Dama moved closer to Giona, watching her blonde hair glimmer in the light of the room. As he positioned himself behind her, the gesture she had just made—turning her back to him without hesitation—resonated deeply. The thought that she trusted him enough to let him do something as intimate as brushing her hair made his chest feel warm. The corners of his lips lifted slightly, and his nerves started to melt away.

  He thought back to the image of his father brushing Jula’s hair. His father had always used one hand to hold the hair steady and the other to work the brush, moving with gentle and practiced motions. Dama closed his eyes for a moment, imagining that scene, and told himself he could do it too.

  But just as he raised the brush to begin, a realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. He froze mid-motion, his heart sinking. How had he missed something so obvious? He only had one arm—of course he couldn’t replicate what his father had done.

  He sighed internally, berating himself. "How could I forget? Seriously, Dama?" His frustration with himself built, but he quickly shook his head to dispel the negative thoughts. "Okay, calm down," he told himself. "You don’t need two hands. You brushed your own hair just fine. This will work."

  With renewed determination, Dama moved the brush closer to Giona’s hair. Carefully, he began the first stroke.

  It didn’t go as planned.

  The brush snagged on a stubborn knot almost immediately, pulling on Giona’s scalp. She let out a sharp yelp of pain, her small body being jerked backward.

  Dama’s eyes widened in horror as he dropped the brush and instinctively reached out to steady her with his hand. “Oh no, oh no, I’m so sorry!” He blurted.

  Giona turned to look back at him, her teary eyes wide with confusion and a flicker of hurt. Dama’s stomach dropped further at the sight. He scrambled backward in a panic, raising his hand as if in surrender.

  But, in his panic, he didn't realize how close he was to the edge of the bed until it was too late, leading him to fall off and hitting the ground with his back—the brush clattering to the floor beside him.

  Feeling the weight of his mistake, Dama didn’t hesitate. He got down on his knees and bowed his head low to the ground. “I’m so sorry, Giona! "I-I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear!” His voice trembled with guilt as he pressed his forehead to the floor.

  From his position, Dama couldn’t see Giona’s reaction, but he hoped she wouldn’t hate him for his clumsiness. He bit his lip, waiting anxiously for her response. "She was just starting to trust me. Why am I so stupid?" He thought as his mistake began to crush him, berating himself relentlessly. "Please don’t be mad...!"

  Amid his self-loathing, Dama felt a faint pressure on his back. He tensed for a moment, then realized it was Nini. She sniffed him curiously, her little nose brushing against his shirt before she began pawing at him, almost as if to ask what was wrong. Dama looked up at Nini, his guilt evident on his face.

  Meanwhile, Giona sat on the bed, rubbing the sore spot on her scalp. The pain radiating through her head was a bit harsh, but it was nothing compared to the agony she’d endured in her cell.

  Her gaze fell on Dama, who remained kneeling on the floor. For a moment, fear flickered in her chest—a natural response given her past experiences—but something deep in her gut told her Dama hadn’t meant to hurt her.

  As she wrestled with her thoughts, she noticed Mumu moving. He walked over to where Dama had dropped the brush, picked it up, and stared at it.

  The sound of Mumu’s movements caught Dama’s attention and he looked at him. He saw Mumu holding the brush, but he wasn't doing anything else—just staring at it, frozen in place like a statue.

  “M-Mumu?” Dama called out, confusion lacing in his voice.

  Giona tilted her head, her fear giving way to curiosity. Why wasn’t Mumu moving?

  Nini, too, noticed her brother’s odd behavior. Her ears perked up, and her tail swished nervously as she padded closer to him.

  Nini placed a paw on Mumu, and for a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen. But then Mumu stirred, tilting and turning his head ever so slowly.

  Dama followed Mumu’s gaze and realized he wasn’t looking at the brush anymore—he was staring at the family photo on the desk.

  “What’s he looking at?” Dama muttered to himself, his guilt momentarily overshadowed by confusion.

  Giona glanced at the photo too, her curiosity piqued. She didn’t fully understand what was happening, but the air in the room felt strange, like something important was unfolding.

  For a full minute, Mumu stood frozen, staring at the family photo. Dama and Nini grew increasingly concerned. The latter pawed at her brother, nuzzling him and letting out soft whines, while Dama gently shook him, whispering his name.

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  “Mumu, hey. Snap out of it.” Dama urged, his voice trembling slightly.

  But Mumu didn’t respond, his gaze locked on the photograph. Just as Dama considered pulling the brush from his paw, Mumu suddenly moved. Slowly, deliberately, he turned and walked toward Giona, his steps calm yet purposeful.

  Now towering over Giona at the side of the bed, Mumu gazed down at her. His eyes didn’t hold malice, but something else—something deep and unreadable.

  Giona tensed at first, put off by his unusual behavior, but quickly reminded herself that Mumu wouldn’t hurt her. "Mumu, safe..." she thought, easing her nerves.

  Unbeknownst to anyone in the room, Mumu was hearing a voice. It was unlike the woman’s voice that usually echoed in his mind. This time, it was a man’s voice—low and indistinct, speaking in unintelligible murmurs. The words were incomprehensible, but their tone was calm, almost instructional.

  As the voice whispered to him, Mumu’s body began moving on its own, as if guided by an unseen force. He raised a paw and gently reached for a strand of Giona’s hair, letting it rest softly against his fur.

  Dama stiffened. “Mumu, what are you doing?” He asked cautiously, his hand twitching as though ready to intervene.

  But Mumu didn’t respond. Instead, he lifted the brush and began to move it through Giona’s hair in long, practiced strokes, as though he’d done it countless times before.

  The room fell silent, save for the soft sound of the brush running through her hair. Giona, though surprised, found herself relaxing. Mumu’s movements were careful and precise, far gentler than she expected.

  Dama, meanwhile, sat back on his knees, completely baffled. “Where did you learn to do that?” He whispered, more to himself than to Mumu.

  Nini, still perched by her brother’s side, tilted her head in confusion but seemed to sense that whatever was happening wasn’t dangerous. She stayed close, her tail swishing from side to side as she observed.

  Mumu, however, remained focused, his movements smooth and deliberate as he brushed Giona’s hair, the strange voice in his mind continuing to guide him.

  Once Mumu finished, Giona’s hair lay neatly brushed and smooth, free of almost all its knots.

  Giona reached up, her small fingers running through her now-tamed blonde strands. Though her hair still felt brittle and fragile, she marveled at the sensation. It was entirely new to her—soft, sleek, and comforting in a strange sense. Nonetheless, a big smile spread across her face as she tilted her head, letting her fingers play with the ends of her hair.

  Dama, on the other hand, stood frozen in place, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. His gaze flicked between Mumu, the brush in his paw, and Giona’s now-straightened hair. "How... How did you do that?" He asked, walking up to Mumu, his voice a mix of astonishment and disbelief. "I didn’t teach you how to brush hair. I mean, I don’t even know how to brush hair like that."

  Mumu looked at Dama blankly at first, then down at the brush in his paw. He glanced back toward the family photo on the desk, lingered on it for a moment, and then turned his gaze back to Dama. Finally, with a nonchalant shrug, he placed the brush on the bed.

  Dama blinked, processing his companion’s response. "Wait, what? You don’t know how you did it either?"

  Mumu gave a small shake of his head, as if to say no, before waddling away, content with what he had done. Nini followed, who eagerly sniffed him, her tail wagging furiously, as though asking if he was all right. She continued this even after Mumu sat down on the floor in order to rest.

  Reacting to his sister's actions, Mumu proceeded to take Nini's face into his paws and rub her head with both, as if to say "I'm fine!"

  Dama crossed his arms, staring at Mumu with narrowed eyes. "So...your body just decided it knows how to brush hair now?" He sighed, exasperated, then turned to Giona, whose delighted expression softened his confusion. “Well,” Dama muttered, scratching the back of his head, “I guess I’ll just add ‘mystery hairdresser’ to the list of things I don’t understand about him." He gave Giona a sheepish grin. "At least it worked out, huh?"

  Giona nodded in an enthusiastic manner, running her fingers through her hair again. Her trust in Dama—and by extension, Mumu—had grown even more.

  Her excitement would continue to bubble over as she continued to run her fingers through her newly brushed hair. Her squeals of joy filled the room as she marveled at how smooth and pleasant it felt.

  It was no longer rough or uncomfortable—her hair was soft, and the sensation brought her a happiness she hadn’t known before. She beamed, thinking to herself how this was all thanks to Dama and Mumu.

  Dama approached her, raising his hand slightly to catch her attention. “Giona...” he began, unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say.

  Before he could finish, Giona looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with delight, and then, to his surprise, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her head. Without a word, she guided his fingers through her hair, encouraging him to feel what she was experiencing.

  Caught off guard, Dama blinked, his words faltering. Slowly, his fingers began to move, gliding through her smooth strands. “Wow,” he muttered, amazed at how well Mumu had done, "he really did a good job..."

  His admiration shifted to curiosity as he wondered once more how Mumu had learned to do something so intricate. The thought of Mumu’s odd behavior earlier lingered in his mind, and he made a mental note to ask Granny Tsubasa about it later.

  To Giona, the sensation of Dama’s hand moving through her hair was...different. Initially, she’d only wanted him to share her newfound joy, to experience the softness she was so excited about. But as his fingers moved gently over her scalp, a strange feeling began to stir within her.

  It wasn’t just comfort or relaxation like she’d felt when Mumu brushed her hair, or even the happiness and safety she'd come to love when Tsubasa was beside her—it was something deeper.

  Her heart started to race slightly, a faint but distinct rush that confused her. It was almost like the flutter of fear, yet it wasn’t unpleasant. She let her shoulders slump as she enjoyed every second.

  Even though she didn’t know what this feeling was, it filled her chest with warmth and made her want the moment to last forever.

  For the first time, she realized she was allowing someone to touch her without hesitation or fear. In that instant, Giona understood something new: this connection, this warmth, was unlike anything she had felt before.

  -

  Next: (Extra Chapter 18) New Morning Routine: Part 3