Chaos.
That's the only word I'd use to describe trying to eat lunch at school.
A barely contained hurricane of noise and motion, trays slamming down like dropped shields, soup bowls hissing steam like cracked exhaust vents, voices ricocheting off every surface like stray spells. The kind of noise that didn't fade, it multiplied.
Somewhere behind me, the deep fryer let out a dying wheeze, like it was trying to out-sing the rising chorus of gossip, screeching chair legs, and the occasional scream-laugh that sounded like a spell gone horribly wrong.
It was hot, loud, and completely overwhelming, which, in a very unsubtle way, is your literary hint that this chapter doesn't exactly color inside the lines.
So naturally, I was sitting in the eye of the storm, alone, katsudon in hand, trying to hold onto one quiet thought at a time.
The Broken Compass was official. Not a maybe. Not a draft. A real, signed, school-sanctioned club.
Done. That part, at least.
I hadn't really thought past that.
Maybe, deep down, I didn't think it would actually happen. Not the kind of thing someone like me pulls off.
But now that it's real… what next?
Should I invite more people? Put up new flyers?
...Or maybe just leave it.
Maybe I'd just run another session. Just the three of us again.
Though, thinking back it had been a little cramped. My apartment isn't exactly built for hosting. Iroha nearly toppled the kotatsu mid-monologue, brandishing a rice cracker like it held divine authority. The dice tray kept drifting into the snack pile like it was trying to escape.
Still… for something that started awkward, it kind of worked.
At least for me.
I don't know what Iroha thought. Especially after Rika joined.
She didn't say anything about it. Not really.
But she didn't leave either.
And maybe… that counts for something.
I guess… I made my first real friend at school.
That morning, I asked Rika if she wanted to have lunch. It wasn't a big thing. Just a thought. That's what friends do, right?
She said she had plans to study in the library. Said it casually. No hesitation. No apology.
So… katsudon for one, I guess. Not like I was planning to share one meal with her.
Still, if she had said yes, I wouldn't have minded.
...What am I even saying?
I let out a breath. Maybe I was hoping for something that didn't exist yet. Maybe I'm just not used to this. Having people, wanting to be around them.
I was disappointed. A little.
But she had other plans. That's normal.
I should stop reading into it. She's just a friend. A busy one.
And I should probably be busy too, doing what I always do at school. Which is… absolutely nothing.
I took another bite. Guess today'll shape out like any other boring day.
Buzz.
…Guess not.
🦊 IROHA — 12:14 PM
Ranjiro.
There's something I need to show you.
I read it twice. Something about it gave me pause. Couldn't say what.
Just a feeling. Like the message was... heavier than usual.
I locked the screen and glanced out the window.
Whatever it was.
I'd find out soon enough.
Sunlight spilled lazily through the high windows, draping the floor in slanted lines of warmth and dust. The third-year hallway still buzzed behind me. Students packed around lockers, swapping snacks, waving off teachers. Familiar energy. Predictable chaos.
But as I turned past the art wing and into the north stairwell, the air changed.
No students. No teachers. No voices.
Just... space
Each step echoed louder now. Tiles gave way to older ones, cracked at the edges, like no one had bothered to fix them in years. A soft hum overhead buzzed unevenly, like the lights were unsure whether they should still be on.
I slowed down. Checked the wall signs. North wing.
2218 should've been close, if I hadn't gotten turned around.
My fingers slipped into my pocket and pulled out my phone.
🦊 IROHA — 12:14 PM
There's something I need to show you.
Room 2218, north wing. Past the stairwell—
The screen flickered. Then went black.
Of course.
I let out a quiet sigh, slipped the phone back in my pocket, and kept walking.
The corridor narrowed slightly ahead. It was quieter here than it had any right to be, like the rest of the school had forgotten this part existed.
And then I saw it.
A single door, faded and tucked into the far wall. The kind you wouldn't notice unless you were looking for it.
A brass plaque clung to it half-heartedly: Cultural Research Society. The letters were dull, worn to the edges.
I reached for the handle.
But the door opened before I touched it.
Iroha stood in the doorway, one hand still on the knob.
The sunlight hit behind her at just the right angle, softening the sharp edges of her hair, turning gold strands almost copper at the tips.
She didn't smirk. Didn't launch into a one-liner.
Just tilted her head slightly.
"I was starting to think you got lost," she said. Voice low. Calm.
I blinked. "I kind of did."
A small huff of breath escaped her. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh.
"Figures," she said, stepping aside. "You've got the navigational instincts of a concussed pigeon."
There it was, her usual rhythm, but quieter somehow. Less like a punchline, more like a habit she hadn't put down yet.
I stepped through the door.
She didn't follow immediately. Just lingered at the doorway, fingers brushing the frame, like she was taking one last second before stepping in.
Then, almost like remembering she wasn't alone, she stepped inside. Her hand fell back to her side, her posture tightening, a quiet reset.
The door clicked shut behind her.
She caught me watching and raised an eyebrow, like I was the one being weird.
I blinked. Then smiled. "Wait… this is ours?"
"Mhm. Officially assigned this morning," she said, stepping further inside. Her blazer sleeves were rolled past her elbows. She looked comfortable, settled in a way that made it seem like she'd been here all along.
"Wow, Iroha-san… this is amazing. Why didn't you mention you got us a room?"
She shrugged. "Dramatic effect. Plus, I wanted to see the dorky look on your face when you geeked out over how amazing it is."
I immediately erased whatever expression I'd been holding. "It's nice, Iroha-san. Big, too. Like... full classroom big. And it's so far from the rest of the school."
"Exactly," she said with a grin. "No foot traffic. No curious underclassmen. No chance of getting caught playing make-believe."
"You make it sound like last night wasn't fun."
"I'm kidding, Dungeon Boy." She glanced around the room with a small nod. "Admit it, this place kind of feels like a top secret base. No distractions to yank us out of mid-fantasy."
"Yeah… I guess you're right," I said, glancing around.
A soft silence followed. Dust floated in the light like slow confetti. The room felt untouched, but not abandoned.
Then she clapped her hands. "As you can see, the place could use a bit of love. Luckily, I pulled a few strings to get you out of class."
"Wait, how?"
"I told the faculty you signed up for a last-minute volunteer assignment."
Before I could protest, she handed me a broom like it was a sword from a noble quest.
"Now go forth, warrior. The realm of dust awaits."
We started tidying without much direction. I worked my way toward the window in the corner, cracked just enough to let in a faint draft, but not enough to matter. Iroha went for the corkboard, carefully peeling off old flyers and outdated announcements, folding them with surprising neatness before setting them aside.
Neither of us said much.
I shifted a few desks into a looser formation near the center of the room. She quietly moved chairs to match, not quite a circle, not quite a classroom. Just something that made sense.
Then we noticed the tall metal cupboard wedged awkwardly near the back wall.
"Help me with this?" she asked, already moving toward one side.
"Sure," I said, taking the other.
We pushed in sync, the cupboard dragging its feet across the floor with a low, rusty scrape. Iroha exhaled sharply as we stopped, brushing her bangs from her face with the back of her wrist.
"You alright?" I asked.
She nodded once. "Just heavy."
There was a pause. She didn't fill it.
And somehow… that stood out.
We kept working. Slower now, but not because we were tired. She found an old box of club supplies under a shelf and started sorting through it. I swept around the edges of the room, pulling up years of dust in quiet spirals.
A few times, we reached for the same chair or tried to drag the same box. Our fingers brushed once. Neither of us mentioned it.
Another time, I caught her staring across the room, not at anything specific, just still. Like her thoughts had wandered somewhere she wasn't ready to share.
Iroha usually had something to say. Not in a bad way. Just… she filled space without trying. But here, now she wasn't trying at all.
And somehow, the silence between us didn't feel empty. It felt full.
By the time we stepped back, the room didn't look new, but it looked like ours. Not perfect. Not polished. But like we'd been here long enough to leave a mark.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
Then…
"You know," Iroha said, kneeling by the old bookshelf, thumbing through a row of faded paperbacks like she was deciding which ones deserved a second life, "I didn't hate last night."
I glanced over from the stack of worksheets I'd been sorting. "The game?"
She nodded. "Yeah. I didn't expect it to turn out the way it did. I felt like... someone else. But also, still me. Just… a version of me I hadn't really met before."
I smiled. "That's roleplaying for you."
She didn't answer right away. Just picked up another book and brushed the dust from its cover.
"Still not enough to convince me it's serious or anything," she added lightly.
"Hard to tell, considering you got the club approved before second period."
"Okay, you got me there," she said with a quick smirk.
I gave the broom another pass along the floor near the wall.
"I'm happy, though," I said after a beat. "That you went out of your way to do that."
She shrugged, brushing dust off her skirt. "Don't get used to it."
We kept moving around the room, adjusting chairs, checking under desks. Our conversation stayed light, but something beneath it felt... heavier. Like a thread we hadn't tugged on was just waiting between words. It kept brushing up against my thoughts.
Why did she go out of her way to make it official?
I stood by one of the tables, pausing. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you it was Rika who came to the rooftop."
She didn't look up. But she stilled, just a little.
"I didn't mean to leave it out," I added quietly. "I just—"
"It's fine," she said. Not sharp. Not cold. Just short.
I hesitated. "It's not. You were the first person who helped me make this real. And I repaid you by bringing in the one person who could ruin your shot at top student."
She stayed silent again. Her eyes flicked to the floor, then away.
After a while, she said, almost too casually, "Oh well. Not much I can do about it now."
"I know. But it doesn't change the fact that I could've told you."
This time, she looked at me. Not annoyed. Just… quiet.
She tilted her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "So? Was it the eyes? The smile? What made you let the honour student into your secret lair?"
She winked.
I flinched.
"No! I just… I guess I saw a bit of myself in her."
She raised an eyebrow. "A bit of you, huh? So what, you invited her over hoping that bit of you would end up inside her for real?"
"What?! No… I didn't mean it like that."
She giggled. Quiet, but real.
"Then what, Dungeon Boy?"
I picked up a folder from the floor and dusted it off, mostly to give my hands something to do.
"She said she wanted to try something," I said. "That it was her final year and she felt like she hadn't really lived in school. That everyone only saw her as the honour student, and that made it hard to make friends."
I looked over at Iroha. She wasn't joking anymore. Just listening.
"So she wanted to play the game. Like it was her last shot to try being someone different. Or... to just be herself."
Iroha's voice came quieter. "Is that how she really feels?"
"I think so," I said. "At least, I believed her. And if that's what she wants, I didn't want to be the one who stopped her from trying."
She paused again. Then gave a soft sigh.
"Well," she said with a faint shrug, "I guess that gives me a better reason to let her overstay her welcome."
I smiled. "Thank you, Iroha-san. And for not bailing when you came to my place… and for not scaring her off."
"Hey. I'll have you know I can get along with anyone."
"Mmhmm."
"Okay, 98% of me wanted to ghost the whole thing."
"And the other 2%?"
She looked at me, eyes playful again. "Wanted to see what you were talking about."
I chuckled. "So I did convince you."
"Don't get cocky," she said, tossing a rolled-up flyer in my direction. "You only appealed to 2% of me."
"Still," I said, catching it with one hand, "you stayed. That's what matters. Without you, we wouldn't have beaten the Hollow Voice."
"If I hadn't stayed, you wouldn't have a free period cleaning out your new club room."
"Also true."
I leaned against a desk, watching her settle into a crouch by a box of old supplies again. She tugged out a stack of faded laminated signs and looked at them like she wasn't really reading.
"I thought maybe you'd bring her," she said suddenly.
"Morisaki-san? She's studying."
"Of course she is," she murmured.
She didn't say anything more, but the pause lingered.
Then, almost like she hadn't meant to say it out loud, she added, "After everything... I don't think I'll ever catch up to her."
I stepped away from the desk and crouched beside her, helping shift through the box.
"Do you want to?" I asked gently. "To be the honour student, I mean."
She didn't answer right away. Then, after a long beat: "I guess it was an ambition my parents enrolled me in."
I nodded, and didn't push further.
"You don't have to strive for the top spot if you don't want to, Iroha-san. At least… that's how I'd see it."
She didn't respond, just kept her eyes on the box between us, hands still as if waiting for something more.
"And look," I continued, voice softening, "you're already student council president. Already one of the best in class. Everyone knows your name. You don't need another title to prove you're accomplished."
I hesitated, thumb brushing over the edge of a dusty folder.
"You walk through the halls like you've already figured it out. Like you know where you're going. I've always kinda admired that. I mean—"
I let out a quiet laugh under my breath. "Meanwhile, I couldn't even get a club form processed without tripping over myself."
She glanced at me. Just briefly.
"And then you helped me. You didn't have to. You could've walked away, and I wouldn't have blamed you. But you didn't. You stuck around. You made this club happen. You brought me here."
I looked around the room, then back at her.
"So yeah. If I had to honour someone at this school… someone who actually deserves it, not just because of grades or expectations—"
I looked at her. My voice caught on the next part.
"It'd be you. You're just…"
I scratched the back of my head, trying to find a better word. Something clever. Something that didn't feel like too much.
"…you're already everything people try to be."
And then, before I could second-guess it…
"I think you're amazing, Iroha-san."
She froze. Just for a moment.
Then, quietly, a bit of colour touched her cheeks. She looked away, fingers fussing with the hem of her skirt like she needed something to hold onto.
"Thank you, Dungeon Boy."
She said it softly, but with a smile that stopped me cold. It wasn't smug. Or teasing.
Just warm. Honest.
She looked at me now. Really looked.
I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded, like if I opened my mouth again, I'd ruin whatever this was.
We went back to work after that. Slower this time. Less about cleaning and more about… staying in the moment.
Something had shifted. Quietly. Like dust settling in new places.
We didn't talk for a while. But it wasn't awkward. Just… full. Like the air still remembered what was said.
Then, after a while, she broke the silence with a groan. "The quiet's unbearable. Got any music? I left my phone at the council office."
"Mine's dead. And anyway… you wouldn't like my music."
She gave me a look. "Let me guess. Just anime openings?"
"…Yeah. And bardcore."
She smirked. "Typical otaku."
We were nearly done. The room looked halfway decent. Just needed a final dust-down. Iroha headed to the chalkboard, swiping her sleeve across the surface, eraser in hand. She started humming, light and airy, just under her breath.
I recognised it immediately.
Garrison Against Giants, Season 4. The opening theme. That one Cos☆Mira track that hit way too hard for a show about swords and screaming. I didn't remember the full lyrics, but I knew the tune.
I found myself humming along before I even realised it.
The melody was just… infectious. One of those tunes that slipped past your brain and straight into your chest and if you knew it, even a little, it just kind of came out.
She turned toward me with a slow, devilish grin, the kind that made it very clear this was my fault now.
Then she sang.
"Another fight to win, another wall to break—
No time to fall, no time to fake—
This is the path that we chose to take!"
Was she seriously doing this?
And then, she did.
She stepped up onto one of the desks like it was a stage platform, raising the chalkboard eraser like a mic.
"The world—!" she belted, spinning in place.
"The stars—!" she beamed, throwing one hand to the sky.
"The fight will be ours!" she shouted, striking a pose.
I just stood there, completely stunned.
Iroha had gone full performance-mode without warning. Like some part of her had been waiting to let loose, and my humming had kicked open the floodgates.
She jumped into the next line, still dancing:
"Together and together—
The world! The stars!
The fight will be ours!"
I couldn't help it. I felt myself getting pulled in.
My voice joined hers — awkward, off-key, but louder this time.
"Together and together—!" I sang.
She turned, eyes wide with joy, and we shouted in sync:
"The world!"
"The stars!"
"The fight will be ours!!"
She threw one fist into the air and struck her final pose, one foot on the desk edge, eraser raised high, like she was soaking in the roar of a stadium crowd.
In that moment, she wasn't just the bard of my party.
She was the idol. Commanding the stage, the spotlight, the entire room, like this was her final encore and I was lucky to be in the front row.
That was the moment I realised:
She wasn't performing for anyone.
Just… being herself. Loud. Unfiltered. Radiant.
She hopped off and stretched, running a hand through her hair.
"Woah. That was fun," she said.
Then she tugged at her collar. "But if I don't get fresh air soon, I'm gonna start stripping."
My brain stuttered, then gave up entirely.
She looked at me and smirked. "Unless you're into that, Dungeon Boy, are you?"
"W-wait, no, I mean, Iroha-san, that's a little... I wasn't... I mean, you're nice! And I like you, as a friend... I mean, a club member! Obviously! Just..."
"Dungeon Boy."
She leveled a stare at me, completely unbothered.
"Go open the door."
I scrambled toward it like my life depended on it. "O-okay! Opening it now…!"
Chnk.
A sharp, awful snap.
"…What was that?"
I turned slowly.
The doorknob was in my hand.
Not connected to the door. Just… in my hand.
"You broke the door?!"
"No, I didn't! I mean, I didn't mean to! It just… came off!"
I held it up helplessly like proof of my innocence.
She snatched the knob from my hand, crouched by the door, and tried to wedge it back into place.
For a second, it almost looked like it might hold. Until it slid out again with a quiet metallic sigh.
Then came the crack. One problem split clean in half.
We both froze.
"…Did that just break?" I asked.
Iroha stared at the two halves of one knob like it had insulted her lineage.
Then she closed her eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled.
"It's fine," she said, in a very not fine voice. "It's fine. There's a window. See? It's already a little open. You just have to open it, jump out, loop around, and voila! Problem solved."
"What! Why me?" I said.
She stood up, dusted off her hands, and gave me a look like I had just asked the dumbest question on Earth.
"Because you're the big brave main character of this dumb story. Obviously. Now go on, hero, let me set the mood. What was one of your moves again? Fiery Sword Swipe—Hiya!"
She swung the eraser dramatically like a wooden practice sword.
"It's Tireless Spirit," I muttered, dragging myself toward the window.
I grabbed the frame and gave it a good push.
Nothing.
I tried again, harder this time.
"Uhh… Iroha-san?"
"What now?"
"It's not opening."
She strode over like she didn't believe me and gave it a shove of her own. Then another.
It rattled. Groaned. But didn't move.
"Seriously?" she hissed, jiggling it with both hands.
"I think it's, uh… jammed shut from months of neglect?" I offered helpfully.
She stepped back, staring at the window like it had personally betrayed her.
"Well," she said flatly, "this is not how I planned for this to shake out."
"So… we're stuck?" I asked.
She crossed her arms. "Let's review. No phones. No knob. No open window. No escape route."
She tilted her head back and let out a long, dramatic sigh toward the ceiling.
"Yeah. We're stuck."
The room felt different now.
Not just cleaner, though yeah, we had done a decent job of that. Most of the dust was gone. The chairs were straightened. The windows still refused to open, but the light came through easier. Warmer, somehow.
Like the space had finally accepted us.
I sat against the wall, legs stretched out, staring up at the ceiling like it might have answers.
"Someone's bound to figure out we're missing," I said. "Right?"
Iroha didn't respond immediately. She was fiddling with a bit of torn paper from one of the old flyers, folding it in half, then in half again.
"Won't your student council people start to worry?" I asked. "Try to find you?"
She shrugged.
"If I'm not in the office, they assume I'm off handling something else. That's kind of the default."
"...Seriously?"
"Mhm." She folded the paper again. "Even if they did notice, they wouldn't know where to look."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't tell anyone else I'd be here."
"...Right."
I scratched at the back of my neck.
"Well… I don't exactly have anyone who'd notice either." I tried to say it lightly, like a joke that didn't need a laugh. "I guess maybe Morisaki-san, but... I doubt she'd care. She probably thinks I'm still eating lunch."
"Yeah. Figures," Iroha muttered, but not unkindly.
There was a beat of quiet. Then she let out a small sigh and slid down the wall beside me, arms resting loosely over her knees.
"Well," she said. "Looks like we'll be here a while. Not the ideal scenario, but… at least the company's not half bad."
"Ah thanks?" I smiled, trying to sound casual. I replayed the words in my head.
"Don't think too hard," she added. "Wouldn't want that brain to rot before your body does."
"Right. Yeah."
A long beat passed.
The room had gone quiet again, not the kind of silence that begged for a joke, just the kind that settled in when there was nothing left to do. I caught her shifting slightly beside me, like she was trying to get comfortable but couldn't.
Then, like the thought had been sitting on her tongue for a while, waiting for the quiet to let it out.
"I don't really have friends either."
I glanced over. "What do you mean?"
"You. Rika-chan. I'm not much different." She rested her head back, eyes half-lidded. "There's always been people around me… but I think I kept just enough distance to make sure none of them ever got close."
I looked at her. "But you're, like, the most popular person in school. Student council president. Everyone knows who you are. There's gotta be people who consider you a friend."
She gave a small shrug, her gaze tracing the cracks in the ceiling. "Yeah. They probably do. I just never let any of it count."
A pause.
Then, quieter.
"Funny thing is… your place was the first time I ever just stayed. With someone."
I blinked. Not because I didn't believe her but because I hadn't expected it to sound so… real.
She didn't say it with drama. No self-pity. Just the kind of truth you don't say out loud unless the room is quiet enough to hold it.
"I didn't know," I said softly.
She gave a small smile, not bitter, just tired. "It's okay. A lot of people didn't, either."
Her voice stayed even, like it wasn't a complaint, just something she'd accepted. "I've gotten used to gliding across the surface. No need to dive deep into stuff that'll just disappear once school's over."
I nodded slowly. Maybe she wasn't like me. While I'd been chasing something to hold onto, she moved through it all like a breeze through open halls, never settling, never staying long enough for anything to weigh her down. And maybe that was the point.
"Anyway," she said, nudging off the wall with a stretch, "you don't have to tell me how many friends you have. I can already guess. Ten imaginary ones."
I smiled faintly. "Hey, I may have an imagination that can build worlds, but even my imaginary friends broke up with me."
She laughed. For real this time. "Then I guess we've got something in common."
I tilted my head. "Yeah? What's that?"
She smirked. "Not telling. Figure it out, Dungeon Boy."
I didn't press. Just watched her, the way she leaned back, half-draped over her knees like the moment didn't need to be anything more. Like there wasn't anything hiding behind that smirk.
But part of me still wondered, if she really believed all that about keeping her distance. Because nothing about starting this club, or sticking around this long, felt like someone just gliding along the surface.
And maybe I'd never know if she was all in or just another moment for her to fly away from.
Then she leaned in, a little closer this time, her voice dropping just enough to stir the air between us.
"Besides," she said, eyes flicking sideways but not quite meeting mine, "I'm not ready to admit I've made a friend just yet."
I blinked.
She grinned. "Gotta keep you guessing."
Then leaned back again, like the words hadn't meant anything at all.
But they had.
I smiled to myself.
Whatever this is... I'll be here.
It had been a few hours. Or at least... I thought it had.
Hard to tell, really. No clocks. No phones. Just the slow crawl of daylight across the floor tiles, and the occasional stomach grumble that passed for a timekeeper.
Mine did just that. Loudly.
"Ooo," Iroha said, leaning in to gently pat my stomach, "sounds like death is nearing."
"You're awfully calm for someone with no access to food or water."
"Don't jinx it." She gave a mock shiver. "I'll give it another hour before I start seeing things. Or less. Depends how dramatic I'm feeling."
She giggled, but her shoulders sank slightly like the joke wasn't entirely a joke.
With a small sigh, she slumped down beside me, legs stretched out, head tilted back against the wall. Her fingers found a loose thread on her skirt and started tugging, absentminded.
The light shifted, just barely. A colder hue, softer shadows. The kind of change you only notice when you've been staring at the same spot too long.
Then, slowly, she turned my way. That familiar spark curling at the corner of her smile.
"Say," she whispered, low and casual, "you wanna do it?"
"…Do what?"
She reached out, fingers brushing over mine, light, deliberate, like she was testing the air between us.
The room felt quieter somehow. Closer.
My throat caught. "Uhh… wh-what are you doing?"
She leaned in, close enough that her breath brushed my ear.
"A locked room," she murmured, the words honey-slick. "Just the two of us. Isn't this what you wanted? Someone to play with you?"
Something flickered.
The air around us shifted. Thicker now, laced with smoke and the distant drip of water.
Stone walls closed in, rough and uneven, lit only by the flicker of torchlight beyond rusted bars.
She crawled across the stone, slow and fluid, like a cat stretching through torchlight. Barefoot on the cold floor, the faint chime of anklets trailed each quiet movement. Her leather armor was half-buckled over a loose blouse, one strap slipping off her shoulder with every breath. A weathered lute clung to her back, the strings catching glints of firelight as she prowled forward.
Her eyes burned with something playful, slower, deeper, like they knew exactly what they were doing.
She leaned in, close enough for her breath to graze my skin, every movement deliberate like a secret she wasn't done whispering.
"Well?" she said. "No need to be shy, Dungeon Boy."
Then, lower, teasing, "Show me what that clever little mind of yours can do."
My heart stammered. Words failed. My body jolted.
I froze.
Then…
"Let's play your dumb game already."
"Huh?"
She blinked at me. "We're stuck here, right? May as well pass the time. You don't need a board and dice to play, do you?"
I stared. "Oh. That's what you meant…"
She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? What else would I be talking about?"
"Nothing! Nothing," I said, trying not to combust.
She gave me a weird look. The kind that suggested my brain had permanently checked out.
I cleared my throat, desperate to recover.
"I actually… I have a twenty-sided die in my bag."
She smirked. "Of course you do."
"Shut up," I muttered, then blinked. "Wait…, where are we again?"
She shot me another look that clearly said, You absolute disaster of a person. Then she waved her hand right in front of my face.
"Uhhh, Earth to Dungeon Boy?" she said, dragging the words out like she was tuning in a busted radio. "Did you just soft-reboot mid-sentence?"
"No, no, I was just... You were..."
"I was what?" she said, leaning closer, eyes sharp with amusement.
"Don't worry about it," I mumbled, ears burning. "Oh, right, did you still want to play the game?" I added quickly, fumbling for a subject change like it might save my life.
"Nah." She flopped back with an exaggerated groan, arms stretched like she was casting a sleep spell on herself. "You're clearly on the brink of losing it, and I'd hate to be the one explaining to your loved ones that you died using the last of your brain cells playing pretend."
She shifted, curled sideways, then with absolutely zero warning lowered her head gently into my lap.
"Ugh, not again!" I squeaked, almost flinching upright.
"Again?" she mumbled, cracking one eye open. "Jeez, Dungeon Boy… dramatic much? I'm just tired. Would you mind?"
Please let this be real. Please let this be real.
"Ranjiro," she said softly, reaching out. Her fingers found mine, holding the weight of my hand close against her chest. "It's okay, calm down. I'm just tired, that's all."
I paused, breath caught. The pressure in my chest loosened like I'd been spiraling somewhere far, and she'd just pulled me back.
Her fingers were still wrapped around mine. Warm. Certain. I could feel the faint pulse in her thumb, the softness of her skin cradling mine like it belonged there. I didn't move. Didn't dare to.
She was holding my hand.
Not for a joke. Not to tease me.
Just… holding it.
"Oh. Right. Sorry," I murmured. "Didn't mean to freak out. I just had a moment."
She yawned. "A moment?"
I hesitated. My eyes flicked down to our hands, still folded together, her thumb resting gently against mine.
"…Yeah," I said, voice low. "It's kind of hard to explain."
I drew a slow breath, not quite meeting her gaze.
"I guess I sometimes I zone out. Like it's this weird thing where I sort of dissociate. Like I'm not really… here. It's not scary or anything. Just… detached. I don't always have control—"
She didn't respond.
I looked down.
Her breathing had evened out. Her head, warm and steady, rose and fell softly against my thigh.
Iroha was asleep.
Actually asleep.
A few loose strands of her hair tickled my knee, golden in the soft window light. Her bangs fluttered with every exhale. The way she curled slightly inward made her look smaller like all the sharp, teasing edges of her personality had melted into something quieter. Just… soft.
I stared at her for a while, heart stuttering with every beat.
She's really something else.
Not quite normal, not quite different, maybe just a perfect blend of unpredictable fun and subtle warmth.
Looking back, today didn't turn out like any other day.
And chaos.
That's the only word I'd use to describe these past few hours I spent with her.
From nerves to laughter, from sparks of mayhem to almost letting my mind fumble it all.
All these scattered little moments we somehow shared: loud, awkward, fleeting, led into this one quiet pause that felt like everything all at once.
A Beautiful Mess. My time spent with Iroha Minazuki.
If it didn't make sense… that's okay. It didn't need to.
I rested my palms on the floor behind me, careful not to shift.
The silence stretched, not heavy, not awkward. Just full. Like it had been earned.
Eventually, the weight of the day settled into my shoulders. Her breathing, her presence, all of it wrapped around me like a spell I didn't want to break.
I leaned my head back against the wall and let everything blur, just a little.
Maybe just a few minutes.