The door to my room creaked open, and Ayanokouji stepped inside, looking just as composed as ever. I blinked, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he was actually there.

I looked up at him, a bit too awkwardly for my liking. "How is it possible that no one noticed you?"

Ayanokouji simply shrugged, as though the answer was the simplest thing in the world. "It's the weekend, Horikita. Most people are out or staying in their rooms. There's nothing out of the ordinary going on. The timing was just right."

I couldn't help but think for a moment. That actually made sense. I knew the dorms were quieter on weekends, but I hadn't considered how that could work in his favor.

"So... you just timed it perfectly?" I muttered, still a bit surprised.

Ayanokouji nodded.

I sighed softly, finally understanding, but still not entirely sure how to feel. "I guess you're lucky."

"Perhaps."

There was a strange silence as he looked around the room. I couldn't help but notice how he seemed almost... curious. I frowned, unable to ignore the odd feeling creeping up on me.

"What is it?" I asked, slightly uneasy.

His eyes flicked toward me before turning back to the room with a thoughtful expression. "It's... the first time I've been in a girl's room."

I froze, my mind scrambling. "You don't have a sister or anything?" I asked before I could stop myself, immediately regretting the question.

Ayanokouji paused for a moment, clearly considering how to answer. "No," he replied, almost too casually. "I'm an only child."

I nodded, but there was something in the way he said it that felt like he was trying to avoid any deeper conversation. Before I could dwell on it too long, Ayanokouji smoothly changed the subject.

"Anyway," he began, glancing around the room again. "How exactly did you want me to help with this cooking thing?"

I blinked at the abrupt shift. "Right, uh... I just figured it'd be easier if I didn't have to do it alone," I said, my voice faltering a little as the earlier awkwardness returned. "And I, uh, I'm not really good at it."

Ayanokouji raised an eyebrow, his expression neutral but slightly amused. "Well, you called me, didn't you? So, I guess we'll figure it out together."

I couldn't stop myself from feeling a little more self-conscious at that. My gaze dropped, and I suddenly felt much smaller than usual. What did it say about me that I couldn't even cook properly?

Ayanokouji didn't seem bothered, though. He just walked over to the small counter where I had already prepared some ingredients and began assessing the situation like he was dealing with something routine.

I could tell that it didn't faze him at all and that only made me feel more out of place.

But maybe that was just how he was. Everything was simple for him. So much simpler than for someone like me.

"Well," I said, trying to regain some semblance of confidence, "I guess we should start with something simple."

Ayanokouji gave a small, approving nod. "Sounds good."

I couldn't help but feel a bit of relief at his easygoing approach. At least with him here, I didn't feel quite as out of my depth.

Ayanokouji suddenly paused, glancing up from the counter, and for the first time, I noticed a slight shift in his posture.

"Actually, Horikita," he said, breaking the silence. "There's one problem."

I blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

He looked at me, almost casually, as though whatever he was about to say was no big deal. "I don't know how to cook either."

I froze. My mind took a moment to process his words.

Say what!?

For a second, I couldn't even find the words. My gaze locked onto him as I processed the shock. He... doesn't know how to cook either!?

Before I could fully think what that meant, the words escaped me.

"W-Why did you even come then?" I blurted out, the frustration and confusion spilling out of me before I could stop it.

Ayanokouji's expression flickered with a brief hint of surprise. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual calm demeanor.

"I'm here because we're friends, right?" he said, his voice steady as always. "Since you don't know how to cook, and I don't either, it seems like it would be more fun if we tried to figure it out together."

I couldn't help but blink, the weight of his words sinking in. He wasn't just here to help; he was here because... well because we were friends.

It was so simple, yet it made my chest feel... warmer. I quickly looked away, hoping my face wasn't showing how I felt.

I cleared my throat, trying to dismiss the warmth that had started spreading across my cheeks. "I... I see," I muttered, trying to hide the way I was feeling now. "I suppose it does make sense."

Ayanokouji didn't seem to mind my discomfort as he continued to assess the kitchen with that same cool focus.

I quickly shook my head, trying to brush off the strange feeling. But despite myself, I couldn't stop the faint smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. This wasn't the time for that. We still had to figure out what to do next.

"So, what should we do now?" I asked, my voice a little steadier than before, though I could still feel the lingering discomfort.

Ayanokouji turned to me and gave me a small, thoughtful look. "How about we make a dessert?" he suggested. "It's simple enough, and since evening's approaching, it feels like a good choice. Plus, it's something we can do together."

A dessert? I raised an eyebrow, curious. "What kind of dessert?"

"Daifuku," he said, glancing at me. "It's a simple Japanese dessert. We can make it with just a few ingredients—things you probably already have in the fridge."

I blinked in surprise. I wasn't exactly familiar with daifuku, but the idea of making something easy and enjoyable made me feel a little better. Plus, it sounded like something we could handle.

"Daifuku…?" I echoed, still processing the idea. "I didn't think that would be something we'd make."

"It's not complicated," Ayanokouji replied smoothly. "Just some mochi with a filling, usually red bean paste or fruit. And with what you have, I'm sure we can make something just as good."

I glanced at the ingredients I had already set out, mostly things for a basic meal. It seemed like he had a point. My eyes darted to the fridge. "I think I have some strawberries in there…"

"Perfect," Ayanokouji said. "We'll use those. It'll make a nice, simple dessert."

He seemed confident, and despite myself, I felt a little more optimistic.

But before I could say anything, I found myself asking, "Where did you find this recipe?"

"Internet," Ayanokouji replied without hesitation. "I like trying new things, so I search for simple recipes to test out."

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that. "You're the type to browse recipes in your free time?"

He shrugged slightly. "I have a lot of free time. Might as well use it to learn something useful."

I nodded, a bit surprised by how casual he was about it. Ayanokouji was always so calm and collected that it was easy to forget how much time and effort he had put into his own interests.

"Earlier," I started, my thoughts slipping back to my earlier cooking mishap, "I tried making an omelette, but I had... trouble with the eggs. I just couldn't get it right."

"Making eggs can be both the easiest and hardest thing. I guess it's all about timing and the right touch."

"Easier said than done," I muttered, my frustration from earlier creeping back. "It's like everything I try never works out the way I want it to."

"It's the effort that counts, Horikita. It's okay to make mistakes. The important part is learning from them."

I didn't know how to respond to that. As always, Ayanokouji's words were simple, but something about them made people feel oddly reassured.

I let out a quiet sigh and nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

We moved on to gather the ingredients for the daifuku, but as I did, my thoughts kept returning to what he had said. It wasn't just about getting it right—he was right about that. Cooking, like anything else, wasn't about perfection. It was about trying and learning, and that felt... okay.

Despite the clumsiness I'd shown, maybe it wasn't so bad after all. Maybe I could start seeing this as less of a failure and more as just another thing to figure out.

"Alright," I said, trying to push my doubts aside. "Let's make this daifuku."

And for the first time that evening, it felt like it might actually be fun.

As we started preparing the daifuku, I found myself feeling a little more at ease. Measuring out the ingredients and following the steps felt methodical, almost calming. Ayanokouji worked beside me, his movements precise but unhurried. It was almost strange how effortlessly he adapted, even though he claimed to have no cooking experience.

The process was going well—until it wasn't.

I had just finished heating the mixture of glutinous rice flour and water when I reached for the bowl to stir it. The mixture had thickened more than I expected, and as I tried to adjust my grip, the bowl slipped into my hands. Before I could react, the hot mixture lurched forward, about to splash onto my arm.

But before it could even reach me—

A hand shot out, grasping my wrist and pulling me back in one swift motion. The next thing I knew, Ayanokouji had tilted the bowl just enough so the scalding mixture slid back inside instead of spilling onto me. It all happened so fast that my mind barely had time to catch up.

I blinked, my heart still pounding from the sudden movement. "You—" I started, looking up at him in disbelief.

Ayanokouji released my wrist just as smoothly as he had grabbed it, stepping back as if nothing had happened. "Be careful," he said, "Hot mochi can burn your skin pretty badly."

I stared at him. That wasn't the issue. It wasn't just that he had stopped the spill—it was how fast he reacted. His reflexes were insane.

"…How did you do that?" I asked, still processing what had just happened. "There was barely a second to react."

He tilted his head slightly as if my question was unnecessary. "I just saw what was happening and acted accordingly."

I narrowed my eyes. "No normal person reacts that fast."

Ayanokouji paused, then gave a small, casual shrug. "I used to do a lot of sports when I was younger. I guess I still have decent reflexes."

That sounded logical—too logical. But at the same time, there was nothing overtly strange about his explanation. If anything, it was almost annoyingly reasonable.

I exhaled, shaking my head. "Fine. Just… thanks, I guess."

"You don't have to thank me," he replied. "It would've been worrisome if you got burned."

I frowned at his wording, but I let it slide. My wrist still felt warm from where he had grabbed it, but I ignored that too.

Instead, I turned back to the bowl, determined not to let this throw me off. "Let's just get back to making the daifuku."

Ayanokouji nodded as if the entire incident had already been forgotten.

We finished shaping the daifuku, all that was left was to let them rest so the mochi could set properly. Ayanokouji checked the time.

"We should wait about thirty minutes," he said. "I think the mochi needs to firm up a little."

I glared at the dessert, "More waiting."

Ayanokouji didn't say anything, but I could tell he wasn't particularly bothered by the pause. Meanwhile, I was already considering my options. I could sit here and waste time or...

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When I opened my eyes, there was already a piece of daifuku in my hand.

A soft scent of freshly made dessert filled the air, and I found myself sitting at the low table, my legs tucked beneath me on the tatami mat. A piece of daifuku was already in my hand.

Across from me, Ayanokouji sat calmly, already eating, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Skipping always helped me avoid waiting in games. Even if something required time, I could just skip ahead past the boring parts and get straight to the result.

I lifted the piece of daifuku to my mouth and took a bite. It was soft and slightly chewy, and the sweetness of the filling melted on my tongue.

Not bad.

As I took another bite of the daifuku, Ayanokouji's voice cut through the quiet.

"Horikita, can I ask you something?"

There was something off about his tone. I swallowed, trying not to seem too cautious. "Go ahead."

The air felt just a little colder. Or maybe it was just my imagination.

"If you don't know how to cook," he said, his gaze steady, "then why did you buy so many ingredients at the store that day when we ran into Sudō?"

For a split second, my breath hitched.

I almost choked but managed to swallow my food just in time. I quickly masked my reaction, forcing myself to appear unaffected.

Still, my fingers tightened slightly around the piece of daifuku in my hand.

"…Well," I started, keeping my tone even. "I've been meaning to learn how to cook since I started attending this school. That's all."

A simple, reasonable answer.

But the way Ayanokouji looked at me made it clear he wasn't convinced.

His gaze met mine directly, his eyes strangely intense. "That doesn't add up."

A strange pressure settled over me.

I frowned, trying not to let it show how uneasy I felt. "…What do you mean?"

"If you really planned to learn from the start, you would've taken steps earlier. Yet, you never tried before, and you didn't even have a basic understanding of cooking when we started today."

I opened my mouth to counter that, but nothing came out.

I didn't like this. The way he broke down my reasoning so effortlessly.

It was like he saw through me.

I forced a small scoff, setting my daifuku down. "You're overthinking things."

I looked away, reaching for my tea and hoping the trembling of my hand was unnoticed. Anything to break the silence.

I needed to stay calm. To act like nothing was wrong.

Ayanokouji didn't drop his gaze. If anything, his expression remained unreadable, but something about the way he was watching me made my skin prickle.

"I don't understand something else," he said.

I tensed, gripping my teacup a little tighter. "…What?"

He tilted his head slightly. "Why do you pretend to be someone you're not when you're around others?"

I froze for half a second.

"…What are you talking about?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral.

"You act composed," he stated, "Cold. Precise. Intelligent. A version of yourself that's always in control."

I pressed my lips together, forcing myself to stay still.

"You're saying I'm pretending?" I let out a small scoff, shaking my head. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Ayanokouji took a slow sip of his tea, unfazed. "Then let's test something."

I narrowed my eyes. "Test what?"

He set his cup down and met my gaze again. "Right now. You're trying to sound indifferent as if this conversation isn't bothering you. But I've already seen you react when caught off guard—like just now when I brought up the store. The slight hitch in your breath. The way you tensed. Normally, you wouldn't have made such a mistake."

I stiffened.

"There it is again," he noted. "Your fingers just twitched."

I immediately curled them inward, but I already knew it was too late.

"…That doesn't prove anything," I muttered.

"It proves enough," he said simply. "The fact that you're reacting at all means I'm right."

I clenched my jaw, searching for something to counter his words. "So what if I do act differently? Everyone adjusts their behavior depending on who they're with."

"That's true," Ayanokouji admitted. "But for you, it's different. You don't just adjust. You construct."

"…Construct?"

"You build an image. A version of yourself that fits what you think people expect of you." He leaned back slightly, "You're good at it. Most people wouldn't even notice."

"…You're wrong."

"Am I?" He sounded genuinely curious. "Then tell me—who's the real you?"

The question knocked the air from my lungs.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

It was such a simple question. And yet, for some reason, I couldn't answer immediately.

Why?

Why was it so hard to say I'm me?

What... is my name?

"…You're overanalyzing things again," I muttered, looking away. "It's not that complicated."

"Who knows" he replied instead. "But if it's not that complicated, why do you sound unsure?"

I didn't have an answer for that.

The silence stretched between us, and I felt like I was losing ground. My control over this conversation had slipped without me realizing it.

I needed to regain it.

"…What does it matter to you?" I asked, turning back to him. "Why do you care how I act around others?"

He was silent for a moment as if considering his words.

"I don't," he said. "Not really."

I frowned. "…Then why bring it up?"

Ayanokouji tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable again. "Because I wanted to remind you of something."

…What?"

"That you don't have to pretend when you're with me."

Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten.

It wasn't an offer. It wasn't even a suggestion.

It was a statement. A fact. One that slipped into my mind without resistance, as if it had always been there.

I stared at him, but there was no trace of deception in his face.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension at ease not because I chose to relax, but because somehow, he had made it feel natural to do so.

Why was my heart beating faster?

Why did it feel like he had reached past all my defenses without me even noticing?

I exhaled slowly, but even that wasn't enough to fully steady myself.

"I w-wasn't pretending in the first place!" I blurted out, my voice coming out sharper than I intended.

My chest tightened, an uncomfortable warmth blooming inside me.

Ayanokouji took another bite of his daifuku, unfazed. "If you say so."

That was it. No argument. No pressing the issue further.

And somehow, that was what got under my skin the most.

I should have felt frustrated. Annoyed. Something.

But instead, I just felt—

—lighter.

I averted my gaze, taking a sip of my tea in an attempt to distract myself, but I could still feel the weight of his words.

"…You really are insufferable sometimes," I muttered, more to myself than to him.

Ayanokouji didn't respond immediately. Instead, he watched me for a moment, unreadable as always. Then, in a tone that was almost too casual, he said—

"Then why do you keep spending time with me?"

I stopped.

The question was so simple, so effortlessly placed, yet it struck deeper than it had any right to.

I blinked, gripping my cup just a little tighter. "What?"

Ayanokouji is my support character after all. I wish to raise his points.

"You call me insufferable," he continued, his voice as calm as ever, "but you never leave, either."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

A soft clink broke the silence as Ayanokouji set down his empty cup. "It's just something to think about."

The way he said it—it wasn't forceful. It wasn't even a suggestion. It was just there, seeping into my mind like ink on paper, impossible to erase.

I swallowed, forcing myself to look at him, to meet that steady gaze of his. But no matter how much I searched his expression, I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

He wasn't mocking me. He wasn't pressuring me.

He was just waiting.

I forced a scoff, setting my own cup down. "Don't get ahead of yourself. Just because I tolerate you doesn't mean anything."

Ayanokouji tilted his head slightly. "Is that so?"

I hated how effortlessly he could make me second-guess myself.

I tried to shake off the strange weight that had settled in my chest.

"Forget it. Let's just finish eating."

He didn't press further. But somehow, that made me even more aware of him.

And even after the conversation moved on, that one question refused to leave my mind.

As the evening wound down, Ayanokouji stood near the door. He didn't seem in a rush to leave, but there was an unspoken finality in the air that settled after a conversation that had lingered just a little too long in one's mind.

He glanced back at me, expression unreadable, but his words were casual.

"I hope we do this again sometime."

It was said so simply, so naturally, that for a second, it almost felt like a normal thing to hear from a friend.

"I'll think about it."

Ayanokouji studied me for a moment, his gaze steady before he responded, "That didn't sound like an invitation."

"Because it wasn't," I said, keeping my voice even. "I just meant I'll see if I have time."

A faint hum of acknowledgment, almost as if he'd expected that response.

Still, instead of leaving right away, he lingered for just a moment longer.

"I had fun," he said, almost as an afterthought. "It was a good way to pass the time."

A simple comment. Nothing special.

Yet, the way he said it—like he truly meant it, as he'd genuinely enjoyed being here—made something tighten in my throat.

I shouldn't have felt anything about that.

And yet.

I looked away, brushing my hair back in a way that I hoped seemed indifferent. "Well, I guess it wasn't terrible."

I expected him to counter with some dry remark, to brush off the moment as easily as he did everything else.

But instead, he just gave the faintest nod, as if satisfied.

Then, as he reached for the door, he said in a tone just light enough to be casual but not quite—

"…Then maybe next time, it will be an invitation."

My breath hitched.

Before I could react, before I could even fully process those words, the door had already clicked shut behind him.

I stood frozen for a moment, staring at the empty space he had left behind.

Then, as if waking from a trance, I hastily reached for the door, locking it with slightly unsteady fingers.

Why did my hands feel so warm? Why was my heartbeat—

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room.

My face—

A deep blush burned across my cheeks, the kind I hadn't even realized was there.

This was impossible.

He was just a support character, wasn't he? I shouldn't be feeling like this. Ayanokouji was a game-side character!

I forced myself to take a slow breath, but it didn't help. My head still felt light, my body oddly sluggish, like I was moving through water.

Then, my reflection narrowed its eyes at me.

I stiffened.

I wasn't actually losing my mind, was I?

But the girl in the mirror looked unimpressed. Annoyed, even. Like she knew exactly what was happening and disapproved of every second of it.

I scowled, running my hands through my hair in frustration.

"What!?" I shot back as if daring my own reflection to answer.

It didn't, of course.

But it didn't need to.

Because I already knew her answer.

And I hated it.