This was the strangest dinner I'd ever had with my family.

My older sister, my mom, and I sat at the table, eating in silence, not saying a word since the moment I walked into the kitchen. The quiet was so unnerving that within five minutes, I could feel my shirt sticking to my sweaty back. The atmosphere was so tense that even the ordinary, unremarkable sound of chopsticks hitting a plate made me flinch.

So this is how you make a kid feel guilty… How interesting. Just sitting here, not even under my mom's direct gaze, I somehow felt guilty, even though I knew for sure I hadn't done anything wrong.

I'll definitely keep this tactic in mind — it could be useful for scaring kids. But seriously, what the hell is going on at this table right now? I cursed silently to myself as I glanced over at my sister.

Usually full of energy, she was now sitting with her chin propped on her hand, staring at a plate with a piece of fish. The poor fish had been so thoroughly mangled by her chopsticks that it looked like some maniac had gotten to it.

Realizing that my sister wasn't in any state to help, I sighed and turned my gaze to my mom. The next moment, my bright green eyes met the dark green eyes of Mikoto Oreki. Yes, it was Mikoto Oreki sitting in front of me, not my mother. The woman had a daring smirk on her face, and her eyes sparkled with mischief and sly amusement. I was instantly overwhelmed by a strange, unfamiliar feeling… It was as if I was being looked at, not by an adult woman, but by a child who had found something amusing and entertaining.

Hey, woman, you're supposed to be my mother! I was mentally screaming at this point.

In contrast, I took a deep breath and calmly spoke for the first time during tonight's dinner:

"How was your day, Mom?"

"Oh, just wonderful, sweetheart," Mom initially feigned surprise at my question, then followed it up with a sweet smile and continued, "What about you? You've been so quiet. I almost thought something had happened."

Touche, Mikoto Oreki, touche… I thought to myself, mentally raising my hands in surrender, acknowledging my inability to counter this woman.

But that wasn't what worried me... What the hell was going on here! No, I certainly understood the kind of woman my mother was, but to stick so strongly to her image? That said, this woman once told my father to go and stick his finger up his ass and jerk off on a napkin because he came home late extremely drunk and started "get on top of her" on it. So I guess it's probably not that bad... And why didn't I even get the idea that she might hold back at the sight of her son? How much of a distorted image of a mother has she created?

"I ditched school," I confessed, deciding to start small.

"I usually turn a blind eye to that," Mom replied, waving her hand dismissively. Then she fixed her gaze on me and added, "You're a smart and responsible boy, so I'm sure you didn't do anything reckless, right, sweetie?"

Honestly, at that moment, I wanted to throw my chopsticks at her and stomp my feet in frustration! For the first time in this second life, I felt like a real child — I wanted to bang my head against the table and cry, like a helpless kitten facing an unsolvable problem.

"Alright! I surrender!" I exclaimed, raising my hands in defeat, and this time, I really meant it. "Magic?"

"Nah," Mom said loudly. "It was so much fun! Why did you have to start this boring, serious conversation? My day might've been great, but now the evening's taking a nosedive."

Neither my sister nor I saw that reaction coming. We both stared at her, dumbfounded, trying to process what had just happened.

"Don't look at me like that," Mom said, crossing her arms under her chest, clearly irritated by our blank stares. "I didn't raise you to act this way. After all these years, you should know what this situation means to me."

"A funny misunderstanding?" I asked, finally shaking off the shock.

"Funny? Absolutely! Misunderstanding? Hmm, I don't think so," Mom replied, her lips curling into a sly, fox-like grin. "But you've figured it out by now, haven't you?"

"You're too eccentric and cynical for me to be sure of anything," I replied, not even trying to soften my words.

"Oh, sweetheart," Mom said cheerfully. "Stop it — your compliments and pretty-boy charm won't work on me."

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What kind of mother says things like that…? What kind of…? Ugh, never mind, I give up. I can't think of her as normal anymore. How did I end up being her son? Why me? Why?! A whirlwind of thoughts rushed through my mind, sweeping away any trace of common sense I was trying to cling to during this conversation with her.

"I recognize that look," Mom said, smacking her lips in satisfaction. "The look of acceptance, of complete surrender to the brilliance of my personality!"

More like the all-consuming darkness of your cynicism…

If someone had told me before today that my mother was crazy, I would've just twirled my finger by my temple. Sure, my mom's strange, but not insane. At least, that's what I used to believe. Now, my former confidence in her sanity was starting to crumble, piece by piece.

"Houtarou," Mom suddenly frowned, her expression sharp. "Are you thinking bad things about me?"

We locked eyes, the silence stretching on for what felt like several long seconds. And then, I realized something simple yet profound — there was no longer any reason for me to act like a child or a dutiful son, at least not in front of "this" woman. It's strange, but when you meet someone who doesn't wear a mask, who says and does exactly what they think, you find yourself shedding your own mask, pushing the boundaries of what's "acceptable."

"I would never think you're acting crazy," I stated plainly, not breaking eye contact with her dark green eyes.

"No!" my sister suddenly shouted, slamming her hands on the table so hard the dishes rattled loudly. "My brother is turning into my mother! This cannot happen!"

Mom and I both raised our eyebrows simultaneously, staring at her with interest.

"You," my sister pointed accusingly at Mom, "don't you dare try to convert him to your faith of social liberation! And you," she turned her gaze to me, "I'll be watching you closely to make sure you don't succumb to the toxic influences of your environment."

"You're calling me toxic?" Mom scowled, clearly displeased.

"Does this include magic?" I asked, hopeful.

"Are you really willing to trade freedom from human norms and morals for magic?" Mom shot back, looking at me with even more discontent.

"I'm absolutely ready!" I declared, and, following my sister's lead, slammed my hand on the table for emphasis.

"Well, at least you're not lying to your mother's face. I can live with that," Mom said with a shrug, her expression softening as she returned to her meal.

Once again, the room fell into an uneasy silence.

While Mom ate calmly, enjoying her dinner, and my sister seemed lost in thought, occasionally glancing at me, I kept my gaze fixed on Mom. She might be direct, but she's far from stupid. She's full of cunning and mischief — and the way she so smoothly dodged my question about magic only confirmed it. Still, for a seasoned student like me, pestering her until she gives in won't be hard. After all, I've been far more persistent and shameless when I was late submitting lab reports.

"Mom," I said, catching her attention, and, by extension, that of everyone else at the table, "will you teach me ma—"

I didn't even get the chance to finish before Mom's stern, iron voice cut me off, leaving no room for negotiation:

"No."

"…gic," I finished weakly, completely thrown off by the sharpness and speed of her response. Then, as if nothing had happened, I asked, "Why?"

"Just as I say whatever I feel and do whatever I deem necessary and right, I'm doing the same now," Mom replied calmly, without a hint of irritation. "Besides, you don't even meet the most basic requirement for me to teach you magic — you're not a witch. That doesn't mean you can't learn magic; after all, my blood runs through your veins. But consider this my personal wish, principle, or call it whatever you like. Either way, I simply don't want to teach you... Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," I gave her a theatrical salute, trying to mask my disappointment.

Unfortunately, I couldn't completely hide it from either Mom or my sister. There were two reasons for that. First, my disappointment was as big as a mountain — after all, this was magic! Magic, Carl! And second, I wasn't exactly an actor, at least not someone who could control their emotions on the spot. Sure, I was good at hiding my feelings, but controlling emotional outbursts in the moment? That was another story.

"I'll teach you," came a voice from the side.

Like sunlight breaking through on a rainy day, there she was! An angel in the flesh! My wonderful, sweet, well-read, incredibly beautiful, and intellectually gifted older sister, wonderful Tomoe Oreki! Did I just say "wonderful" twice? Well, so be it!

"You don't mind, do you, Mom?" my sister asked, raising her eyebrows with a slightly cheeky grin.

It was rare to see her like this. Usually, she made that face when I challenged her to something — or rather, when She challenged Me, though she always insisted it was the other way around.

"I'm not forbidding him from learning it. I just don't want the hassle myself," Mom shrugged casually. "After all, it's my whim... Just like letting him catch us in the kitchen earlier today."

"What?!" my sister blurted out.

"I'm not repeating myself," Mom responded, her tone curt.

In response, my sister began rubbing her temples in frustration, muttering to herself, "You're my mother. You're my mother. You're my mother." Then, she suddenly jumped up from her chair, slamming her hands on the table. "I'm exhausted! I'm going to my room!"

With a dramatic turn, she stormed toward the staircase leading to the second floor. Her long chestnut hair "heroically" fluttered behind her as she left. When she reached the stairs, she stopped and glanced back at me.

"When you're done, come see me," she said before dashing up the stairs.

I stared, dumbfounded, at the spot where she had just stood. What the hell just happened?

And how many times had I asked myself that question today? I quickly realized I had no clear answer. Three? Maybe four.

Without bothering to count, I turned my gaze to Mom.

"What?" she asked, noticing my stare.

"Despite your personality, you're still my mom," I said with a sweet smile, speaking from the heart.

And I meant it. Despite all her quirks and "unique traits" — of which there were many — this woman not only gave me the chance to live a second life, but also made it far more interesting and exciting.

"And despite your personality, you're still my son," she replied.