Leona Harper came to Velcrest Academy with a mission—though you’d never guess it from how casually she acted around here.
Her clan, prestigious and painfully traditional, had no male heir. So Leona, their one and only daughter, had been declared the official successor.
Well... aside from her stepsisters, born from different women thanks to her father’s "hard work."
But since they were half-bloods, they weren’t considered eligible to inherit the clan title.
The catch? The clan’s rules dictated that only a male could officially lead.
So if Leona had a stepbrother, he would’ve automatically become the heir instead of her.
Yeah. Medieval much?
With no male heirs, they came up with the next best solution—they sent Leona to find one.
Not an heir. A husband.
And to do that, she had to disguise herself as a boy and blend in with the other students. Because nothing screams "normal school life" like being secretly female while scouting for your future spouse among sword-swinging teenagers.
Pretty sure I’ve mentioned this before, but hey—worth repeating.
The point is—Leona’s clan raised her in every way possible. Swordsmanship with her father, etiquette and household chores with the women of the clan. And one of those so-called "chores" just happened to be cooking.
Which she’s really good at.
So when she offered to cook lunch, I wasn’t about to say no.
I mean, come on. I hadn’t had proper homemade food since I got dropped into this world. And now a top-tier cook was offering to make me a meal and cover the ingredients?
Yes. Absolutely.
"Well—"
"Now, now. At least try it first. Then you’ll see how good I am," Leona interrupted before I could finish my sentence, narrowing her eyes with a playful glint—like she actually thought I might refuse.
As if.
Don’t worry, Leona. I would never reject free food.
"You were going to buy something anyway," she added, already moving toward the kitchen. "Since it’s the weekend and I’ve got time, I’ll make something instead."
"Oh, okay. But... do we even have ingredients?"
"I bought them at the market yesterday," she called over her shoulder. "It’ll take a little longer, so just relax. And change out of that stiff uniform while you’re at it. Seriously, you look like a lost office worker."
I sighed.
I’d already lost this argument—and trying to argue with someone younger who’s also feeding me felt like punching myself in the face.
So I retreated to my room, changed into something more casual, and came back just in time to catch the scent drifting out from the kitchen.
It was warm. Savory. Familiar.
Real.
Not bland cafeteria food. Not reheated street vendor junk.
It smelled like home.
I didn’t even realize I was smiling.
This might actually be the highlight of my week.
The table was set simply but neatly, and the smell practically pulled me in by the nose. When I sat down, I was greeted by a meal that felt way too good for a lazy weekend.
A steaming bowl of miso soup sat beside a plate of grilled salmon—golden brown, glistening with a delicate glaze. Tamagoyaki—fluffy rolled omelets—had been sliced with clean precision.
A small bowl of perfectly cooked rice sat at the center, with colorful pickled vegetables adding brightness to the side. There was even sautéed spinach sprinkled with sesame seeds.
"You made all this?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Leona—or rather, Leon, as everyone else called her—puffed out her chest proudly, hands on her hips. "Of course. What, did you think I was bluffing?"
"No, just... didn’t expect a full-on traditional Japanese breakfast."
She smirked, turning back toward the kitchen to fetch tea. "You looked half-dead this morning. Figured you needed something to remind you life still has flavor."
I didn’t deny it.
I picked up my chopsticks and tried the tamagoyaki.
...Damn.
Sweet and fluffy, with the perfect balance of soy and dashi. Comforting.
"Good?" she asked, peeking at me over her shoulder.
"I’m reconsidering my entire food philosophy."
She snorted, finally sitting down across from me. Her posture was relaxed, but too refined for someone pretending to be just "one of the guys." I caught her subtly adjusting how she folded her legs under the table—not too tight, not too ladylike... but still, noticeable.
She probably didn’t even realize how naturally her feminine habits slipped through.
I wondered if she really thought I hadn’t caught on.
Leona Harper, "prince" of her clan, living in disguise, rooming with me—and still assuming I hadn’t figured her out?
Cute.
In the novel, no one caught her disguise.
But I’ve read that novel.
I know she’s a girl.
"So," she said between sips of tea, "how’s it feel to eat something that wasn’t pulled from a vending machine or scorched in the cafeteria?"
"Like I should start paying rent to your kitchen."
She laughed. "That bad, huh?"
"More like that good. I haven’t eaten like this in ages."
There was a pause—just a moment too long.
She looked at me, like she was about to say something else. Something real.
But whatever it was, she swallowed it down with her tea instead.
Then she smiled. "Well, eat as much as you want. There’s more rice in the cooker."
"Careful," I said, grinning. "Keep this up and I might fall for you."
Leona choked on her tea, immediately turning her face away as she coughed. "D-Don’t joke like that. I’m not g-gay."
The way she said gay—like the word might physically bite her—was priceless.
And her ears, now definitely pink, betrayed just how flustered she really was.
I smirked to myself.
Yeah, I know.
You’re not gay.
She was trying so hard to keep it together. Honestly, it made her way too easy—and fun—to tease.
It was refreshing, too. Most people? Say the wrong thing and you risk a punch or a duel. But Leona? She didn’t have a sword in hand, and as long as I didn’t go too far, I could nudge the sleeping lion without losing a limb.
Still, I knew my limits.
I raised a hand in mock surrender. "Haha, sorry. I meant—your future girlfriend is going to be lucky."
"Huh?"
She blinked, clearly confused—then realization dawned.
Her shoulders tensed.
I grinned wider. "Guys who can cook are popular these days. Especially with girls."
"Oh. R-Right." She nodded quickly. "That’s what you meant."
She stabbed a piece of spinach a little too aggressively with her chopsticks, pretending to focus on her food—probably kicking herself for forgetting she was supposed to be a guy.
Meanwhile, I was trying not to laugh, half-hoping she’d go full panic mode and say something like, "I’m not a lesbian!"
But she didn’t.
She stayed quiet, face still pink, chewing her food way too slowly to be natural.
Even so, the silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable.
If anything, it felt... nice.
"This is really good, by the way," I added. "You should cook more often."
She glanced up, clearly trying to collect herself. "W-Well... maybe. If you ask nicely."
"Noted."
She turned her head again, but this time there was a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.
Yeah.
She was easy to fluster.
Hard to hate.
And honestly?
Way more fun to be around than I expected.
Even if she still thought I hadn’t figured out her secret.