Rewrite Our Love? Too Late

Kasumigaoka Utaha hadn't slept a wink.

Despite going to bed late the night before, her eyes snapped open at dawn—and stubbornly refused to close again.

She wanted coffee.

Real coffee.

But the canned stuff from the vending machine outside tasted like metallic regret.

So, on a whim, she tried brewing it herself.

The result?

Disastrous.

Burnt grounds. Spilled water.

A manual grinder she now had to scrub clean.

Sighing, she pulled a Fukuzawa Yukichi bill from her wallet and slid it under the untouched bag of beans in silent apology.