The period after P.E. was Magic Theory; I’m not a mage, so those theories drifted like fog and lulled me toward sleep.

To keep my eyes from folding like sleepy petals, I pulled out the manga I’d borrowed from my little sister and let its panels brighten the hour.

“Boss, what’re you reading?” A small head with silky silver hair popped into my view like moonlight peeking over a window, and I didn’t need to look to know it was Hill, perched on my lap.

“A manga I borrowed from Littlesky. How is it? Hill, wanna read together?” I kept my tone light, like tossing a pebble into a calm pond.

“Of course!” Her answer came fast, like a sparrow darting for crumbs.

“Then let’s read.” I pinched Hill’s cheek—softer than jelly, springy like mochi—and flipped to the first page.

As for Xinuo, she was reading a novel about some empire’s history, words marching like ants across a long road. I couldn’t understand what charm those dry lines held.

“Servant, you seem very opinionated about what I’m reading?” Her voice brushed past me like a cool breeze through bamboo.

“No! How would I dare have opinions? Xinuo, take your time. Pretend I’m air.” I lifted both hands in surrender like a leaf meeting rain.

“Oh, fine then.”

“Mm.”

So we read in our own islands of silence, two lanterns in the same night.

…

When Hill and I finished the manga on the desk, the bell chimed right on cue, like a bellbird calling at dusk.

I was just wondering how to kill time next period when—

“That’s all for this class. Take a good break, everyone. Next period is Home Ec. Please gather in the fourth-floor kitchen in thirty minutes.” Stellar Rosa packed her materials with the neatness of a folded fan and left the room.

“Home Ec, huh?” The word lifted my mood like steam rising from fresh tea.

No need to plan ways to endure; among the subjects at Egisia Academy, Home Ec was my favorite, a hearth I always came back to.

“So, Servant, if you want to turn into a girl, I can help,” Xinuo said, fingers catching my cheek like a playful cat. “You’d really like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Again?! Why are you so hung up on my gender lately?” My protest flapped like a startled sparrow.

“It’s nothing. Hill, what do you think?” Xinuo tossed the question to Hill like a ball arcing through sunlight.

“Mm… if you ask me, Boss’s feminine power is crazy high! Off-the-charts high! Yep, that’s it.” Hill nodded earnestly, her expression serious as a priest, her words bubbly as soda.

“Feminine power? Me?” The word thumped against my chest like a misplaced drumbeat.

I’m a boy, where would I get feminine power? Before my grumble could unfurl, Eastern Moon Aixue turned in her seat and slipped into the conversation like a dancer stepping onto stage.

“Mizumi, you’re so dense,” she said, eyes bright as morning dew. “Think about it. You’re cute and pretty, gentle and considerate; you handle almost all the housework; you cook like a warm kitchen at dusk; and you’re great at making tea and sweets. Mm, and…”

She paused, thoughts circling like swallows searching for a nest. Fair—our time together hadn’t been long.

“Also, Servant is good at tailoring and designing clothes,” Xinuo added, her tone smooth as lacquer. “At the Mizumi Clan, most of the clothes were made by him, including the maids’ uniforms.”

“Uh, I was just really bored,” I said, shrugging like a reed in wind. “On the Central Continent there aren’t many places to play, so I used that to pass time.”

“Even so, you’re amazing, Mizumi!” Faya slid into the talk like a ribbon, voice warm as a hearth. “A lot of young ladies and princesses nowadays can’t do housework, let alone cook or make clothes.”

“Exactly,” Eastern Moon Aixue chimed in, tapping the table like rain on eaves. “So you’re basically the perfect wife. No wonder Miss Xinuo sometimes obsesses over your gender.”

“Actually, Master, you don’t need to be stuck on Boss’s gender,” Hill said suddenly, still nestled on my lap like a kitten in a sun patch.

“Oh?” Xinuo glanced at Hill, surprise flickering like a firefly. Hill, headstrong as a straight path, didn’t usually say things like that.

“Hehe…” Feeling Xinuo’s gaze, Hill smiled, sweet as fruit after rain—and my gut clenched like a drumskin. Bad premonition.

“Think about it, Master,” Hill continued, voice bright as a bell. “Boss is a boy, so the wife-role is extra adorable. If Boss were a girl, doing those things would be expected; the adorable factor would drop like leaves in autumn.”

Looked like that manga we read had rubbed off on her; it was a cross-dresser story, pastel clouds and frilly ribbons everywhere.

“So you’re saying…?”

“Exactly! Boss is adorable because he’s a boy! A cross-dressing boy with sky-high feminine skills versus a woman—no contest… ow, Boss, that hurts!” Her last words squished as I stretched her cheeks like taffy.

I wanted to shout, Are you sure it’s okay to say that so loud? But the girls around us hadn’t noticed; the room hummed like a beehive, everyone in their own chatter.

Even so, Hill’s logic left me sputtering. “Cute my foot! I want to refute that, but I can’t!” I grumbled, pulling her cheeks wide, soft enough to bite, tender as fresh dough.

“Mm, Hill has a point,” Xinuo said, calm as moonlight on water. “Me fussing over Servant’s gender is just boredom. So, Servant, keep being a boy.”

“Hey, hey! I’ve been a boy all along, Xinuo!”

“That’s right,” Eastern Moon Aixue said, laughter tinkling like glass. “Mizumi will be a wonderful wife someday.”

“Uwaaa, I’ve gotta work harder,” Faya yelped, determination flaring like sparks. “Or I’ll fall further behind Mizumi!”

“Why even you two… Ah, fine. Say whatever you want.” I let the words fall like leaves, choosing peace over argument.

…

Idle chatter drifted like clouds, and thirty minutes passed in a blink.

We headed to the fourth-floor kitchen, a vast space shining like a sea of steel, stocked with equipment and ingredients as abundant as a harvest.

“Mm? Isn’t that Paluna? What are you doing here?” I spotted familiar long black hair, glossy as raven wings, and found Paluna standing by a table, cheeks puffed like a steamed bun, clearly fuming.

“Oh, Mizumi,” she said, marching over, anger sizzling like oil in a pan. “What else? That awful Home Ec teacher looks down on me! He actually said, ‘Paluna, Class A has Home Ec next period. Go join them and watch how others cook.’ It’s too much!”

I gave a dry chuckle, a tiny umbrella in a sudden rain. Paluna was cute when she pouted.

Around us, other students chimed in like a chorus: “Here we go again.” “Paluna, do your best!” “Don’t worry, we’ll teach you. Plus the Emperor is here.” “Yeah, with the Emperor here, relax.”

Looked like everyone was used to Paluna’s situation; the scene felt routine as morning roll call.

“Umm!” Paluna puffed her delicate face, releasing a muffled sound like a kettle about to boil.

On stage, Paluna blazed—bright and beautiful like a spotlight star. Offstage, she was irresistibly cute, a flower with dew still clinging. The thought made me smile.

“Hey, Mizumi, what are you smiling at?”

“Nothing, really.” My laugh slipped out, light as a breeze.

“Is that so?”

…

“All right, everyone, don’t just stand around,” the Home Ec teacher called as she entered, voice firm as a wooden spoon. “Get ready and let’s start. Today’s assignment is a strawberry cake. All materials are on the tables.”

And with that, Home Ec began, sweet as the scent of berries in early summer.