No time to waste. Back when I lived alone, I’d been careless about everything—meals thrown together without a second thought.

But now? Different story. When Xiao Xian wasn’t in yandere mode, she was utterly endearing. Serving her instant noodles alone would feel like a sin. Time to dig up my long-neglected cooking skills and make her a proper meal.

First, let her watch cartoons in the living room.

I brought over my laptop, clicked open that “so-called nation’s top anime hub” with practiced ease, and turned to her.

“What would you like to watch? Peppa Pig?”

Xiao Xian’s eyes widened at the screen full of colorful thumbnails. She pointed a tiny finger at a trending title.

“Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai… Nope. Too suggestive. Way too early for Xiao Xian to pick up those tricks.”

“Peppa Pig it is. But no oinking after, okay?”

“N-no way!” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Kids her age shouldn’t watch stuff way beyond them—especially shows with questionable vibes. *Future Diary*, for instance. Xiao Xian already had yandere tendencies. If I didn’t nip that in the bud now… just the thought sent a shiver down my spine. Childhood memories flickered.

Is… is she okay?

I shook it off, clicked Play on Peppa Pig Episode 1. *Ahem*. No wonder kids start oinking—those opening pig sounds hit like a meme barrage. Seriously repetitive.

Still, Peppa Pig’s a solid kids’ show with wholesome values. Safe for Xiao Xian. Might even teach her something. Later, maybe *Doraemon* or *Chibi Maruko-chan*. *Detective Conan*? Hard pass. Worried she’d memorize a hundred crime methods… Brr.

Xiao Xian seemed slightly miffed at being treated like a kid—but the moment those absurdly looped oinks played, she giggled and settled in, eyes glued to the screen.

I gently ruffled her hair. She closed her eyes into happy slits, clearly savoring the warmth.

“Be good. I’m off to cook.”

“Mm!” Her eyes sparkled. She probably rarely got home-cooked meals from me.

Clearly, my future self failed hard—as a husband, as a father.

The weight of it pressed down.

I was starting to believe Xiao Xian. Otherwise… how to explain the key? Or how she knew senpai so well?

But believing her meant admitting my future self was a total jerk.

Ugh. Chest tight.

Still—not too late. I could rewrite the future.

I headed to the kitchen, pulled out a dusty apron, brushed it off, and tied it on.

The apartment was small—a modest, aging two-story unit. I’d lived here with my parents and *her*. They moved out later, sending a generous allowance. Frugal living meant it never ran out. Honestly? Solitude had its quiet freedom.

Could Xiao Xian’s arrival be the turning point?

After all… loneliness lingers long enough, and the heart starts craving companionship. And warmth.