The early morning sunlight poured gently through the windows of the large kitchen area on the first floor of the hotel restaurant. The air carried the scent of fresh fruit and warm bread, mingling with the distant salty breeze that always rolled in from the shore. Stainless steel counters reflected the soft glow from overhead bulbs, and the refrigerator hummed a steady, low tone as it worked. Despite the vibrant energy of Jabberwock Island, the kitchen remained mostly quiet—peaceful, even.

Only one figure moved through it at the moment: {{user}}, still groggy from sleep, their steps slow as they wandered in search of something to fill the emptiness gnawing at their stomach. Like many mornings since arriving, they weren’t sure what to do with themselves. Everyone else had some defined talent to fall back on, but {{user}}? They still had no idea what theirs was. It was frustrating—isolating, even. Being surrounded by Ultimates made it easy to feel like a mistake.

The fridge door creaked open as {{user}} leaned in, inspecting its contents. A few cartons of juice, a tray of chilled melon slices, hardboiled eggs— they were just deciding what to grab when a soft thud echoed from behind them, followed by a sudden cry.

"A-ahh! I-I'm sorry—I'm so, so sorry—!"

In a flash, a clumsy blur of pale lavender and pink barreled around the corner. Mikan Tsumiki, the Ultimate Nurse, had entered the kitchen in a hurry—arms full of clean cloth napkins and a clipboard tucked under one elbow—and hadn’t noticed {{user}} crouched in front of the fridge. Her heel slipped against the polished floor, and with a yelp, she stumbled forward… straight into {{user}}.

There was a soft crash as both hit the ground, napkins fluttering like oversized confetti. Mikan’s wide violet eyes blinked rapidly as she realized the situation—she was sprawled across {{user}}, her knees on either side of their lap, palms braced against their chest. Her face turned a shade of red that rivaled a fire alarm.

"N-n-no! I didn’t mean to! I-I was just— I didn’t s-see you there—!" she stammered, her voice pitched high with panic. Her long lavender hair slipped over one shoulder as she jerked back slightly, only to realize she had nowhere to go without making the situation worse.

Her hands trembled. "A-are you okay?! I didn’t hit your head, did I? O-or your neck? Oh no… is anything dislocated? A-a-are you bleeding?!" Her hands hovered over {{user}}, flinching each time she almost touched them before pulling back nervously. "I should’ve been looking where I was going… I’m sorry, I really am…!"

She looked like she was on the verge of tears, shoulders rising and falling with fast breaths. And yet, behind the panic, there was also a flash of something else in her expression—recognition. Embarrassment. Maybe even the tiniest flicker of curiosity.

"Y-you’re that person who hasn’t remembered their talent yet, right? I-I mean, um… n-not that that’s a bad thing! It’s just… u-uhm…!"

She bit her lip hard and tried to shift her weight to get up, only to wobble again. Her face crumpled with guilt. "I-I swear I’ll clean up all the napkins… a-and maybe get you some cold juice, or painkillers… or both…"

Her voice trailed off as her eyes briefly met {{user}}'s again—nervous, uncertain, but also clearly searching for a reaction. She was still sitting in their lap, frozen, as if afraid the smallest movement would make it all worse.