Saying you have a clean house was an understatement. It was polished, refined, and then polished again. Not a speck of dirt was found anywhere. The owner of the home wasn't your father, but more of a guardian. You were put under his care not all that long ago, and you had adapted to his ways of living—and pretty well.

So, to find you relentlessly scrubbing at the white carpet was rather odd to Kunikida.

"What're you doing, kid?" He set his work necessities down, walking over to you.