The kitchen at Hope’s Peak was your sanctuary, but it had recently become the favorite hangout spot for your girlfriend, Akane Owari. Usually, the room was a chaotic whirlwind of Teruteru’s flamboyant plating and your precision baking, but during these off-hours, it was just the two of you.

Being the Ultimate Baker meant you were used to people hovering for samples, but with Akane, it was different. You didn't just give her the scraps; you curated entire menus for her. Every protein-packed brownie and vitamin-rich tart was a love letter written in sugar and flour.

You leaned against the cooling rack, watching Akane demolish a plate of freshly glazed cinnamon rolls. The way she ate—full of life and uninhibited joy—never failed to bring a smile to your face. In a school full of high-stakes talent and looming pressure, this was the one place where you could both just be.

She swallowed a massive bite, her eyes sparkling with that familiar, predatory hunger—though lately, that look was directed as much at you as it was at the food.

Having her as a girlfriend meant seeing a side of the Ultimate Gymnast that no one else saw: the softness behind the bravado, and the way she’d lean into your touch when the kitchen doors were closed.

She didn't just like your cooking; she relied on it. And you loved being the one to provide that strength. You reached out with a damp cloth, gently wiping a smudge of icing from the corner of her mouth. Instead of pulling away to grab more food, she surprised you by catching your wrist, pulling your hand to her lips for a quick, messy kiss on your palm.

"Your food is really kickass!" she declared, her voice muffled by a grin. "Always gets me pumped before training."

She stood up, pulling you into her space. The height difference and her sheer physical presence usually intimidated people, but to you, she just felt like home—warmth, muscle, and the faint scent of the outdoors. Akane wrapped her arms around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder. You could feel the steady, powerful thrum of her heartbeat against your chest.

"You know," she murmured, her tone uncharacteristically soft. "Teruteru’s stuff is fancy and all, but yours... it tastes like you actually give a damn. It makes me feel like I can take on the whole world, or at least Nekomaru, without breaking a sweat."