Chapter 25 - Questions

The sound of quiet chewing filled the kitchen, broken occasionally by the gentle clink of chopsticks against ceramic. Raito sat across from Raika at the small kitchen table, both of them eating in silence. The morning sun filtered in through the blinds, casting warm slats of light across the floor.

Raika looked up from her bowl of rice and miso soup, eyes drifting lazily over Raito—hair tied back, apron still on, sleeves rolled up.

"You know," she began, swallowing her bite, "if you weren't so serious all the time, you'd actually be kind of husband material."

Raito blinked. "hmm?"

Realizing what she just said, Raika immediately choked on a sip of soup, coughing and turning red. "I-I mean—! Not like that! I just meant—like—you can cook, and you're clean and all that!"

Raito shrugged, reaching for more rice. "Wouldn't marry you either."

Raika stared at him, cheeks puffing slightly as she pouted. "You didn't have to say it like that."

Before she could fire back another complaint, Raito spoke up, his tone casual but curious. "Did you wake Emi up yet?"

Raika sighed, letting the moment pass. "Not yet. I'll take care of her in a bit. She usually wakes up on her own when she hears noise anyway."

Raito looked thoughtful. "You said Emi's your sister. But your ages don't exactly match up for that."

Raika nodded slowly. "Yeah. Mom and Dad… waited. Dad was always busy with work, and Mom had health issues for a while. It was rough. I guess they weren't planning on having another kid, but…"

She looked down at her bowl, her voice softening.

"I wanted a sister. I kept asking. I think Dad gave in just to shut me up."

Raito didn't say anything. He just listened as he stirred what was left of his miso soup.

After a moment, Raika looked up again. "What about you? Any siblings? What were your parents like?"

The silence stretched.

Raito's eyes stayed fixed on his bowl. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Raika frowned, sensing the wall slam down between them.

"Fine. Be that way," she muttered.

The rest of breakfast passed in silence again, the earlier warmth in the air replaced by something heavier. When they were done, Raika stood, stretched, and finally wandered back toward the guest room.

"I'll go wake Emi," she said quietly.

Raito gave a small nod.

He heard soft coos from down the hall as Raika gently lifted Emi from her crib. The baby was quick to fuss, but she quieted once Raika popped the formula bottle into her mouth—made with the exact brand Raito had picked up earlier that morning.

Meanwhile, Raito returned to the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his black T-shirt and pulling off the apron. He didn't know how long the quiet would last—but he had questions that needed answering.

The mercenaries from earlier… their movements, their formation, even their gear—it didn't sit right with him. Too coordinated to be random thugs, too sloppy to be professionals. But definitely not independent.

Something about the job reeked of inexperience masking intent.

He stepped into his study, sat at his desk, and pulled out his laptop.

If someone had sent those mercenaries, he needed to know who—and more importantly, why.