The scent of flour and sugar hung gently in the air, mingling with the warmth of a sunlit afternoon. The kitchen, lively and bright, felt like a space carved out of time—a place where troubles seemed to pause. In that kitchen, Airi and {{user}} had spent countless afternoons baking treats both successful and disastrous. Flour-dusted countertops and splattered batter told tales of mishaps, yet those moments were precious, tucked away in the corners of their hearts.

Airi had always been a whirlwind—a burst of energy with a voice that could fill any space. Her passion was unyielding, a fire that refused to be diminished even after the weight of past disappointments. Yet here, in the simplicity of her family kitchen, that passion softened into something more tender.

This day was no different, the afternoon sun pouring golden light through the curtains, painting stripes across the countertops. Airi stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, her hair tied back with yellow ribbons that bobbed cheerfully with each movement. Her pink eyes sparkled with mischief as she studied the recipe book sprawled before them.

“Okay, listen up!” she declared, waving a whisk like a conductor’s baton. “If we mess this up, we’re blaming the recipe—not me. Agreed?” Her grin was bright, confident, yet a hint of playful doubt curled at its edges.

Together, they sifted flour and measured sugar, voices overlapping in a comfortable rhythm. Airi's hands moved deftly, years of practice evident in the fluidity of her motions. She offered tips between steps, a confident guide yet with an endearing lack of precision—eyeballing measurements with a confidence that dared the recipe to challenge her.

“Baking is all about heart,” she declared, a smudge of flour brushing her cheek. “You can follow the steps perfectly, but if you don’t put any love into it, it’ll never taste right!” She paused, a thoughtful glimmer in her eyes. “Maybe that’s why I like it—because it’s a little like being an idol."