The weekend had come, and I found myself staring at the ceiling of my dorm room, doing absolutely nothing. It was too quiet, the kind of silence that made everything feel boring and lazy.

I glanced at the clock. 2:00 p.m. Great. Another hour wasted.

I let out a long sigh, turning to face the TV. The remote was there, but I wasn't exactly in the mood to watch another drama. The last one I tried watching felt like a never-ending cycle of people crying over the same things. Honestly, if I wanted to watch emotional breakdowns, I'd just look at my messy reflection. I've had enough drama in my life already.

Ugh, watching TV or playing a game? What a choice. Dying of boredom or slowly dying from repetitive entertainment...

It wasn't like studying would help either. I had already drained myself from trying to improve my stats all week. My brain wasn't in the mood for more of that. I need something else. Something... different.

I thought for a moment. I could just skip to the next scene or maybe get some sleep, but that wouldn't work and wouldn't make the exhaustion go away.

Maybe a nap would help, but that wasn't what I needed right now. I stood up suddenly.

Cooking!

It seemed like a good idea, despite the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. I needed to do something, anything, that wasn't mind-numbing. How bad could it be?

I had heard somewhere that cooking could be a good way to kill time, and it was probably better than wallowing in my misery. My stomach growled. It's the perfect solution. How hard can it be?

I wandered into the kitchen, which looked as uninspiring as ever. The fridge hummed, almost like it was mocking me. Whatever, I can handle this.

I heard tamagoyaki was a simple dish. A rolled omelette. How difficult could it be? I checked a recipe from my phone and squinted at it. Okay, whisk the eggs, heat the pan, roll it... Seems simple enough. Even I can't mess that up.

I cracked the first egg. Of course, it slipped from my hands, and the yolk splattered everywhere. How does this even happen? I stared at the mess in disbelief. I'm an idiot. How is it even possible to be this bad at cracking eggs? Was original Horikita just as hopeless? I bet she was. I bet she couldn't crack an egg without it turning into a disaster.

I wiped my hands on my apron with a scowl. I couldn't help but feel irritated at how everything was going wrong. Seriously, did she even try cooking? Or was I doomed to repeat her mistakes?

Ignoring the egg disaster, I moved on and began whisking the mixture. Of course, I couldn't even manage to do that right. My wrist gave out halfway through, and the bowl jerked, spilling the eggs onto the counter. "Are you kidding me?!" I groaned, running a hand through my hair. "How is this so hard?"

The heat from the pan was the next disaster. It was too hot, then too cold, then too hot again. I'm supposed to oil the pan, right? But did I put too much oil? Why can't I just follow a simple recipe?!

The eggs in the pan were turning into a lumpy, sad mess. I poked at it with the spatula. "This looks like a crime scene. No, scratch that, this looks like something you'd find in the dumpster outside. Ugh, I am horrible at this!"

I stared at the half-cooked eggs, the once-promising tamagoyaki now resembling a ruined omelette. "Well, congratulations, Horikita. You've managed to ruin an omelette. Who knew that would be your special talent?"

"Maybe I should just stick to eating instant noodles. At least those are guaranteed to turn out right.

I flipped it, and of course, the omelette just folded into itself, creating a sad, wrinkled mess. Great, just great. I sighed, setting the ruined creation on a plate. It looked like something I'd seen in one of those weird food challenge videos—except it wasn't even edible.

"You know, maybe I'll tell people this is modern art. Yeah, 'I was trying to make a piece about failure and hope,'" I said aloud, looking at the disaster. "That's what it looks like anyway. A representation of every single thing I've tried to do this week."

I stared at the sorry excuse for food, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over me. Maybe cooking wasn't as fun as it looked. Maybe it wasn't meant for someone like me. It wasn't even about the food anymore. It was about doing something, anything, that wasn't as miserable as staring at the walls of my room all day.

Still, I wasn't about to give up completely. I forked the mess of eggs and hesitated, staring at it like it might bite me. "Who am I kidding... this is probably the worst thing I've ever done. I should've known better."

As I took the first bite, I nearly gagged. What is this? It tasted like disappointment wrapped in a greasy layer of defeat. I swallowed it anyway, not wanting to admit failure.

"Well, at least it's food, I guess," I muttered, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "At least I tried... sort of. Who knows, maybe the original Horikita was bad at this too. Maybe she'd have laughed at me. Or maybe she'd just cry at how bad this is. Who am I kidding... She'd probably look at me and think, 'How can someone be so bad at cooking?'"

I sighed, staring at the half-eaten disaster on the plate. The weekend was far from over, but at least I had this mess to remind me of how stubborn I could be. Even if it didn't turn out the way I wanted, at least I wasn't sitting idly by... right?

Haha...

"Maybe tomorrow I'll just order delivery," I muttered to myself. But for now, I was stuck with this disaster, and no amount of complaining would fix it.

At least, that's what I told myself as I took another reluctant bite.

I let out another deep sigh, my fork clinking softly against the plate as I pushed the mess of eggs around in a futile attempt to make it look more like actual food. But deep down, I knew it was hopeless.

I stared at the spoon in my hand, almost as if it was mocking me. The metal surface reflected my face back at me, but... it wasn't my face anymore. I could see it clearly: the glint in those eyes, the hard, unwavering stare. The way it glared at me with a kind of intent—cold, calculating, and ready to tear me apart.

For a brief, strange moment, I almost felt like she was staring directly at me like she was looking right through me. But that wasn't possible, right? She wasn't here. She was long gone, and now I was just using her body, her identity. Why else would her reflection be glaring at me like that? The resentment in those eyes—what the hell does she want from me?

The spoon slipped from my grip, landing with a sharp clatter on the floor. Startled, I quickly stood up, rubbing my eyes. My pulse quickened.

"I'm losing it," I muttered, shaking my head.

I turned away from the kitchen, walking briskly into my room.

But as I entered my room, my eyes were immediately drawn to the desk. The books on it. Stacks of textbooks, half-finished assignments, and notes scattered haphazardly like they'd been tossed around in a hurry. The sight made my stomach churn, and I found myself hesitating in front of the desk. What was I supposed to do with all of this?

My gaze drifted back to the mirror hanging across the room, and my breath caught in my throat.

There she was again. The same glare, the same cold stare. Only this time, she wasn't just looking at me but was staring past me, as if focusing on something else.

I glanced behind me, half-expecting to see someone standing there, but there was nothing. Just the books on the desk, lazily strewn across the surface, waiting to be picked up.

Why do I need to study anyway? I have one of the highest INT stats around. If she could pass these ridiculous entrance exams, so could I. I don't need to waste time reading these... these boring textbooks.

"Whatever," I mumbled to myself, walking away from the mirror and shutting the door behind me.

I reached for my phone, trying to distract myself from the overwhelming silence that was starting to settle in my room.

I scrolled through my contacts and found Mii-chan's number. It seemed like a good idea to give her a call. At least talking to her would get my mind off everything else.

I pressed the call button, bringing the phone to my ear. It rang twice before Mii-chan picked up.

"Horikita-san!" Mii-chan's voice came through the speaker, bright and cheery as always. "How's it going?"

I let out a deep breath, feeling a bit of relief at hearing her voice. "Hey, Mii-chan. I was wondering if you could help me with something..."

"Of course! What do you need?" she replied, her enthusiasm infectious.

"Well, I'm... I'm trying to cook, and I might have made a bit of a mess in the kitchen," I started, hesitating a little. It wasn't exactly easy to admit, but it was now or never. "I thought maybe you could give me a hand."

Mii-chan's surprised laugh came through the phone, and I instantly felt embarrassed. "Horikita-san, you don't know how to cook? I honestly didn't see that coming! I always thought you had everything under control!"

I froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Should I have said that? "Well... I'm not exactly the best at it," I muttered, trying to brush it off. "I thought it would be a nice way to spend some time together, you know?"

There was a short pause on the other end of the line before Mii-chan responded, her tone shifting slightly. "I would love to, really! But... Hirata-kun actually invited me to a café today!"

The excitement in Mii-chan's voice made me want to hide under my blanket. "A café, huh? That sounds... nice."

"Yeah!" she practically squealed with excitement. "I'm so excited! It's just going to be the two of us!"

Wait...

"Wait..." I said, trying to keep my voice casual. "Just the two of you?"

There was a long, awkward silence on the other end before Mii-chan spoke again, her tone suddenly flat. "Well... no, actually. Karuizawa-san and the others are coming too."

O...h.

I forced a laugh, trying to recover from the shift in energy. "Oh, right. Of course... Karuizawa-san wouldn't miss it, huh?" I tried to joke, though the words tasted a bit too bitter in my mouth.

"Well," Mii-chan's voice regained some cheer, though it still felt a little strained, "it'll still be fun! I mean, who doesn't love a good café hangout, right?"

"Yeah..." I replied, my voice quieter than I intended. Why does this feel so awkward now?

"Anyway," Mii-chan continued, her tone a bit more upbeat again, "I'll let you know how it goes! And hey, next time we can totally cook together! Maybe I can teach you some chinese tricks."

I tried to muster a smile, though I knew she couldn't see it. "Thanks, Mii-chan. I guess I'll figure it out. Enjoy your café date with Hirata-kun."

I could practically hear the grin in Mii-chan's voice as she responded, "I'll try! Talk to you later, Horikita-san!"

"Just... don't do anything silly, okay?" I said, trying to keep my voice light, but there was a hint of seriousness to it.

Mii-chan's laugh came through the phone, sounding a bit too carefree.

"Don't worry! Karuizawa-san won't die, I promise!" she said quickly before the line went silent.

Wha—

I was left staring at the phone in my hand, unsure how to feel.

Mii-chan can be scary.

I hesitated for a moment, staring at the screen of my phone. I wasn't sure why, but I felt an odd knot forming in my stomach. The thought of calling him was... uncomfortable.

But I did it anyway. I dialed his number, watching the screen as it rang, my fingers tapping nervously against the side of the phone. What if I sound ridiculous? What if he thinks I'm some kind of idiot for doing this?

The call picked up after a few rings, and his voice came through, seemingly calm and unbothered.

"Horikita? I didn't expect a call from you. Is there something you need?"

I nearly froze. How do I say this?

I opened my mouth, but the words felt like they were stuck in my throat.

"Well, um, I... I'm not really good at cooking," I said, feeling the awkwardness crawling up my neck. "I was wondering if you could... help me? I thought maybe you could show me how to make something. It's just... I kind of messed up earlier, and now I... don't really know what to do."

I felt the silence stretch on, my face growing warmer by the second. What am I doing? I could practically feel the awkward tension seeping through the phone line.

"You don't know how to cook?" Ayanokouji's voice was neutral, but I swore there was a hint of surprise in it. "I didn't take you for someone who'd struggle with something like that."

"...It's not like I don't know how, I just—" I cut myself off, realizing I was rambling. My words felt stupid, my voice too loud and shaky.

I stopped, feeling the weight of my words hanging in the air. A silence settled between us, and I could practically hear my own heart pounding in my ears. It felt like time had stopped.

I wanted to hang up. I must sound so... so ridiculous!

I gripped the phone tighter, feeling a cold sweat form on the back of my neck.

After what felt like an eternity, Ayanokouji finally spoke again, his tone as calm and steady as ever.

"I see," he said. "I'll be there soon."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Ayanokouji spoke again, his voice still calm but I thought it had a faint edge of amusement.

"By the way, Horikita," he said slowly. "Do you know that guys aren't allowed to be in the girls' dorms?"

Oh, right. I totally forgot about that.

"Ah... I forgot," I admitted, feeling the heat rise to my face.

Ayanokouji didn't seem phased by my slip-up. "It's not a big deal,"

I wasn't so sure about this. Where is the restart button again?

"We'll figure something out."

I bit my lip, uncertainty creeping in. "Well... maybe you shouldn't come, then. What if someone sees you?"

I could practically hear his shrug through the phone.

"Don't worry about it. Nobody will notice me. I'll see you soon."

And with that, the line went silent, leaving me staring at the phone in my hand. My mind was racing, and I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I'd just made a bigger mess of this than I meant to.

Why am I so bad at this?