If Honey had one thing to complain about after rebirth, it was the lack of cake.
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"3-E?"
The blond nodded, his purple eyes slightly narrowing as his mind drifted to one annoying redhead.
"Yes, we must put them in their place."
The strawberry blon...
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Tiptoeing to the large Kannazuki manor's entrance, Mitsukuni tried to hide his presence as best as possible. He was silent, swift, and maybe, had it not been for her motherly instinct, no one would have known of his whereabouts.
The moon's remains hung high, illuminating the town's streets and casting shadows through the large window. In the hall, there was Mitsukuni— too curious about Kyoya's experience and 3-E's predicament. And then, there was her— too worried about her grandson yet too doting to ever stop him.
"Don't stay out too late, Honey."
Her voice was a soft whisper. Like a layer of silk, it quickly wrapped around Mitsukuni's heart, making it squeeze in a blend of guilt and gratitude. It made him come to a halt. Honey-brown eyes flickered with a dash of incertitude as if to weigh his options as he left his hand to hover the doorknob. He breathed.
"Yeah, don't worry, Grandma!" Mitsukuni beamed as he curved his eyes in beautiful crescent to reassure the older woman. His hand grabbed the doorknob, twisted it open, and without another word, he was out of the house, leaving only her to stand in the moonlit hall.
The old Madam's eyes trailed on the door for a second as a light, almost unnoticeable sigh escaped her lips. Her smile withered.
"Grandma," she lowly echoed, her voice reverberating against the wall of the entry hall. Eyes downcast, she mutely stirred her infusion. The Madame gave a low chuckle, silently sipping her drink, she walked away from the entry and up the stairs to her room.
Mitsukuni never called her "Grandma," always "Grandmother."
Madame Kannazuki strolled back to her bedroom in silent contemplation. Early on, she knew that Mitsukuni— her Dear loveable Honey, wasn't like other children. People could call her biased for being his grandmother, but the child was bright— a small genius, and wise. He possessed a wiseness even her son didn't own.
It was unnatural, and no matter how sweet, kind, and cheerful her Honey was, she couldn't help the sadness that sometimes wheeled up in the pit of her stomach. It was almost scary.
But she loved him. She raised him. She fed him.
How could she ever bring herself to despise such an innocent child?
Mitsukuni didn't decide to be wise; the World chose for him.
