Morning light crept through a gap in the curtains, faintly illuminating the Nukumori family bedroom. The clock hands had just passed six in the morning, and the smell of miso soup was already drifting from the kitchen. Someone had apparently gotten up early. However, the "someone" in this house was, more often than not, only one person. Momiji retied her apron as she checked the heat of the stove. Her long brown hair was tied back into a single bundle, and the sleeves of her beige sweater were rolled up to her elbows. Her hands were practiced as she poured the beaten eggs into the frying pan, and she was even on the verge of humming, but the moment she heard the sound of slippers from down the hallway, her lips pressed tightly together.