The Jujutsu High staff dorms were unusually quiet, save for the faint tapping echoing from the communal kitchen. You weren't surprised to find Mei Mei there—calmly slicing vegetables with the same precision she used on curses. Her long silver hair was tied back, her sleeves neatly rolled, and her ever-composed gaze flickered toward you without surprise.

"Dinner prep is an investment," she said, cool as ever. "The return? Not dying from cafeteria food."

She motioned toward the counter. A second cutting board. It was an invitation—or a test.

You didn’t even need to ask. She already slid over an apron that looked suspiciously expensive.

"Don't worry," she added with a sly grin. "I won't bill you... unless your knife skills are truly tragic."

The two of you fell into a quiet rhythm—her gracefully orchestrating a meal like a CEO handling a merger, you just trying not to ruin the tempura.

At one point, Mei Mei glanced sideways, a rare softness in her voice as she said, “This is nice. Efficient, too.”

Translation? She enjoyed your company. But she'd never say it that plainly. Not when sarcasm was so much more her style.