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"What's wrong, Sis? You're really not yourself today."
Gepard's voice was heavy with suspicion. Seeing his brother's hand inching toward the cabinet handle, Serval's heart nearly leaped out of her chest. She pivoted, slamming her back against the wooden door to block his path.
"That side! Oh, right! Remember those potted plants you accidentally killed a few months ago? I piled them all in there while I was cleaning, and they smell... frankly, like a Fragmentum dumpster. You definitely don't want to open that. Trust me."
Gepard paused, his nose wrinkling slightly as if he could already smell the imagined rot. Though his tactical instincts were screaming that something was off, he rarely questioned his sister's personal boundaries.
"Alright, Sis. I'll take your word for it. I'll be going then."
He offered a stiff nod and turned toward the exit. But the universe—and a certain pink-haired girl—had other plans.
BANG!
The cabinet door didn't just open; it exploded outward. A dark blur flew through the air, colliding with Serval and pinning her directly to the workshop floor with a resounding thud.
"..."
Kenta found himself in a position that was difficult to explain. His hands were braced on either side of Serval's head, his right knee was planted firmly on the floor between her legs, and his left knee was pinning down the hem of her shirt. Serval lay beneath him, her hands curled reflexively above her head, her expression a perfect portrait of "What just happened?"
Inside the cramped darkness of the cabinet, Kenta and March 7th were still occupied with the sheer lack of personal space.
"Stinky Kenta," March whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to break the suffocating silence. "Even if this girl is impossibly cute, you better not be having any... bad thoughts."
"Tsk." Kenta curled his lip in the dark. "Your own face is radiating enough heat to melt a Stellaron, and you're lecturing me? If anyone's thinking 'bad thoughts,' it's the girl currently using me as a space heater."
"You! Stinky Kenta!" March looked up indignantly, meeting his reddish eyes. Even in the shadows, his smirk was visible, and for a second, she felt her brain stall. Why does a guy like him have to be this handsome? It's cheating.
Just as she was about to snap back at him, the entire cabinet suddenly groaned and tilted.
Serval, leaning back against the door to block Gepard, had accidentally shifted her weight too far. The cabinet lurched. Kenta was thrown forward by the sudden momentum, and March 7th lost her balance at the exact same time.
In the dark, narrow confines of the falling cabinet, their lips met.
"!!!"
March 7th felt her brain turn into a bowl of static. The reality of the moment was too much to process—the warmth of his breath, the soft, electric pressure against her lips. Her heart rate didn't just climb; it broke the speedometer. For a long, suspended second, the world outside didn't exist.
Kenta was equally paralyzed. The sensation was like biting into a soft, sweet marshmallow—unexpected and far too distracting.
Finally, March 7th snapped back to reality. Her body gave a violent, reflex-driven shudder. Her eyes regained their clarity, and with a surge of pure, panicked adrenaline, she shoved her hands forward with everything she had.
And that was how Kenta became a projectile.
The good news: Because of the angle of the door, Gepard never saw March 7th hiding in the back of the cabinet.
The bad news: Kenta was currently "mounting" the Captain's sister in the middle of the shop floor.
Kenta watched Gepard's face cycle through a dizzying array of emotions: shock, confusion, denial, realization, murderous intent, and finally—to Kenta's horror—a look of profound relief.
Gepard didn't even look at Kenta. He looked at Serval. "Sis... I didn't expect you to keep a secret like this from me."
"???"
Not just Serval, but Kenta and the hidden members of the crew were utterly lost. What secret? Say something that makes sense, Gepard!
Serval gestured frantically for Kenta to get off her. He scrambled to his feet and pulled her up, both of them staring at the Captain in bewilderment.
"Little brother, what are you talking about?" Serval asked, dusting off her skirt.
Gepard waved a hand, his expression turning strangely righteous. "Alright, Sis. Kenta. There's no point in hiding it now. I see the 'depth' of your connection."
"Misunderstanding!" Kenta tried to interject.
"It's okay," Gepard continued, talking over him. "I find it hard to imagine you two together, but Sis, you've always had your own judgment. If this is what you've decided, I will support you."
Serval and Kenta shared a look of pure, unadulterated dread as they realized where Gepard's "astounding wisdom" had led him.
"Wait, Gepard, I'm not marrying your sister—" Kenta started.
Gepard's face darkened instantly. He lunged forward, grabbing Kenta by the collar. "What did you say? Are you telling me you won't take responsibility?! After what I just witnessed?! I misjudged you, Kenta!"
"Are you actually dense?" Kenta hissed, struggling against the grip.
"Little brother! You've got it all wrong!" Serval cried.
"Sis! He's trying to back out, and you're still defending him?!" Gepard looked at her with heartache, then shoved Kenta back. "You don't need to lie. I have eyes. I saw the passion in that... tumble."
He turned toward the door, stopping only to deliver one final blow. "I will be there for the wedding. Don't make me bring the Silvermane Guards to escort you to the altar, Kenta."
With that, Gepard marched out of the workshop and toward the front lines, his heart presumably at peace.
Kenta and Serval stood in the silent workshop, arms crossed, the atmosphere vibrating with awkwardness. They both knew Gepard. He was a Landau—once he decided on a "truth," he would defend it with the tenacity of a shield-wall.
"So..." Kenta said, trying to break the tension with a weak joke. "I guess from now on, my name is Kenta Landau?"
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