After ending the call with Elvire, Firld left school in high spirits, heading home. Unlike her rushed morning commute, her return journey felt leisurely. With no time constraints, she could set her own pace.
"Though not *too* slow... kids get cranky when hungry."
Her steps quickened instantly. When she finally opened the door to her rented apartment—
"That smell!!!"
An irresistible aroma of food hit her nostrils the moment she stepped inside.
"Who’s here...?"
The scent’s allure vanished as sharp instincts kicked in—who was cooking? Ouyang Ge, that kid, couldn’t boil water. Which meant...
—Someone had broken in and was casually using her kitchen?!
Dropping her backpack, Firld pulled out a pistol. The *click-clack* of chambering a round echoed as she nudged the door open, gun raised.
The living room stood empty, but the kitchen crackled with sizzling sounds.
"How embarrassing... I set precautions, yet still got breached..."
Muttering to herself, she steadied her aim and pushed the kitchen door wider.
"Eh?!"
A gasp escaped her. Firld froze, dumbfounded by the sight before her.
"Huh? Master’s back?"
Ouyang Ge stood by the stove, spatula in hand, regarding her with calm indifference.
"Ah... ah... I’m back," she stammered, rigid, pistol still aimed.
"What’s wrong? Stop gawking and wash up! And put that toy gun away—you’re not ten anymore!"
"R-right away!"
Firld fled like a startled rabbit. Ouyang Ge snorted, shaking his head. He’d heard her enter, but *this* reaction?
—Cooking dinner warranted a *gun*? Seriously?
"..."
In the bathroom, Firld stared blankly at her reflection.
"Am I dreaming? A ten-year-old cooking?!"
She shook her head violently, trying to dislodge the absurd image of Ouyang Ge in an apron.
"I *must* be dreaming! Definitely dreaming!!!"
Convinced it was fatigue-induced hallucination, she marched back to the kitchen—to cook *him* a proper meal!
"Stop dawdling! Come eat!"
"..."
Ouyang Ge’s voice shattered her delusion before she even turned the corner.
At the dining table, reality hit: three porcelain dishes held perfectly cooked meals. The aroma intensified as steam curled from the food.
*Gurgle...*
Her stomach betrayed her.
"Snap out of it and sit!" Ouyang Ge snapped, already digging in.
"O-oh! Coming!"
Robotic, she sat and lifted a slice of pork with her chopsticks.
"..."
She froze mid-bite—Ouyang Ge was watching her, amused.
*Mmmph!*
Her eyes widened in shock. She clapped a hand over her mouth.
"You—"
She stared at him.
"You—"
Her gaze dropped to the steaming dishes.
"YOU!!!"
Her eyes locked onto his again.
"Master, just *eat*," Ouyang Ge deadpanned, rolling his eyes at her antics. He started shoveling rice.
"SO GOOD!!!"
Snapping out of her daze, Firld joined the food raid. They devoured every grain like ravenous bandits, their cute faces clashing wildly with their ferocious table manners.
"Ahhh... stuffed!"
Firld flopped backward onto the sofa, limbs heavy with satisfaction.
"Don’t turn into a couch potato! Up!"
Ouyang Ge hooked his hands under her shoulders and heaved.
"WAAH!!!"
She tumbled to the floor with a yelp.
"What was *that* for?!"
"Lying down after eating? Trying to become a chubster?"
"...Oh. Right."
His words struck like lightning. Panic flashed across her face.
"Now go wash dishes! I cleaned the house—you owe me *one* chore."
"Hehe, got it!"
Firld scrambled up. Truth was, she wasn’t lazy—Ouyang Ge had just taken over chores willingly since moving in.
Soon, chores done and showers taken, they sat side by side on the sofa.
"Hey."
"Yeah?"
Firld broke the silence first. Ouyang Ge tilted his head.
"You... can really cook?"
"Better than you, at least."
"That’s harsh."
She turned, eyes watery with mock despair.
"Just stating facts." He shrugged.
"So what use am I? You even stole my cooking duty..."
"Don’t say that."
He ruffled her fiery red hair, voice softening. "You saved me from the Reaper. I owe you. Let me handle chores—it’s the least I can do."
*Mmmph!*
A muffled sound came from her knees—but—
"Don’t get all sappy! You’ll make me cry!"
She suddenly lunged, trapping his head between her thighs in a clumsy leg-lock.
"..."
"..."
Silence.
Firld lay sprawled on the sofa, legs clamped around Ouyang Ge’s head, arms pinning his waist. His face pressed against her lap; his own... *region* hovered near her face.
"Listen—"
"Don’t. Talk."
His voice sent tingles through her. Her face burned crimson.
"Let go... we’re done playing..."
"..."
They released each other simultaneously. Ouyang Ge rolled free, landing lightly on his feet.
"I’m going to my room."
"...Okay."
He left without another word.
*Mmm...*
Firld curled into a ball again, half her face buried in her knees, cheeks aflame.
"What am I *doing*..."
