“No ma’am,” Ryouma said meekly. And he couldn’t help himself: the grin slipped out again, sideways and sly. “I’m good at figuring out new kinds of stupid to be...”

She kicked him under the table. He yelped, and spilled his coffee. She snickered and promptly buried her nose in her own mug, doing her best to look round-eyed and innocent. If his shin and scalp weren’t still aching she would have been adorable.

“I’ll keep it to a minimum,” he promised, reaching for napkins to mop up the spill.

“Good,” she said, and grinned. “Keep it like that. No explosions or anything.”

“I thought you liked explosions!” he protested.

Katsuko shook a finger in his face. “That’s exactly why. Explosions are my thing. You go find a different thing, like knitting or something.”

Knitting might actually be a good alternative to finger exercises meant to recover his hand-seal dexterity. He filed the thought away, crumpled the soiled napkins on the edge of the table, and picked up his mug again. “Katsuko. Thanks.”

She didn’t have to ask What for. Just knocked the edge of her mug gently against his, in their own kind of salute, and drank.

He sank back again in his chair, and began to relax at last.