Rena stepped into the room, guided by the sweet smell in the air.

The moment she tasted the honey and realized it wasn’t maple, her senses switched instantly into “okay, let’s improvise” mode.
Her eyes didn’t analyze the kitchen… they simply absorbed everything at the speed of enthusiasm.

“Hmmm… that smells good,” she said, already moving without knowing exactly what she was doing—only knowing she was doing it.

Her steps weren’t steps: they were little hops, spins, small motions that looked like dancing, because Rena simply didn’t know how not to dance when inspiration struck.

She went looking for the sugar, which took her to the farthest corner of the kitchen.
The high shelf—so high it looked decorative—stared down at her like a challenge.

She hopped onto the small stool, reached up…

…and then she saw everything.

Books with unmistakably spicy titles.
A metallic object with wires whose purpose Rena couldn’t even guess.

She stared at it with the innocent curiosity of someone looking at a strange ornament in a store.

Her hand slid past everything and found what she’d actually come for.

“Ah! The sugar!” she announced when she spotted the blue box.

She grabbed it naturally and climbed down from the stool as if she hadn’t just stumbled upon the most “private” corner of the house.

She returned to the kitchen with all the ingredients gathered: flour, eggs, milk, honey, fruit… and of course the sugar.
She positioned herself in the center of the space as if it were the stage of an improvised performance.

And then it began.

The choreography.

A spin, two hops, a shoulder roll, a twirl in which the eggs described a perfect arc through the air.
The butter slid across the table as if following a beat.
The oil made a brief shining stream before landing neatly in the pan.

And her shirt flew across the kitchen.
It traced a clumsy semicircle and landed right on top of the stool she’d used earlier, as if it were part of the stage direction.

When Rena came back into view at center stage, she already had an apron tied around her waist, her back uncovered, and the satisfied expression of someone who had just optimized her creative flow.

When the culinary dance ended, she turned toward the table…

…and there was Mallow.

Sitting.
Knife in one hand.
Fork in the other.
A cartoon-like pose of someone ready to eat even if the food didn’t exist yet.

Her eyes didn’t blink.
They shone with such intensity that, for a moment, it looked like she was staring at Rena.

But she wasn’t.
She was staring at the pancake.

Rena let out a giggle.

“Hey, hey, it’s not going to run away,” she said while serving the first one.



While they ate, Rena pointed at the wooden floor with the spatula, not pausing her own bites.

“Hey, did you know you’ve got moisture over there? And a little draft coming through that gap. And your shelf’s crooked. And your fridge kinda limps—look how it shakes.”

Mallow froze, pancake halfway to her mouth.

“You… noticed all that while you were cooking?”

“Well of course, how could I not?” Rena answered naturally. “Honestly, this place could use some paint and a bit of fixing.”

Mallow swallowed slowly, unsure whether to feel impressed or personally attacked by the truth.

Rena smiled and calmly asked,
“So, what brought you here?”

Mallow took another bite.
And her expression softened completely.

“Mmm… this is delicious. Almost like my little guilty pleasure,” she murmured.

Rena perked her ears, intrigued.

Mallow kept relaxing.
Maybe a bit too much.

“I came here for the quiet,” she explained. “I’m a writer. This place… helps me think.”

“Well,” Rena said, “if you ever need a hand, I’m right here. And I love meeting new neighbors.”

Mallow lowered her ears shyly, but a smile was slowly overcoming her embarrassment.

“I… I like nature…” she said timidly.

Rena leaned forward, all curiosity.

“Sometimes… I like being… a bit… lighter.”

“Lighter how? Like this morning—when you were, uh, dressed just enough to wake up?” Rena asked, recalling the first impression without meaning anything by it.

Mallow pressed her lips together, blushing.

“S-so you did notice,” she whispered.

Rena paused for a second.
Then smiled as if she’d heard something completely normal.

“That’s great! Comfort first. If it weren’t for the hot oil, I wouldn’t even know what I’m wearing most of the time.”

Mallow covered her face with her hands, somewhere between embarrassment and laughter.
But she looked happy; her tail swayed as she finished her last bite.

Relieved, she only managed to ask for another plate.