Ayame appeared at the kitchen doorway a full hour later than usual.
She had changed into a new chef's uniform, its collar buttoned tightly enough to cover even the edges of her neck.
Teuchi was bent over, adding noodles to the pot. Hearing footsteps, he looked up, said nothing, and took a clean apron off a hook to hand to her.
Ayame's fingers trembled as she took it. She quickly tied it on, walked to the cutting board, and began chopping scallions.
Her knife fell half a beat slower than usual, but a smile stayed on her lips. She looked as though she had shed something that had weighed on her for years, a new lightness mingling with her gentleness.
Just then, footsteps came from the stairs.
Son Goten came downstairs, bleary-eyed, and walked to the kitchen doorway. His gaze landed first on the figure at the cutting board.
Without a word, he walked straight into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Ayame's waist from behind.
"Morning, Ayame."
Clang!
The cleaver went awry, nearly cutting her hand.
Ayame turned her head and lowered her voice, a faint blush rising on her face as she motioned with her eyes toward Teuchi, who was still kneading dough beside them.
Teuchi remained unshakable, not even looking up from the dough.
"Goten, we'll need two extra portions of noodles today."
The kitchen fell silent for three seconds.
Son Goten let go, fished a piece of jerky out of a cupboard, and popped it into his mouth before heading into the living room in an especially good mood.
Temari was already wiping the table. She had scrubbed the same spot seven or eight times, with no small amount of force.
Goten walked over, glanced at the tabletop she was on the verge of wearing