As Sota stepped into his home, the familiar warmth enveloped him. The soft clatter of plates echoed from the dining room, mingling with the faint aroma of miso soup and grilled fish. After the intensity of the past two days, the simplicity of a quiet evening with his family was a welcome change. He slipped off his shoes, setting them neatly by the door, and let out a sigh, allowing the tension to drain from his muscles.
"Sota, you're just in time," his mother called from the kitchen, her voice carrying a gentle warmth that made him smile. Her apron was speckled with flour and a bit of miso paste, and she held a ladle in one hand as she waved him over. "Come help me set the table."
