Canvas of Silent Colors

The silence after everything I'd said wasn't peaceful. It clung to the room like a fog that no one quite knew how to step through.

Kagami-sensei was the one who finally broke it. He dragged a hand through his red hair, muttering something under his breath before speaking loud enough for all of us to hear.

"Goddamn troublesome students," he said, though there was no heat in it. "Just once, I'd like a year where none of you try to rewrite the rulebook."

He looked at me, one brow raised.

"But at least you're honest with that glasses student... what is his name again? Oh yeah... Aki Tomoya, right? Your best friend."

I gave a small nod. "It wasn't some master plan. He was looking for a club during that week. I was helping him, genuinely. But yeah... the timing was convenient. I didn't expect him to end up in the literature club, but it was the one he'd had his eyes on from the beginning."

Kagami-sensei sighed like a tired older brother. "Figures."

Bossun-senpai gave a short whistle. "Man… you're seriously intense. Like, I've met weirdos before... hell, I hang out with a few... but you? You're next level."

He crossed his arms, looking somewhere between impressed and unsettled. "Still... can't deny it's kind of cool. And dumb.... but again very cool."

"Very dumb," Hime-senpai muttered beside him.

From the corner, Yonagi-senpai spoke softly. "You didn't do this because you wanted to prove something, did you?"

Chiyoko-senpai answered before I could. "No, He did it because he meant it. That's why it worked."

I glanced at them both. There wasn't praise in their voices, just understanding.

The principal shifted his weight in the chair, interlaced fingers resting against his lips for a beat before he dropped them to the desk again.

"So," he said, voice even. "You've done all this. Negotiated for 'ghost status' member. Built a game without telling your dormmates. Stirred the still water."

His gaze didn't waver.

"Well... what now, Natsukl Ren? What are you going to do from here?"

I didn't rush to answer.

Not because I didn't know.

But because the next part mattered even more.

I exhaling once before I spoke.

"With me not being in any club officially, I still have freedom which mean I can help people when they need it, and I will. I enjoy that part of school life more than I thought I would."

My fingers rested lightly on my knees I didn't smile.

"But my focus is still my game, The one I've been working on for the last two years... UNDERTALE."

The name lingered in the room.

"I'm planning to release it after summer break, 2015."

I glanced toward the principal, then Chihiro-sensei.

"But before that… I want to play it with her. Just the two of us. No announcements. No crowd. Just Mashiro and the story. A quiet space, where she can experience it fully."

My voice softened.

"It's something I've built for everyone. But before anyone else touches it... I want it to reach her first."

Chihiro-sensei didn't react right away. Her posture was unreadable. But I saw the tension in her fingers, in the way her arms tightened just slightly against her chest.

"In a way," I continued, "I've used this game as a kind of therapy. Not a treatment, not a fix. But a mirror. One that reflects something she's never been able to look at clearly."

I paused. Chihiro-sensei's expression hadn't changed. But I knew the thought running through her head.

The same one I'd been dreading since day one.

"She's part of a team," I said, voice quieter. "Working on Nyanboron. It's their dorm project. Their bond."

Her silence said enough.

"And Sorata-senpai," I added, "he made that game for her, didn't he?"

No answer. But she didn't deny it.

"That's why I hid what I was doing."

I looked at her fully now.

"Because what would happen, Chihiro-sensei, if that same girl... who's surrounded by friends, working on a project built for her, with her—ended up being reached by the work of a single first-year boy who did it all alone?"

The weight of that question wasn't just mine. I could feel it settle over the others too.

"I knew the risk. I knew that if I ever got found out, if they ever saw what I'd built, everything in Sakurasou would start to crack. Everyone would question it. The project. The meaning behind it. The trust."

My voice didn't shake.

"And Sorata-senpai… he might end up hating me."

I didn't look away when I said it.

Because I'd already accepted that possibility.

Chihiro-sensei didn't respond right away.

She leaned back, just a little. Her hands were still folded in front of her, but I noticed the tension in her shoulders. It wasn't the usual laid-back slouch she wore like armor. It was something quieter. Sadder.

"I knew some things," she finally said. Her voice was low, more to herself than to me. "Bits and pieces. Whispers from the family I never asked to be part of. Enough to suspect… but not enough to really understand."

Her eyes didn't meet mine.

"I wanted to believe she was okay. That a year in Sakurasou, surrounded by people like Sorata, Nanami, Jin… that it meant she was changing. Growing. Feeling." She swallowed once, barely noticeable. "And maybe she is. Maybe it's slow, but it's there."

"But?"

The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Chihiro-sensei looked at me.

And this time, really looked.

"I'm not equipped for her," she said, almost like admitting it was the worst part. "I told myself she'd figure it out on her own. That I should stay back, give her room. Let her experience things how she wants."

I didn't interrupt.

"She's brilliant," she continued, "and fragile in ways I didn't know how to reach. So I let her walk her path. Whether she chose it, or someone else chose it for her… I didn't ask. I just kept watching from the side."

A beat passed.

Then she looked at me with something I hadn't seen before. 

An empathy. A quiet trembling kind.

"You saw something, didn't you?" she asked. "Something I and everyone in the dorm didn't."

I nodded once.

And that was enough for now.

Kagami-sensei tapped his pen against his knee.

"You said you're planning to release it after summer break. But how?" He tilted his head a little. "Even an indie game needs platforms, and marketing."

I nodded, calm. I'd expected that question.

"I'm publishing it on Steam."

The room shifted. Confused glances bounced around the table except from Kagami-sensei. His eyes sharpened and, his back straightened, hand halfway to adjusting his glasses before he caught himself.

"…Wait. You're releasing it there?"

Bossun-senpai blinked. "Uh. Steam? What's that? Like... a streaming site?"

Kagami-sensei sighed, half in exasperation, half in disbelief.

"Steam's not that. Think of it like... DLsite, but international. You know DLsite, right? Japan's go-to for indie games and doujin stuff. Steam's the overseas version of that. Mostly for PC."

Hime-senpai frowned. "Wait, so it's not some video thing?"

"No. It's a game platform. Huge. But the thing is—" Kagami-sensei leaned back and gestured vaguely, "—unlike DLsite, where Japanese indie games can find niche audiences, Steam is crowded with big-name companies. We're talking Rockstar. Ubisoft. Bandai Namco"

Uzui-senpai raised an eyebrow, and with his laptop voice. "You're aiming… internationally? Not Japan?"

I nodded again.

"That's insane," Kagami-senpai muttered. "Most devs your age wouldn't even think about Steam, You don't just upload a file and wait."

I looked at all of them, taking a breath before I spoke again.

"I mean… let's be honest. Japan's still console-heavy. Most people here play on PlayStation or handhelds. PC gaming isn't as big, especially not for indie games. And if I wanted to release on console, I'd have to deal with licensing, publisher approval, platform royalties. That's not something a sixteen-year-old solo dev can just walk into."

I shifted slightly.

"No company's going to hand dev kits or storefront access to someone with no degree, no studio, and no portfolio. I'm not a name. I'm just one kid in his room."

Even Bossun-senpai had gone quiet.

"And let's say I do submit to a local indie competition… it's still small scale. Niche. Maybe people in one city see it. Maybe a few blog posts, if I'm lucky."

I glanced at Kagami-sensei, just briefly.

"But international… that's different. PC is king there. Steam's user base is massive. And the players? They're used to looking for indie games. They like them. They talk about them. They share them."

I leaned forward slightly, for focusing.

"Look at the store right now. Assassin's Creed, Team Fortress 2—huge titles, all on PC. Hell, GTA V is dropping on PC next March. That means a lot of players will be upgrading. New users. New traffic. And those same people like to mod their games. They pay attention to what's coming out."

I exhaled slowly.

"If I want UNDERTALE to reach people… not just here, but really reach someone the way I was once reached... then this is how I do it."

No one said anything for a moment.

Even Kagami-sensei, arms folded, looked more impressed than skeptical now.

Because it wasn't just a plan.

It was a strategy.

And I wasn't guessing.

"I heard that too," Sumiji-senpai murmured, voice low but intrigued. "About GTA V dropping on PC next March. Rumors started circulating last month on some blogs."

Yonagi-senpai nodded lightly. "There's already buzz overseas. Not just about the release... but about modding potential."

Even Chiyoko-senpai, who rarely chimed in unless it mattered, added softly, "It's going to be a big wave… bigger than most people here realize."

Uzui-senpai blinked, then frowned like something clicked. "Wait, You're aiming straight for the global tide?"

Bossun-senpai let out a low whistle. "Switch. He's playing four dimensions ahead."

Chihiro-sensei didn't speak right away.

Then, almost to herself, she muttered, "You've thought more about game development paths than Sorata ever has."

I didn't respond.

Not out of pride. Just… I wasn't here to compare.

The principal steepled his fingers again, the usual amused glint in his eye sharpened into something closer to real focus.

"Steam is flooded with games. Especially now," he said. "Big companies dominate. They have trailers. Publishers. Marketing arms that push ads onto every social platform."

He tilted his head slightly.

"What do you have?"

I didn't flinch.

"Time," I said. "And trust."

They all looked at me. So I continued.

"Since elementary school, I've been on YouTube. Not just watching random clips, but following creators. I lurked in their communities. Commented. Donated when I could. Made art. Built trust. The same with streamers on Twitch. I didn't just show up, I stayed. For years."

I looked up, steady.

"I don't have ad money. I don't have a studio logo."

"But I have names. Mid-size channels, mostly, some bigger. A few streamers who still reply to DMs. People who said, 'When you finish your project, send it my way.' And I will."

Hime-senpai leaned in, eyes narrowing with interest.

"You're really doing this by yourself?"

I nodded.

"I'll finish the trailer by the end of December. Drop it in the new year. Right when everyone's back online, checking what they missed. It's small. But in the right corner of the internet, small can be loud."

I didn't add anything after that.

The silence lingered, not tense this time, just stunned. Everyone still processing.

Then Bossun-senpai leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, a grin spreading across his face.

"So, Ren," he said casually, "when can I play your game? C'mon, give your beloved student council president a free copy, yeah?"

Before I could answer, Hime-senpai elbowed him. "You don't even finish half the games you download. Don't start hoarding indie ones now."

"I finish them emotionally," Bossun-senpai muttered.

Uzui-senpai, deadpan as ever, pulled his laptop closer and began typing rapidly.

"Running analysis... keywords: 'free copy', 'underground distribution', 'favoritism'... suspicious," he said, robotic as always.

I couldn't help it, I smiled.

Chiyoko-senpai laughed softly too. She leaned back, crossing her legs with elegance, her eyes now back on me.

"You look more relaxed now. Not like the kid who just hijacked a whole room with a confession," she said. "I'm curious too, though. What exactly did Mashiro-senpai see in that game that made her react like that? I mean it's just a mirror, that say a word."

I met her gaze for a moment, but didn't answer. Yonagi-senpai turned to Kagami-sensei.

"You played it, right? Or at least some of it?"

Kagami-sensei crossed his arms like someone guarding a sacred scroll.

"I made a promise," he said flatly. "Deal's a deal. I'm not spoiling anything. That's the pride of a hardcore otaku and gamer."

He paused, though.

And looked like he was fighting the urge to say more.

"But," he added, eyes lighting up just a little, "I do want to know what happens next. Especially after that one scene... where you—"

I raised a hand, smiling politely.

He froze.

"Sensei," I said, "you're about to spoil it."

Kagami-sensei's hand flew to his mouth like a kid caught sneaking snacks before dinner. "Ah, Right. Damn it."

Chihiro-sensei let out a long sigh. "This is what I get for letting this entire conversation happen without two cups of bubble tea."

The principal chuckled, the sound low and thoughtful.

Then he straightened slightly in his chair, the room quieting again.

"Well," he said. "Now that we know what Natsuki Ren is aiming for…"

He reached into his drawer, then glanced at me with something that wasn't quite amusement anymore.

"…Let me officially give you your rights."

The principal stood, a faint sound of his chair sliding back. Then he turned to face the rest of the room.

"I'll be announcing this formally to the faculty and student body," he began, his voice calm, measured. "But I think it's only right you all hear it from me first."

He looked directly at me.

"Natsuki Ren, first-year student of Suimei Academy, entered my office within his first three weeks here. That alone is enough to raise some eyebrows. But let me be clear, he wasn't summoned for disciplinary reasons. He came with an idea."

He stepped to the side, hands behind his back now, posture straight.

"An unusual one. Difficult. Possibly problematic. And... exactly the kind of idea this school was built to make room for."

I blinked. Slowly.

"The decision has been made," the principal continued. "As of today, Natsuki Ren will officially join the Student Council—directly as Vice President."

Silence.

For a second.

Then Hime-senpai groaned. "Oh no. Bossun."

"I didn't say anything yet," Bossun-senpai said, eyes already gleaming like a kid getting a new bike.

"You're going to turn him into your next sidekick, aren't you?"

"H-Hey now—"

"Don't," she warned, voice flat. "We don't need another you running around."

Bossun-senpai raised his hands. "Okay, okay. Chill. I swear I'll be responsible. Mostly."

Sumiji-senpai gave a long, long sigh. "At last. Someone to share in my eternal suffering."

I glanced at him. He looked... lighter. Just a little.

Chiyoko-senpai laughed softly. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Yonagi-senpai, next to her, didn't laugh, but there was a flicker of something like amusement on her face.

Even Kagami-sensei raised an eyebrow. "Vice President, huh? Not bad for someone who broke like four norms before midterm."

I was still trying to process it.

The principal saw my expression and gave the faintest smile.

"It's rare," he said, turning back to the others, "for a first-year to go directly into the core of the Student Council. Most begin in committees or support roles."

He glanced at me.

"But every so often, an exception makes itself clear."

The principal's voice returned, steady and almost quiet now. But no less clear.

"At Suimei, the concept of a 'ghost member'—someone not affiliated with any club or committee—is nearly unheard of. We're a school that values exploration, yes, but also commitment. Once a student joins a club, they're expected to grow through it."

He looked around at the group before continuing.

"Some students enter the wrong clubs, or change paths mid-year. That happens. We have a support system for that—faculty advisors, student council oversight, even elective switching programs. But a student who intentionally stays unaffiliated… that's rare. Nearly zero, in fact."

His gaze turned back to me.

"But in this case… you gave us a reason. Not a loophole."

I didn't speak. I didn't need to.

"Even so," he continued, "ghost membership isn't healthy for the kind of school Suimei is. You said it yourself, you like helping people. You've been doing that since week one. Mediation. Problem-solving. Emotional support. So let's make that part of your role."

He gestured lightly to the table.

"That's why you're becoming Vice President. Not to punish you. Not to control you. But to give you structure. Responsibility. And… connection."

I understood what he meant.

"Of course," he added, "being a first-year, your experience is limited. So for now, your responsibilities will adapt. If any of your senpai need assistance, you'll help. Student conflicts. Club disputes. Overlaps in schedules, project permissions, ethics disputes—all of it can go through you."

Hime-senpai stretched and muttered under her breath, "We're really letting a mini-committee bloom again, huh…"

"Don't act like you won't throw all your admin work at him," Bossun-senpai said, grinning.

"No, that's your thing."

"True."

"Anyway," the principal said, ignoring the banter, "you won't be alone. The current council is full of students with unique roles and equally unique time constraints."

His eyes moved around the room.

"Sumiji Kurokami, Kei Yonagi, Momoshiro Chiyoko, each of them active in the professional acting world. You'll sometimes find them on stage in Tokyo, or on screen.

They're not always present in school physically… but their decisions shape student life nonetheless."

Sumiji-senpai gave a modest nod, straightening his tie. Yonagi-senpai just blinked slowly, arms folded. Chiyoko-senpai offered a sideways grin, tapping her nails lightly on the desk.

"And of course, there's the SKET trio."

Bossun-senpai gave a salute. "Represent."

"Fujisake Yuusuke or Bossun here has an eye for people. Wacky, yes. But results-driven. Onizuka Hime acts as a kind of editor—not just in writing, but in behavior. And Kazuyoshi Uzui…"

Uzui-senpai adjusted his glasses, voice flat. "External systems analyst. I consult with companies on UI frameworks. Game-based modeling. Logistics AI."

"He's been known to disappear for days when a corporate prototype collapses," Bossun-senpai said cheerfully. "But when he's back, we put him to work."

The principal nodded. "Which is why this Council… needs someone like you, Ren. Someone adaptive. Curious. And, if I may say so, quietly relentless."

I didn't answer right away. There wasn't anything to say yet. Not until I earned the role I'd just been given.

He sat down again, and let a quiet exhale.

"There's one more thing," he said. "As Vice President, Ren will be allowed to leave earlier than the usual student council hours. Normally, our members stay until six, sometimes even seven, but in his case…"

His gaze flicked briefly toward Chihiro-sensei, who gave a subtle nod.

"Let's just say... there are personal circumstances involved. Private ones. Known only to this room. And I'd like them to remain that way."

The room stayed quiet, save for a small creak from Kagami-sensei shifting in his seat.

"That said," the principal continued, tone lighter now, "I realize today's PA announcement may have been a bit... dramatic."

"A bit?" Kagami-sensei muttered with a snort. "It was like hearing the school board declare war."

Bossun-senpai raised a hand. "Yeah, I thought you were going to expel someone or announce a secret underground tournament."

The principal laughed—openly, this time. "Not quite. But I figured if I created enough buzz, it'd make sense to clarify things myself."

He looked at me again.

"There aren't many students who manage to make a direct impression on both faculty and their peers in just three weeks. But in that time, Ren has offered help to multiple clubs, mediated disputes, and even assisted some of our teachers behind the scenes."

He glanced around the room, then added,

"And this isn't entirely new for him either. Back in middle school, he was quietly impressive, placed in the top percentile nationally for math, helped develop a basic educational app that's still being used in some prep schools, and won a collaborative creative writing competition for an independent short story."

"Basically doing our jobs before even joining us," Hime-senpai said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"That's why I wanted to make the announcement myself," the principal said. "To explain why a first-year like him is being placed in the student council core leadership, without the usual steps."

Chihiro-sensei sighed, tapping her pen on the edge of the table. "And this is why you're the principal of this ridiculous school."

He simply smiled, not denying it.

"We'll begin the transition next week. Until then, finish your orientation. Observe. Ask questions. You'll find this team isn't exactly normal… but then again, neither are you."

Bossun-senpai chuckled, arms behind his head. "Hey. That's basically the school motto."

I let out a soft breath, then smiled, calm, steady, like always.

"Thank you," I said, glancing around the table. "All of you. Though I have to admit... getting called into the principal's office in the middle of lunch for the whole school know... it's a bit dramatic."

A few of them snorted. Chiyoko-senpai covered a laugh with her hand, and Uzui-senpai blinked like he wasn't sure if I was joking or genuinely annoyed.

I tilted my head slightly. "Still… I'm a little worried my dessert's been claimed by now. Tomoya has no self-control when it comes to my pudding."

That earned a round of laughter.

Even Yonagi-senpai let out a faint chuckle.

Chihiro-sensei just sighed again, but this time there was a smile tugging at her lips.

The principal leaned back, hands folded together.

"You'll fit in here, Natsuki Ren," he said. "Better than you think."

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

The student council members filtered out one by one, heading back to their classrooms. Some with long strides, some with dragging feet, most of them still joking under their breath.

I walked beside Chihiro-sensei, the hallway quiet except for the soft tap of our footsteps. Afternoon light streamed in through the windows, making everything feel a little more distant.

Inside their classrooms, I caught a glimpse of them, Mashiro-senpai, Sorata-senpai, and Nanami-senpai. Not really focused on the lesson. Just... there. Like their thoughts hadn't returned to the room yet.

Maybe they were still thinking about me.

Maybe the whole school was.

Chihiro-sensei followed my gaze, then let out a short breath through her nose. "I'll handle them," she said. "Make sure they don't press you today. Tomorrow, when the principal and the student council announce it officially—then they can ask."

I nodded, quiet. "Thank you."

She didn't reply at first, just kept walking beside me. But when we turned the corner up to the second floor, I could feel the pause in her steps.

That teacher instinct, like she was about to start something.

And this time, she did.

"Ren," she said quietly, "I won't judge your way. I've lived long enough to know there's more than one path to doing good."

Her voice carried something heavier now. It's a weight of an adult who'd seen too much and had to let some things go to keep moving.

"But I also see what comes with it. When everyone finds out what you've done for Mashiro… they'll be amazed. Maybe even moved."

She paused.

"But they'll also feel guilty. Especially Sorata."

Her arms crossed as she stared out one of the high windows. "That kid's earnest. Too earnest sometimes. He hides it behind his complaints and frustrations, but I've lived in that dorm for over a year. You think I haven't seen it?"

A faint smile ghosted her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"That inferiority he feels. Always measuring himself against a genius. And Nanami—she's the same. Kind, hardworking, stubborn. Both of them pushing so hard because they think effort alone will be enough to catch up."

She exhaled.

"They're good kids. Really good kids. But… maybe that's why this feels so complicated."

The silence stretched again as we walked past library corridor. Then, more softly, she added, "I understand why you hid it. I do. But it still feels wrong."

She turned to me then, expression unreadable. Not harsh. Not angry. Just… tired in a way only adults could be.

"Are you ready to carry the consequences of this? Not just from Mashiro. From all of them."

I didn't answer right away.

But when I did, my voice was calm. Steady.

"Yes," I said. "I've already accepted it."

I glanced ahead, eyes focused on the quiet corridor.

"I never planned to hide it from her. Just… from the rest. She was always the reason. The only one I wanted to reach."

"Ren," she said, her voice low, thoughtful. "Why do you care so much about Mashiro?"

I looked at her. She didn't look accusatory, just genuinely confused.

"You've only been in Sakurasou for three weeks. Barely spoken to her. The most you knew was her name, her reputation as a genius painter from England. That's it."

She turned her eyes on me, sharp but not unkind.

"And yet… you act like you've known her forever. Like you can see something in her no one else can. not even Sorata, who's been with her every single day for a year."

"Not even me..." 

Her voice softened, like the question was too strange even for her to fully understand.

"So, why?"

I didn't answer right away.

I couldn't.... not because I didn't know, but because the truth wasn't something I could say lightly.

My hand slipped into my pocket as we walked, fingers brushing over my phone, though I wasn't going to check it.

My mind had already gone somewhere else. Somewhere far.

Back to that past life.

To the long, quiet nights where I had nothing but books, a cheap laptop, cramped apartment, and a growing sense of distance from the world. To the moment I stumbled across Sakurasou no Pet na Kanojo in a anime forum. A title I clicked on because it sounded ridiculous.

I ended up devouring it. Anime and the Light novel.

Mashiro's character stayed with me.

Not because she was a genius.

But because even across pages, behind the comedy and romance tropes, I could feel how lost she was. How quiet her pain was. How much she wanted to be understood, but didn't know how to ask for it. Everyone kept looking at her brilliance. No one looked at her silence.

And then, years later, I saw her face.

Not on a screen. Not in a book.

But in that video.

In this world.

In this life.

And I knew.

I let out a slow breath and shook my head.

"I don't know if what I feel is love," I said quietly, turning toward Chihiro-sensei. "Maybe it is."

She said nothing. Just listened.

"But even if it is, I won't force it on her. I won't use that as a reason to get close or prove something."

I looked ahead as we walked.

"If she ever thinks that I care about her just because I'm in love, or because I want to be something Sorata-senpai isn't… then I'll keep stepping back."

My voice was steady. Honest.

"Because what I want isn't her love. Not yet. What I want is for her to understand what love even means... to her. Not what everyone else says it is. Not the version she imitates just to feel normal. The real thing."

I let that settle before continuing.

"I want her to know what it means to choose. To feel something and name it, not because someone told her what it should be, but because she understands it for herself."

My hand rested lightly at my side.

"And if that happens… if one day, she tells me she chose on her own, with confidence, with clarity—then maybe that's the moment we can be something more than this. More than just… whatever we are now."

Chihiro-sensei didn't respond right away. She stood still beside me, arms crossed, but the way her shoulders sank told me more than her silence did.

"…You're probably more of an adult than I am," she muttered.

She gave a soft, tired laugh. But it didn't sound amused.

But more defeated.

"I always thought I had a handle on things. Being the 'chill' teacher, the one who jokes and drinks and shrugs it all off…" Her eyes didn't meet mine. "But sometimes I wonder if I just got good at avoiding the mirror myself."

"I drink because it helps me sleep," she said flatly. "Because sometimes, being a failure in a family full of artists with 'potential' is louder at night than during the day."

A pause.

"You know, Mashiro and I… we come from the same roots. Same house. Same air. Just different rooms."

Her voice wasn't nostalgic. It wasn't bitter either. Just… tired.

"She got the talent. I didn't. Simple as that."

It wasn't self-pity. It was fact... worn smooth over time, like a stone that had stopped trying to fight the river.

I didn't interrupt. There was nothing to say that wouldn't make it smaller than it was.

But I caught the shift in her tone. The way she said "same house" didn't mean just blood. It meant pressure. Legacy. The weight of expectation that didn't care who you were, only what you produced.

Whatever connected her and Mashiro wasn't simple. Distant cousins, yes. But the roots ran deeper than the titles.

Still, she didn't offer anything more. And I didn't ask.

Because I understood.

She wasn't telling me Mashiro's story.

Because she knew that I didn't want answers from her anyway.

I wanted them from Mashiro. In her own time. In her own voice.

So I just gave her a quiet smile and a small nod. A shared agreement. 

She saw it. And returned the nod, almost imperceptibly.

We kept walking.

And even if the hallway was still the same, something between us had shifted.