"Why isn't Rudolf back yet…?"
The time in the top-right corner of Meteor's phone had already ticked past 8:00 p.m. She lay on the bed, hugged her blanket, and rolled herself a full one-eighty like a bored caterpillar.
Outside the window, the noise was already swelling—cheers, laughter, excited voices bouncing off the dorm walls. Horse girls heading out with their teams couldn't even pretend to stay calm anymore. Their chatter rose and fell in waves; someone said something funny, a couple giggles slipped out, then the whole group would erupt into loud laughter.
It was bright.
It was alive.
It was everything Meteor wasn't.
She yanked the blanket over her ears and scooted toward the wall, trying to squeeze herself into the smallest space possible. It didn't help. The sound still threaded through the fabric like it had a key to her nerves.
After a minute of useless resistance, she sat upright with a sharp inhale.
Fine. If I can't tune it out, I'll move.
She'd skipped dinner earlier because she'd spent the whole day lazing around in the dorm—when meal time came, she hadn't been hungry at all. Now her stomach had started to protest, slow and stubborn.
What surprised her was that Rudolf hadn't messaged her at dinner time either.
Normally, Rudolf would check. Did you eat? Are you hungry? Want me to bring something back? Especially lately, with Rudolf's "concern meter" riding dangerously high.
No message meant one thing.
She's really busy.
Meteor rubbed her belly and sighed. Thankfully, she had a backdoor option.
Because she'd been in the kitchen so often, the cafeteria staff had long since stopped treating her like a "visitor." She could use the back kitchen to cook for herself. She never took their kindness for granted—every ingredient she used, she bought with her own money, and whenever she baked desserts she'd "accidentally" make extra and "ask for feedback," gifting the spare portions to the kitchen staff.
Everyone knew what she was doing.
Nobody called her out on it.
Some of the cooks were so worried she'd arrive when they weren't around and be unable to get in that they'd even handed her a key.
Meteor, being Meteor, acted immediately once she'd decided.
She drove her wheelchair straight to the cafeteria.
On the way, the campus felt wrong.
Every horse girl she passed was in a group—smiling, talking, drifting toward the school gate like a tide made of warm light. Meteor alone rolled in the opposite direction, back into the quiet. It made her feel like a mistake in the scenery.
When a few noticed her and looked over with that blend of confusion and concern, her skin prickled. She tightened her grip on the control bars and accelerated, escaping those eyes as quickly as she could.
In the back kitchen, she checked the fridge.
Plenty of ingredients left. Too many, honestly—she hadn't cooked much recently. She could easily make herself a rich meal and still have leftovers.
And then, naturally, the thought surfaced:
Should I make some for Rudolf too?
She didn't even have to force it. It simply appeared, as if it had been waiting.
Whatever Rudolf was doing today, she'd clearly been occupied—no messages, no check-ins, nothing. For Rudolf to go silent like that meant it wasn't a small thing.
If Rudolf came back hungry and Meteor made her go straight out for fireworks—or even just dragged her into "together time" on an empty stomach—that would be… unfair.
Meteor wasn't that shameless.
But she also didn't know whether Rudolf had already eaten. So she told herself:
Make a little. Just a little.
She stood up from the wheelchair.
With the brace still strapped on, she moved smoothly—she'd had enough time alone to get used to walking with the thing. There was no one here to watch her. She'd locked the door behind her. Keeping up the "injured act" in an empty kitchen would only make cooking harder.
She washed rice and set two servings to steam.
Then she prepped vegetables and meat at the sink, knife work quick and clean. Her hands moved with the kind of rhythm that came from repetition—slice, pile, wipe, switch, repeat. Efficient, almost soothing.
She stretched on tiptoe to reach the cabinet overhead, neck craned as she fished out disposable bento boxes. She lined them up neatly on the stainless steel table behind the stove.
Oil into the pan.
Heat.
The first sizzle cracked through the quiet like a match being struck.
She tossed ingredients in and began to stir-fry. With a horse girl's strength, flipping the wok came naturally—wrist, lift, tilt, catch. The smell bloomed fast, warm and savory, filling the kitchen with something that felt like home even if she refused to name it that.
When everything was done, she wiped the sweat at her temple—only then turning to the table.
And froze.
Five bento boxes.
Five.
She stared at them, dead silent, remembering very clearly that she'd promised herself she was making a little.
Somewhere between "I'll keep it modest" and "I'm cutting vegetables," her brain had apparently decided to prepare for a small army.
The rice cooker clicked to signal it was done, pulling her back to reality.
She packed everything anyway, sealed the boxes, tied them into a plastic bag, and hung the bag from the wheelchair armrest.
Then she cleaned the kitchen thoroughly—washed utensils, wiped surfaces, returned everything, restored order. When she locked up, she pulled the door twice to confirm it was secure.
Only then did she head back.
She didn't eat in the cafeteria. If Rudolf returned while she was mid-meal, she'd have to rush back anyway. Better to be in the dorm.
Back in the room, she arranged the bento boxes on the table with almost excessive neatness. The rice sat in two bowls—one full, one meant for Rudolf.
And then she hesitated.
Do I eat now… or wait?
Logically, Rudolf shouldn't be that late. So Meteor compromised with herself.
Thirty minutes.
She sat, scrolling her phone, while time trickled through her hands. The heat on the food faded gradually—steam thinning, lids turning from warm to merely room-temperature.
She watched an episode of an anime she'd been following. Then another.
When she checked the time, forty minutes had already passed.
She messaged Rudolf.
No read receipt.
She refreshed. Again.
Nothing.
Another half hour crawled by, and the message still wasn't marked as seen. Her stomach tightened into a knot that was less hunger and more… something she didn't want to label.
At about an hour and a half after she'd finished cooking, Meteor finally gave up.
She started eating.
The first bite was satisfying, but the room felt too quiet, too hollow. Like the air had been drained of warmth on purpose.
She was reaching for another dish when—
Fwooo—BANG!
A sudden explosion outside made her jerk and look up.
For a brief moment, the sky flashed. Light spilled through the window and painted her face in pale color before fading back into darkness.
She rose, turned off the dorm light, and sat down again—eating in the dim while she watched the small fireworks outside.
After a few minutes, she recognized the direction. It wasn't the big display. It was the shopping district—probably a New Year's warm-up.
The fireworks were bright.
The street beyond was bright too—lit signs, silhouettes, moving crowds.
And the campus behind her window was almost entirely dark.
That contrast hit her unexpectedly hard.
She stared for a moment longer, then lowered her gaze back to her food.
She tried to take another bite.
Her chopsticks met nothing.
She blinked, looked down, and realized her bowl held only a few sticky grains clinging to the sides.
And across from her—
Rudolf's bowl of rice sat full and untouched.
The sight made her chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.
Meteor pushed back from the table and let herself fall onto the bed, lying flat on her back. She stared at the pure white ceiling, blank and unforgiving.
Outside, fireworks continued to crack, each burst briefly illuminating one corner of the room through the glass.
Only one corner.
The rest stayed dark, and Meteor stayed in that darkness with her eyes open.
She exhaled—slow, tired, quiet.
"Today… was really long."
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 178)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 115)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League ( 126 )
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter110)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter116)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter82)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter144)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 65
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 77
From Junkman to Wasteland 66
Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 46
From Kiana, Lord Ravager, Onwa 118
Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
Warhammer: My Primarch Is Remi 111
From Demon Slayer to Grand Ass 80
The Way the Umamusume Look at 68
Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 112
Naruto: Weaving the Future, Be 65
Zenless Zone Zero, but Kamen R 76
Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 66
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 65
Uma Musume: The Dark Trainer 95
Uma Musume: A Calamity Born fr 89
I, a Reincarnation-Loop Player 53
The Violent Girl Group Is Beat 61
Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 65
Uma Musume: From Beginner 61
Becoming a Horse Girl, I Will 37
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