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Night had settled heavy over the mansion, the kind of silence that only came after a storm of emotions. The tension from earlier had burned itself out in tears, smoke, and half-ruined dinner, leaving behind a strange calm.

I was sprawled lazily on the couch in the common room, half-asleep, when the sound of soft footsteps stirred me awake. At first, I thought maybe Rin had gotten restless again, but no—it was Elira, her tall, graceful frame silhouetted against the faint glow of the kitchen lanterns.

"Still awake?" I asked groggily.

She flicked her hair over one shoulder, giving me that faintly regal side glance. "Mm. I'm… hungry."

I chuckled. "We did eat. Well… sort of."

Her lips curved, though not quite into a smile. "That was hardly a proper meal."

I couldn't argue. Dinner had ended in more smoke than food, and though Mei tried to salvage it with a second attempt, it hadn't been enough for someone like Elira—someone used to elegant elven feasts, not… whatever disaster we'd pulled from the oven.

I watched as she drifted into the kitchen, her gown whispering against the floor. A moment later, she returned with something clutched in her hands. My stomach sank.

The burnt chicken.

The same one we'd nearly set the mansion on fire with. The one we'd shoved under a cover and banished from memory.

Everyone else, it seemed, was still awake enough to notice her. One by one, heads lifted. Mei squinted from her spot by the fireplace. Akane raised a brow from where she was doing push-ups like it was midnight training. Even Rin, curled up under her hoodie, ears twitching against the fabric, peeked over in confusion.

"…Elira," Mei said flatly. "No. Put it back. Burnt food is a crime."

Akane smirked. "You can't be planning to eat that."

Sora looked genuinely horrified. "Elira, please… your stomach—!"

But Elira… only smiled. That serene, slightly mischievous smile that told me she knew something the rest of us didn't. She set the charred, tragic excuse of poultry right on the dining table, uncovered it with a little flourish, and looked around at us like a queen preparing to unveil her hand.

"What are you planning?" I asked cautiously, though curiosity was already dragging me to my feet.

"Something you mortals," she said with deliberate drama, "call… improvisation."

I almost choked laughing. "Improvisation? With a brick of chicken?"

She didn't answer with words. Instead, she lifted her hands. Long, pale fingers danced lightly through the air, weaving sigils I didn't recognize. Her voice, low and melodic, whispered in Elvish—syllables curling like smoke in the silence.

Then, the flourish.

Her left hand traced a spiral above the chicken, her right flicked backward in a sweeping arc as though she were rewinding a film. And for the first time since the chicken's untimely death, magic bloomed in the room—not violent or wild like Mei's, not disciplined like Ayame's aura, not even hesitant like Sora's careful spells. No, this was elegant, refined, as though centuries of practice lived in the casual flick of her wrist.

The chicken… began to change.

The blackened crust peeled backward, the charcoal flaking away in reverse. Smoke spiraled inward instead of out, condensing and vanishing into thin air. The skin softened, color returning from grey to golden-brown, juices glistening again as though the oven had never wronged it. Even the faint smell of burning retreated, replaced by the warm, savory aroma of a meal freshly pulled from the fire.

We all stared.

The burnt mess was gone. In its place sat a perfectly roasted chicken, steaming gently, tender and fragrant.

"…No way," Akane muttered. She actually stopped mid-push-up, sitting back on her heels with wide eyes.

"Unfair!" Mei cried, smacking her palm on the floor. "You mean to tell me I slaved in the kitchen, twice, and you—just—reverse-time-cooked it?!"

Rin's hood had slipped back slightly, revealing her ears twitching in fascination. Her tail thumped lightly against the floor without her noticing. "…It smells… really good," she whispered, almost shy.

Sora's eyes sparkled with awe. "Elira… that was beautiful…"

I just sat back, exhaling a laugh I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "You literally just… rewound dinner."

Elira's smile widened, and for a brief second her pride was unmistakable. She plucked a knife from the table, carved off a neat slice, and set it on a plate like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Waste not. Even time can be coaxed into mercy if you know how to ask."

Akane shook her head, grinning despite herself. "You're ridiculous."

Mei leaned forward, glaring but with a spark of amusement. "Fine. But I'm taste-testing first. If it explodes in my stomach, I'm haunting you."

She snatched a piece, popped it into her mouth—and froze.

"…Holy hells," she mumbled, cheeks puffed as she chewed. "It's good."

That broke the dam.

Sora took a plate next, her small hands careful. Rin followed after a moment of hesitation, ears flicking nervously as she tried to act normal. Even Ayame, who had been silently observing like a stone statue, finally approached, though she merely nodded and accepted a portion with that calm grace of hers.

And me? My system chimed in with perfect comedic timing:

> [System Notification: Congratulations! You have unlocked "Five-Star Chicken: Elven Edition."]

[Warning: May cause dependence on Elira's cooking magic.]

I nearly snorted into my plate.

The dining table, which had nearly been a battleground hours earlier, now buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional squabble over who got the drumstick. The earlier heaviness—Rin's breakdown, the tension, the smoke-filled chaos—it all felt… distant. Not gone, but eased.

Because here we were, at midnight, eating chicken that time itself had forgiven.

And somehow, it tasted like the beginning of something healing.

---

Dinner ended in laughter, crumbs, and a faint sense of triumph—Elira's magic-chicken miracle had been the last unexpected twist in a day already full of them. The others left the dining room slowly, yawns breaking through their chatter. One by one, they peeled away to their rooms: Mei grumbling about cleaning dishes tomorrow, Akane stretching her arms and rolling her shoulders like she'd just finished a workout, Rin tugging her hood back up as though her ears might leap out at any moment, Ayame silent as always, and Elira sweeping out with all the grace of a queen who'd just fed her court.

I stayed behind. My plate remained untouched, a deliberate choice. Not because I wasn't hungry, but because I didn't trust my stomach—or maybe I just didn't trust myself. Some nights, even surrounded by them, I felt like a guest in my own home.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the empty chandelier above, when soft footsteps drew closer.

Sora.

She hesitated in the doorway, hands folded in front of her like she was carrying something fragile. Her gentle eyes caught mine, and for a moment, the silence was almost too heavy.

Then I remembered.

Ah. It was supposed to be her night.

The system had long ago stopped surprising me with its odd scheduling of… companionship. Each of the girls had their turns, some more willingly than others, but tonight—tonight was Sora's. And yet, something in her face told me she was about to break the pattern.

"You don't have to say it," I said quietly, forcing a crooked smile. "Today was… a lot."

She let out a soft sigh of relief, stepping closer. "I was going to. You look exhausted, Ren. And honestly… I am too."

I chuckled lightly. "That obvious?"

Her lips curved in a small, shy smile. "Mm. I thought maybe I'd give you a little space tonight. Tomorrow… I'll come to you. I promise."

For a moment, warmth settled in my chest. She was always like this—gentle, considerate, the heart of this strange household. I nodded. "Tomorrow, then."

She reached out, fingertips brushing my sleeve for the briefest second, before she turned and left, vanishing down the hall like a wisp of moonlight.

And then it was just me, the dim dining room, and the whisper of an empty house.

Eventually, I dragged myself to my bed. My body sank into the mattress, the fatigue of the day finally claiming me. My eyelids grew heavy, and just as sleep began to pull me under—

> [System Notice: Warning. Synchronization fluctuation detected.]

A voice echoed in my head. The one I hated most.

My clone.

Smug. Patient. Always waiting in the cracks of my mind.

"Still ignoring me, Ren?" it whispered, its tone like a mirror's sneer. "How long do you think you can pretend I'm not here?"

I rolled onto my side, forcing my breathing steady, refusing to give it the satisfaction.

Sleep claimed me.

But sometime deep in the night, the world shifted.

When I opened my eyes again, it wasn't me.

The ceiling above looked sharper, clearer, as though the world itself had tilted in his favor. My hands flexed—not mine anymore, not guided by me. My body felt lighter, hungrier.

And in that silence, a low chuckle rippled through the room.

"Finally," the clone murmured, my lips shaping words I hadn't chosen. "His guard is down."

The mansion was asleep. Unaware.

And I—no, he—rose from the bed, stretching, eyes gleaming with a hunger I didn't dare name.

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