Youjin Kinoshita's POV
I, Youjin Kinoshita, woke up to the blaring sound of my alarm clock, signaling the start of another typical school day. With a reluctant sigh, I stretched and yawned, finally coaxing myself out of bed. The day ahead awaited, and I needed to get going.
As I made my way downstairs, I found my father, Kousuke Kinoshita, who was sipping his morning coffee at the kitchen table. He glanced up and offered me a tired but warm smile.
"Morning, otou-san."
"Good morning, son."
My father had been a constant source of support for me ever since my elementary school days. Despite his demanding job, which kept him away from home, he made sure to provide me with a generous allowance each week. He told me I could spend it on anything I desired, but I insisted on saving it for my future. This decision always brought a smile to my father's face, and he even promised additional rewards for any impressive achievements.
I looked at my mother, Yuna Kinoshita, busy cooking in the kitchen.
"Good morning, okaa-san."
Then she looked at me with a smile.
"Good morning, Youjin."
Actually, my mother wasn't my biological mother. My real mother had passed away when I was born. Yes, my biological mother died because of childbirth. And my father remarried with my step mother when I was one year old. Then she raised me well ever since they got married.
I heard the noise from the stairs. It was from my twin step sisters.
"Good morning, okaa-san. Morning, otou-san." They greeted our parents first.
"Good morning, Hana. Good morning, Sakura." Then I greeted them.
"Good morning, onii-san." My twin step sister who has long pink hair, Sakura, greeted me.
"Morning, nii-nii." My other twin step sister who has short pink hair, Hana, greeted me.
It was unusual when a sister like Hana called the brother like me 'nii-nii', but I didn't mind that, honestly.
My step mother already had twin daughters before remarrying my father. She got divorced by her former husband when her daughters were six months old. Then a year later after divorce, she and my father got remarried. My twin sisters were one-year younger than me, by the way.
After a quick exchange of morning pleasantries, I headed to the bathroom to freshen up. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I noticed my messy hair and quickly combed it into place.
Breakfast was a brief and somewhat silent affair, but it was a routine that kept our family connected, if only on the surface.
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