Chapter 15: Haruka’s Treat

Sunday promised peace—until it didn't. Riku woke late, savoring the quiet after yesterday's rehearsal debacle. His hoodie was still in the wash, green paint stubbornly clinging to the fibers, and his arms ached from swinging that stupid sword. He shuffled downstairs in socks and an old T-shirt, planning a lazy day of gaming, when the doorbell rang like a death knell.

"Please don't be Aiko with more drama," he muttered, peering through the peephole. Nope—worse. Haruka Tanaka stood there, bouncing on her toes, a pink box in her arms and a grin that spelled chaos.

"Riku!" she sang as he opened the door. "I brought treats!"

"Treats?" He stepped back, wary, as she barreled in, kicking off her sneakers and making a beeline for the kitchen. She wore a sundress today—bright yellow, like a human sunflower—and her ponytail bobbed with every step.

"Cookies!" she said, plopping the box on the counter. "I baked them this morning. You were so great at the festival, and yesterday Aiko said you're in the play, so I figured you deserved a reward!"

"You didn't have to—" he started, but she was already prying open the box, revealing a pile of lumpy, chocolate-dotted cookies. They smelled amazing, despite their uneven shapes, and his stomach growled traitorously.

"Try one!" she urged, shoving a cookie at him. He took it, biting in—and immediately regretted it. The outside was crisp, but the inside was a gooey, molten mess. Chocolate oozed onto his chin, dripping onto his shirt as he yelped.

"Hot!" he garbled, fanning his mouth. Haruka gasped, flailing for a napkin, and knocked the box off the counter. Cookies rained down, bouncing across the floor like sugary grenades.

"Oh no!" she wailed, diving to catch them midair—and tripping over her own feet. She crashed into Riku, sending them both sprawling in a heap of crumbs and chocolate smears. His elbow hit the fridge, her knee jabbed his ribs, and the last cookie landed square on his face, sticking like a tragic mask.

"Haruka!" he groaned, shoving it off as she scrambled up, her dress now a Pollock painting of brown streaks.

"I'm so sorry!" she cried, hands flapping. "I didn't mean—they were supposed to cool, but I got excited, and—oh, your shirt!"

"It's fine," he lied, peeling himself off the floor. Chocolate coated his hands, his socks, his dignity. "Just… sit. I'll clean this."

"No, I'll help!" She grabbed a sponge from the sink, but in her zeal, she squeezed too hard—squirting soapy water across the counter, the floor, and Riku's face. He sputtered, wiping bubbles from his eyes as she shrieked, "Not again!"

The kitchen door swung open mid-chaos, and Aiko strolled in, a mug of tea in hand. She stopped dead, taking in the scene—Riku dripping and chocolate-smeared, Haruka wielding a soggy sponge, cookies scattered like landmines. Her mug trembled as she fought a laugh, then lost, snorting tea up her nose.

"Oh my god," she wheezed, clutching her stomach. "What is *this*? A baking war crime?"

"It's not funny!" Riku snapped, slipping on a wet spot and flailing into the counter. A stray cookie launched from his foot, arcing beautifully to splat against Aiko's mug. Tea splashed her shirt, and her laughter cut off with a yelp.

"Riku!" she barked, swiping at the stain. "You little—"

"It was an accident!" he yelled, ducking as Haruka flung the sponge—missing him and hitting Aiko square in the chest. Suds dripped down her cat shirt, and her jaw dropped, a mix of fury and disbelief.

Haruka froze. "Oops?"

Aiko glared, then grabbed a cookie from the floor and lobbed it at Haruka, who ducked with a squeal. It hit Riku instead, crumbling into his hair. "Hey!" he shouted, snatching another and hurling it back. It missed Aiko, smashing against the fridge, and the kitchen erupted—cookies flying, soap suds spraying, all three slipping and yelling like kids in a food fight.

By the time they stopped, panting and sticky, the kitchen was a disaster zone. Riku's shirt was a tie-dye of chocolate and tea, Haruka's dress hung in soggy defeat, and Aiko's hair dripped with suds, her tiara askew from rehearsal vibes. She wiped her face, smirking despite herself.

"You're both idiots," she said, flicking a crumb at Riku. "But I win. My cookies didn't try to kill anyone."

"They were good!" Haruka protested, then giggled. "Okay, maybe not. Sorry, Riku!"

He groaned, sinking onto a stool. "Just… no more baking. Please."

Aiko leaned close, her sudsy hair brushing his shoulder. "Told you Haruka's a menace," she whispered, smirking. "Stick with me next time."

He shoved her away, blushing through the crumbs. Cleanup took an hour—Haruka chattering apologies, Aiko tossing jabs, and Riku wondering how his life had become a slapstick sitcom.