The seventh day of the identity exchange between Yukima Azuma and Miyamizu Mitsuha.
"Ittadakimasu… Amu… No matter how many times I eat it, it still tastes so unbelievably good."
Suou Yuki hugged a warm bowl of rice with both hands, her chopsticks dancing with practiced ease as she devoured the meal before her. The fragrance of stir-fried dishes lingered in the air, harmonizing with the quiet chirping of birds outside the traditional paper windows.
Her cheeks puffed up with food, yet she kept mumbling with enthusiasm, her words spilling out between bites.
"With cooking skills like this, you could definitely charm a whole army of beautiful women. I mean, forget love potions—this is the real deal."
She shoved another bite into her mouth and mumbled further, half-playful, half-serious.
"Honestly, after eating this, I don't think I can go back to regular meals anymore. This is how it starts, you know—people doing insane things just to get a taste of something like this. This isn't cooking anymore. This… this is a criminal-grade drug."
Azuma raised a brow and chuckled at the comment.
"That's not cooking, that's a criminal drug," he echoed in mockery, setting down his chopsticks.
It had only been a few days, but he'd already grown used to her dramatic remarks. Suou Yuki—the perfect, elegant young lady in public—was wildly different in private. Her eccentric thoughts, unpredictable behavior, and strangely cute reactions had all become part of his daily life.
For the past week, Yukima Azuma had been sneaking into the Suou household nearly every day—his wall-climbing skills improving with each visit.
[Infiltration Skill Acquired: Level 1]
It was laughable, in a way. What started as an accidental encounter had become routine.
While there, he worked on writing drafts of Harry Potter, quietly spinning the tale out from vague memories, fueled by a level-seven literary skill and his own intuition. He told Yuki the story as he wrote it, adding drama and nuance, watching her expressions shift with every scene.
And then, just before lunch each day, he'd head to the kitchen and cook.
He never intended to become someone who cooked daily. But after Yuki tasted his steamed bass with ginger and scallions, and the stir-fried chicken with cashews, she had practically clung to his leg like a puppy, sparkling eyes full of longing.
"If you keep cooking like this," she'd declared dramatically, "I'll offer my body and soul to you!"
He didn't take the words seriously, of course. But how could he say no? Making lunch wasn't hard. And besides—he needed her help with something eventually. Think of it as… payment in advance.
Over the days, something curious began to happen.
Suou Yuki, frail and pale just a week ago, started to look healthier. The hollowness in her cheeks began to fade. Her voice sounded brighter. Even her appetite grew.
"It's really delicious," she mumbled after polishing off her third bowl of rice. "I feel like you've raised me into a useless, pampered house pet."
She lay sprawled across the bed like a salted fish, her belly full, face glowing from the meal. Azuma chuckled and gathered up the stack of paper on the table—the completed first volume of Harry Potter. He carefully bundled it together and set it aside.
The writing had flowed more easily with each day. Though his memory of the original story was imperfect, his instincts filled the gaps, guided by years of reading and writing. With a few subtle tweaks here and there, he was sure this version would be a hit too.
He turned to Yuki.
"Yuki," he called softly.
She perked up at once, sitting upright like a student awaiting a bedtime story.
But his next words weren't the continuation she hoped for.
"I'll be going back tomorrow," he said. "And Mitsuha will return too."
The lazy grin on Yuki's face froze for a moment.
Then she blinked once, forced a cheerful smile, and replied casually, "Oh, makes sense. I mean, it's not like these swaps last forever, right?"
She spoke lightly, even teasingly, but Azuma could see the tension in her shoulders relax only slightly when he added, "After tomorrow, we'll keep swapping every seven days. Unless something changes."
Silence fell for a few moments.
The truth hovered in the air between them. This bizarre connection they shared—it wasn't permanent. It had a limit. One day, it would end for good. They just didn't know when.
Yuki opened her mouth, as if to ask, How much longer do we have? But stopped herself.
No. It was better not to know. If she knew, she'd only count down the days, dreading the inevitable goodbye.
"Hey, Azuma-nii… do you have a little sister?"
Her tone was quiet, almost too quiet.
Azuma tilted his head, surprised by the question. "No… I'm not sure, actually. Maybe I do, somewhere in the Yukima family tree. But if I've never met her, then… I wouldn't consider her family."
Yuki nodded slowly. She stared up at the ceiling, voice drifting like a leaf caught on the wind.
"I always wanted an older brother when I was a kid… but I'm an only child."
The words carried a lonely weight. She closed her eyes for a second, remembering her childhood—wandering the vast garden of the Suou estate, alone even when surrounded by beauty. Kimishima Ayano was there, sure, but they were never perfectly in sync. That kind of closeness… she never really had it.
Someone like an older brother. Someone who'd pat her head, scold her gently, stand up for her…
She looked at Azuma.
"At this point, even the densest light novel protagonist would know what to say."
Azuma pointed at himself, expression deadpan. "You want me to say: 'Let me be your Onii-chan, Yuki!' That it?"
She grinned and snapped her fingers. "Exactly!"
"Alright, from today, you're officially my Onii-chan."
"Hey, hey, that was a rhetorical question!"
"Onii-chan, please spoil me more~!"
"You're just changing the topic again!"
"Onii-sama, let's go to a hot spring and have a serious heart-to-heart!"
Their banter was lighthearted, ridiculous even. But it masked something deeper—a longing neither wanted to speak aloud.
Suou Yuki didn't ask about his past. She knew better than to push boundaries. But this silly little game—they could play it. If she became his imouto in name, then maybe, just maybe… he wouldn't forget her. He might come back one day. Even if it was childish hope, it was all she had.
A sudden cough interrupted their teasing. A sharp, wet sound that wracked Yuki's body.
Azuma was at her side in an instant, gently patting her back to help her breathe.
Illness, as he'd come to learn, arrived like a speeding truck—but healed like a crawling turtle. Yuki's asthma would take time. Maybe a lifetime.
Once her breathing calmed, she tugged lightly at his sleeve.
Bright eyes met his.
"Onii-chan?"
A long pause.
"…Umu. Onii-chan desu."
That afternoon, before he left, Azuma handed her the manuscript.
"Here. Publish it. You can choose the pen name."
Yuki took the thick stack of papers like it was a treasure, hugging it to her chest. Her expression softened.
"As your kawaii imouto, I humbly accept."
Then Azuma returned to Mitsuha's home.
"Mitsuha, tomorrow's the protective knot ceremony," Grandmother Hitoha reminded him.
"I know. I'll stay home tomorrow."
The protective knot was a sacred tradition in the Miyamizu family—a handmade string symbolizing the bond between gods, people, and spirits. Every hair tie Mitsuha used was made from those knots.
Later that night, Azuma sat cross-legged in Mitsuha's room, opening the diary they used to communicate.
To Miyamizu Mitsuha,
Hello there. I am Yukima Azuma.
He paused, thinking of how to explain everything that had happened.
What you experienced wasn't a dream—it really happened. Please believe this.
For you, only one day has passed. But here in Itomori, it's been seven.
Don't worry. This strange experience won't take up your whole summer.
Below is what happened during the past seven days…
He summarized it all—her life, her body, her town, all in his care.
He didn't expect her to do anything in return. But he wanted her to understand.
At this point, let's fully experience this extraordinary life together.
— Yukima Azuma
He placed the diary by the pillow and set an alarm on Mitsuha's phone.
[Your diary has received a letter.]
8:00 AM.
Then he stretched, lay back, and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, everything had changed.
The ceiling above was unfamiliar no longer. He was home.
Shiratamaru sat at the door, eyes fixed on him.
Azuma smiled.
"Morning."
The cat immediately bounded over, rubbing its head against his hand.
He fed Shiratamaru, then checked his phone.
Over a hundred order notifications.
He sighed, opened Amazon, and began cancelling and returning what he could.
Once done, he changed clothes, stepped outside, and began his morning jog—back in his own world again.
But not unchanged.
Not untouched.
Not alone.