuuta.”

“She’s remembering how to talk,” Hiro said, tone lighter than the weight in his eyes. “That’s good. But it’s also complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

Hiro looked at Sena with a concerned look. “You ever read a story where the princess leaves the castle not because she wants to escape, but because she can’t bear to see the prince wounded?”

Sena blinked. “I—no?” Deadpanning, she adds, “Is this one of your fables?”

“Kind of.” he said, eyes drifting. “There was a prince who lost everything in one moment—memories, purpose. Everything. And there was a girl who loved him. But after his fall, she couldn’t bear the sight of him not recognizing her. So she left. She thought it was mercy.”

Sena said nothing.

“The prince had a friend. This friend stayed. Picked up the pieces, held him together. But deep down, the prince still longed for a face he didn’t remember. And the friend… didn’t want him to remember it.”

Hiro’s gaze met hers.

“Because sometimes forgetting hurts less than remembering betrayal.”

Sena swallowed, throat dry. “Did this prince… ever find out?”

“I guess that depends on the story,” Hiro said, grinning faintly. “You’re a storyteller too, aren’t you?”

She didn’t answer.

The rest of the day passed in sketches and coffee breaks and quiet conversations, but something had shifted. In Yuuta’s distracted silences. In Shiho’s sharpened focus. In Sena’s thoughtful gaze. And in Hiro’s watchful calm.

The house was still the same. The chaos, the art, the routine. But underneath it all, the quiet began to stir.

Something was coming. No one said it out loud.

But they could all feel it.

—end chapter 5