Yuki Kurokawa did not have a habit of sleeping in.
Even on weekends, her biological clock would automatically wake her up around six-fifty.
This was a precise rhythm carved into her body by years of exam-oriented education, far more reliable than any alarm clock.
She stared at the ceiling light that had never been turned on for a moment.
Her arm still maintained the posture from when she fell asleep last night, slightly bent, with the inside of her wrist resting against the edge of the pillow.
That was where Star-trail usually curled up.
Star-trail wasn't there.
Her fingers gently brushed across the empty pillowcase, and she sat up.
The light leaking through the gap in the curtains was still a pale, bluish-green, carrying the thin coolness unique to early morning.
Star-trail wasn't in the spot where it had curled up when she fell asleep last night.
Her fingers lingered there for a few seconds before she turned her gaze toward the foot of the bed.
Star-trail was curled into a tiny silver-white furball, sleeping on the comforter at the foot of the bed.
Its tail naturally covered the tip of its nose, and starlight particles slowly glowed and faded with the rhythm of its breathing.
The sunlight hadn't reached it yet, and it curled itself up tightly, like a little moon that didn't require much space.
Star-trail didn't actually need to sleep, but Qiluo felt that if Yuki Kurokawa woke up in the middle of the night and saw Star-trail sitting there motionless with glowing eyes...
Not responding when called, and feeling stiff to the touch.
Classmate Kurokawa would probably be scared to death.
Therefore, Qiluo decided to let Star-trail sleep just like she did.
Without making a sound, Yuki Kurokawa peeled back a corner of the comforter and stepped onto the floor barefoot.
She walked around to the foot of the bed and squatted down on that side, her eyes leveling with Star-trail's sleeping form.
The little creature that usually woke up before she even opened her eyes, brushing its tail against the back of her hand to urge her to get up, was now sleeping completely defenselessly.
Its ears lay limp against the sides of its head, and the elegant, “I know everything” aura it usually carried had completely vanished in its sleep.
It looked like nothing more than a common, fluffy, silver-white ball.
She watched it for a long while before reaching out, using the pad of her index finger to extremely gently touch a tiny, slightly tufted clump of fur on top of Star-trail's head.
That tuft of fur hadn't been sticking up before they went to sleep last night; it was probably flattened or ruffled from rubbing against the edge of the comforter while sleeping.
Star-trail didn't wake up. She touched it again, and this time, the tuft gently bounced back, brushing against her finger.
Still asleep. She withdrew her hand and continued to squat at the foot of the bed.
She didn't wake it. Wearing only her pajamas and barefoot, she simply squatted there, arms crossed over her knees, continuing to watch Star-trail sleep.
Star-trail looked like a tiny star recharging its batteries.
She didn't know what it was dreaming of, but she hoped it was a sweet dream.
Right now, Star-trail seemed to be sleeping very soundly, its tail occasionally twitching slightly as if chasing something in its dream.
Meanwhile, in an apartment three streets away, Qiluo Tian Gong had her face buried in her pillow, fast asleep and dead to the world.
The hands of the alarm clock had already passed seven, but she showed absolutely no signs of waking up.
The combined barrier of her pillow and blanket shut out all external disturbances.
She had dialed Star-trail's sensory inputs down to a low setting, leaving only a faint, almost imperceptible sense of touch.
As long as it wasn't being rubbed or squeezed vigorously, she wouldn't feel much.
It was just enough to feel a warm finger gently poking her forehead.
But her brain chose to translate this sensation into a dream: a tiny silver-white bird pecking at her forehead with its beak.
Yuki Kurokawa began to change her clothes, her movements so light they made almost no sound.
No need to feel disappointed—Qiluo was a true gentleman!
Every single time, she would cover Star-trail's eyes and forbid it from looking!
She detached the jellyfish charm from her school bag, carefully hooked it onto the zipper of her newly changed crossbody bag, and flicked it with her finger, watching it sway gently in the morning light.
Then, she gently scooped Star-trail up from the comforter at the foot of the bed.
Star-trail stirred in her palm, letting out a soft hum.
She placed Star-trail next to the pillow, its usual spot, and pulled a corner of the blanket over it.
Star-trail's tail automatically curled around her wrist, shedding a few cool starlight particles onto her fingertips.
“...I'm heading out,” she whispered to the still-sleeping little creature. Then, picking up her crossbody bag, she gently closed the bedroom door behind her.
On a weekend morning, the Kurokawa household was as quiet as a library.
As she walked down the stairs and passed the living room, her father was likely in his study reviewing documents, while her mother sat at the dining table, a laptop open in front of her alongside a steaming cup of black coffee.
“Morning.” Yuki sat down at the other end of the dining table, took a slice of toast from the breadbasket, and began spreading butter on it.
Her movements were very light; the back of the knife made almost no sound when it touched the porcelain plate.
“Morning,” her mother replied without looking up, her fingers tapping away at the keyboard.
The glow of the screen reflected off her glasses, hiding her expression.
Mother and daughter remained silent across the dining table.
Yuki took small bites of her toast while her mother continued to type.
There was never any need for idle pleasantries between them, for pleasantries themselves were superfluous.
She was used to it; Yuki Kurokawa had long since grown accustomed to mornings like this.
The silence at the dining table lasted until Yuki started on her second slice of toast.
Her mother finally closed the laptop, picked up her coffee cup, and let her gaze drift over the top of her glasses.
“Where did you go yesterday?”
Yuki put her toast back on the plate, unconsciously lowering her head.
Ever since she was a child, whenever her mother started speaking to her, she would unconsciously lower her head like this.
It was a deep, trained conditioned reflex.
In front of her mother, lowering her head was the safest posture.
Her older sister had never lowered her head; she would look their mother straight in the eye and answer in the same calm tone.
But Yuki couldn't do it. She had tried, but every time she looked up, she would collide with the eyes behind her mother's glasses and utterly lose her nerve.
“...The aquarium.” She stared at the butter on the edge of her toast, which had begun to melt, seeping into a small, glistening patch of oil on the lightly toasted surface.
“With whom?”
“A friend from school.”
Her mother placed the coffee cup back on its saucer, not pressing further for the friend's name.
She simply stated in a matter-of-fact tone, “You never used to go out with people on weekends. Your sister was the same when she was in school, spending all her time on her studies.”
“Though she would occasionally go to the library with classmates from her competition group. That kind of outing had a purpose.”
Here it came again... Her mother's topics of conversation always wound back to her sister.
Just as the Earth orbited the sun, her mother's conversations always revolved around her sister as their center of gravity, while Yuki was merely a satellite mentioned in passing.
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