(A Reverse Harem) || A FEATURED STORY
Everything Kotori Teruhashi bakes consistently goes up in smoke, which is ironic considering it's her lifelong dream to become a pastry chef. Nevertheless, like clockwork, she delivers her burned desserts to her...
"A-are you sure everything's all right, dear?" Mom asked.
"Of course evewything is," I assured her via full mouth, forging a tight-lipped smile for emphasis.
I reached onto the counter for my lunchbox and after stopping to ruffle Sota's hair, dashed towards the front door with my bag hanging by my forearm. Swinging my arms through my coat sleeves, I squeezed into my shoes and yanked the door open.
"She didn't burn anything today," I heard Sota mumble as I was closing it behind me. "Kitchen doesn't stink."
As soon as the door clicked shut, and I dashed to the bottom floor and exited the building, the silence of the world fell onto my shoulders. I gulped whatever remained of the rice I was chewing before glancing up at the gloomy morning sky.
Not only was it nippy outside, making me shiver and break out into a small jog to retain as little warmth as I could, but the coldness lingered inside me as well. Its heaviness weighed down on my heart, practically sinking me into every bunch of snow that crunched beneath my boots.
Nudging it aside, I carefully meandered over patches of ice in my path, the tall school building standing ways ahead.
Kotori Teruhashi didn't cower before anything and anyone, and I definitely wasn't going to let it happen today.
I'd... already made up my mind after all.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Miko, my beloved goddess. Please help me with last Friday's homework!"
I lunged at the girl seated at her desk, squeezing her tightly within my arms.
"Kotori, let me breathe first," she pleaded.
I did her the favour and withdrew. Miko heaved, brushing her frayed brown hairs back into place. A smile crossed her face as I fell into my own seat.
"And why didn't you do it yourself?"
"It was way too difficult," I reasoned, digging into my bag and surfacing the very sheets. "Math will be the death of me."
"I'm glad you're as energetic as ever but you can't always rely on me for homework."
Making her way over to see my work, she hummed as she assessed my empty questions. Soon, she expunged a large sigh and seized her bag, slipping out her own worksheets.
"Fine. You can copy mine until Mr. Hanamura comes."
If one didn't believe math could be done beautifully, they clearly didn't meet Miko. Whether it be her Kanji, English and even math, Miko's handwriting was flawless and neat. Staring at the answers to this complicated work—living proof of her high academic standing in this school—I clenched the pencil in hand, doing a little dance with my shoulders.
