"I'm home," Ayanokouji announced, his voice echoing faintly through the stillness of the mostly vacant house. He crouched down by the genkan, carefully slipping off his leather shoes and peeling off his sweaty, smelly white socks. With practiced ease, he reached for his familiar house slippers—pink, soft, and decorated with an embarrassingly large, cheerful bunny munching a carrot stick.
The girlish slippers looked absurd on someone like him—anyone would think they belonged to a little girl if they weren't paying attention to their size. Ayanokouji didn't particularly care though. No one outside of Matsuo and Eichiro, who lived with him, would ever see him wear them, and even if one of his classmates did happen to catch a glimpse, the worst that would happen was a few teasing remarks or lighthearted laughs from them. His reputation wouldn't really suffer in any way. It might even increase his charm a bit with the opposite sex due to the "gap-moe" effect.
Despite the effort he put into maintaining the image of a plain, unremarkable high school student—the kind of person people would immediately forget as soon as he was out of sight—he wasn't the type of person to lose sleep over what other people thought or had to say about him. As long as no false or malicious rumors interfered with his ability to live peacefully, it didn't really matter.
He made sure to always look presentable, of course—clean uniform, always wearing his tie, always making sure his hair length or hairstyle never went against school regulations. But he wouldn't go out of his way to impress the people around him more than necessary. Comfort always came first before style—whether in the form of being unassuming in the back of the class or bunny-patterned slippers. So long as he could drift beneath the radar, untouched and unnoticed, that was more than enough.
Footsteps grew louder, resonating softly across the well-polished wooden floors. Ayanokouji looked up to find a familiar presence awaiting his arrival.
"Welcome home, Ayanokouji-sama," came the calm, aged voice, accompanied by a small bow. The man in front of him extended both his hands politely, silently offering to take the boy's shoes, which he would, as always, scrub, clean, dry, and polish meticulously, and place neatly in the cabinet for tomorrow's wear.
The man standing in front of him was Matsuo—his former butler and now legal caretaker ever sine that man no longer had any custody on him.
He wore black slacks with a crisp white button-up, a charcoal vest lined with thin silver piping, and white gloves that always seemed clean no matter the task. Clad in a traditional butler uniform, Matsuo looked every bit of the part of a man born into the service. Although his graying hair, neatly slicked back showing a few strands of white, made him seem a bit elderly, his posture remained straight and composed—never stiff.
"Would you like me to brew you some tea, coupled with a few blocks of sugar or a spoonful of honey, just the way you like it?" Matsuo offered, his tone as warm as the golden rays of sunlight on a winter morning.
"No thanks," Ayanokouji replied, shaking his head. "I already had something sweet beforehand."
"I see." Matsuo gently placed Ayanokouji's shoes down on the mat. "Then perhaps you would like me to draw you a bath instead? The humidity outside was quite unpleasant today. I'm sure your clothes will appreciate a good wash too. Think of it as a small way to refresh yourself after a long day at school."
What is this place, a five-star hotel? Ayanokouji thought dryly, amused by Matsuo's level of attentiveness for someone who was basically freeloading at his house.
It still felt a little surreal, even now. The kind of treatment Matsuo gave him so casually—freshly brewed tea, drawn baths, polished shoes, and being greeted warmly every time he finished school—was something that only ever seemed like a laughable fantasy in the White Room. Back then, the closest thing you got to these kinds of luxurious wellness services was mandatory break times where you were forced to eat nutritious but bland meals enforced by the institution or the daily medical check-ups that felt more like a clinical obligation than compassionate acts of concern. After grueling martial arts sessions and mentally taxing lectures and exams, "relaxation" meant having the privilege to survive another day and nothing more.
Compared to his previous life, this… this level of comfort felt overkill. He was doing so little—just doing house chores, attending school every day, making sure his grades met Matsuo's minimum criteria—and yet here he was being treated like a pampered ojou-sama whose every whim and complaint required the attention of a loyal butler or maid.
"No thanks," Ayanokouji said again, exhaling discreetly. "I'm not really in the mood to shower right now. I might as well help you make dinner first. I'll just take a bath after eating so I can brush my teeth right after."
Matsuo smiled with quiet approval, already turning toward the kitchen. "Very well, Ayanokouji-sama. You'll be pleased to know that I've already finished making the miso soup, so all I need assistance with is the chicken katsu curry. You are free to rest as you like, but do lend me a helping hand when you can."
Ayanokouji simply nodded in response, stood up, slipped his feet into the pink slippers, and followed Matsuo, who led the way towards the kitchen. On their way, they passed through the living room. The floor gleamed with wax, evident by Ayanokouji's need to walk slowly so as to not slip and fall. The pillows on the sofas were arranged with such symmetrical precision that it was obvious they had been placed like that intentionally to please one's inner interior designer. Clearly, Matsuo had done a bit of spring cleaning while he was out—or in this case, summer cleaning, considering Japan was currently suffering through a blistering heatwave.
"In other news…" the voice of the newscaster began, flat yet deliberate, as he read from a stack of documents seemingly reporting a house burglary in the Kanto region.
So he's been watching TV to pass the time… Ayanokouji deduced.
After all, Matsuo was technically unemployed at the moment, and what else could he do to contribute to the household aside from housework—duties that mirrored the routine of a stay-at-home housewife while her salaryman husband toiled from dawn until late evening, possibly with overtime added to provide for their family's needs and wants. However, it wasn't like he was jobless due to perceived incompetence or rejection from prospective employers.
When your former boss gets exposed in a nationwide scandal for abducting and indoctrinating children—leaving many of them with a lifetime of psychological and physical scars—you'd want to disappear from the picture as quickly as possible, if only to avoid having your name dragged into the mud as well. Fortunately for Matsuo, not only had he resigned, but he had also played a discreet, pivotal role in exposing the crimes of the White Room. There was no chance he'd be labeled an accomplice to the project.
The risk he took—turning against that man while knowing full well what he was capable of, to the extent that he could endanger Matsuo and Eichiro's own life for even disobedience—was the sole reason Ayanokouji could walk freely through the streets, no longer watched behind transparent glass walls. The least he could do to repay Matsuo for what he did was to help him make dinner every day.
As they reached the kitchen counter, Ayanokouji's eyes landed on the pot of miso soup gently simmering in the donabe. Wisps of steam escaped from under its slightly ajar wooden lid, drifting upward in lazy spirals. The savory scent of fermented soybean paste filled the air, rich and grounding, laced with an umami sharpness from the dried bonito flakes and kombu that formed its base.
Right beside the bubbling donabe, on the kitchen pantry, lay a careful arrangement of ingredients: a small box of chicken cutlet already coated with golden panko bread crumbs, potatoes with their brown skins still intact, long carrots with their skins still attached, and a handful of other fresh vegetables and condiments—each one just as essential as the other for tonight's main dish.
"I've only cut up enough chicken for Eichiro for now," Matsuo said, turning from the counter with a practiced grace as he picked up an apron and tied it around his wasit. "I still need to prepare the other boneless chicken thighs for you and me. In the meantime, grab the kitchen knife and start on the carrots. Cut them into rangiri style—angled chunks. Just cut up all you can for now. When you're done with the carrots, peel the potatoes, and I'll dice 'em up later. Is that clear, Ayanokouji-sama?"
Truthfully, Matsuo didn't need extra assistance.
With over a decade of experience working as a professional butler, which included having to cook home-cooked meals every day, he could probably navigate a kitchen with his eyes closed and his feet tied up. His culinary skills, while not on par with Gordon Ramsay's, had earned him consistent praise from past clients—enough to take quiet pride in being able to prepare delicious, home-style meals. But he had asked Ayanokouji to help not out of necessity or convenience, but out of intention.
To Matsuo, cooking was a vital skill every single person needed to learn if they hoped to live independently. And while he knew Ayanokouji had just returned from school, likely wanting to just wind down, rest, and do nothing more, Matsuo believed there was no harm in taking some of his time to get him in the kitchen. The few hours they spent every day cooking dinner was more than enough time to teach him the basics: how to hold a knife properly, how to perfectly time the boiling of rice, different cooking and cutting techniques used depending on the dishes, and so on.
Even if he wasn't hands-on with every task, Matsuo figured that a bright mind like Ayanokouji's could probably pick up a lot by simply watching him work. As long as he was close enough to see, smell, and make any inquiries, he would make small but valuable progress every day.
"Got it." Without hesitation, Ayanokouji grabbed the peeler lying on the counter and began working methodically, following Matsuo's instructions with deliberate poise. They operated in a comfortable, wordless rhythm for the next few minutes—the soft scrape of the peeler against the carrot skin, faint bubbling of the miso soup, and the sound of raw chicken being sloshed around the box filled with bread crumbs permeated the silent air between them.
Matsuo stepped over to the sink and washed his hands briefly under the cold water, the stream creating a light splashing sound that reverberated through the kitchen. Simultaneously, while Ayanokouji was peeling each carrot in smooth, continuous strokes, he noticed the number of carrots seemed… slightly excessive compared to the standard portions of chicken katsu curry.
Did Matsuo miscalculate the carrots we needed for three portions?
After an instant of contemplation, he went back to work as his brain made a logical conclusion: the extra carrot was likely intended for Eichiro. Unlike Matsuo and himself, Eichiro often requested a higher carrot-to-potato ratio in his meals. It was a minor but intentional adjustment on Matsuo's part—a small, yet touching gesture of a father's love and consideration for his child.
"So, Ayanokouji-sama," Matsuo began as he reached for the towel draped neatly on the oven handle. He patted his hands dry, glancing over at the boy with a touch of curiosity. "How was school today?"
"It was good, I guess?" Ayanokouji answered, not lifting his eyes away from the cutting board as he tossed the carrot peels into the trash can right beside his leg. His tone was neutral, bordering indifference, but not dismissive.
"I see, well that's great to hear." Matsuo nodded and returned to his station, taking a moment to inspect the chicken cutlets. "Did anything interesting happen ?" Matsuo inquired further, keeping his voice light and conversational. He wanted to know more of Ayanokouji's life outside of the house.
"Hm… well, would you consider almost getting your head split open as interesting?"
Matsuo froze the moment the words left Ayanokouji's mouth.
Head split open…? His eyes instinctively darted to Ayanokouji, concern flickering across his expression. Is he… attempting to lighten the mood with a joke? No, he doesn't look like he's joking. And Ayanokouji-sama isn't the kind of person who would toss out dark jokes lightly—or even joke at all, for that matter. A dreadful thought crept into his mind. Wait… could it be? Is he being bullied at school?
Abandoning his task for a moment, Matsuo subtly scanned Ayanokouji's body for any signs of harm—bruises, cuts, swelling—any evidence of injury..
"...Pray tell, how exactly did that happen, Ayanokouji-sama?." Matsuo aked, masking his unease with a calm tone.
"We were playing badminton during P.E.," he said evenly, eyes focused on the carrot in his hand. "Then apparently, one of my classmates lost their grip on the racket while I was bending down to pick up a volleyball. It nearly hit me in the head. Thankfully, I trusted my instincts and dodged just in time. Otherwise, you'd probably be seeing me in a hospital bed right now."
"I see… so it was just a mere accident during class," Matsuo exhaled in relief, the tension in his shoulders loosening. "Thank goodness. Even if it was just an accident, I'd much prefer if your head stayed fully intact for the time being. Otherwise, who else is going to help me finish all the gummy bears, mochi, and sweets I have lying around this house?"
Matsuo had a habit of stopping by local convenience stores during his free time, picking up traditional Japanese snacks or imported ones whenever they were on sale. However, before Ayanokouji arrived, the sweets often ended up stale or had to be given away since Eichiro never really had much of a sweet tooth. And, as much as Matsuo wanted to indulge, he had to be cautious about his health, lest he risk developing diabetes and spend the rest of his life paying off medical bills. So in a way, Ayanokouji had become the household's unofficial sweets disposal unit.
"You worry too much."
"And you worry too little," Matsuo replied without missing a beat. "Next time, do be careful and maybe let others pick up their own volleyballs, hmm?"
"...So you're fine with someone else getting their head bashed in, so long as it isn't mine?"
"Hm, well, ideally I'd prefer no one got hurt during what's supposed to be a fun and light-hearted period," Matsuo said with a half-smile. "But iif I had to hear someone's name on the news in a hospital report, I'd rather it not be yours."
"Fair enough, I guess." Ayanokouji shrugged, seeing no flaws in Matsuo's statement.
"Still, it's nice to know you're getting along splendidly with your peers," Matsuo commented with a satisfied nod.
I wouldn't exactly call nearly getting my head split open—borderline involuntary manslaughter—"getting along", though… Ayanokouji sighed inwardly, expression unreadable as always.
"I'm just doing what you told me," he said aloud, calmly resuming his task of slicing the carrots into even pieces. "Getting along with my classmates, making so-called 'friends', it all aligns with my own goals of wanting to explore life outside of the White Room."
The past few months had certainly been… an experience. Unfamiliar and unique, to say the least. Ayanokouji had come to learn things he would have never grasped within the sterile confines of the White Room. For one, he realized he was actually slightly taller than most teenagers his age—not by much, though, considering Ohta had the height of an overseas athlete who was ready to declare for the NBA draft. Secondly, compared to people's initial impression of him being an "unsociable gloomy loner", he had at least improved in the art of being able to converse with people tactfully. Not yet a master, but he would get there eventually with enough practice and hard work. Finally, he had developed a particular fondness for the cafeteria's melon bread. These details, though trivial, were proof that little by little, he was learning how to live—and not just survive. He was learning to function within the norms of human society.
Speaking of the norms of human society…
"Matsuo," Ayanokouji called, turning towards him and setting down the kitchen knife.
"Yes, Ayanokouji-sama?" Matsuo responded, glancing at him with interest.
"What's the ideal age for an average person to get married?"
Matsuo stood stock-still, caught off guard by the unexpected question. Of all the possible topics he thought Ayanokouji might ask while cooking dinner, this one certainly wasn't on the list.
"The ideal age for marriage, huh…" he mumbled to himself, slowly stroking his chin, the rough bristles of his neatly trimmed beard brushing against his fingers. He gave the question some genuine thought.
"Well, I suppose that depends on a number of factors. If it's a marriage based on convenience—political, social, or arranged by family—then the timing usually aligns with what best suits everyone involved, not necessarily the individuals getting married. So it varies." He paused, his eyes softening a bit. "But if it's a marriage born out of love… then I'd say early to mid-thirties might be a reasonable benchmark. At least, that's the pattern I've seen amongst most of my friends. They waited until they'd finished their master's or doctorates, establish themselves in their careers, and only then would they even consider settling down with someone else."
He gave a small shrug. "Of course, that's just my own perspective. Everyone lives different lives and is destined for different paths. Life doesn't always follow an absolute schedule."
"I see… that makes sense," Ayanokouji replied, nodding slightly at the rationale behind Matsuo's answer.
"Why do you ask, Ayanokouji-sama?" Matsuo questioned, now closing the Tupperware to give his full attention. Then, as a sudden thought struck him, his eyes suddenly glimmered with stars. "Wait—could it be? Have you found a maiden you fancy, Ayanokouji-sama?! Who is she?! Is she someone we know?! A classmate, perhaps? Or someone from Eichiro's school, ort—"
Please don't suffocate me with so much hope in your eyes… Ayanokouji looked away, already regretting the question. He felt a pang of guilt for unintentionally getting Matsuo's hopes up.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but that's not the case," Ayanokouji interrupted him calmly, raising a hand as a quiet signal for him to stop. "I was merely curious. Something came up that made me think about the nuances of marriage in the future, if I ever found someone I wanted to marry."
"...Oh." Masuo''s voice deflated, like a balloon slowly losing air through a tiny pinhole.
He had been hoping for a breakthrough. He knew that breaking through Ayanokouji's White Room shell—fortified by years of rigid discipline, inhumane treatment, and emotional suppression—would take time, effort, and meeting the right people at the right time. But a part of him couldn't help but wonder: could this have been the start of something meaningful for Ayanokouji? Something normal?
Still, there was no point in expecting immediate results or forcing expectations on the boy. Growth wasn't always dramatic or linear—it often came quietly, in the form of subtle realizations and small steps forward over a long period of time. As long as Ayanokouji felt satisfied with the way the wind was blowing, Matsuo was content to watch over him patiently, supporting him in reclaiming the stolen years of his youth.
Besides, living a fulfilling high school life didn't have to revolve around romance. Sure, a love story might add a bit of magic and pizzazz to those years, but Matsuo had known people who had never dated in their teenage years and still claimed high school as the best years of their lives. Maybe Ayanokouji was destined to walk a similar path. Whatever road he chose—so long as it came from his own heart—Matsuo had no right to complain.
"Though, I do wonder… what exactly happened at school that prompted this inquiry, Ayanokouji-sama? Mind sharing the details?" Matsuo asked gently, careful not to sound intrusive.
Oh? So someone confessed their feelings to him? Matsuo thought, a little surprised.
Whilde he'd always considered Ayanokouji handsome when he first met him, honestly, he had the social skills of a marshmallow. Though he had gotten better, he still lacked the initiative in forming deeper connections and showed barely any interest in conforming to the usual high school cliques—which undoubtedly hurt his popularity stock. Still, he supposed it wasn't impossible. Some people were drawn purely to looks, while others might find Ayanokouji's quiet and mysterious nature intriguing. Introversion could be charming in its own right.
It probably wasn't a serious proposal—more like one of those manga clichés: "If both of us are still single at thirty, let's marry each other!" or something along those lines. Still, on the off chance someone was seriously considering marriage right out of high school, Matsuo felt obligated to offer some wisdom.
"Ayanokouji-sama," Matsuo began, picking up a washed peeler and starting on the potatoes, "while you should feel honored that someone holds you in such high regard—enough to speak of spending the rest of their lives with you—I'd strongly advise against marrying at such a young age." He wagged his index finger, his tone light but firm.
"You both still have so many years ahead of you. And, as much as most people don't like to admit it, people grow and change—and so do their feelings. There is no certainty that those same emotions will still exist ten years later as they do now. Marriage is not just a romantic gesture or putting a ring on someone's finger—it's a serious commitment that requires patience, sacrifice, and hard work from both individuals. But… if you understand the implications, the struggles, and still choose to pursue it, then I wouldn't oppose it. It's your life, after all."
"No need to worry, Matsuo," Ayanokouji dismissed nonchalantly. "I'm not planning to get married anytime soon. Thanks for the advice, regardless."
Of course Ayanokouji had his own curiosities about what it would be like to have a girlfriend. His interactions with the opposite sex were still limited, even with his newfound freedom. Even so, unlike certain individuals—ahem, Shimura—he wasn't exactly desperately aching to get into a relationship. If anything, should he ever choose to enter one, it would probably be with someone who was capable of teaching him what romantic love truly meant. Whether it was as magical and life-changing as the girls in his class often claimed… that, he had yet to discover.
"It's a shame," Ayanokouji said. "Not for me, but for Tanaka. He'll just have to accept the fact that I'm no easy babysitter for him to bribe. I mean, there aren't a lot of people, myself included, who'd want to spend the rest of their lives looking after him."
"Well, such are the troubles of youth, Ayanokouji-sama. It's not shameful to have—"
…
Wait. HE?!
For the first time in forever, Matsuo—veteran butler and master of hiding his true emotions—lost his cool. His brain short-circuited, eyes wide and unblinking. The peeler in his hand slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a sharp clink. It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck the kitchen, complete with invisible manga-style shock lines radiating off Matsuo's stiffened figure.
"Matsuo, you… alright?"
Matsuo snapped out of his reverie and scrambled to pick up the peeler from the floor. "O-Oh yes, Ayanokouji-sama. I just remembered I may have something important to do tomorrow. Please excuse my absentmindedness." He bowed apologetically before moving to the sink to wash the peeler.
As he cleaned it under the running water, his mind spun into overdrive.
Could it be… Ayanokouji-sama was one of those people?
To be clear, Matsuo held no prejudice toward individuals who identified themselves in that category. He had adapted and accepted it as a reflection of society slowly embracing diversity and liberty and moving away from rigid traditional norms—a change he considered a sign of progress. Regardless of gender, if Ayanokouji found someone who could truly complement him, then Matsuo would never stand in the way. But until now, he'd been under the impression that the person who proposed marriage was a girl. The sudden mention of "him" had completely blindsided him.
Okay… how do I handle this, Matsuo thought, the gears in his head turning violently.
Was that Ayanokouji-sama subtly trying to come out to me? Or was it an unintentional slip of the tongue? Would he want me to acknowledge it and talk about it? But what if it's the latter—what if he's embarrassed about it, and I end up outing him without notice? Should I pretend I didn't hear anything? Should I ask? What if I make the wrong choice? What if Ayanokouji-sama starts hating me and avoiding me because of it? What if…
Matsuo's thoughts spiraled into a mess, and before long, they seemed to seep into the air around him, emitting an overwhelming and intimidating aura. So much so that even someone as unbothered as Ayanokouji noticed and was affected by the heavy air surrounding him.
Did I say something to upset him?
He paused, setting down the potato and peeler, shifting his attention entirely to solving what could have caused the strange shift in atmosphere. Ayanokouji began to backtrack through everything he had said to Matsuo from the moment they entered the kitchen, replaying each conversation piece by piece. Yet, no matter how conscientiously he analyzed every word, he couldn't pinpoint anything that might have triggered such a drastic reaction.
Maybe I'm looking at this from the wrong angle… maybe instead of rationalizing, I should try irrationalizing it, Ayanokouji muttered inwardly, narrowing his eyes in thought.
So, he reran the entire conversation for the second time in his mind. Word by word. He scrutinized every subtle change in facial expression, each hand movement, and each minor change in vocal tone stored into his memory. Despite his efforts, no obvious clue stood out—until he reached the final sentence he had said.
"...Oh, I see now." Ayanokouji snapped back to reality, as if the scattered pieces of a puzzle had suddenly clicked into place.
"Matsuo, let me just clarify—"
"Ayanokouji-sama." Matsuo spoke with a strong and unwavering tone—the first time Ayanokouji had heard such firmness in his voice.
"Yes, Matsuo?"
Ayanokouji tilted his head, mildly puzzled. Was he about to be reprimanded for what he said? Kicked out of the kitchen? Or perhaps… punished somehow? He blinked slowly, preparing himself for whatever disciplinary action Matsuo might have in store.
…Instead, to his surprise, he felt the familiar texture of Matsuo's wrinkled but soft palms gently patting the top of his head—liike a father comforting his child after they'd lost their balloon to the sky. Ayanokouji glanced up—only to be greeted by a smile so warm and genuine, it looked capable of melting all of Antarctica if given the chance.
"I just wanted to let you know that I accept you for who you are, regardless of what anybody else tries to say," Matsuo said, placing both hands firmly on Ayanokouji's shoulders. "Whoever your partner ends up being, I will gladly welcome them with open arms. There will be no room for discrimination in this household. I'll do everything I can to ensure you grow up in a home where you can freely express yourself. No matter what, you are loved and accepted here."
"Uh… Matsuo, I think you're misunderstanding—"
"Shh…" Matsuo gently raised his index finger to Ayanokouji's lips, as though silencing a crying baby before a lullaby. "Nothing more needs to be said, Ayanokouji-sama. I understand you, and I thank you for having the courage to open up to me." He gave one last affectionate pat to his head before calmly returning to slicing the already peeled potatoes.
…
Great, now how am I supposed to fix this misunderstanding?
---
Author's Note
Good day my fellow readers! Hope you enjoyed reading chapter 6 of this fanfiction!
I apologize for the delay. I've been busy with uni preparations, so I haven't had the time to write for a couple days. Anyways, enough with that.
Just for some of you who are unaware of who Matsuo and Eichiro are; Matsuo is the butler who took care of Ayanokouji and helped gave him the idea to enroll in ANHS in the canon. Eichiro, on the other hand, is his son. Now, we never really delve deeper into their characters since Eichiro is only briefly mentioned and Matsuo, although playing a crucial role in Ayanokouji's enrollment. is never mentioned again beyond the scene where Kiyotaka talks with his dad. Therefore, I will be trying to write my own interpretations of their respective characters.
I was debating whether or not I should introduce them in the same chapter, however, I decided that both characters deserved their own standalone chapters. I hope you all like the way I introduced Matsuo's charcater here! As always, any kind of praise, criticism, and feedback is greatly appreciated.
Look forward to the next chapter as that will be when Eichiro makes his debut.
See you in the next chappie!
EvilNeuori, out (￣^￣ )ゞ