"Morning."

I turned around to find Senko already in her usual hostess attire, looking almost too cheerful for this early hour.

"Morning," I replied with a friendly smile.

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between us. Not exactly awkward — after last night's long conversation, we'd gotten to know each other pretty well. But still, I was just a kid, even if a bit different, and she was a centuries-old kitsune. The difference between us was vast, even if it didn't show on the surface.

"Don't kids your age usually sleep in?" she broke the silence, moving gracefully towards the kitchen shelves.

"I'm not really a 'typical kid,'" I muttered under my breath, then spoke up, "At least, not like most."

"Oh, I've picked up on that," Senko smirked, opening a cupboard. "Then again, it seems to run in your family, doesn't it?"

"Really? I always thought Tomoe was pretty normal. At least, until she got into magic and all that witchy stuff."

"No, Tomoe's always been a bit unique," Senko replied, shaking her head slightly as she set a teapot on the stove. "When I first met her, she was already much more curious and observant than other kids her age. Of course," she added with a sly smile, glancing over at me, "not quite as unique as you."

I turned away, feeling a bit self-conscious, which she didn't miss.

"Looking for something?" she asked, her warm smile putting me at ease. "Go ahead. Like I said, think of me as your aunt. No need to be shy."

It was strange — having a normal adult around. I'd almost forgotten what that felt like.

"Coffee, or tea… something with a good dose of sugar," I finally admitted, letting out a small sigh.

"Coffee?" Senko raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. "Isn't it a bit early for that?"

"Some kids my age are out hunting stray devils or fighting so-called enemies of the church," I shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Compared to that, my caffeine habit seems pretty harmless. Besides, my brain runs like a high-performance computer — it needs more fuel than most."

At this point, coffee was the best way to jump-start my system in the mornings. Though, with how quickly my mental abilities were growing, I'd probably need to find something more energy-efficient soon enough.

Senko chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You humans sure love your metaphors," she said, giving me a look that was equal parts amusement and gentle reproach, as if explaining something obvious.

"Do we?" I asked, squinting at her, genuinely curious.

"Take gods, for example. Did you know Amaterasu, the sun goddess, is called 'the light of the world'? Or that Fujin, the god of wind, is often likened to a storm bringing change, yet also seen as a protector of fields? For you, they're more than just names — they're how you make sense of the world, how you shape it into something comprehensible. You assign divine beings specific roles, almost like programming them." She paused, a small smile playing at her lips. "It's not a bad thing, of course. It's just amusing to watch you try to structure what can't be measured."

We humans really do have a knack for simplifying everything we come across. It's like a reflex, a defense mechanism against the overwhelming complexity of the world around us. Life's chaotic, unpredictable, and infinitely intricate, so we create order. Models, diagrams, icons. We don't actually understand it all — we just pretend to, by tracing connections that might not even be real.

Wherever you look, people are always building these models, like stubborn kids trying to piece together a puzzle from mismatched fragments. We create icons for gods, labels for ideas, templates for the unknown. And underneath it all is fear — the fear of chaos, of the unknown. We crave assurance that everything can be explained, that everything has a neat structure, even if it's an illusion we've made up.

I guess that's the nature of most humans. It's less about finding the truth and more about constructing frameworks to avoid facing what's really out there. Few are willing to live with the idea that something beyond our knowledge might exist, something that defies our carefully built boxes. In the end, we don't really embrace complexity; we break it down, make it small enough to handle.

...Why am I even going down this rabbit hole first thing in the morning? Definitely need that coffee.

"Is it different for youkai?" I asked, shaking myself free of the philosophical ramble and focusing on something more grounded — like the steam rising from the kettle.

Senko's slight smile grew as she replied, "Supernatural beings aren't quite as prone to simplification. We have our own issues, though."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

A brief silence settled between us, broken only by the kettle's soft whistle. Steam curled upward, matching the unhurried pace of our thoughts, filling the kitchen with a comforting warmth. When the kettle came to a full boil, Senko lifted it with a fluid grace, moving with the ease of someone following an unseen ritual. She poured the hot water into cups, her motions precise and unhurried, as the tea took on a golden hue that caught the light just right.

"It's not coffee, but I think you'll like it," she said, handing me one of the cups with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with a playful hint of amusement.

I eyed the cup suspiciously. At least it smelled like herbal tea. Taking a cautious sip… Yep, it tasted like herbal tea too.

"Thanks," I said, letting the warmth from the cup seep into my hands. "Is this some kind of herbal tea?" I might have overdone it with the herbal tea questions.

Senko tilted her head, her gaze warm and steady. "Well, aside from the fact that you won't find these herbs in any human forest — yes," she replied, a hint of mystery in her voice as she winked.

"Whoa, supernatural tea?" I looked down at the cup with newfound interest. "I just hope it doesn't, I don't know, make me explode or something."

She paused, raising an eyebrow with mild surprise, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "Why would it?"

I laughed awkwardly, trying to hide my embarrassment. "I don't know... Maybe it's got too much energy or something, and my body can't handle it. Forget it." I glanced away, feeling a bit silly. No way I'd admit that I got the idea from all those cultivation novels I used to read.

Senko chuckled, her laugh light and melodic. "You've definitely read too much fantasy," she teased, smiling playfully. "In reality, the main difference between plants from here and those from other realms is the flavor. Only a few have magical effects or are dangerous to humans — mostly if they're prepared the wrong way." She gave me a reassuring wink, as if to say I didn't need to worry about any dramatic side effects.

Yeah, I felt pretty ridiculous.

"...So why not just use magic for things like this?" I asked, eager to change the subject, gesturing at the steaming kettle.

Senko paused, then, with a small sigh and a hint of a smile, turned back to me. "Live long enough," she began, sounding almost wistful, "and you start finding pleasure in doing things the old-fashioned way. Brewing tea, tidying up — there's a certain magic in those things, too. Just not the kind you're probably thinking of."

"I guess from your perspective, magic must not feel that special anymore," I joked, nudging her a bit.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, and gave me a sly grin. "Oh, it still does," she chuckled, as if sharing an old secret. "Every time I use illusions, I still feel like a mischievous kid. Magic still gives me the same thrill it did the first time. Every new spell is like a mini-celebration."

I looked at her, surprised. "So why bother with ordinary stuff when you could just snap your fingers?"

Senko, as if answering a familiar question, shrugged. "Magic's fun, but… over time, you realize that real happiness lies in the little things. Brewing tea, sweeping the floor — sometimes, they bring more joy than the most complex spells." She raised her cup, took a small sip, and winked. "To really enjoy life, you've got to appreciate the simple stuff."

I mulled over her words, trying to understand her logic. "I don't know... I use magic just to bring my slippers to my bed," I said, taking another sip of tea.

"That's the difference," Senko said, watching me closely. "When you're young and have magic, everything becomes a game. 'What else can I do? How can I speed this up, make it better, cut corners?' But as time goes on, you realize that true happiness isn't about doing things faster or easier. It's about letting yourself slow down and really savor the moment."

"Interesting perspective, but it doesn't quite suit humans," I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "We barely have enough time as it is to focus on what really matters, and you're suggesting we just… enjoy the little things? Sounds like the logic of someone who lives for centuries — a bit of that 'immortal wisdom' only old souls talk about."

"Is that so?" Senko leaned forward, her eyes sparkling, like she was ready to challenge me. "Ever wonder why even humans — even the most powerful among you — spend time on seemingly ordinary things? Why they go for walks, or take up hobbies like collecting butterflies or candy wrappers?"

I paused, shrugging.

"Convenience? Habit? Maybe they just enjoy it. Or maybe there's some ancient wisdom in it that I'm too young to get."

Senko laughed, a warm, melodic sound that filled the kitchen.

"Exactly!" Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "It's all about the process. Magic is just a tool, but happiness? That's rarely about the outcome. Sometimes, the real joy is found in the act itself, in the little discoveries made during those ordinary moments."

She spoke with such conviction, holding her cup of tea as if it were a book on the philosophy of life.

"You could live for centuries and know every spell there is," she continued, her smile softening, "but if you don't learn to appreciate the small things — like a morning cup of tea or the dust under your feet — then what's left?"

Honestly, every time someone starts talking about savoring tea or the art of sweeping, I picture an ancient sage from somewhere in China. Long, wispy beard, eyes that seem to hold endless horizons, and a bamboo staff, naturally. They're always there against some beautiful backdrop, talking about how true strength lies in humility. And sure, part of me gets it — it's this timeless truth, echoed in Stoicism, Taoism, Christian virtues, Buddhism, and all the rest. Humility, they say, leads to true freedom.

But then there's the other part of me, the part that lives in a world full of magic. And that part says it makes way more sense to save time on things like cooking and cleaning when you have power at your fingertips. Time's the only thing that really matters.

In the big picture, both in the human world and the supernatural one, I'm still just a kid. No arguing with that. So it's no wonder that ideas like "finding yourself in the simple things" fly right over my head. Who's got time for that? I'm definitely not done with the thrill of it all. And, if I'm honest, I'm not exactly trying to figure it out right now.

"Maybe there's something to it," I muttered, feeling a bit weighed down by her words, but not willing to fully agree. "But as long as my mind's running at this speed, I want everything, and I want it now."

Senko gave me a knowing smile, like she'd already guessed what I'd say.

"Oh, I'm sure," she replied softly, almost tenderly. "You're young and full of energy. If it were any other way, you'd be missing out." She tilted her head, looking at me with a warmth that felt almost like a gentle embrace.