Satoru Gojo helped himself to a pair of guest slippers by the entryway, then went into the kitchen and took some milk out of the fridge.
Miwa Chisei casually tied up her silver curls and watched the tall, broad-shouldered man gulping down milk in front of the fridge.
"All I have is pasta. Shall I make you some?"
Occasionally, when her conscience stirred, she treated this guy a little more kindly.
Satoru Gojo coughed a few times, apparently choking on the milk.
"I'll do it myself. Go get some rest, Qianxing-"
His words sounded considerate, but a knowing smile spread across his face. Miwa Chisei remembered inviting Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieiri, and Satoru Gojo over for dinner once.
That had been her first time cooking. Apparently, Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo had gone to the hospital the next day to have their stomachs pumped, with suspected food poisoning.
Puzzled, Miwa Chisei had asked Shoko Ieiri about it. Her gentle senior had only smiled.
"Maybe they just weren't blessed enough to enjoy it."
Are you okay, Shoko? Your voice sounds awfully weak too.
Miwa Chisei seemed to realize something: she had no talent for this, because her cooking tasted terrible.
Meanwhile, Satoru Gojo expertly inspected Miwa Chisei's fridge, wondering how anyone could turn food into a biological weapon.
Their assessments were on entirely different levels.
The sight of the bandaged weirdo cooking in her kitchen was rather funny. Miwa Chisei leaned against the kitchen doorway and studied Satoru Gojo.
Noticing her gaze, Satoru Gojo asked casually.
"Have fun at the Zenin Clan?"
"It was pretty good. The head of the Zenin Clan seemed like a decent person."
"You're probably the only person who can do business with the Zenin Clan."
Miwa Chisei didn't quite agree with that.
"Didn't you do business