The final bell of the day felt less like a dismissal and more like a reprieve. After the Artificer Class ended, Arien scanned the flowing crowds of students, but the familiar head of white hair was nowhere to be seen. Shiro had vanished again. A knot of worry tightened in her stomach, but she forced it down. She had a plan, and it involved playing her part perfectly.
Satoshi, meanwhile, walked back to the dormitory with the slow, measured steps of a man approaching his own execution.
The cheerful chatter of other students returning to their rooms felt distant, muffled by the low hum of his own anxiety. He stopped in front of the familiar door to room twenty-three. It was slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness peeking out. No light came from within. His roommate was already back.
Satoshi: He won't do anything to me... yet. Probably. Maybe. Just stick to the script.
He pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room. The air was still and cool. There, sitting on the edge of his bed in the near-darkness, was Shiro.
He was already in his sleep clothes, but he wasn't lying down. He was perfectly upright, his back straight, his hands resting on his knees, staring intently at the blank wall opposite him as if deciphering a hidden message in the plaster.
The moment the door opened, Shiro's head turned. Not with a sleepy jerk, but with a smooth, deliberate pivot. His eyes, reflecting the dim light from the hallway, locked onto Satoshi.
Shiro: You're back. His voice was flat, devoid of its usual lazy cadence. He raised his hand in a slow, half-hearted gesture that was more an observation than a greeting. Hi.
Satoshi's every instinct screamed that this was a trap. He forced his shoulders to relax and walked in, dropping his bag by his bed with a practiced casualness.
Satoshi: You came first, I see. Couldn't wait to get back to the exciting wall-view, huh? He kept his tone light, teasing, exactly as he would have on that first, oblivious day.
As Satoshi sat down on his own bed, the springs groaning under his weight, Shiro shifted. It was a controlled, deliberate movement. He swung his legs down and planted his feet on the floor, then crossed his right ankle over his left knee. He steepled his fingers, his interlaced hands resting on his knee, and fixed Satoshi with a gaze that was anything but sleepy. This was a predator's assessment.
Shiro: Kobayashi.
The way he said the name-not Satoshi, but the full, formal Kobayashi-was a warning bell.
Satoshi: Y-yes? He allowed a hint of nervousness to seep into his voice. A completely calm response would be just as suspicious.
Shiro: Did something happen to me?
The question hung in the air, stark and simple. His face was a mask of neutral inquiry, but his entire body was a tightly coiled spring. Satoshi understood the game immediately. This wasn't a genuine question; it was a probe. Shiro was dropping a depth charge into the water to see what kind of emotional debris would float to the surface.
Satoshi: How would I know? he replied, letting his confusion sound genuine. He scrunched his brow, looking genuinely puzzled. Aren't you the one who would know that? Did you have a weird dream or something?
The reaction was instantaneous. A flicker of surprise-and maybe frustration-crossed Shiro's features before he could suppress it. The perfect mask had cracked, just for a millisecond. He had expected denial, maybe fear, but not this plausible, casual ignorance.
Shiro: O-oh... right... The tension drained from his shoulders, replaced by a feigned, weary acceptance. He broke the intense eye contact, looking down as if embarrassed. Must have been a dream.
He then moved with finality, sliding under his covers and pulling the sheet up to his chin, turning his back to Satoshi.
Shiro: Well then, good night.
Satoshi: You too.
The room fell into a silence that was anything but peaceful. Satoshi lay in the dark, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat, knowing Shiro was doing the same mere feet away. The unspoken war of attrition had begun.
A new day-but was this a new beginning ?
As always, Satoshi was the first to wake. His eyes snapped open, and his first conscious action was to look across the room. This time, the sight was different.'
Shiro was still dead to the world, his blanket a puddle on the floor, his limbs splayed out at impossible angles. This was the chaotic, harmless mess of the Shiro he'd first met.
Satoshi got up. This was his moment to control the experiment. He walked to the window and, with deliberate slowness, drew back the curtain.
A shaft of bright morning sunlight fell directly onto Shiro's face. It was a test. Which version of Shiro would be jolted awake by the light? The volatile, suspicious one from last night, or the lazy oaf from the first morning?
Shiro: Hmmmm...
He stirred, swatting vaguely at the air as if shooing a fly. He patted the mattress around him, searching blindly for his missing sheet. Finally, unable to escape the sunbeam baking his eyelids, he groaned and sat up abruptly.
Satoshi took an instinctive step back, his body bracing for a sharp question, a cold glare, anything.
But it didn't come.
Shiro simply sat there for a moment, bleary-eyed, before stretching his arms high above his head with a loud, satisfying yawn. He finally blinked his eyes open and looked at Satoshi, a faint, sleepy smile on his face.
Shiro: Oh, morning, Sato.
The nickname. The easy tone. It was back.
Satoshi: Well, good morning, Shiro. The relief in his own voice was almost palpable.
Everything seemed… normal. Daring to hope, Satoshi decided to push a little. As they were getting ready, he leaned against his bedpost, trying to sound nonchalant.
Satoshi: So, how was yesterday? Do anything interesting?
Shiro: Yesterday? He paused, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.
Satoshi's blood ran cold. Here it comes.
But then Shiro shrugged, turning back to the small mirror. Well, you know, nothing special. All I did was sleep. I found a real nice spot library.
The answer was so casual, so perfectly in character for the old Shiro, that Satoshi nearly sagged with relief.
Satoshi: Eh? Oh, well, me too. Nothing special. (Just a bit of psychological warfare with my amnesiac, potentially homicidal roommate. The usual.)
They finished getting ready and left the room, falling into step together in the hallway. The normalcy felt fragile, but it was there.
Shiro: So, Sato.
Satoshi: Hm?
Shiro: Why don't you call Arien by her first name? You two seemed pretty chummy yesterday. The question was light, but there was a subtle edge to it. A fisherman casting a line.
Satoshi: Well, I'm not that close with her, he deflected smoothly. It's only been a day since I formally met her, so... it'd be presumptuous.
Shiro: Well, I've only known her for around three days, I think. He said it musingly, as if trying to tally the time.
Satoshi looked at him, a surge of anger and frustration bubbling up. Three days? But he quickly smothered it, his face settling into a mask of mild amusement as he studied Shiro's profile.
Satoshi: Well, that ain't surprising. You look like a girl yourself; maybe you just relate better.
Shiro: What are you saying? Shiro protested, a genuine laugh in his voice. I'm not that girly!
Satoshi: I'm talking about your looks, what did you think? All that white hair and those delicate features. Ew. He feigned a shudder, playing into the familiar banter.
Just then, they spotted Arien waiting at their usual junction. Shiro lifted his hand in that signature half-wave, and Satoshi peeled off with a nod.
Arien: So, what were you two gossiping about? she asked as Shiro fell into step beside her.
Shiro reached up, unconsciously touching a strand of his white hair.
Shiro: My look.
Arien: Without even glancing at him, she delivered her line with deadpan precision. Ew.
Shiro: It's not like that! he whined, the picture of mock offense.
They entered the SR classroom, the familiar routine swallowing them. But as Arien stole a glance at Shiro, she saw it-a flicker of something sharp and calculating in his eyes before the lazy glaze settled back over them. He was playing his part a little too well.
Meanwhile, in the LR classroom, Satoshi stared at his textbook without seeing the words.
Satoshi: Shiro... he was talkative today. Too talkative. Too... normal. It feels like a performance.
The facade was holding, but the cracks were there, and both Satoshi and Arien were now painfully aware of the dangerous actor hiding behind the mask.