The fallout from Dr. Kodakawa’s visit lingered in the apartment like a heavy fog. For the first time since Mikoto had moved in, the Triplets were quiet. There was no shouting, no shattered glass, and no demands for protein-heavy meals.
Instead, there was guilt.
Mikoto spent the morning scrubbing the "museum" back into a home. He moved the hidden laundry back to the hampers and returned the Gucci "rug" to its proper hanger. He was elbows-deep in soapy water when Karen walked into the kitchen. She wasn't wearing her tennis whites anymore; she was in a baggy hoodie, looking uncharacteristically small.
"He was an asshole," she said abruptly, leaning against the counter. "My father. What he said about the national title... he didn't have the right."
Mikoto didn't look up from the sink. "He’s a man who values results, Karen. I didn't give the world the result it expected. He wasn't wrong, he was just... blunt."
"He was wrong," Karen hissed, her fingers drumming a restless beat on the marble. "You saved us yesterday. If you hadn't staged this place, we’d be packing for the estate right now. We... we talked about it. Shino, Marin, and me."
Mikoto turned off the faucet and dried his hands. "Talked about what?"
"A repayment," Shino’s voice came from the doorway. She was holding a small, black velvet box. "Statistically, your stress levels have been peaking since you arrived. While your 'Caregiver' contract covers room and board, it does not account for the emotional labor of dealing with our progenitor."
She set the box on the counter. Inside was a high-end, sleek digital watch.
"It monitors heart rate, cortisol markers via skin conductivity, and sleep cycles," Shino explained, her clinical mask firmly back in place. "If you are going to manage us, you must first manage your own physiological stability. Consider it a tool, not a gift."
"And I got you this!" Marin chirped, appearing from behind Shino. She handed him a heavy, cream-colored envelope. Inside were two VIP passes to a private screening of an unreleased film. "It’s a comedy. No drama, no crying dogs, no 'vulnerability.' Just ninety minutes of people being over-the-top happy. You need to laugh, Mikoto-kun. You’re always so... gray."
Mikoto looked at the watch, the tickets, and the two sisters standing before him. Karen, still leaning against the counter, shoved a crumpled fifty-dollar bill toward him.
"That’s for the good groceries," Karen muttered, her face turning a light shade of pink. "Buy the expensive steak. The stuff that doesn't taste like cardboard. We’re eating together tonight. No books, no scripts, no rackets."
For the first time in years, Mikoto felt the tight knot in his chest loosen. He wasn't just a ghost in their hallway anymore.
"I appreciate it," Mikoto said, his voice a bit thick. "But you three being 'terrible' is actually easier to manage than you three being nice. It’s making me nervous."
"Don't worry," Marin laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder for a brief, fleeting second. "Karen still hasn't cleaned her bathroom, and I definitely just spilled nail polish on the guest room rug. We’re still nightmares."
"Good," Mikoto smiled, strapping the watch to his wrist. "I wouldn't know what to do with a normal day anyway."
But as he looked at the VIP tickets, he saw the name of the theater: The St. Jude’s Arts Center. It was right next to the University Tennis Complex. The one place he had promised himself he would never go.
The "Repayment" was a gesture of kindness, but it was also leading him straight back to the lion’s den.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQe4QsSexVa
and then Add to home screen.