Dinner was served in the dining room on the first floor of the main house.
The rectangular White Wax Wood dining table was Teuchi Marcus's Pops. The tabletop was made from a single piece of White Wax Wood, split in half and pieced together. The growth rings stretched from one end to the other, and when the light shone on it, you could see the fine golden lines in the wood grain.
This table traveled from the old house on White Wax Island to the Uchiha Ancestral Grounds, moving three times in between. Each time, Barlow said he would get a bigger one, but he never did.
The chair was also made of White Wax Wood, with a polished surface and Gunbai pattern carved on the backrest.
The kitchen is semi-open, separated from the dining room by a serving window. The aroma of grilled fish wafts out from the window, mingling with the subtle fragrance of White Wax Wood furniture warmed by the heating, creating a cozy and inviting atmosphere that makes you feel sleepy.
Gwen had instructed the kitchen beforehand to prepare one dish for each family member tonight: Damian loves grilled fish, Barlow prefers light steamed dishes, Roy can't live without meat, Mila likes sweet things, and Gray is still growing and eats everything.
There were more than a dozen plates of various sizes in front of the six people, leaving almost no empty space on the table.
Damian sat at the head of the table, and he ate much faster than usual.
He was usually the slowest eater at the table, not because he was particularly meticulous, but because he was always watching others while eating.
See if Gwen picks up food with her chopsticks, see if Gray is being picky about his food, see if Roy and Mila start fighting again while eating, see if Barlow is daydreaming about the Chamber of Commerce again while eating.
He enjoyed the process, the sound of his whole family sitting around the table, of Mila's protests as Roy picked up food from his plate, and Gray's grumbling about whether he could check his homework tomorrow—these sounds reassured him more than any leave document that he was home.
This was what he missed most while on the warship.
But today he didn't look at anyone, his movements were routine, his gaze remained fixed on his own bowl, only sweeping the plate, not people.
"Big brother, are you starving?" Roy asked, holding up half a pork rib, sauce dripping from his lips.
"Hmm," Damian responded without looking up.
Mila held the bowl of sweet soup, the spoon resting on the rim of the bowl, untouched.
Her gaze shifted from Damian's bowl to Gwen's. Gwen ate more slowly and quietly than Damian. Usually, Gwen would comment on the dishes from time to time, saying whether they were too salty, too bland, or overcooked. Tonight, she only said, "The grilled fish is good," and then fell silent.
Gray sat properly in the middle of the table, but he had clearly noticed something was amiss.
He looked at his father, then at his mother, his lips moved as if he wanted to ask something, but Barlow, sitting next to him, put a piece of pork tenderloin in his bowl, which shut him up.
"Everyone, please finish eating and get some rest. You've been traveling all day."
Damian shoveled the last bite of rice into his mouth and stood up.
He pulled out a tissue to wipe his mouth, crumpled it up, and threw it in the trash can. He had already reached the restaurant entrance, his footsteps echoing up the stairs, one step at a time, at a relatively fast pace.
The restaurant was quiet for half a minute, the grilled fish in the center of the plate emitting its last wisps of steam.
Gwen took a few more bites from her bowl, then picked up a piece of fish and slowly removed the bones.
Her movements were as composed as usual, but the frequency of her pinching the fish was noticeably decreasing, as if she was waiting for something.
After Roy finished gnawing on the ribs, after Mila finished drinking the sweet soup and started wiping her mouth, and after Barlow picked up his teacup.
She waited until almost everyone at the table had put down their cutlery before setting hers down, dabbing her mouth with a napkin, and standing up.
"I'm tired today, I'll go upstairs first," she said, something no one would believe.
Barlow took a sip of his tea, his gaze fixed on the tea leaves in the cup.
With his mouth full of meat, Roy mumbled, "Goodnight, sister-in-law."
Mila put down her spoon and said, "Goodnight, sister-in-law."
Gray stood up and respectfully said, "Goodnight, Mother."
Gwen patted Gray lightly on the head, turned and left the restaurant. The sound of her high heels on the wooden floor of the corridor was not as steady as usual, but rather faster, similar to Damian's footsteps.
There were four people left in the restaurant.
Gray broke the silence first, "Mother's gone to bed so early today; she usually tests my studies."
He said this while still poking at the remaining piece of pork tenderloin in his bowl with his fork, his tone revealing genuine confusion.
Gwen always checked his homework without fail, rain or shine, so he was a little unaccustomed to not doing so tonight.
But he didn't press the matter; he was used to adults not explaining things to him.
Barlow put down his teacup, the bottom of which tapped softly on the White Wax Wood. He took out Fountain Pen from his inner suit pocket, unscrewed the cap, wrote a few words on a napkin, and pushed it to Gray.
"Case No. 327: Emergency Supply Allocation Principles for the Navy During a Sudden Storm. Please write a 200-word summary after reading it. I'll check it later."
Gray took the napkin, read the words written on it, and the confusion on his face was instantly replaced by a more urgent expression.
He folded the napkin, stuffed it into his pocket, jumped off the chair, nodded to Barlow, and quickly left the restaurant.
Barlow stood up, stacked his cutlery on the corner of the table, and casually swept the pile of bones in front of Roy into his empty bowl.
He didn't look at Roy and Mila, said to the air, "Leave the bowls, the maid will collect them," and then left the restaurant.
The sound of leather shoes traveled down the corridor toward the study, not fast, and the footsteps were gradually swallowed up by the cork sound-absorbing panels on the wall at the end of the corridor.
There were only two people left in the restaurant.
The long dining table was a mess of cups and plates. Most of the dozen or so dishes had only been touched a few times. The middle section of the grilled fish had been eaten by Damian and Gwen, leaving only the head and tail on the plate.
The plate of ribs was half empty, the bones were piled up like a small mountain next to Roy, and there was still more than half a bowl of sweet soup left, with a thin layer of starch coating on the surface.
The candlestick was half-burnt, and the flame flickered occasionally.
Roy was gnawing on his fourth rib of the night. He held the bone with chopsticks, scraping the tendons with his front teeth, his cheeks bulging as he gnawed intently. Sauce dripped from the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it haphazardly with the back of his left hand, leaving another sauce mark.
Mila patted his back.
The sound was crisp, Roy almost spat out the pork ribs he was eating. He turned to look at Mila, whose cheeks were still puffed out and whose eyes were completely blank.
"Still eating?" Mila's hand was still on his back.
Roy stared blankly at her, his mouth still unconsciously chewing. He swallowed the meat, his Adam's apple bobbing, then opened his mouth. "Why did you hit me?"
Mila ignored his question.
She turned around from her chair to face Roy, her eyes different from usual, like the look in the eyes of someone in an underground casino just before turning over the last card. Although her lips weren't parted in a wide grin, a smile was already overflowing from the corners of her eyes.
"Are you willing to let her tease you like that this afternoon?"
Roy was still holding the rib in his hand, with only a piece of cartilage left on the bone.
He stared at Mila's face, trying to read her thoughts from her eyes.
They've been fighting since they were kids. Before Mila makes a move, there's a very subtle warning sign: her eyebrows will slightly rise.
He's seeing this sign now. Mila isn't just asking him if he's willing or not; she already has a plan, and now she's pulling him into it.
He thought about it for a moment.
The scene of Gwen pinching my chin in the side hall that afternoon is still vivid in my mind. The feeling of my whole body stiffening and not being able to utter a complete sentence makes my neck feel hot just thinking about it.
He nodded, a very sincere nod.
Mila patted him again, this time with more force, making his shoulder slump down.
"He surrendered again because of beauty, you big lecher!"
"No, I didn't!" Roy put the ribs on the plate, raising his voice by half an octave.
He had to refute this accusation because it wasn't precise enough; he wasn't defeated by beauty that afternoon, but by something else, something even harder to admit.
But he didn't have time to argue with Mila about that; he was more concerned about what Mila would say next, "So what are you going to do?"
Mila leaned closer, lowering her voice so her lips were almost touching Roy's earlobe, her breath barely audible. "They're definitely going to do it tonight, let's take this opportunity to embarrass her."
Roy's pupils dilated sharply, his neck shrank back, and he almost jumped off his chair.
He glared at Mila and growled in a low voice, "Are you crazy?!"
Are you coming or not?
Roy turned his head, the movement small but the direction clear: he turned his face toward the corridor, avoiding Mila's eyes.
This turn of his head wasn't a rejection, but an attempt to hide his hesitation. His Adam's apple bobbed again, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his fingers unconsciously dug into the wood grain of the edge of the dining table.
Mila watched as he pushed his chair back half an inch, leaned closer, lowered his voice, and softened his tone considerably.
"Let's not talk about revenge for now," she said, enunciating each word clearly, her breath brushing against his earlobe.
"Don't you want to take another look?"
Roy stopped picking at the edge of the table.
He turned to look at Mila, and after a few seconds, he suddenly nodded, a strong nod, his lips still pursed, but his eyes already lit up.
"Then I'll go see it." After saying that, he probably realized he had agreed too quickly, so he added another sentence, trying to regain some confidence.
"No, I want revenge!"
Mila grinned mischievously, a smile that spread from the corners of her mouth to her entire face, her two rows of neat teeth gleaming white in the candlelight.
She stood up, patted the edge of the table, and whispered a single word, "Let's go."
Roy put the half-eaten rib back on the plate, stood up, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
The two slipped out of the restaurant one after the other, moving quietly with their backs against the wall. Roy followed behind, lowering his voice to ask, "Last time we were discovered because of the wrong angle. This time, let's go to the storage room on the third floor. It connects to the ventilation duct in the master bedroom, the angle is discreet, and..."
Mila turned around and glared at him. "Why are you so skilled at this?"
Roy opened his mouth, but found that he really couldn't answer the question.
Before he could come up with an answer, Mila had already tiptoed up the stairs.