The sun has yet to rise, the world still bathed in the deep blue of pre-dawn. Nowa woke up, sitting upright with a silent yawn. He looked down at his lap. A cat girl was sleeping soundly on him.
'Huh? Another furry cat cosplayer? Didn't I pet a cat last night? Strange...' He rose slightly. 'Ugh, why you have to sleep near my dick.'
With a gentleness that contrasts with his current demeanor, he carefully picked her up, placed her on the futon where he had slept, and tucked the blankets around her. Nowa stood fully, his spine cracking softly as he stretched.
"Another day, another shithole to live," he muttered to the silent room. He picked up his coat on the table and wore it.
Then the door slid open with practiced care, ensuring it made no sound, and he stepped outside into the cool air.
"Breakfast a day keeps the tummy from eating you away," he hummed to himself, a nonsensical rhyme as he made his way toward the storage shed.
The storage shed was just as he had left it: slightly dusty, organized in its own chaotic way. He ignored the food stocks, his eyes scanning the shelves until they landed on a small, worn-out wooden stool, one leg splintered and unstable.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. A simple problem. A simple fix.
"An upbeat song in the morning would've given me a better morning than this shitty current one." He muttered as he rolled up his sleeves, the Liquid Nano Armament flowing down under his skin. Crouching down, he placed a hand on the splintered leg. The liquid nano flow seeped into the damaged wood like water, mending the fibers, fusing the splinters. In moments, the leg was whole again. As the nano-machines retracted, they flowed and reshaped in his palm, forming a sleek, silent vacuum cleaner.
"At least clean your shed, lazy miko," he muttered to the empty air.
Sitting on the now-sturdy stool, he let the vacuum, tethered to him by a thin, black tendril, glide across the floor and shelves. It made no motor sound, only a soft, rhythmic shhhhh like water over stones. With the precise control of a puppeteer, he guided it through every corner, cleaning the shed thoroughly, methodically.
Finally, he stood up and surveyed her food stocks. All of it was heavy fare for noon and night, noodles, rice, dried vegetables. No eggs. Nothing for a simple breakfast.
"What the hell, who doesn't eat breakfast?" he muttered to the shelves. "That's a one-way ticket to a grumpy, rumbling demise... Bruh."
As if on cue, a familiar boundary rift opened beside him. He didn't even startle, he merely turning his head with a blank look as Ran leaned out, calmly handing him a full small basket of fresh eggs.
He took the small basket, his brow furrowed in genuine bewilderment. "...Okay? Why?"
"It's preferable we provide you with a natural egg than to allow you to conjure one for yourself," Ran stated, her voice as matter-of-fact. "And it is... a thanks. For what you did for Chen."
Before he could form a reply, she retreated, and the border sealed shut, leaving him alone in the shed holding a small basket of eggs.
He stared at the spot where the rift had been, then down at the eggs. A long, slow blink.
"...Right then," he murmured to the empty air. "Sunny side up it is."
He took a cooking pot and filled it with some rice and found a pan and oil. He goes back to the main shrine where the kitchen is located, he did not close the sliding door towards the shed, and soon the steam of the rice and sizzle of cooking eggs filled the kitchen. He seasoned them simply. Once plated on the rice, the yolks gleaming like tiny suns, he placed extra plates on the counter, just in case and walked back into the living room.
He entered to find Chen gone and the futon neatly organized. He stared at the tidy bedding for a long moment.
"Huh. So that was Chen. And Ran somethin' somethin'," he muttered. He shrugged and placed his dish on the low table, sitting down to eat.
On the other side of the screen door, Reimu woke, drawn from sleep by an unfamiliar morning scent. She sat up. Her hair was a mess, and she blinked slowly.
"A... breakfast? In my shrine? In the morning?" she mumbled, before she remembered. "Oh... Right, It's that idiot." She stood, lazily fixing herself, her robes and tied her iconic big red ribbon, then followed the enticing aroma of cooked eggs and rice.
Reimu slid the door open. Nowa was at the low table, halfway through his rice with eggs. He didn't look up, just gestured with his spoon towards the kitchen the two spare plates he'd set out.
"Yours is in the kitchen. Didn't know how you liked them, so I didn't plate it," he said around a mouthful. "Rice and pan's still warm."
Reimu paused, a complex series of emotions flickering across her face: suspicion, confusion, and the undeniable pull of a hot meal she didn't have to cook. The free meal won out. She wordlessly walked to the kitchen, returning a moment later with her own plate of rice topped with sunny-side-up eggs.
She sat down across from him. The silence that followed wasn't the heavy, tense silence of before. It was the quiet of two people sharing a meal, a simple, profound truce held together by the universal language of breakfast. The only sounds were the clink of utensils and the morning chorus of birds outside and the blooming sun rays.
After a few bites, Reimu spoke, her voice less guarded than usual. "The shed is clean."
Nowa glanced up, swallowing. "It was a mess."
"...Yeah." She took another bite. "The stool's fixed."
"Was wobbly."
Another silence. Then, Reimu asked, "Why?"
Nowa finally met her gaze, his expression unreadable but not hostile. "Boredom. And a broken stool is a stupid thing to have in a place that's supposed to be a sanctuary."
He went back to his food, leaving Reimu to ponder his words. He hadn't done it for her, not directly. He'd done it for the idea of the place. It was a distinction she understood deeply. It was the Hakurei Miko's entire job to protect the idea of the place.
Then, he ate his last bite, the simple meal a concluded ritual. He picked up his plate, stood, and walked towards the kitchen and placed it in the sink. Then he exits, walking past her in the room towards the backyard.
"I'm gonna start on that roomba outside. Just in case you mind the hammering," he said, not waiting for a reply nor looking back.
"Sure. But you're cleaning up your own mess afterwards," Reimu called after him, her tone as usual was deadpan.
He gave no indication he'd heard, moving into a sun-dappled clearing behind the shrine. From his rune pouch, he pulled not just tools, but a craftsman's sanctuary: a heavy, scarred anvil that settled on the earth with a thud, a rune-etched flame heater that glowed to life with a soft whump, and a water cooler that shimmered with condensing frost. Finally, a raw, unshaped metallic ingot emerged, held in his hand.
The Hammer of Creation materialized in his grip. He began to heat the ingot until it glowed a molten orange. Then, the hammer fell and so did the mana, Reality dancing around him.
Clang. Ting. Clang.
It was not a random noise, but the first note in a rhythm. And with it, a voice, a low, raspy whisper that seemed to be pulled from a deep, forgotten well within him.
"Kurayaminonakade, jinsei wa maiagaru..."
Reimu, who had picked up the plate, then hearing the noise, stopped to see his work.
"Honō to ikita tan'ya-ba..."
Clang. Ping.
'Is he singing?' Reimu wondered. The wind rustled the leaves, and Marisa landed beside her. "Woah, is he making stuff?!" she yelped, only to be hushed by Reimu's sharp gesture and a pointed finger to her lips. Marisa fell silent, her eyes wide.
Nowa, lost in his world of heat and metal, continued his whisper-song, each line punctuated by the ring of hammer on steel.
"Hibana ga tobidashi, naibu no yami o yaki tsukushimasu."
Ting. Tang.
"Hanmā wa odori, tetsu wa utau..."
Clang. Ping.
"Chīn, karan, pin, chin to iu oto to tomoni."
"Anata wa monodesu. Anata wa inochideshita."
Clang. Ching.
"Omoiyari to moeru yōna yokubō o hagukumu wakusei ni umare..."
Ting. Clang.
"Tetsu o kitaete, mizu de hiyashite..."
Sizzle. He quenched a section, steam hissing like a sigh.
"Jikan wa nagaremasuga, dōjini sono ba ni tomarimasu."
Clang. Ching.
"Tetsu kara ingotto e, ingotto kara disuku e..."
The shape was now unmistakably a disk, the roomba taking form under his relentless, careful strikes.
"Disuku kara karozu e, karozu kara ikita mono e..."
A long pause, the only sound the crackle of the heater and his steady breathing. Then, the hammer rose and fell once more, the final lines of his song a soft benediction.
"Seimei wa kurayami o tōshite kagayaku..."
Clang. Clang.
"Jinsei ni fukki shi, gimu to naru."
Clang. Ching.
"Sekai yo, odoru seimei no sekai ni mukatte utai nasai."
The song died, leaving only the rhythmic hammering. The poet was gone, replaced once more by the focused blacksmith, his entire being poured into the final stages of giving form to the disk in his hands. The final hammer strike echoed into a sudden, ringing silence. Nowa held the now-complete disk, a sleek, metallic, and intricately engraved with tiny, almost invisible runes. He dismissed the Hammer of Creation with a flick of his wrist and picked up the roomba with his Liquid Nano Armament, the black tendril weaving over its surface for a final, seamless polish.
He then reached into his rune pouch and produced the core component: a small, glowing crystal. He pressed it into a slot on the roomba's underside. There was a soft, resonant hum as the runes along its edge flared with a gentle blue light before fading to a dormant gleam.