Unit Seven returned home as they always did.

  Tired, loud, disorganized.

  The front door slid open and the familiar chaos greeted them—discarded shoes near the entrance, jackets half-hung on hooks, the faint smell of something overcooked lingering in the air.

  Yuuki Wakura stepped inside last.

  He didn’t hesitate. He never did.

  He knelt immediately, gathering the shoes and aligning them neatly by the wall. His movements were smooth, practiced, automatic. Where the others relaxed, he worked. Where disorder remained, he corrected it.

  “Yuuki’s back!” Nei announced cheerfully from the couch, legs kicked up, tablet balanced on her stomach. “Perfect timing.”

  “Yes,” Yuuki replied calmly.

  “Food?” Shushu called from the hallway.

  “I’ll start now,” Yuuki said, already heading toward the kitchen.

  Kyouka Uzen removed her gloves with measured precision and set them down. She watched Yuuki for a moment as he moved through the house—cleaning, organizing, restoring order without a word.

  It was normal.

  It was expected.

  It was his role.

  The others barely noticed.

  Yuuki was at the sink when the door opened again.

  This time, the atmosphere shifted.

  Tenka Izumo stepped inside as if she belonged there, her presence relaxed and bright, uniform worn loosely, eyes scanning the room with open curiosity.

  “Well,” she said lightly, “this place is lively as always.”

  Yuuki froze for a fraction of a second—then turned and bowed deeply.

  “Commander Izumo.”

  “Oh, come on,” Tenka said with a smile. “So formal.”

  She stepped closer, peering over his shoulder at the dishes. “You’re really doing all the housework again?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That’s adorable.”

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  Before Yuuki could react, Tenka wrapped her arms around him from behind.

  It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t rough.

  It was warm.

  Yuuki stiffened in surprise, breath catching as her arms settled comfortably around his shoulders. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t move at all, unsure what was permitted and what wasn’t.

  Tenka rested her chin lightly near his shoulder.

  “You work too hard,” she said fondly. “Someone should take care of you sometimes.”

  Yuuki’s face heated instantly. “I— I’m fine, Commander.”

  Tenka laughed softly.

  Then, without hesitation, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

  It was brief.

  Affectionate.

  Unmistakably intimate—but not obscene.

  Yuuki’s eyes widened. His cheeks flushed bright red as he froze completely, hands still submerged in the sink.

  Across the room—

  Clatter.

  A cup slipped from Kyouka’s hand and struck the counter with a sharp sound.

  Both Yuuki and Tenka looked up.

  Kyouka stood near the table, expression calm, posture perfect.

  Her eyes were fixed on them.

  Tenka blinked once—then smiled knowingly.

  “Oh,” she said lightly. “Looks like I overstayed.”

  She stepped back, releasing Yuuki and lifting a hand in a casual wave.

  “Take care of him,” Tenka said cheerfully, already stepping backward. “He’s a good one.”

  The air shimmered.

  A portal opened behind her, bright and swirling.

  “See you around,” Tenka added.

  Then she vanished.

  The portal snapped shut.

  Silence filled the room.

  Yuuki remained frozen, cheek still warm, heart pounding violently in his chest. He turned toward Kyouka instinctively and dropped into a deep bow.

  “C-Commander—”

  “Training hall,” Kyouka said.

  Her voice was even.

  Controlled.

  “Now.”

  “Yes,” Yuuki replied immediately.

  The training hall doors closed behind them with a heavy echo.

  “Stand,” Kyouka ordered.

  Yuuki complied.

  “Guard.”

  He raised his arms.

  The first strike hit him square in the ribs.

  Yuuki staggered back with a sharp breath, barely catching himself before the second blow followed—then the third. Kyouka moved with ruthless efficiency, her strikes precise and unrestrained.

  She did not hold back.

  Yuuki blocked, absorbed, endured. Pain bloomed across his body, his breathing growing ragged as he struggled to maintain his stance.

  “Again,” Kyouka said.

  He stepped forward.

  She struck harder.

  Yuuki was driven back across the mat, boots skidding, muscles screaming. He did not fall. He did not retreat.

  Kyouka closed the distance and wrapped her arms around him in a crushing bear hug.

  The pressure was immediate and overwhelming.

  Yuuki gasped as his breath was forced from his lungs, ribs compressing under her strength. His hands clenched at his sides as he fought to stay upright.

  “Endure,” Kyouka said coldly.

  “Yes—Commander,” Yuuki forced out.

  She tightened her grip.

  Pain spiked sharply, his vision blurring at the edges as he struggled to breathe. His legs trembled—but he did not collapse.

  Seconds passed.

  Then Kyouka released him.

  Yuuki dropped to one knee, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face.

  Kyouka stood over him, gaze sharp and unreadable.

  “You allowed distraction,” she said evenly.

  Yuuki bowed his head. “Yes, Commander.”

  “You are not to respond to affection that is not given by this unit,” Kyouka continued. “You belong here.”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer.

  “Remember that,” she said.

  She turned and left the hall.

  Yuuki remained kneeling until his breathing steadied.

  There was no anger in his chest.

  No resentment.

  Only understanding.

  Far above, in the quiet of the upper command wing, Ren Yamashiro reviewed personnel activity logs.

  Her eyes paused briefly on a familiar name.

  Obirin, Kei — Training Status: Pending.

  She closed the file.

  “Prepare the hall,” Ren said calmly.

  “It’s time I take over.”

  stricter structure and accountability within the unit. From this point forward, decisions and reactions will carry clearer consequences, especially during training and command interactions.