The fog hadn't lifted.
Not really.
Even though I was back at my desk, under flickering lights and half-listening to the soft drone of the classroom, some part of me was still down there, in that hollow stone sanctum, where the air tasted like ash and the shadows screamed.
I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't even zoning out. I was just... caught. Somewhere between memory and muscle, between the real world and the one we built together.
I could still feel the cold in my fingers from Rika's spell. Still hear the scrape of Iroha's boots as she dove past me yelling, "Cover me!" like we were in the final act of a shounen anime, backs to the wall, pulling off one last combo move to save the world.
I remembered standing in the silence after the fight, not celebrating. Just... breathing. Together.
For the first time in forever, I wasn't alone in something I made.
And now?
The heater was rattling. The desks were scratched. The windows were fogged from condensation, not magic. But the feeling was still there. Pressed against my ribs like something too big to name.
I didn't want to let it fade.
A thud snapped me out of it.
I blinked and saw Rika sitting down at the desk in front of me.
She didn't glide in like usual. She walked in early. Sat down. Unzipped her bag.
And then, without turning around...
"Good morning, Akizora-san."
For a second, I thought I misheard.
She said it like it was normal. Like she'd said it before. Like yesterday hadn't been the first time we'd ever actually talked outside of an assignment.
I stared at the back of her head.
"...Morning," I said, a beat too late.
She didn't reply. Just picked up her pen and began writing something in her planner.
I turned my gaze to the window, but my thoughts were scrambled now. Not from a boss fight. Not from fantasy. From this, a quiet "good morning" that hit harder than any spell.
I wasn't used to people greeting me like that. Or looking at me like I existed. Especially not her.
Rika Morisaki wasn't the small-talk type. She didn't say things unless she meant them. So when she walked in and greeted me like it was normal, like we did this all the time, it kind of knocked the air out of me.
I mean… sure. It made sense.
We spent the night together and things got pretty heated.
There were moments it got intense, raised voices, high pressure. We kept pushing, neither of us backing down. Honestly, I'm surprised we lasted that long without collapsing.
...
Okay. That sounded way worse than I meant it to.
But still that moment stuck with me. She said good morning. Like it was nothing. Like she didn't need a reason.
And here I was, trying to decode it like a secret message.
Maybe she was just being polite. Maybe she was over it. Or maybe she didn't think anything had changed.
Meanwhile, I was over here acting like a single sentence had rewritten the entire social contract.
I dragged my hand down my face.
If my life was a light novel and someone out there actually had the courage to keep reading up to this point... please, reader. Just shoot me now.
I slouched lower in my seat, trying not to exist so loudly.
My gaze drifted back to my desk, blank notebook, uncapped pen, the soft sound of someone tapping their fingers two rows over. Just regular morning noise. The kind that always felt a little too loud when you had nothing to say.
But now that my brain had stopped spiraling, I found myself… watching her again.
Not staring. Not in a weird way. Just noticing.
Rika sat exactly how you'd expect someone like her to sit. Perfect posture. Planner open. Pen moving in smooth, straight lines. Her expression was unreadable. Focused.
But I'd seen her differently now.
Last night, she wasn't all distance and silence, she was sharp, steady, and even when her spell blew our cover, she didn't flinch, didn't apologise. She just stayed in the fight and saw it through, like she didn't owe anyone perfection.
She'd said it herself, "Thought I'd try participating in my own existence for once."
Maybe that's what last night was for her. Not just a game. Not just some club thing.
But a way to actually step into something, to be in something, instead of just observing it.
And if I'm being honest that's not far from why I started any of this, either.
I wasn't chasing prestige. I just wanted to matter. Even for a few hours. Even in a world I had to build myself.
She looked like she belonged in this classroom. Like she had it all figured out.
But maybe she didn't.
Maybe we were both just trying to find a way to exist a little louder.
And for the first time, I didn't see her as out of reach.
Just… quiet.
But the thing about quiet? It never lasts.
BZZT-CRRK.
The classroom speaker shrieked to life.
"Akizora Ranjiro and Morisaki Rika, please report to the student council office after class."
The static cut out.
Silence.
Then a ripple.
"Wait, Morisaki-san?"
"No way."
"Isn't she like, top three in the whole grade?"
"She's never gotten called out before."
"Why would she be in trouble?"
"Who's Akizora again?"
"That guy in the back. Always looks like he's thinking about death."
"Really? I heard he used to be in a gang."
"What? No way."
"No, I swear. My cousin said he beat someone up with a pencil case in middle school."
"You're making that up."
"I'm not! He's like… low-key dangerous."
"He once got a nosebleed from opening a math textbook."
"I bet it's a secret relationship."
Someone started humming a wedding march.
I wanted to crawl inside my locker and evaporate.
If God blessed me with a hyperactive imagination to help me escape reality, now would be a great time for it to kick in.
I glanced over at Rika.
She didn't react.
Just kept writing, slow and precise, like none of this bothered her.
No blush. No reaction. Just silence, which somehow made it worse.
I sank a little lower in my seat, counting down until the bell finally rang and released us both into the jaws of the next disaster.
That announcement might've only lasted ten seconds but the curse it left behind was clearly long-term.
The hallway was loud, shoes clacking, chairs scraping, voices bouncing off walls like rubber balls in a gym. Rika didn't wait. She moved with quiet purpose, already weaving between students as if the announcement hadn't meant anything.
I had to sidestep two first-years to catch up.
She didn't speak. Just walked. Hands clasped loosely behind her back, gaze steady ahead. A few strands of her hair shifted with the hallway breeze, catching the glow from the windows as we passed.
"You think we're in trouble?" I asked, half-joking, half-hoping.
"No," she said without looking at me. "If we were, they wouldn't ask so politely."
That sounded like a Rika answer. Direct. Detached. Perfectly calm.
I nodded to myself. "Right. Good point. Death row comes with paperwork, not PA announcements."
She glanced at me sideways. The corner of her mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.
We turned a corner, moving away from the third-year wing. The crowd thinned out here, just a few stray students lingering at the lockers.
"You walk fast," I muttered, mostly to fill the silence.
"You walk slow," she replied, like it was a fact.
I wasn't sure how to respond to that. So I didn't.
Another minute passed in the quiet space between us. Just the sound of our shoes echoing on tile.
Then, her voice came, not loud, not shy. Just placed.
"You're different when you play your character."
I blinked. "Uh… different how?"
"More confident," she said. "Less… hesitant."
My brain short-circuited for half a second.
"Wait, is that a compliment or a diagnosis?"
"I didn't say it was a bad thing."
She kept walking, same even steps, same unreadable tone, but something about it landed.
We passed a window. The sun caught her lashes in profile. Her eyes looked softer in the light, less calculating, more tired. Or maybe focused on something I couldn't see.
"You know," I said, rubbing the back of my neck, "I keep thinking I need to act a certain way around you."
She stopped.
Just for a second. One heel tapping the floor. Then she turned slightly, brows drawn.
"Why?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "You're… intense. I think I psych myself out."
Her expression didn't change much. But something about the way she tilted her head, like she was studying a puzzle, made me instantly regret being honest.
"I'm not intense," she said.
"I know," I said quickly. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean it like that. Just… you get where I'm coming from, right?"
I exhaled. "I don't have a lot of experience talking to people. Holding conversations, I mean. Most of the time, I just let the other person carry it. It takes the pressure off."
My voice dipped.
"But with you… I feel like my brain's working overtime. I overthink everything. And when I mess up, which is often, I freak out more than I should. Especially when it's someone I…"
I trailed off.
"Someone I don't want to mess things up with."
That made her blink. Once.
I immediately regretted saying it. "Sorry, that was kind of blunt. I just thought, after last night, maybe..."
I rubbed the back of my neck. "...because we played the game and it was good, and I didn't want to assume..."
She cut in, calm and clear.
"It's okay."
Her voice wasn't cold. Wasn't distant. Just steady.
"I'm glad, too. That I can consider you a friend."
That pulled something tight in my chest.
We stood there a moment, just outside the student council office.
That one moment, the world stood still.
She glanced toward the door, then back at me, like time itself folded in the space between us. Like I was something she chose to return to.
And for the first time since we met, she looked at me, really looked at me, and smiled.
Soft. Small. Real.
"You don't have to be brave around me. I like you just the way you are… Samurai."
The world cracked beneath me.
Her words. Her smile.
It wasn't a spell.
Wasn't a curse.
Wasn't magic.
Just warmth, quiet, steady, like she'd handed me something precious and didn't ask for anything in return.
She wasn't the Ice Queen here.
Not to me.
She was something softer. Brighter.
A quiet flame in a frost-clad keep, glowing just enough to be seen.
Not melting the walls, just making the cold feel less lonely.
And in that moment, I didn't see the hallway.
Didn't hear the school.
I just saw her, more than ice, more than cold.
Not someone who kept everyone out.
But someone who could burn the world if she let herself get close.
And somehow, she trusted me, trusted me to hold a flame too sacred to share.
She said I didn't have to be brave.
That who I was… was enough.
But maybe it's time I tried to become the samurai she already sees.
I can't keep second-guessing myself.
At least not around her.
Don't worry, Morisaki-san.
I won't let you down.
Then... Click.
The door swung open
"You guys gonna keep making out or what?" Iroha deadpanned, leaning casually against the frame, a lollipop in her mouth and a knowing gleam in her eyes.
The moment died. Horribly.
Along with whatever facial expression I was making.
"We were, I just," I started, then promptly forgot how words worked.
Rika didn't flinch.
"You wanted to see us, Minazuki-san."
"Yeah. Like five minutes ago." Iroha stepped aside. "Normally I let the tension marinate, but you've got ten minutes before next period, and I'd rather not get written up for cockblocking academic success."
She gestured lazily. "Inside. Come on. Office hours await."
The student council room looked like someone's idea of a well-funded war bunker. Neat, polished floors. Filing cabinets lined one wall, each one labelled in unreadable handwriting. A couch sat against the far window with an untouched box of green tea mochi on the table in front. The air was faintly lemon-scented, too clean to be natural.
Iroha swept behind her desk with the effortless confidence of someone who didn't just have main character energy; she ran on it. One smooth motion opened the drawer. Another retrieved the folder. And then, with all the finality of a prosecutor delivering the key exhibit, she slammed the sheet of paper onto the table.
Approved.
Stamped in red. Bold. Like the final blow in a courtroom anime.
"Congrats, Dungeon Boy," she said. "You're officially the club president of… insert name here."
"Wait really?" I said. "What about an advisor?"
"'Insert name here?'" Rika asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Relax," Iroha said, flopping into her chair like she owned the entire building. "I got the new hot young librarian to sign on as advisor. She's fresh out of uni and drowning in imposter syndrome. I said 'low-maintenance club full of gifted kids' and she signed faster than I could blink. Probably thinks it'll score her points with the principal."
"You called the club Insert Name Here," Rika said, folding her arms.
"Relax, Honour Girl." Iroha waved her hand. "That part was written in pencil. I just needed something filled in for the time being."
"And Insert Name Here was the best you could do?" Rika asked, expression flat.
"I hadn't filed it with admin yet. Chill. We can change it before it's official. C'mon, Dungeon Boy, use that overactive imagination of yours."
"Oh. Right. A name. Uh, yes, I hadn't quite settled on one yet," I said, already sweating.
"What about Order of the Dragon's Fang?"
Iroha raised an eyebrow. "Really? I'm not joining anything that sounds like an over-serious nerd fest."
"It sounds cool."
"It sounds like a cry for help."
"Okay, fine. Crimson Blade Alliance?"
"Tacky. Next."
"Dungeon Party With Benefits?"
Iroha didn't blink. "Do you even know what's coming out of your mouth? I didn't hustle to get this club approved just to fuel the school's hookup culture. One more name that even remotely sounds like a D-list hentai that got cancelled after episode two, and I'm stapling your tongue to the desk."
"Deep Divers of the Lonely Cavern?"
She groaned and dragged her palm down her face.
Then…
"The Broken Compass," Rika said.
Iroha blinked. "Like the movie?"
"No," Rika replied, calm as always. "I read a book recently. The heroes always met in a tavern called The Broken Compass. It felt… fitting. Isn't that what your game is about, Akizora-san? No fixed path. Just instinct. Getting lost on purpose."
She glanced at me, then looked back at the desk.
"The Broken Compass."
I didn't say anything for a second. Then:
"…I like it."
Iroha gave her a side glance. "Still sounds lame. But if Dungeon Boy's into it, and it attracts more weirdos, fine."
"At least it doesn't sound like a sex cult," Rika added without blinking.
"Okay then!" I said, maybe a little too brightly.
Iroha leaned back with the smug grace of someone expecting a crown for services rendered.
She popped her drawer open, rummaged lazily, and produced an eraser that looked like it had survived midterms, finals, and one existential crisis.
She tossed it to me without ceremony.
I caught it.
And in my hand, it finally took its true shape, a weathered quill, feathered and ink-tipped, thrumming with quiet purpose.
The desk stretched out into a long oak table, polished by time and the weight of stories.
Scrolls curled at the edges. Wax seals shimmered with half-melted sigils. Somewhere behind me, a hearth crackled low.
I stepped forward, heart steady.
And with all the reverence of a wandering samurai pledging himself to a cause greater than his blade, I pressed the quill to parchment.
"Our guild shall be known… as The Broken Compass."
No one clapped.
No music played.
No confetti rained from the ceiling.
The moment felt profound until Iroha sucked loudly on her lollipop and muttered a flat:
"…Yaaay."