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The tree’s glow had softened the room into a haze of mismatched colors, but now, the warm, savory smells of the kitchen were starting to draw everyone’s attention.
Seiko, who had been sipping cocoa with one leg crossed beneath her, abruptly slapped her knees and stood, brushing imaginary crumbs from her hands.
“Alright, slackers,” she declared, her voice cutting through the soft lull of the room. “Time to earn your keep. We’re making Christmas dinner, and if any of you so much as think about burning down my kitchen, you’ll answer to me.”
Aira, sprawled across the floor in an awkward starfish position, groaned theatrically. “Can’t we just order pizza? It’s festive. You know, like… cheese and…” She flailed an arm vaguely. “Toppings.”
“No,” Seiko said, deadpan, hands on her hips. “Pizza is for cowards. This is about tradition, teamwork, and…” She trailed off, narrowing her eyes at the mess on the coffee table. “...and cleaning up before we start, for god’s sake.”
Turbo Granny cackled from her perch on the couch, her skeletal hands holding a half-empty mug of cocoa. “Let the kids do it. I’m not lifting a finger. I’m supervising.”
“You’re supervising yourself right into getting stuck on dish duty,” Seiko retorted, jabbing a finger at the ghostly hag.
“Bold of you to assume I’ll do them,” Turbo Granny fired back with a toothy grin.
While they bickered, Momo got to her feet, brushing crumbs off her knees, and tugged on Okarun’s sleeve. “Come on,” she said, her voice tinged with reluctant amusement. “Let’s clean this up before Seiko loses her mind.”
Okarun didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled up, eager to make himself useful, though his attempts to clear the table were more awkward than effective. As he reached for the tray of cocoa mugs, his hand bumped against Momo’s again, and he froze.
“Relax,” she said, not looking at him as she stacked plates. “It’s just a tray. It won’t bite.”
“R-right,” Okarun muttered, his cheeks burning.
Once the living room was cleared, Seiko herded everyone into the kitchen like a drill sergeant leading a mismatched battalion.
The room, much like the rest of the house, was an explosion of clutter: mismatched pots and pans hung from hooks on the walls, the countertops were crowded with jars of spices, and the fridge hummed loudly, plastered with magnets and faded Polaroids.
D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E ,
“Here’s the deal,” Seiko said, grabbing an apron and tying it around her waist with an authoritative tug. “We’re making roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and something that vaguely resembles a salad. I don’t want to hear any complaints about effort. You—” She pointed at Aira. “You’re on chicken duty.”
Aira blinked, looking genuinely alarmed. “Me? You trust me with that?”
“No,” Seiko said flatly. “But you’re doing it anyway. Jiji, you’re on potatoes. Okarun—”
“Y-yes?” Okarun stammered, standing a little straighter.
“You’re in charge of peeling carrots. Think you can handle that without injuring yourself?”
Okarun’s chest puffed out indignantly. “Of course I can!”
“Good,” Seiko said, already turning to Momo. “You’re on salad. Keep it simple. And I swear, if Turbo Granny eats half the ingredients before it’s on the table, she’s banned from dessert.”
Turbo Granny snorted, leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin. “Like I’m scared of you.”
The kitchen descended into a whirlwind of activity. Aira hovered over the raw chicken like it might spring to life and attack her, holding a seasoning shaker in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. “So, uh… do I just… rub it?” she asked, squinting at the bird as if it were a math problem.
“Yes,” Seiko said from the stove, where she was melting butter in a pan. “And don’t forget to get under the skin.”
“Under the skin?” Aira echoed, her voice climbing an octave. “What am I, a surgeon?”
D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E ,
“You’re an amateur, and amateurs follow instructions.”
Meanwhile, Jiji leaned lazily against the counter, peeling potatoes with an impressive lack of urgency. Every so often, he flicked a potato skin at Aira, who retaliated by lobbing a fistful of rosemary in his direction.
Okarun, determined to prove his competence, attacked the carrots with laser focus. Unfortunately, his overzealous peeling sent orange shavings flying everywhere, including into Momo’s salad bowl.
“Hey!” Momo protested, shielding her bowl with her arm. “Watch it! I don’t need carrot confetti in my salad.”
“S-sorry!” Okarun said, fumbling to adjust his grip on the peeler. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” Momo said, cutting him off with a wave of her hand. Her tone was teasing, but not unkind. “Just aim that thing somewhere else, okay?”
“I’m aiming!”
“You’re not.”
As the two of them bickered, Seiko slid past them with the grace of someone used to navigating chaos, carrying a tray of roasting vegetables to the oven. She cast a sidelong glance at Turbo Granny, who was munching on a raw celery stalk.
“Are you seriously just going to stand there and eat?” Seiko asked, arching an eyebrow.
D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E ,
Turbo Granny grinned, her teeth sharp against the green of the celery. “I told you. Supervising.”
By the time the food was ready, the kitchen looked like a war zone. The counters were dusted with flour and spices, stray potato peels clung to the floor, and someone—probably Jiji—had drawn a smiley face in butter on the fridge.
But the meal itself was a triumph of chaotic teamwork. The chicken emerged golden and fragrant, the mashed potatoes were smooth and buttery, and the salad—despite Turbo Granny’s attempts to sabotage it—was crisp and colorful.
They crowded around the small dining table, squeezing in shoulder-to-shoulder, with Turbo Granny perched on the counter like an unruly cat. Plates were passed, jokes were exchanged, and the room buzzed with the kind of easy warmth that only came from shared effort and good company.
Okarun, seated next to Momo, watched her laugh at something Jiji said, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and felt a quiet sense of contentment settle over him. Maybe Christmas didn’t have to be perfect to be special. Maybe, just maybe, this was enough.