Seven days had passed since the night Aoi's paper was shared in advance.
On the very last early afternoon of those seven days, during Ichotei's break time, the latest issue of a cooking magazine lay at the usual distance on the table at the very back, just this side of the kitchen.
On a corner of the cover where it lay, the early-autumn light through the window fell faintly, for one breath's worth.
At the very end of the fallen light, Mitsuki pulled out a chair in her usual white coat, sat down, and turned the usual cover, slowly, for one breath's worth.
Beyond the turned cover, in the corner at the very bottom of the usual table of contents, a small column stood, one breath's worth fainter than the usual text.
At the very top of the column stood a headline, one breath's worth fainter and smaller than the usual size, faintly, for two breaths' worth.
The headline read:
Roti Smart's Ryo Kiryu Puts New Menu Development on Hold
Just below the headline, a short passage, one breath's worth fainter than the usual text, stood two breaths' worth deep.
On the very last line of the passage, a comment from Kiryu himself had been placed at the usual distance, one breath's worth deep.
The comment read:
I'm going to step out of the valley of a local optimum, for once. I'll eat a little with my own tongue. Whether AI alone can reach the same point, I'll measure again after that.
At the very end of the words "whether it can reach the same point, I'll measure again after that," Mitsuki faintly pressed the very top corner of the magazine page with her right index finger, for one breath's worth.
Beyond her pressing fingertip, the letters of the column went on standing at the usual distance.
Mitsuki reread the standing letters once more, for one breath, for two breaths' worth, deeply.
At the very end of the two breaths of rereading, the very corner of Mitsuki's mouth lifted, ever so slightly, one breath's worth deeper than usual. Without making a sound, she smiled faintly.
At the very end of the smile, inside Mitsuki's single breath, a line from Aoi's paper rose up at the usual distance.
Beyond the words that rose—Kiryu was probably the same as Aoi, Mitsuki thought. Measure again once with his own tongue, and then, with AI, from his own side, cross the wall of her father's long memory. The methods were different. The places they stood were different. Even so, the wall her father had not been able to cross alone, the two of them would cross with AI, each from a separate angle. What her father had left undone, the man who had been his adversary and a young researcher were taking up, without knowing it.
At the very end of the thought, the thin device inside the left breast pocket of her white coat did not vibrate, at the usual distance, for one breath's worth.
At the very end of its not vibrating, the whiteness of the early-autumn afternoon through the window of Ichotei's usual kitchen was still falling, at the usual strength, on the corner of the magazine cover.
At the very end of the whiteness still falling, Mitsuki faintly stroked the paper over the letters of the column with the palm of her right hand, for one breath's worth.
Beyond her stroking fingertips, the words of Kiryu's comment, "whether it can reach the same point, I'll measure again after that," stood faintly, for one breath's worth, in the usual shape of paper.
At the very end of the standing letters, the hands of the clock on the wall at the very back of Ichotei's kitchen moved, faintly, from their usual position, one breath's worth, on to the next breath.
Beyond the moving hands, the very last breath of break time rose up at the usual strength.
Beyond what rose, Mitsuki pushed back her chair one breath's worth, in her usual white coat, in her usual place, and stood up.
Inside her standing hands, she closed the usual cover of the magazine, slowly, for one breath's worth.
At the very end of closing it, the thin device inside the breast pocket of her white coat vibrated faintly, for one breath's worth.
Beyond the vibration, at the very top of the screen, a single line from Toru had risen up at the usual distance.
What do you want to eat tonight?
Beyond the single line that had risen, Mitsuki smiled once more, faintly, without making a sound, for one breath's worth.
At the very end of the smile, at the very bottom of the screen, with her own right index finger, at the usual distance, she replied:
Omelet
At the very end of the word she sent, Mitsuki took the usual four eggs from the basket at the very back of the kitchen into her hands.
At the very end of taking them, she set one more, a fifth egg, in her palm, one breath's worth extra. Mitsuki weighed it for one breath's worth, and then returned it, slowly, for one breath's worth, to its original place in the basket.
Mitsuki felt the weight of the four eggs she had taken, two breaths' worth deep.
At the very end of the weight she felt, she walked one breath's worth to the front of the frying pan.
The early-autumn light through Ichotei's window touched the surface of the frying pan at the usual strength.
At the very end of the touching light, the very back of the usual kitchen stood, for one breath's worth, with nothing happening.