The next morning arrived without ceremony, slipping into the apartment the same way it had for the past few days, quiet yet alive in small, ordinary ways that felt almost comforting after everything that had happened. Sunlight filtered through the curtains in soft strips, laying pale gold across the floor and furniture, while the faint clatter of utensils from the kitchen created a gentle rhythm that blended with the low hum of the city outside.
The scent came next.
Warm.
Simple.
Ginger porridge.
It drifted through the air slowly, wrapping itself around the space, filling the gaps between silence and movement, grounding the morning in something real and steady.
In his room, Arceus stood in front of the mirror.
Still.
Focused.
His fingers adjusted the collar of his blazer carefully, smoothing out a crease that wasn't even noticeable unless someone looked closely. The fabric felt slightly stiff under his touch, a little outdated compared to modern styles, but clean, pressed, and presentable.
Good enough.
His pants were ironed sharply, the folds crisp, and his shoes had been cleaned until they carried a faint sheen. None of it was flashy, none of it expensive, but each detail had been handled with intention, as if he was trying to build something from the smallest pieces available to him.
Today wasn't just another day.
It was a step.
A small one.
But a step forward nonetheless.
He exhaled quietly, his gaze lingering on his reflection for a moment longer, as if confirming something within himself, before turning and stepping out of his room.
The kitchen came into view immediately.
Serestia stood there, her back facing him, her figure framed by the morning light as she stirred something slowly, the soft sound of the spoon against the pot steady and repetitive. Strands of her hair had slipped loose, brushing lightly against her cheek as she worked, unaware of his gaze lingering for just a second too long.
"Morning," Arceus said, his tone easy, carrying a small, natural warmth.
There was a slight pause.
"Ah… yes. Morning."
Her reply was quiet, almost hesitant, and she didn't turn around, her attention remaining fixed on what she was doing as if that task held more weight than the conversation itself.
Arceus smiled faintly.
Not bothered.
Not yet.
"I'll be back by lunch," he added casually, adjusting his sleeve as he spoke.
A small nod followed from her.
Barely visible.
But present.
That was enough.
He didn't push further, turning toward the door, his steps steady, his mind already shifting toward the tasks ahead.
He reached for the handle—
And just as his fingers brushed against it—
The door opened.
A soft creak.
And she stepped in.
Celia.
Fresh from her morning run.
Her black tracksuit clung to her body like a second skin, the fabric darkened in places where sweat had soaked through, tracing the lines of her movement. The zipper sat halfway down, revealing the tank top beneath, which stuck lightly against her skin, rising and falling with her breathing.
Her ponytail swayed behind her, damp strands catching the light as she moved, and a faint heat seemed to follow her into the room, the lingering energy of motion not yet faded.
Arceus blinked.
Once.
Then again.
Not out of confusion.
But because his eyes had instinctively taken in more than he intended.
"Hey," she said, lifting a towel to her neck, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat. "Morning."
He straightened slightly, forcing his gaze upward, anchoring it firmly on her face.
"Hi," he replied, his voice composed, though a small delay betrayed the effort it took.
Celia noticed.
Of course she did.
One brow lifted slightly as her eyes flicked over him, taking in the blazer, the pressed clothes, the effort.
"All dressed up this early?" she asked, her tone light but curious. "Where are you off to?"
"Research," Arceus answered, clearing his throat softly as he adjusted his stance. "I need to look into feed for avian-type monsters."
A brief pause.
"And… I'm heading to the Association. Planning to get a Hunter license."
The towel in Celia's hand stilled mid-motion.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in something closer to disbelief.
"A Hunter license?" she repeated, her tone sharpening just a fraction. "I thought your goal was to become a rich pet shop owner."
Arceus let out a small, dry chuckle, nodding once.
"That's still the plan."
He shifted his weight slightly, his gaze steady now, grounded.
"But right now…" he continued, his voice lowering just a little, "…I'm just a middleman."
The words carried weight.
"I buy from someone. I sell to someone else. That's it."
He paused.
Let the thought settle.
"There's no control in that. No real growth. It's not sustainable."
His eyes hardened slightly, not with aggression, but with clarity.
"I want to source the eggs myself," he said. "If I can cut the cost to zero… the profit becomes mine."
A quiet beat followed.
Not empty.
Measured.
Celia's expression shifted.
The earlier casualness faded, replaced by something more serious, more grounded in reality.
"But…" she said slowly, her voice softer now, "you don't have mana."
The words landed plainly.
No decoration.
No sugar.
"You're a plainfolk."
Arceus nodded.
Firm.
Unwavering.
"I know."
A pause.
"I'm still going to do it."
He met her gaze directly now, no hesitation in his eyes.
"And I have a plan."
For a moment—
She didn't speak.
She simply looked at him.
Studied him.
Weighed something unspoken.
Then—
Her gaze shifted briefly down the hallway.
Then back to him.
"Let's go together," she said.
Arceus blinked.
"Huh?"
There was no explanation.
No buildup.
"Just wait," she added, already stepping past him. "I know someone. I'll introduce you."
His thoughts stalled for a second.
"You… do?"
A small pause.
Then—
"…okay."
Celia nodded once, satisfied, a faint smile touching her lips before she disappeared into her room, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
***
In the kitchen—
Serestia remained still.
For a moment.
Then—
Her eyes flicked toward Celia's door.
Then back to the pot.
She shook her head lightly, almost to herself.
"And she says they are just friends…"
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
***
In the hallway, Arceus stood alone.
Waiting.
His heartbeat had shifted.
Faster.
Unsteady.
He wasn't sure why.
Was it because of Celia?
The sudden change of plans?
Or—
Something else?
His gaze drifted unconsciously toward the kitchen.
Toward Serestia's back.
He lingered there for a few seconds, as if expecting something.
A glance.
A word.
Anything.
But—
Nothing came.
She didn't turn.
Didn't react.
Just continued stirring.
Steady.
Distant.
The silence pressed lightly against him.
Then—
He looked away.
***
Exactly twenty minutes later—
The door opened again.
Celia stepped out.
And for a moment—
Arceus forgot what he was thinking.
She had changed.
Completely.
Gone was the sharp, athletic edge of her earlier appearance.
Now, she wore clean jeans, a light blouse that fell softly around her waist, and a cardigan draped over her shoulders, softening the lines of her frame. Her hair was down, falling naturally around her face, catching the light in a way that made her look… different.
Not distant.
Not striking in a bold way.
But…
Approachable.
Like someone you'd see every day.
And want to.
Arceus stared.
Just for a second too long.
She's beautiful…
The thought slipped in quietly.
Uninvited.
Then—
He caught it.
And crushed it.
"No."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"No… what are you doing…"
His thoughts sharpened.
Focused.
"You want Serestia."
The reminder came firm.
Grounding.
"She's your goal."
Another breath.
"Celia is just…"
A pause.
"…your classmate."
"And your landlord."
"And someone who grew up differently than you."
The words lined up.
Order restored.
His expression steadied.
He stood up.
Celia adjusted the strap of her bag, meeting his gaze.
"Let's go?"
He brushed a hand through his hair, forcing a small smile.
"Yeah."
"Bye, Sera," Celia called out casually as she stepped out, not even turning back.
No reply came.
***
Only after the door closed—
Only after their footsteps faded—
Did Serestia move.
She exhaled.
Deep.
Relieved.
Her shoulders dropped slightly as she turned away from the stove, pressing a hand lightly against her chest.
"Finally…"
Her heartbeat thudded under her palm.
Loud.
Unfamiliar.
"Why…" she murmured, her brows knitting together, confusion flickering across her face, "why does he look like that…"
She frowned slightly, her fingers pressing into her cheek as if trying to steady her thoughts.
"He wasn't like this before…"
A pause.
"…was he?"
Her mind searched.
Compared.
Failed to settle.
"It's like…"
She hesitated.
"…he changed overnight."
Her heartbeat quickened again.
Not painfully.
But noticeably.
"And why…"
Her voice dropped further.
"…does it feel like this?"
She swallowed lightly.
"This isn't jealousy…"
She shook her head quickly.
"No. It's not that."
Her fingers pressed harder into her cheeks.
"…then what is it?"
The question lingered.
Unanswered.
As the scent of ginger porridge continued to drift through the quiet apartment, wrapping around her thoughts like a soft, stubborn fog.