In Nowa's temporary room. Sakuya maintained her composure, though a micro-expression of long-suffering patience flickered across her face.
"The fork's purpose is simple, I assure you that. It does not require a grand announcement."
Nowa responded with a sly smirk. He gripped the fork in a reverse, dagger-like hold, stabbed the bread roll with definitive finality, and took a huge, unceremonious bite.
Sakuya blinked twice. '...Relax, Sakuya, relax… He's just provoking you. Don't let it get in our head.' She inhaled then exhaled.
"Mr. Beckitzer, that is not how one uses a fork."
Her curiosity, however, had been piqued by the pizza. She decided to use this as a teaching moment. With fluid grace, she took an empty small plate from the tray, arranged it before her, and then used the knife and fork to expertly transfer a single slice of pizza onto the plate.
"This," she stated, "is how one presents food in a formal setting."
Nowa chuckled around his mouthful of bread. "Yeah, yeah. My bad, I guess," he shrugged.
Sakuya then meticulously sliced a small portion of the pizza on her plate and ate it with the fork. The moment it touched her tongue, her eyes slightly widened. The robust, salty, and savory flavors were a stark contrast to the subtle, refined cuisine of the Mansion.
"The Dough-omato-meat-Cheese Disc's flavour is… rather… colorful," she said.
Nowa choked, tried to hide a silent laugh of the name-he-made-up by lowering his head to look like nod, finishing the last of the bread.
'...I guess my humor naming is now a thing… Still, their bread does taste awesome. I'll give them that.'
He then turned to the potato salad, and with a deliberate, almost thoughtful slowness, he began to eat it with the fork, this time, wielding it with formal usage. "It's meant to be that way," he said, a note of quiet pride in his voice.
Sakuya noticed the shift immediately. The unspoken acknowledgment of her world, this small surrender, did not go unnoticed. A small, imperceptible smile touched her lips, was there and gone in a heartbeat, replaced by her neutral mask. She took another, more considered bite of the pizza, remembering and analyzing its robust, foreign flavor to memory. Nowa glanced up and saw her engaged with the food. For a brief second, the customary cynicism in his eyes softened.
They ate in silence, it wasn't uncomfortable either, it's just a new experience for both of them. One experiencing a new flavor, the other re-experiencing eating with a company of familiar presence, more specifically because she looked like his adoptive mother which complicates and slightly softened his tension.
Sakuya finished one pizza and dabbed herself with her handkerchief. Then she took a cup on the tray and poured tea into it. Nowa smelled the tea, looked up, one eyebrow raised. She drank it with grace, he finally broke the silence.
"What's with you people with tea?" He asked, genuinely confused. "Like yesterday, Reimu and Marisa gave me tea, now you too. Is this a ritual I am missing? No hate though, just asking."
Sakuya lowered her cup, her expression thoughtful. "Tea is more than a beverage here, Mr. Beckitzer. It is a gesture of hospitality, a pause in the day, and an aid to digestion. It's embedded in our culture… In your world, do you not have a common drink to share between conversations?"
She took another sip, watching him over the rim of the cup. "Or do your people always move from one conflict to the next, without such… intervals?"
"...Pretty much," He averted his gaze.
She noted his response and took another sip.
"I have a question, if you don't mind."
Nowa took a bite of his potato salad, chewing with satisfaction. "We'll see 'bout it. So?"
Sakuya gave him a measured look, scanning his posture as he went for another bite.
"Are you afraid?"
Nowa blinked. "...What?"
She didn't repeat herself. She waited.
"Why would I be afraid? There's nothing I could do to change what's been given…"
"Change what's been given?" she repeated.
Nowa was silent.
"I see… Forget about it, Mr. Beckitzer." She took another sip.
"Is the room acceptable?"
He glanced at her. "...Why so many questions?"
She lowered her cup slightly. "It is only natural to ask a guest permitted by Lady Remilia. You need only ask if you require anything—"
"Right, right." He waved his free hand. "I don't need anything. I'm fine with whatever."
"You don't look like it."
He sighed. "I don't need anything, alright? I'm okay."
She searched his eyes, and what she found there didn't match his words.
"Okay… The choice is yours. But while you are within the mansion's reach, you are essentially part of us, whether you like it or not, Mr. Beckitzer."
Nowa was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting away. "...I don't think so."
She heard him. She took the last sip of her tea, empty now, and set the cup down. She didn't answer. Instead, she studied the pizza, noting its texture and size, already planning how she might recreate it. Nowa noticed her lingering gaze on the cheese and crust, and he read it as interest. So he did the only thing that made sense to him.
"Excuse me for a bit," he said.
Sakuya glanced at him. "Hm?"
Nowa turned his right palm upward. There was no smirk. "Give me the recipe for pepperoni pizza, written in Japanese letters," he commanded, his voice low.
The 50ms Author listened. The air above his palm shimmered, and atom by atom, a sheet of paper and dark ink manifested, the characters flowing onto the page as if written by an invisible hand. A faint paleness washed over his knuckles, the price paid for this piece of shared memory. He took the completed recipe with two fingers and held it out to Sakuya.
"Here," he said, his voice softer than before. "This is the recipe for this dish. And... thanks for the bread roll and potato salad, too."
Sakuya looked at the paper, then at Nowa's eyes, momentarily stunned into silence. The gesture was too significant to be met with mere words. She noted the familiar, sickly pale that flashed across his knuckles, the same tell as before. This gift, this piece of his world, was written with his own vitality.
She accepted it with both hands, her touch reverent, as if holding a sacred relic. A single, deep nod.
She then stood. "I must take my leave now. There is still much to attend to."
Nowa gave a noncommittal shrug. "Hmm. Yeah, sure."
"And here are your belongings." Sakuya produced his rune pouch from her apron's pocket and placed it on the empty side of the table. Then, with her other hand, she gracefully transferred another slice of pizza onto a small plate.
"I will be giving this to Lady Patchouli, if you don't mind."
"Okay…?" he said, a note of confusion in his voice as his hand closed around the pouch.
"And do call the fairies for your needs next time, Mr. Beckitzer," she instructed, deliberately leaving the tray and her used plate and cup on the table and pausing at the door.
"And minimize the use of your powers."
Nowa turned his head away, looking at the wall. "It's a pain to call when I can just do it myself."
Sakuya stood perfectly still in the doorway. "Still. Just call the maids."
Nowa was quiet for a long moment, his gaze still averted. The struggle was visible in the set of his shoulders. It was a small request, but it asked him to change one of his deeply embedded behaviors. Finally, a quiet, almost inaudible concession.
"...I'll try."
Sakuya offered a final, acknowledging nod. It was enough. Then, she exited, closing the door behind her and leaving Nowa alone with his thoughts.
Sakuya spotted a fairy maid dusting a vase. "You. Come here."
The fairy maid flinched, nearly dropping her duster. "Yes! Lady Sakuya!" She zipped over, hovering anxiously.
"Stand guard outside this room," Sakuya commanded, her voice low. "Our guest may call for assistance. I will inform the others of this duty."
The fairy bowed so deeply she nearly tumbled headfirst.
"Yes, Lady Sakuya!"
With a slight nod, Sakuya continued down the hall, her heels clicking softly towards the library.
Inside the room, Nowa stared at the closed door, then back at the unfinished meal. The two words he'd spoken—I'll try—echoed in his mind, now feeling like a chain.
He let out a weary sigh. "Bullshit," he muttered under his breath. He threw the rune pouch onto the bed, then finished the remaining food in a quiet, orderly ritual. A small, unexpected smile touched his lips as he swallowed the last of the potato salad. He picked up the Coca-Cola bottle and downed the rest of its contents in one long go, releasing a satisfied "Ahh" as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
He stared at the teapot which still had tea in it, clearly intended for him to drink that Sakuya had left. He sighed and poured one for himself, downing in one go after which, he let out a heavy sigh.
He looked at the empty plates, the teapot, the utensils, and the greasy cardboard box. He arranged them neatly on the tray, a pointless bit of order for what came next.
He stood up, a rune circle flared by his hand as he hovered his palm over it. The rune's light ate the molecule, air getting sucked. He was going to feed the arranged mess into oblivion, saving himself from the hassle it would provide. Then his hand stopped. The rune flickered off. Remembering this isn't his property. His eyes then darted between the door and the tray.
He exhaled sharply through his teeth, his jaw tight. "Fine…" he grumbled to the empty room. He picked up the tray, marched to the door, and pulled it open.
"Master Nowa!" the fairy maid chirped, right in his face.
Nowa flinched hard, the tray wobbled dangerously before he stabilized it with a grunt. He clicked his tongue in irritation.
"Don't call me that."
"Uh, sorry Maste—! —Sorry!" The fairy visibly sweatdropped, she bowed repeatedly.
Nowa gave her a disapproving look at the near slip, before holding out the tray towards her as if it were a bomb. "Can you, uh... just take this?"
The fairy beamed. "Yes, with pleasure!" She whistled, and a small swarm of other fairies materialized, each grabbing plates, forks, cups, a teapot, the cardboard box, until the lead fairy took the now-empty tray itself. With a chorus of cheerful "Thank yous!" they zipped away down the hall, leaving Nowa standing alone in his doorway.
He scratched the back of his head, a mix of relief and awkwardness on his face, then retreated back into his room, closing the door on the world once more.