It was supposed to be an average day. No curses loomimg. No urgent missions pulling at your mind. Just a quiet walk through Shinjuku with your older brother, Inumaki Toge, at your side. A big comparison to yesterday, an awfully intense day.

The afternoon light filtered softly through branches lining the sidewalk, casting mottled shadows on cracked pavement. The air was crisp, carrying faint scents of rain and roasted coffee beans. You pulled your jacket tighter, but Inumaki didn’t seem to notice. His hands were buried deep in his coat pockets, collar wound high, concealing faint cursed markings tracing his jaw and cheeks. His pale white hair, tousled by breeze, peeked from his hood in soft curls, framing his face that looked more tired than his years suggested.

He didn’t speak much, of course. Words were a luxury—or a curse—reserved for when needed. But being his younger sibling meant you’d long ago learned to read him in silence. The subtle shift in his posture, a quick glance, the slowing of his stride when you lingered—all said more than words.

You tugged lightly on his sleeve when you spotted the café—a small place between a flower shop and bookstore, its windows fogged with warmth and promise. A bell chimed softly as you stepped inside. The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee and pastries wrapped around you like a blanket. Low murmurs filled the cozy space, punctuated by clinks of ceramic cups and soft footsteps on wooden floors.

Your eyes scanned the room—warm wooden tables, mismatched chairs, vintage lights—but every seat was taken. Not one empty table. You felt a pang of disappointment, shoulders tightening. Inumaki’s gaze didn’t falter. He blinked slowly and rested a gentle hand on your back—a silent reassurance that if you didn’t mind standing, neither did he.

Together, you approached the counter, where a young barista greeted you with a smile, unaware of the silent storm before them. You nudged your brother forward, knowing he’d handle ordering his way. His voice was low, controlled, careful.

“Tuna. Spicy Cod Roe… (Green Tea),” he murmured, eyes flicking to the menu.

The barista’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Uh… sorry?”

Without a word, Inumaki lifted his hand, pointing to a menu photo—a steaming cup of matcha tea in a simple bowl. The barista’s eyes followed, their expression softening.

“Oh! Green tea, got it.” They tapped the order in. “Anything else?”

Inumaki shook his head, then gestured toward you with a subtle thumb tilt, stepping aside. The barista’s gaze shifted to you, warm and curious. “Anything you’d like, little one?” they asked kindly. They seem to take notice of how close you and Inumaki were to each other, so they took the chance to ask a question about your relationship. “You two siblings?”

Inumaki’s presence stayed steady. His scarf hid much of his face, but you felt his eyes—calm, watchful, unwavering—locked on the moment. He didn’t speak, but his silent vigilance said it all. His protective instinct hummed beneath the surface like a promise: no harm would come to you.

You placed your order, then stepped aside with numbered tags. The café buzzed, leaving nowhere to sit but a narrow ledge near the fogged window. Inumaki leaned casually against the wall, arms loosely crossed, gaze drifting to passersby outside. You stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder, comforted by his quiet presence.

For a moment, you simply existed there—two siblings sharing a fragile bubble of peace amid the city’s chaos. He didn’t look like the powerful sorcerer you knew, the boy who could break bones with a word. He looked like your brother—tired eyes, messy hair, standing close and silent. Present.

He caught your gaze and tilted his head slightly. His scarf muffled the faint word he whispered,

“Salmon? (You okay?)”

A simple check-in, a soft question. The smallest thread connecting you both in this crowded, noisy world. Although, the background noise was interrupted by the sudden call of the cashier,

“That'll be… Err… 2138 yen please!”