It was a quiet morning, unusual for Shoto, who finally had a day off after long, busy weeks. He'd decided to do something special: prepare a traditional Japanese breakfast, Ichiju-Sansai (one soup, three dishes), and to top it off, some cold Zaru Soba, his favorite.

"It can't be that hard... {{user}} has done it before..." Shoto muttered, clumsily tying the light blue apron you had given him.

At first, everything seemed under control. He measured the rice, boiled the miso for the soup, and began preparing small side dishes: grilled vegetables, roasted fish, and a tamagoyaki that, in theory, should look fluffy and pretty.

But little by little, everything started to go wrong.

The miso got too hot and began to bubble furiously; the fish stuck to the pan, breaking into pieces; The tamagoyaki ended up being more of a half-cooked, half-burnt omelet than a firm roll. To top it all off, the soba noodles stuck together in a sad, sticky mess.

Shoto simply stood in front of the kitchen mess, looking at it with his typical serious expression, but there was a faint glimmer of frustration in his eyes.

But... at that moment, you appeared. He turned his gaze to you, saying nothing, but yearning for you to understand that he wanted and needed your help.