Canvas of Silent Colors

I don't know what possessed me to apply for Suimei High School.

I mean, yeah, it's prestigious. Good track record, fancy clubs, elite kids everywhere. A place where everyone shines so bright they probably need sunscreen just to look in the mirror.

But someone like me… it's like shoving a scratched bootleg cartridge into a brand-new console. It doesn't fit right, and honestly, it probably damages both.

Still… deep down, I guess I felt that if I didn't make a change now, I'd regret it.

I'd keep rotting away in the same dusty corner, watching life pass me by through the reflection of my laptop screen while arguing about waifu rankings with strangers online.

It sounds selfish. Probably is. I don't like friends. I don't like people poking around my business, asking why I never join club trips or why half my folders are locked behind ten layers of encryption with passwords that'd make NSA sweat.

My otakuness makes me weird in their eyes anyway. Always has.

See, back in elementary school, I had these childhood friends. We'd hang out after class, trade cards, marathon old RPGs on my half-cracked PSP.

I was that kid who memorized every hidden boss route, every event CG, every secret ending. They laughed about it sometimes, said it was creepy or nerdy, but… they still came to my room just to watch me play, screaming at pixelated dragons at 2 AM like it was the end of the world.

One of them was Eriri.

Yeah, that Sawamura Eriri Spencer. You don't know?

Well... she had Blonde twin-tails, perfect grades, goddess aura. Back then she was just Eri to me.

She'd come over, watch me grind levels, sometimes sit cross-legged on my bed scribbling character designs while I raged at some final boss RNG. She never laughed at me for liking games or anime or those trashy manga I borrowed from my uncle's hidden stash.

She'd just roll her eyes and say my waifu had terrible taste. (Which, okay, was fair. I stand by my choices, though.)

I thought… it was fine like that. That it'd always stay like that.

Then middle school happened. And suddenly it wasn't fine anymore.

She started ignoring me at school. Like we were strangers. Like all those afternoons arguing about OP builds or ranking swimsuit event CGs never happened.

She had new friends, fancy art competitions, student council meetings, after-school tea parties with people who could actually pronounce 'Château Margaux' without choking.

And I… I was just the gloomy otaku kid who'd ruin her perfect ojou-sama aesthetic.

That's when I realized people don't really care about what you love. They just care about how loving that thing makes them look.

So I stopped caring about them too.

I hid my games deeper in my shelves. Wore my hoodie up all year round, even in summer, sweating buckets like an idiot. Kept my earphones in even when my ears becomes deaf, just to avoid conversations about pointless stuff like the weather or career goals.

If they thought I was creepy, fine. Creepy guys get left alone. And that's all I ever wanted.

…At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

-------------------------

Okay. Calm down, Tomoya. Deep breath. It's just a door. A normal, ordinary classroom door. Not the gates of judgment.

The opening ceremony was a blur—some mix of stiff suits, endless speeches, and enough enthusiasm to power a sports festival. I remember clapping at the end, mostly out of reflex. None of it stuck. My mind was too busy chewing on the idea that maybe, just maybe, this year would be different.

And yet, standing here, hand on the door, I already feel like backing out. Run down the hall, fake a fever, hide in the nurse's office until graduation. Something.

But I came here for a reason. Suimei isn't just some elite school filled with perfect kids and future artists. It's a restart button. One I pressed knowing full well I didn't deserve another shot, but wanting one anyway.

I open the door.

Every single person turns to look at me. Instantly. Like someone triggered a cutscene.

My body locks up. I don't breathe, don't blink. Just stand there like a cardboard standee someone forgot to fold up.

The room goes quiet—not for long, just long enough to make it feel personal. Like they're all waiting to see if I'll say something. Anything.

I don't.

And just like that, the moment passes. Their attention shifts, like I was background noise. Not even worth buffering in. A flicker in their periphery. A new face with no name.

I walk to the back. Not all the way back—just middle back. Safe zone. The kind of seat where no one expects anything from you. Close enough to the window to dream, but far enough to know those dreams don't belong to you.

Courtyard window seats are for protagonists. I'm not delusional.

I sit down, bag on the floor, arms folded on the desk like I'm trying to sink into it.

Nice job. First impression, nailed. You came in, said nothing, looked like you forgot how to human, and silently shuffled to the NPC corner.

Textbook.

I lean back in the chair and exhale through my nose. Maybe it's not too late. There's still the class introductions. My last hope. One shot to sound like a functioning person instead of a glitch in the social system.

What do I even say?

Hi, I'm Aki Tomoya, I enjoy movies, games, and long walks away from people. Please ignore the hoodie, it's part of my personality.

No, no. Too weird.

Something normal.

Something safe.

But my chest is already tight, and I can feel the words curling up in the back of my throat like they're embarrassed to come out. My heart's doing that thing where it beats fast but pretends it's fine.

I look up at the front. The teacher's not here yet. Some students are still filtering in. One guy's loudly talking about a baseball manga; someone else is humming an anime opening under their breath.

Maybe no one will remember me. Maybe that's good.

The door slides open again.

I glance up without thinking. Just habit. But then I freeze.

There's this guy—tall, athletic, the kind who makes a school uniform look like a magazine ad. His hair's tidy but not stiff, and he walks like someone who's used to people stepping aside for him without needing to ask. You can't see the muscles through the blazer, but somehow you know they're there.

He barely even opens his mouth and the room already quiets down.

Then he smiles. Soft, polite, easy. "Good morning."

That's it. Just two words. And everyone looks like they just unlocked a hidden character.

Even the loud manga guy near the front stops mid-sentence. Someone near me quietly mutters, "Whoa…" like they've just seen a shooting star. Or a K-drama lead come to life.

This guy doesn't need to try. He just is.

And it's not even the pretty-boy kind of cool. It's the kind that feels reliable. Like if the school were to spontaneously catch fire, he'd be the one organizing the evacuation with a fire extinguisher in hand and a calm smile on his face.

The perfect normie. Suimei's natural habitat.

I already know where he's going to sit. Back row, by the window. It's always the back row. Every self-insert protagonist sits there like it's written in the school rulebook.

He walks past me, and I brace for it. Yup. Right to the back.

And then he stops.

Wait.

No.

Why is he—

He drops his bag next to mine. Not near me. Next to me. On my right. He's even closer to the hallways window than I am.

I stare at the empty seat between us like it just betrayed me.

He doesn't hesitate. Just settles in like he's done this before, pulls out his phone, untangles a headset, and slips it on.

Before I can finish processing the fact that the protagonist just sat down next to a certified background character, he looks at me.

Calm eyes. Friendly face. Not forced.

"Good morning."

I barely manage to respond. Something between a croak and a whisper comes out. I think it was "Morning," but it might've just been air.

Then he leans back, earbuds in, scrolling through something on his phone. Just like that, like talking was never even the main point. Like this was enough.

And now I'm confused.

Aren't normies supposed to start small talk? Ask what middle school you're from? Share their LINE? Make plans for lunch?

Why is he… wearing headphones?

Why is he more socially distant than me?

This is that moment, right? The "let's all be friends from day one" phase. When people try to make harmless small talk, toss around jokes that aren't that funny, maybe even swap snacks just to show they're open to it.

So why is he just... zoned out?

I glance around, expecting someone else to jump in. It's not like he's hard to notice. A couple girls near the window—definitely gyaru types, perfect hair, long nails, effortless style—they've got their eyes on him. One even starts to move, like she's going to say something.

Then she spots the earbud.

She slows. Pauses. Glances at her friend instead and leans in to whisper. There's a bit of laughter, light and uncertain. Not mocking, just... unsure what to make of him.

And that's it. They drift back to their circle like the moment never happened.

I catch all of it from my seat, like I'm watching a rare NPC event trigger in real time. It's oddly fascinating.

He didn't do anything. Didn't even glance at them. Just sat there, eyes locked on his phone, posture easy but sharp, like whatever he's reading needs him fully present.

Not the usual mindless scrolling. His eyes aren't moving randomly, and there's no thumb flicking through a feed. Just this quiet focus, like he's really processing something.

If this were anime, he'd be that transfer student who reads foreign journals on modern philosophy or builds indie games in secret while captaining the basketball team. The kind of guy who doesn't need to prove anything because he already knows exactly who he is.

But this isn't anime. This is real life. So I tell myself it's probably a game update or a YouTube rabbit hole or some unhinged forum thread he's too invested in.

Still... that kind of presence? That quiet intensity? It's way too solid for a first day.

What kind of person shuts down attention just by existing?

It's not off-putting. Not exactly. But it does something to the room. Like everyone collectively agreed not to bother him, even though just seconds ago they were itching to say hi.

And me?

I'm just sitting here, taking it all in. Watching the contradiction play out in real time. He's got the look, the presence, the whole protagonist starter pack—yet he moves like a background character who's already solved his route and is just here to help the story along..

And then—

The classroom door slams open. Loud enough to make even the whispering gyaru two rows over pause mid-sentence like someone just hit the scene change.

What walks in doesn't look like a teacher. Or an adult.

Or even someone who meant to be here.

White lab coat, wrinkled like it's been used as a blanket for a week straight. Faded pink hoodie underneath, hanging like it's clinging to retirement. Tie? Barely a tie. More like a long, defeated ribbon of obligation.

And the hair, red and defying gravity in places that physics should've given up on.

But the real punchline?

The guy's got a handheld console in one hand. Still on. He's tapping away at it as he walks, completely ignoring the twenty-ish students staring at him like he just spawned in from the wrong genre.

He gets to the podium. Doesn't stop playing.

"Yo. Morning."

Flat. Like the air itself offended him by being in the way.

"Name's Kagami Junichiro. I'm your homeroom teacher. Nice to meet you all."

Silence.

Not respectful. Not awkward.

Just did we get the wrong script levels of silence.

I glance around. One guy two seats up looks like his soul momentarily left his body. A girl near the window blinks way too many times, like she's waiting for the world to render properly.

And me?

I'm still stuck on one part: this guy's a teacher? At Suimei? Seriously?

I mean, I thought Suimei was supposed to be elite. A school full of prodigies, creators, people who actually make stuff. Not… otaku trash like me. Not people like this guy who looks like he rage-quit adult life and came here out of spite.

I thought people like us weren't supposed to end up in places like this.

And yet here he is, pink hoodie and all. Console in hand. No shame. No explanation. Just… existing, in all his chaotic, unbothered glory.

I exhale slowly through my nose. Maybe that's the lesson here. Maybe this school doesn't care what you look like, or how broken your sleep schedule is, or how many figures you have on your desk—as long as you've got talent.

Which is either inspiring… or deeply unsettling.

Kagami-sensei lets out a sigh that sounds like it's been aging since the Triassic period. He finally pauses his game and looks up, barely. His face stays neutral—like even lifting his head was pushing the limits of what he's willing to contribute to society today.

"Before you ask—yes, I'm your teacher. No, I'm not here because I want to be. The principal roped me into this because apparently 'teaching the youth is a noble duty' or something equally dramatic."

He waves a hand, not so much to gesture as to dismiss the very air around him, and drops the console onto the podium with a thunk that feels oddly final.

"Anyway. Follow the rules, don't die, and let me play my game in peace. We'll get along just fine."

I blink.

Once.

Twice.

Okay. This has to be a joke, right?

Like, I'm waiting for someone to burst in wearing a hidden camera rig and shout "Gotcha! Welcome to Suimei: The Prank School!" But no, nothing. Just silence. Real, actual, no-one-knows-what-to-do silence.

I shift slightly in my seat and glance sideways.

Natsuki's still there. Still seated, still calm, but... something's changed.

His phone's already been set down, face-first like it offended him. He's watching the teacher now, but there's no interest in his eyes. No judgment either. Just this... weary, quiet kind of focus. His shoulders have sunk a little. His expression's still unreadable, but—

There. A sigh.

Small. Barely audible. But real.

And for some reason, it hits.

Even he didn't see this coming.

The guy who looked like he had a five-year plan and a secret underground base is already sighing before the first class has even started.

Kagami-sensei starts roll call with a yawn so cavernous I think I heard my future echo from inside it. No seating chart. No school vision. No motivational quote about youth and dreams. Just names, read like side-quests he forgot to auto-complete.

And I—fool that I am—actually sit up a bit.

Wait... that's it? No name game? No motivational speech? No "Class 1-B, let's work hard together!" sparkle moment?

Isn't this supposed to be the part where everyone awkwardly introduces themselves so we can forget each other's names five minutes later?

I glance at Kagami-sensei again. He's barely looking at the sheet now, rattling off names between half-hearted stretches like he's filling time before a patch update drops.

And then it clicks.

Oh. He's like me.

Except worse. Or better. Depending on your metrics.

He doesn't pretend to care. Doesn't even try to blend in. There's no act. No facade.

Just a tired, unapologetic nerd who clearly got dragged here against his will and is determined to coast through it with minimum effort and maximum battery life.

And honestly?

Twenty-ish people introducing themselves would take ages. We'd all say the same recycled lines anyway. Hobbies, favorite food, maybe a "please be nice to me." Kagami probably saw through that nonsense on day one and decided to skip the filler arc entirely.

If it means he gets back to his game faster, I can't really blame him.

Efficient, in a way.

Depressing. But efficient.

And then, like a cutscene trigger I didn't press—a voice cuts through the room.

Lazy. Somewhere between a yawn and a verbal shrug.

"Aki Tomoya."

My body jerks like a startled NPC. "H-here!" I croak, voice cracking just enough to echo off the back wall and into my own shame. The word barely leaves my mouth before I realize: I wasn't ready. Not physically. Not mentally. Not narratively.

God.

There it goes.

All of it.

The carefully constructed "normal guy with normal hobbies who definitely didn't spend his break watching twelve hours of anime and reading dev interviews until 3 a.m." persona?

Shattered.

And yeah, maybe that persona wasn't that convincing to begin with—but I was trying, okay? I came in clean, I brushed my hair, I even using expensive perfume and hygiene in my closet. I was going to be just a guy.

The kind of guy who plays sports "casually," who has opinions about movies that aren't animated, who probably touches grass more than twice a month.

That guy?

Gone in one panicked voice crack.

And, I listlessly slumped in my desk.

"Natsuki Ren."

The name floats through the air like it already belongs in the OP credits.

I barely register it until I hear the reply—right next to me.

"Hai."

My head turns instinctively.

Natsuki doesn't flinch. Doesn't stiffen. Doesn't crack under pressure. Just lifts his hand with textbook efficiency, like he's answering roll call in a studio rehearsal. His voice is steady. His timing? Impeccable.

Even his posture has that lazy-but-cool thing going on, like he rolled out of bed straight into character.

Kagami-sensei glances up briefly, eyes half-lidded. "Polite one, huh. Alright."

That's it. No cracks. No voice breaks. Not a single drop of sweat.

Wow. Sasuga.

The protagonist-coded aura is unreal.

I mean, look at him. He's odd, sure. Bit unreadable. Maybe one bad hair day away from being typecast as the "mysterious transfer student with a dark past."

But instead, he lands effortlessly in the "main character who'll probably change lives before midterms" lane.

And here I am—background character #7653, currently failing my first impression route.

Still, maybe there's hope.

Lunch is a social checkpoint, right? A free-roam segment. A comeback arc. Redemption.

If I can recalibrate. Regroup.

Maybe sit on the roof and stare dramatically into the distance like someone with real-world problems.

Just gotta… not mess it up again.

Yeah.

Easy.

(Help.)

-------------------------

Kagami-sensei's voice had all the excitement of a loading screen that wouldn't budge.

It buzzed in the background like a half-asleep podcast titled "Why I Only Took This Job Because the Principal Guilt-Tripped Me." He barely looked up from the attendance sheet, yawning between names like it was part of the curriculum.

Five minutes in, I could already feel my brain slipping into sleep mode.

Not that I didn't care. I did. Kind of.

But this was the same recycled prologue every new term came with—rules, schedules, thinly-veiled threats about late homework.

Like someone took responsibility, put it on a loop, and set it to low volume.

Somewhere between "textbooks will be distributed next week" and "class leader duties," I zoned out completely.

I stared at the corner of the timetable like it might unlock a side quest.

Then the bell rang.

Chairs screeched. Voices rose. The entire room burst into motion like someone hit fast-forward.

By the time I sat up properly, the damage was done.

Groups had already formed. Somehow.

Desks had been rearranged. Circles had popped up out of nowhere. People were laughing, trading snacks, heading out to the cafeteria or courtyard like they'd rehearsed this morning.

Me?

I was still sitting there. Bag unopened. Handout half-crumpled in my fingers.

I looked up. Looked around.

Everyone had someone. Or at least somewhere.

I had a desk. And the growing realization that I'd already blown it.

"Perfect," I muttered, smoothing the paper again just to give my hands something to do. "Of course I missed the window."

Why didn't I move? Say something? Join anyone?

I mean, I used to.

'But I'm Scared'

So maybe that's why I just sat there. Not because I wanted to eat alone.

But because the fear of getting that look again—

The one where someone decides you don't belong in their new, improved life—

It sticks with you.

And yeah. Maybe that's pathetic.

But in this world? Where everyone's filtering their lives like it's a daily vlog, where one wrong sentence can label you forever...

Can you really blame me for playing it safe?

I sighed and rested my head on my arms.

"…I'm such an idiot."

Just a dumb otaku clinging to a save file no one remembers.

I'd already braced myself for another solo lunch.

Desk lunch. Invisible lunch. It's fine. It's familiar. I've got the stats for it.

So when I heard footsteps coming my way, I didn't look up. Didn't want to look up. People don't usually walk toward me unless they want a favor, a seat, or to check if I'm really eating instant sandwich again.

But then—

"Aki-san, right?"

Holy sh—

My heart jumped like a glitchy visual novel sprite. That voice. Light, calm, and not judging. Just… there. 

I looked up, bracing for another round of small talk I'd definitely flub—

And saw him.

What?? Why is he here??

Natsuki Ren.

The student who sit beside me with that dependable aura and the kind of calm that makes you instinctively trust him in a crisis. He radiates protagonist energy—and not the cringe harem kind either.

The classic, grounded, main-route type.

Wasn't he supposed to be socializing with the popular kids? Or at least eating lunch in some sunlit corner surrounded by normal, well-adjusted people?

So why was he… talking to me?

And hold on a second—is that a full homemade bento in his hand??

What?! Is he that good at cooking or does he have a girlfriend already?

Of course he does. With that face? That aura? I'd believe it if he said an upperclassman secretly made it for him every morning and left it on his desk with a ribbon.

Meanwhile, I've got… crumbs. From the inside of my hoodie pocket. Great.

"E-eh…? Ah… y-yes…?"

Ah yes. That's my grand response. Like a toddler caught with cookie crumbs—except I'm the cookie.

He just… smiles.

What is this reaction?

Is this normal?

I mean, did I accidentally select the "Kind Hero Route" in real life or something?

No judgment in his eyes. No awkward pity. Just that calm expression, like talking to me was the most natural thing in the world.

And the weirdest part?

It's the understanding I see in his eyes.

Like he already gets me, without needing the backstory or the cringe prologue.

And then—

"I'm Natsuki Ren. We didn't really introduce ourselves earlier."

There it is.

The voice. Smooth, casual, like we're both just side characters waiting for our screen time.

Except, he feels like the screen time. Like someone the story revolves around, even when he's not trying.

Seriously, what the hell is this guy?

"R-right… Natsuki-kun…" I mumbled, scratching my cheek, eyes flicking anywhere but his. My voice came out thinner than I intended—tight, a little breathless. Great. I sound like I've never spoken to another human before.

His gaze drifted down toward my desk.

Crap. Right. Nothing there. No bento. Not even a pathetic convenience store bun.

"…You don't have lunch today?"

That soft voice again. Not judging. Just asking.

I stiffened. "Ah… no, I… I was thinking of getting something later," I blurted, way too fast, like I was guilty of something.

Yeah. Nice. Real smooth. Say it like a lie even when it's true.

The truth? I didn't even plan for lunch.

I figured I'd just drift around, maybe buy something cheap from the convenience store if I got too hungry. Nothing worth sitting down over.

Not like I wanted to ask my parents to pack me a bento or anything. Not when they were already sacrificing so much just to let me chase this whim of mine. Spending money on tuition, uniforms, train passes… all for a guy who still hides eroge behind his textbooks.

So yeah. I'd rather skip lunch than add another thing to their plate.

I felt my fingers tightening around the class schedule like it was some kind of shield. Paper armor. Totally useless.

But Ren just stood there, not saying anything, not shifting awkwardly. Just… looking.

Not with pity.

With something gentler. Something that felt dangerously close to kindness.

And somehow, that was harder to handle.

"Would you like to go to the cafeteria together?" he asked softly. "It's my first day here too. I'd appreciate the company."

I blinked.

Wait, what?

That wasn't a hallucination, right? He said that. Out loud. To me.

"E-eh… ah… are you sure? I-I mean, if you're okay with that…"

Smooth, Tomoya. Real smooth. I sounded like someone trying to decline a phone call from their own mother.

And yet he just nodded, all calm and unbothered, like inviting me wasn't the strangest decision he made today.

"Of course. Eating alone on the first day feels a bit too gloomy, don't you think?"

I stared at him.

There it was again—that tone. Casual, genuine. No pressure. No hidden strings. No hint of, "Oh god, now I've got to babysit the weird loner."

Why? Why would someone like him want to eat with someone like me? I mean, seriously—look at me. I'm barely functioning. 

I've got a personality that screams "background character," and even my old childhood friend would rather pretend I don't exist.

There are plenty of better options. Flashier ones. Funnier. Normal.

But… he chose to ask me.

And even if every instinct in me said to run, to apologize, to disappear quietly like always… I heard myself say it.

"Th-thank you…"

Soft. Barely audible.

But I meant it. Every syllable.

He waited as I fumbled with my wallet like an amateur magician trying to pull off a trick with sweaty hands. Sunlight filtered in from the windows, catching the floating dust in the air between us.

He turned to leave, and for a second I just stood there, frozen, watching his back.

Then I moved.

Maybe this was a fluke. Maybe he'd regret it later.

But maybe—just maybe—this day wouldn't completely suck after all.

------------------------

We left the classroom in silence.

Not the heavy, awkward kind you get when no one knows what to say. Just… quiet. Comfortable. Or maybe neutral was the better word.

The hallway, on the other hand, was a riot.

Students were everywhere—laughing too loud, moving in clumps, trying too hard to look like they weren't trying too hard. Everyone smelled like excitement and cheap hairspray.

You could tell half of them still weren't sure which building their homeroom was in, and the other half just wanted to find the cafeteria before the food ran out.

It was chaos.

And yet Natsuki… just walked. Like he knew exactly where he was going. No hesitation. No map in hand. No flipping through the bloated campus guide that looked like a light novel but read like a bureaucratic nightmare.

I stared at the side of his head for a second.

How does someone just know that?

Did he actually read the guidebook? The one they gave us at registration that was thicker than some novels? I remember flipping through it once, seeing a campus map that looked like a JR train schedule,

Now, that school handbook was probably still crumpled up under my bed or in my laundry basket or wherever my motivation went after entrance exams.

But Natsuki… he must've gone through the whole thing. Memorized it even. Who does that?

Actually—how many people do that?

And then I noticed something else. He didn't just walk with confidence.

He looked.

At the walls. The stairs. The sunlight bouncing off the windows. Like he was actually taking it in. Like he wanted to remember it.

I don't know why, but that caught me off guard.

Maybe that's the difference. Maybe that's why he feels… well, like that. Like someone out of a story. He pays attention. And not just to people.

I didn't realize I'd started doing the same until I caught myself actually noticing the hallway's architecture. Not the usual bland gray, but this kind of warm, old university aesthetic.

Big archways. Tiled floors. Weirdly fancy columns that made you wonder if you were in a high school or a low-budget European museum.

"Suimei really is… big," I mumbled, kind of to myself.

Natsuki glanced at me, but didn't interrupt.

"Much bigger than my junior high…" I added, eyes trailing over a mural tucked beside the stairs. It was old, faded, but someone had painted students walking through different art forms. Kinda cheesy, but kinda cool too.

Natsuki gave a quiet hum. "It's more like an art university than a typical high school. I suppose that's expected. Their course divisions are broad, and they probably need separate spaces for each art department."

"Yeah… there's even a whole building for fine arts and design…" I muttered, the words slipping out more wistful than I meant. Probably because part of me still couldn't believe I got into this place.

Ren didn't laugh. Didn't nod either. Just kept walking at that same pace, quiet and unhurried.

And weirdly, the silence that followed didn't feel awkward.

If anything… it felt nice.

Somewhere between the noise of the crowd and the soft rhythm of our steps, the tension in my shoulders had faded. My hands weren't clenched anymore.

I wasn't staring at the floor to avoid eye contact. I didn't even notice when my steps started syncing with his.

It was… peaceful.

Like the kind of peace I usually only got when I was curled up in my room, game controller in hand, or halfway through an anime I'd already rewatch three times. That quiet headspace where I didn't have to perform or prove anything.

Where just existing felt allowed.

I hadn't expected to feel anything close to that here.

But walking next to Natsuki, I did.

He had this presence. Not loud, not pushy. Just calm. Steady. Like he was carrying a piece of stillness with him, and if you stayed close enough, some of it rubbed off on you.

And maybe that's why—

I didn't want to walk too far ahead.

Or too far behind.

After a while, we got into the cafeteria.

It hit me the moment we stepped in.

That familiar churn in my stomach. Not from hunger—never from that. From the noise. The buzz. The sheer number of people crammed into one place like some unspoken social test.

It's been a while since I came to a cafeteria. I used to avoid it like the plague. Too many eyes. Too much expectation. Too much space where you could just stand out without trying.

Middle school taught me that real fast.

Go in alone? Eat alone? Instant judgment.

I still remember the first time I tried. Sitting there with a convenience store sandwich, pretending to scroll through my phone like I was waiting for someone. Like I wasn't just hoping no one noticed I didn't have anyone.

But they always noticed.

There's always a glance. A whisper.

Even if they're not saying it out loud, I could hear it in their eyes.

"Who comes to the cafeteria to eat alone?"

After that, I stopped bothering. Just ate at my desk, or sometimes not at all. Convenience store rice balls, soggy bentos, the occasional packet of chips. Quick, quiet, and shame-free.

I shuffled closer to Natsuki nervously, gripping my wallet tight in my fist.

"Let's get our food and find a table near the window. Less crowded there," he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"R-right…" I answered before I could overthink it. My legs moved, slow and careful, like if I took the wrong step, this whole moment might vanish.

Near the window. Right. Strategic and polite. Away from the loudest tables. Away from the middle-school flashbacks. I could live with that.

It was strange though—how he just said that. No hesitation. No second glance like he was doing me a favor. It wasn't pity. It wasn't obligation. It just… was.

And for a second, I forgot to be on edge.

We joined the line. I glanced at him, still holding his bento, and for a second I didn't get it. Why line up if you already have food?

Then I saw it. No drink. Just the box. Right. Even lunchbox elites need something to wash it all down.

I turned back toward the display. Rows of trays steamed gently behind the glass. Curry with rice. Fried chicken. A suspiciously shiny hamburger steak. 

All of them looked way better than the bentos I used to grab from the convenience store and eat behind my classroom curtain.

I hadn't done this in a while. Cafeteria food choosing wasn't just about taste. It was strategy. It had rules. Pick something too flashy, and people notice. Too plain, and they still notice.

Pick something weird and suddenly your entire existence gets reduced to "that guy who ordered egg salad four days in a row."

I scanned the options again. Curry looked like a trap. Delicious, sure, but dangerous. What if I spilled it on my uniform? That's the kind of stain that follows you through entire arcs of your life.

Karaage? No. Too loud. That crunch was an announcement.

I needed something quiet. Predictable. Something that didn't scream look at me, I don't know how to socialize properly.

Then I saw it. Tucked in the corner. Wrapped in plastic like it was trying not to bother anyone.

Pork cutlet sandwich.

"Hmm… maybe… pork cutlet sandwich…" I muttered, low and unsure, like the food might hear and judge me.

Warm. Familiar. Slightly oily, but in a comforting way. Cooked this morning probably, or at least recently enough that my stomach wouldn't file a complaint. That's enough. It's not gourmet, but it doesn't hate me.

I reached for it.

First lunch of high school. First time not eating alone in what felt like forever. I probably could've picked something fancier, but honestly, the sandwich felt more like me.

Not trying too hard. Just here, doing its best to exist.

We made our way to the table by the window, trays in hand. The sun hit the tabletop just right, soft and warm, like a spotlight that didn't expect anything from you. It was quiet here. Not silent, but the kind of quiet that let you breathe.

We sat down.

I unwrapped my sandwich slowly, trying not to fumble it like some dramatic metaphor for my life. The bread had smudged a little on one side. Still warm though. That was something.

Then Natsuki opened his lunchbox.

Rice, still steaming. Sesame seeds sprinkled just enough to make it look intentional. Tamagoyaki, all neatly rolled like it came from a food magazine. Simmered vegetables. Two pieces of golden-brown karaage tucked into the corner like a final boss in a cooking game.

I stared.

That wasn't lunch. That was art. That was the kind of meal someone made with effort, maybe even love. The kind of thing that didn't come from last-minute panic or a 7-Eleven shelf.

I looked back at my pork cutlet sandwich. It suddenly felt... damp. Not literally, but spiritually. The bread sagged a little now. I could already imagine how chewy the meat would be after sitting under the cafeteria lights too long.

My stomach growled anyway.

Betrayal.

Ren didn't say anything. Just sat there, peaceful as ever, like this was all normal. Then he smiled. Not wide, not awkward. Just soft. Easy.

I tore my eyes away from his lunch and bit into my sandwich like it hadn't just disappointed me.

Then I felt it—his hands, gently clasped together. Not showy. Just... present.

"Itadakimasu," he said, voice low but clear.

My brain stalled. My mouth still half full.

Right. That thing normal people do before eating.

That little human ritual I always skipped, because it felt weird to thank food when no one else was around.

I quickly set my sandwich down and fumbled my hands together. "I-Itadakimasu."

He didn't comment. He didn't laugh. He just nodded once, and started eating.

I tried not to look like I was dying inside.

Small steps, I told myself. Normal people things. First lunch with someone else in years, and I already forgot the opening move.

At least the sandwich wasn't cold.

But God...that karaage…

I tried not to stare, honestly. I wasn't raised by wolves. I know what manners are. But that crunch—it wasn't just sound. It was a siren song. I could almost hear the angels crying out from each perfectly fried bite.

And the sauce. Deep red. None of that watery, packet stuff I'd get with my 2-for-1 convenience store nuggets. No, this looked homemade. Thought-out. Like someone actually cared what went into it.

Meanwhile, I was holding a lukewarm pork cutlet sandwich like it was a brick wrapped in plastic. Bread already flattening. Sauce smearing at the edges like regret.

I told myself I wasn't staring. Just… admiring. Silently. Respectfully. Like an art student in a museum trying not to drool on the Van Gogh.

But apparently, I wasn't subtle.

Natsuki chuckled. Just a soft little sound that made my spine straighten like I'd been caught plagiarizing lunch envy.

"Eh…?" I barely managed to squeak out.

He looked at me. Calm. Almost amused. Like this was just a normal thing people did—offering their prized karaage to some socially stunted upperclassman who forgot how to eat in public.

"If you want some, Aki-san, just ask."

No. No, no, no.

I couldn't just ask for it. That's not how this works. There are rules. Invisible, unspoken cafeteria etiquette that says you suffer quietly while someone else enjoys their golden, crispy joy cubes.

"N-no! I couldn't—!"

I absolutely could. But I had to keep up the image. You don't just admit to chicken lust. Not in public.

Then he picked one up. With chopsticks. Held it toward me like he was extending a treaty.

"It's fine," he said. "But… equivalent exchange, okay?"

"Eh… equivalent exchange…?"

I blinked.

Wait.

Wait wait wait wait wait.

Did he just…

But before my brain follow, he said it. That one line I wasn't emotionally ready for.

"That pork cutlet sandwich looks good. I want a bite."

Excuse me?

This thing? This factory-born tragedy I grabbed out of guilt because it was the only thing warm on the shelf?

My brain froze. And before I could even think, my mouth answered.

"O-of course!"

Smooth. Real smooth.

He smiled and leaned in. Took the tiniest bite like he was sampling gourmet. I, in turn, received a karaage like I was being knighted.

And the worst part?

It tasted like heaven.

Perfectly seasoned, just enough crisp, and the sauce had actual depth. Like it wasn't bought—it was made. I bit down, eyes nearly rolling back in spiritual surrender.

D-delicious…" I whispered. My eyes felt light. Like I'd just bitten into proof that God exists and sometimes moonlights as someone's grandmother.

Then my brain finally caught up.

Wait.

That wasn't just small talk.

Equivalent exchange?

I didn't imagine that. Right? He said that. Out loud. Calm as anything.

That's not a phrase normal people use.

That's Fullmetal. That's Edward Elric. That's pure otaku code.

I blinked hard, trying to stay casual, but my neurons were already climbing over each other in panic and joy and full-blown excitement.

My mouth opened before I had time to process the consequences.

"E-equivalent exchange…! Wait… that's… that's—!"

My palms hit the table, not hard, just enough to remind me this was real.

"That's from Fullmetal Alchemist! Edward Elric says that! It's the foundation of the entire alchemy system—'To obtain, something of equal value must be lost!'"

And there it was. Voice too loud. Pitch climbing. The whole cafeteria suddenly had more air than it needed.

I kept going. Because stopping now would mean confronting the shame.

"It's brilliant. That whole series. The world they built, the philosophy, Ed and Al's bond, Mustang turning people to dust, Winry with her wrench… It's flawless. It just is."

Words poured out like I was possessed. My fingers tapped the tray. My shoulders tensed, then shook.

I could feel eyes on me. Definitely not just Ren.

But I couldn't stop. My soul had already opened the floodgates. Some part of me even felt alive again.

And yes, I hated how much I was enjoying it.

Because this wasn't my room.

This wasn't safe.

This was real life, and I was quoting Fullmetal like it was Sunday mass.

And he heard all of it.

It was over.

Not in the theatrical, end-credits kind of way. The other kind.

The slow, quiet, socially irreversible kind.

I just ruined everything.

My social life? Gone. Disintegrated. Snapped out of existence like some tragic side character who only existed for two episodes.

I had one chance. One single, miraculous shot at maybe, just maybe, making an actual friend.

And what did I do?

I ranted about anime. In public. With feeling. With quotes.

God. Why.

Why couldn't I just eat in silence and chew like a normal person? Why did I have to become a walking anime comment section?

And then the worst part is that he didn't even interrupt. He just let me talk. All the way to the end. Like he was being polite at my funeral.

By the time my voice gave out, I felt it. That deep, bone-soaking embarrassment crawling up from my stomach. Heat rising to my ears. My hands already halfway to covering my face. I didn't even dare look at him.

"S-sorry…" I mumbled. "I… I got carried away…"

And then—

"It's fine," he said.

Soft voice. Like he meant it.

I froze.

And then he kept going. "I like anime too." I blinked.

No. That wasn't real. I didn't hear that right. Maybe I imagined it because my brain was trying to protect me from collapsing entirely.

But I looked up.

He was chewing calmly. Like this wasn't a big deal.

Like I hadn't just detonated every shred of dignity I had left.

 My eyes slowly widening in disbelief. "…Really?"

"Mm." he chewed thoughtfully before continuing. "I watch pretty much anything. Even the underrated ones."

My soul made a weird sound. Like the emotional version of a Windows XP startup chime.

"Underrated…? Like what?"

I don't know why I asked. Maybe I was testing him. Maybe I was hoping he'd say something basic so I could recover some kind of ego.

But then he started listing them.

He tilted his head slightly, thinking for a moment. "For example… Hoshizora Chronicle. Beautiful atmospheric sci-fi. Or Kurogane no Requiem. Dark mecha series with surprisingly strong character writing. And Kimi to Hibi no Kanata… a quiet slice-of-life drama about a girl and her sick younger brother. Not many people talked about them."

No stutter. No hesitating. Just names. Obscure ones. The kind that only show up on blogs with a black background and pixel font.

And not just listing them. He described them.

Like he'd actually watched them. Remembered them.

My brain couldn't decide whether to reboot or cry.

What was this. Who was this. Where is this. Why is this.

And then I realized I was staring.

Hard. Not at the food. Not at the table. At him.

His hair looked like he actually used conditioner. His sleeves hugged arms that had definitely seen push-ups. His posture was straight, steady, like he actually knew how to exist in his own skin.

And his face—relaxed. Calm. Like people talked to him all the time. Like this wasn't a battlefield.

He wasn't twitching. He wasn't fidgeting. He didn't sound winded after saying "mecha." This wasn't what anime fans were supposed to look like.

He didn't feel like one of us.

And yet… he knew everything.

I caught myself thinking the dumbest thought ever: Did he Google those titles beforehand?

But no. The way he said them. The way his eyes softened a little when he mentioned the sick younger brother. That wasn't fake.

He meant it.

And now he was looking at me. Like I was allowed to be part of this. Like I wasn't just some social misfire who got lucky with a seat.

I swallowed and tried to shrink into my tray. "That's… amazing."

God. My voice cracked like a cheap speaker.

He tilted his head. "Hm?"

Abort mission. Say nothing.

But my mouth kept moving.

"Ah, I just… I thought…" My hand clenched under the table. "Anime fans are usually… um… different. But you're… you're really cool, Natsuki-kun."

Why did I say that. Why did I call him cool. Why do I even talk.

But then he smiled.

Not smug. Not weirded out. Just… small and kind. Like I hadn't just exposed how desperate I was for someone to say, Hey, it's okay. You're not broken.

"Thanks," he said. "But it's just a hobby. I enjoy stories. And… well, anime is full of stories worth learning from."

I felt something squeeze in my chest.

That… didn't sound rehearsed.

He wasn't saying it to sound smart.

He just meant it.

And I… I wanted to believe him.

I wanted to believe this version of the world he was offering. One where I didn't have to apologize every time I got excited about something.

"I… I think it's really nice that you don't hide it."

His chopsticks paused for a second, then he gave this tiny shrug. "Why hide what you like? As long as it doesn't hurt anyone."

I think I forgot how to breathe.

Because I'd been hiding for so long… I didn't remember what it felt like not to.

We didn't say much after that. The rest of lunch passed quietly, filled only with the soft sounds of chewing and the distant murmur of cafeteria chatter. 

--------------------------

After we finished, he closed his lunchbox and wiped his mouth with a napkin. I watched him stand, casual and relaxed.

"Wanna walk around a bit?" he asked, holding his lunchbox. "It'll help the food settle… and we can explore more."

I blinked, caught off guard. Was this still happening? He looked at me like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Y-yeah. That… sounds good," I said, adjusting my glasses before my hands could shake.

We left the cafeteria together. No one stared. No whispers. Just two students heading into the hallway like everyone else.

The click of our shoes echoed softly against the tile. I walked half a step behind at first, unsure if I should be keeping pace or just tagging along. But he slowed slightly until we matched.

As we walked, I let my eyes wander again, quietly observing everything. The scale of Suimei Academy… it still struck me each time I paused to take it in.

Ren slowed a little. Not enough to stop, but enough that I noticed. His eyes lingered — on the glass, the walls, the way the light spilled through the roof above us. Like he was actually seeing it all. Letting it sink in.

It felt... different.

When I entered middle school, I didn't notice anything. Didn't care to.

It was just walls. Cold ones. Too many footsteps. Voices that passed by without ever really seeing me.

I never looked at the trophy cases. Never wondered if the art room had good lighting. Or if the library even had manga.

All I thought about was getting to my seat. Quietly. Without bumping into anyone.

So watching Ren — just… noticing things like they mattered — it caught me off guard.

Strange, yeah. But also kind of admirable.

Like maybe this was what it looked like when someone let themselves belong.

I adjusted my grip on my bag and kept my eyes ahead. My throat felt dry.

I wanted to say something.

But I wasn't used to being the one who spoke first. Not unless I was apologizing for taking up space.

Still, the silence didn't feel heavy. It didn't press down like it usually did.

And maybe that's why I could finally breathe.

Maybe that's why I found myself saying—

"…Um."

The word barely made it out. Swallowed by the quiet hall.

"Natsuki-kun."

He looked over. "Hm?"

I hesitated. Heart pounding in a way that made my whole body tense.

"…Thank you."

His brow lifted. "For what?"

I stared at the floor tiles ahead. Focused on keeping my steps even.

"…For talking to me first. I get nervous. Around people."

It sounded dumb as soon as I said it. But I kept going.

"I don't really do well with conversations. Especially with girls. Or… anyone. I overthink things. And people say I look gloomy. Or creepy. Like I'm weird or something."

My voice started shaking. I hated how that sounded too.

But I didn't stop.

Because deep down, I already expected the silence. The shift. The part where he realizes I'm too much and walks faster to get away.

Instead—

"…Don't worry about it," he said.

His voice was quiet. Not soft in the fake way. Just real. Like he meant it.

"You're not weird for liking what you like. You're just… you."

No pity. No awkward kindness. Just words.

Simple. Honest.

I didn't know what to say. So I didn't say anything.

But something shifted.

Not all at once. Just a little.

A kind of warmth. Small. Careful. Like something I didn't know I'd been waiting for.

We kept walking.

Side by side.

Footsteps quiet against the polished floor.

The silence didn't hurt anymore.

"Thank you again, Ren," I said.

It felt strange, calling him that. Not Natsuki-kun. Not with the space between us. Just Ren.

Small thing. But to me, it meant something.

He looked over, surprised for a second. Then he smiled.

"You're welcome, Tomoya."

That stopped me for a moment.

He said my name. No distance. No polite walls. Just… my name.

Nothing big happened.

No dramatic music. No sudden change in the air.

But something inside me shifted too.

For the first time in a long while, I didn't feel like I had to shrink.

Didn't feel like I had to fold myself up just to be tolerated.

Maybe this year would be different.

Maybe I could stop pretending.

And maybe — just maybe — I wasn't completely alone after all.

----------------------

[?? Years Later – Bonus Scene]

It still sucks that my luck with gacha hasn't changed.

Five-star rate? Still zero. My rolls? Always trash.

But maybe that's fine.

Maybe all my luck got used up the moment I met him — and her — at that school.

If I hadn't decided to go there...

If I hadn't stubbornly clung to that selfish whim, even after whining about the cost…

Maybe I would've stayed the same.

Alone. No friends. No purpose. Just… existing.

But Suimei gave me more than a school.

It gave me him — my best friend. My brother in all but blood.

And her…

The woman beside me now.

My partner. My home. My wife.

And somehow, in the middle of all that, I found a dream too.

One I didn't even know I had until it came true.

So yeah. If all my gacha luck got spent back then?

Totally worth it.

Every single roll.

"Tomoya?"

Her voice pulled me from my thoughts — warm, even when teasing. A bit sharp, just like always.

"Honey, let's go. We'll be late to Ren's wedding."

Heh.

Right.

I smiled at her — still beautiful, still out of my league, and somehow still mine.

"Yeah, okay. Let's go."

I grabbed the keys, stood, and added as we stepped out the door—

"And let's make sure I'm the best man he could ask for."

Just like he was for me.