Chapter 3: The Mask and the Diamond
A/N: This chapter took longer to cobble together than I'd hoped, because life, taxes, and an existential fugue threw me a big screwball over the past few weeks. That said, it's probably best not to expect a regular upload schedule going forward, but I don't intend to be as irregular as some of my favorite manga series like Berserk and Yotsubato!
This one's about the combined length as the first two chapters, so I hope this tides y'all over until the next one. Enjoy!
Shiho hesitated outside the practice building's second-floor room, noticing a hand-lettered sign taped to the door: DRAMA CLUB AUDITIONS—ALL WELCOME! Faint chatter seeped out into the hallway, laced with bursts of laughter and the distinct echo of someone reciting lines.
She pulled in a breath and stepped inside.
Rows of chairs had been pushed against the walls, leaving a makeshift stage at the front of the room. A group of students milled about, scripts in hand. Shiho counted more girls than boys—some giggling in clusters, others pacing while muttering lines under their breath. It reminded her a little of the tension just before a volleyball match: the same nerves, but with a different kind of energy.
"Welcome, welcome!" A high, enthusiastic voice rang out. The speaker, a third-year student with a vivid blue hairband, strode over with arms spread wide, as though greeting an audience of hundreds rather than just Shiho. "You here for auditions?"
Shiho managed a smile, nodding. The girl's grin widened, a blaze of encouragement sparking in her bright eyes. "Great! I'm Miki Hozumi, the Drama Club president." She bowed quickly, straightened, then gestured animatedly around the room. "We're super excited to see new faces."
Shiho's pulse fluttered at the sheer warmth pouring off Miki. Something in the girl's boundless enthusiasm—her sunny smile, the way her voice carried—reminded her of Ann. The same vibe, the same body language. It was just an echo, but it eased the knot in her chest. She offered a more genuine smile back.
"Thanks for having me," she said softly, eyes flicking to the corner where more students were practicing lines. A few of them glanced over curiously, but the environment felt welcoming rather than intimidating.
A mellow hush settled over the rehearsal room as Miki clapped her hands to gather everyone's attention. The last few stragglers quickly found seats on the mismatched chairs and cushions scattered around the makeshift stage area. Shiho, clutching the borrowed script in her lap, sat off to the side, trying not to look too nervous.
"Welcome, everyone!" Miki's voice rang out, clear and resonant—perfectly suited for the stage. She stood at the front with a grin that bordered on infectious. "I see a few familiar faces, but also plenty of new ones." Her gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on Shiho and a couple of other newcomers.
"For those who are new here, my name is Miki Hozumi, president of the Kagetsu High Drama Club. If you'd like, you can just call me Miki-san, or 'Prez' if you're feeling cheeky. While you might think drama is just memorizing lines or practicing blocking, it's really a lot more than that. We're here to explore the craft of theater as a whole." Her arms spread wide, as though presenting an entire world on an invisible platter. "That means learning about set design, costume creation, stage management—everything that brings a production to life. We don't just rehearse for plays or musicals; we study the fundamentals of acting, script interpretation, and even theater history."
Shiho caught a spark of enthusiasm in the eyes of some of her fellow first-timers. The mention of deeper learning appeared to make this club feel more inclusive, more than a simple race for the leading roles.
Miki paused for a breath, letting the group absorb her words. "Naturally," she continued, "we'll be holding auditions for our upcoming production—details on that will come soon. If you land a part, that's amazing! But, if you don't receive a callback," she added, lifting a hand as if to calm any worries, "don't stress. We always need stagehands, lighting operators, sound technicians—these positions are every bit as important as being onstage. Without them, the show literally couldn't go on."
A hum of thoughtful chatter passed through the group. Shiho noticed a few relieved looks from some of the newer members, and a small knot of tension loosened in her own chest. She'd worried about the pressure of competing for a part, but here was a place that valued everyone's contribution.
"So whether you see yourself delivering heartfelt monologues under the spotlight or piecing together props backstage," Miki concluded, "there's a place for you in this club. We want your passion, your hard work, and your heart. In return, we promise a community that supports each other through every dress rehearsal meltdown and last-minute line change." Her expression softened, and a genuine warmth filled her eyes. "We're all glad you're here."
A wave of pleasant murmurs rolled through the room. Shiho felt a hesitant smile ease across her face. As a breeze stirred the white curtains behind Miki, Shiho could almost picture Ann's bright grin in the club president's welcoming energy.
"First things first—we'll watch a short monologue from anyone who wants to try out, then do a bit of group improv." She reached for a stack of scripts on a nearby table, pulling several free and handing them over. "If you haven't done this before, don't worry," she added, tone bright. "We learn as we go."
Shiho took one of the scripts and traced her fingertips across the well-worn, dog-eared pages, nerves warring with curiosity. Standing in front of a crowd was a leap for someone used to watching from the sidelines—or, worse, forced into the spotlight by another person's cruelty.
"All right," Miki continued. "We'll be doing individual monologues today—just a short piece to see where everyone's at." She paused and lifted an encouraging brow. "Suzui-san, why don't you start us off?"
Shiho blinked, pointing to herself. "M- Me? Right now?"
"Of course. Better to pull off the band-aid and get it out of the way so you don't have to sweat it out, don't you think?"
Shiho swallowed hard, nodding despite the nerves buzzing under her skin. "Okay… I'll give it a try," she said. She stepped forward into the makeshift stage area—just a cleared-out space near the center of the room. Her script fluttered in her shaky grasp.
"Take a breath," Miki reminded her, voice warm and supportive. "Remember, it's not a competition for who can read their lines the best. We're all supporting each other here."
Shiho closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose and exhaling slowly. She imagined Ann standing right in front of her, face beaming upon seeing her best friend perform. When she opened her eyes, she found her spot on the page and began, her voice unsteady at first:
"I used to think I had no place in the world,
No voice that anyone cared to hear.
Bereft of words, denied their feeling,
So I continued to exist, but would never live.
The sun had shone for everyone else, never for me.
Each morning, I'd open my eyes and wonder why bother?
Time slowed to a crawl, like trudging through mud,
Waiting for the day to just… end.
And then—
...Someone reached out."
Her initial delivery was tentative, words catching on her tongue. Still, she pressed on, letting the emotion in the lines seep into her mind. She remembered the sting of the hospital lights from her own past, the nights she questioned whether she'd ever feel whole again, and both Ann and her mother never leaving her side all throughout. Somehow, it all helped her connect with the character in this monologue—someone longing to step out from the shadows.
Shiho's voice grew steadier with each sentence:
"No grand speeches, no promise of miracles.
Just a simple 'you're not alone'.
Suddenly, the world wasn't so cold anymore.
Suddenly, I looked for the light beyond the clouds.
Maybe… maybe I could stand again.
Maybe I could hope.
So I'll keep moving forward—even if the road is treacherous.
Even if the sun hasn't risen yet, I know it's coming.
I know… I know there's someone out there who believes in me.
And for them, I'll believe in myself too."
A small tremor ran through her as she finished. She hadn't meant to pour so much of herself into the words, but the lines felt painfully close to home—so close, that her eyes had begun to sting, misting up. Gently, she lowered the script. A hush settled in the room as a few of her fellow club members exchanged nods of approval.
Miki clapped first, breaking the silence. "That was lovely," she said, stepping forward with a smile that reached her eyes. "You stumbled a bit at the start, but you found something genuine in the text. That was a delivery. That's what drama is about, and that's what we all love to see."
"Th- Thank you very much, Miki-san," said Shiho. Heat flared over her cheeks—part embarrassment, part pride. She bowed her head in a shy gesture of thanks, grateful that the others seemed supportive. Stepping off the makeshift stage, she took a seat against the wall, trying to steady the rush of adrenaline still coursing through her veins.
I did it, she thought, hugging the script to her chest. The imaginary Ann next to her cried tears of joy for her, and Shiho rubbed her own eyes to try to steady herself.
She watched the other new members give monologues, some feeling natural, others as nervous and stumbling as she'd felt. Each time, Miki gave her immediate feedback, pointing out what they did right and what they could improve upon in equal, objective measure. And each time, Shiho felt more and more that she could trust the club president to run a tight ship and help her find her place here.
After everyone finished, a light chatter broke out among the new members. Some compared notes about the audition process; others thumbed through worn copies of past playbills pinned to a bulletin board in the corner.
"All right, everyone!" Miki called, clapping her hands again for attention. In the waning afternoon light, her blue headband seemed to catch a glow of its own. "Before we wrap up for today, I want to give you these."
She reached into a cardboard box on a nearby table and began distributing slim folders, each accompanied by a neatly stapled stack of papers. One by one, the students lined up to receive their packets, exchanging polite bows and a few excited whispers. Shiho stepped forward when her turn came.
"Here's yours," Miki said, placing a folder in Shiho's hands. "Inside, you'll find our schedule, details about future productions, and a few tips for first-time auditions. Make sure you hold on to your audition script—it's yours for practice until tomorrow."
Shiho flipped open the folder, skimming the blocky text, the rehearsal dates circling her mind in a swirl of possibility. "Thank you," she said quietly, catching Miki's cheerful grin.
"Glad you came," Miki replied, leaning in conspiratorially. "Don't worry if it's your first time. Just bring your best energy—and above all else, don't be afraid to have fun."
Shiho nodded, a faint smile crossing her face. "I'll do my best," she said, dipping her head in a slight bow before stepping aside to let the next student collect their materials.
Soon, folders and scripts safely tucked under arms, the group began filing out of the practice room. Beyond the door, voices rose in the hallway: questions, goodbyes, anxious laughter. Shiho found herself caught in a gentle current of new faces, but she paused at the threshold to glance back. Miki was already helping someone else, that same bright energy radiating from her every word.
Shiho tightened her grip on the folder. Then she stepped into the hallway, the afternoon sun tracing her path as she made her way toward the exit, but not to the school gate. Her feet carried her past the gym and back fields instead.
Ren had told her he'd be trying out for the baseball team, and the diamond out back was the only place that made sense for her to be right now.
Shiho followed the gravel path around the corner of the practice building and stopped by a chain-link fence that bordered Kagetsu High's baseball diamond.
On the field, a handful of third-year boys in matching practice shirts were clustered at the edge of the infield. Their conversation fell silent as the coach, a tall man with a booming voice, barked orders at the players from outside one of the dugouts. Shiho recognized the confident stance even before Ren Amamiya swung.
He stood at home plate, gripping the bat with a serene calm. As the pitching machine lobbed a pitch from the mound, Ren planted his feet and swung. THWACK! The crack of the bat reverberated through the late afternoon stillness, sending the ball soaring deep into center field, past the warning track, and over the opposite fence. A few onlookers whistled, and the coach's voice rose in excitement, praising Ren's form, his timing, his raw talent.
"Nice form, Amamiya," he called, voice echoing across the diamond. Shiho's grip tightened on the fence, watching. She caught glimpses of other prospective teammates exchanging quick glances—some wide-eyed, others wary. A subtle tension drifted among them, as if they weren't sure whether to applaud or question this new guy who seemed to excel at everything without so much as a grin.
Ren didn't appear to notice the whispers. The pitches kept coming, and he hit each ball. Not just square-on for home runs, but angled just so for the ball to land right inside fair ball territory, grounders past shortstop, and such. After one more swing that echoed across the field, he straightened, handed the bat to an approaching player, and jogged out to center field. Dust kicked up around his cleats, but he moved easily, as though he'd been born on the diamond.
"Great job, Amamiya!" the coach called, marking something on his clipboard. Ren merely nodded, his expression neutral. He removed his helmet, pushing back stray locks of dark hair. His gaze flicked toward the coach, then the other prospective teammates, but only for an instant. Stepping away from home plate, he slung the bat over his shoulder with calm precision. The third-year boys seemed unsure whether to congratulate him or keep a careful distance. Shiho noticed one or two cast glances at Ren as if sizing him up. A new face to the underclassmen, a returning one to those his age, but already a standout.
She flexed her hands against the fence wires again, debating whether to call out his name. Then the coach signaled a shift to fielding practice, and Ren jogged into the outfield with an easy stride.
She watched several balls sail through the air from the plate, each time marking how naturally Ren tracked the ball and caught it in his glove. With each one, he deftly hustled backward, forward, or laterally, glove held high; eyes never leaving the arc of the white leather. Ground balls or pop flys, it made no difference to him, and his face never betrayed any visible effort. Whenever it landed in the pocket of his glove with a satisfying thump, the coach clapped in approval, a grin stretching wide across his face. But the group of third-years stayed relatively quiet.
"Ohh…!" went many of the younger players. "Amamiya-senpai makes it look so easy!"
Shiho agreed. It was like watching a pro out there, and she didn't dare look away to miss any of it. But why didn't the other third years seem to feel the same way? It was obvious Ren was talented—far more than anyone, including herself, had anticipated—but that talent had already created a subtle line between them. What struck her most, though, was how unbothered he seemed by the distance. He barely acknowledged the sidelong stares, as if he were alone on the field.
Finally, the coach signaled for a break. He called out to Ren, barely managing to keep his enthusiasm in check. "Amamiya-kun! I haven't seen batting and fielding that good in years! Where have you been all my life?"
Ren chuckled, tucking his glove under his arm. "Well, I'd been in Tokyo for all of last year. And back before that, I was on the team under Coach Iizuka in my first year. You said he retired recently?"
Shiho turned her head, pressing it against the fence to point her ear toward the conversation.
"That's correct," said the coach. "He decided he wants to travel the world now, but chose me to succeed him here. If you were on the team before, he never mentioned your name. Skills like yours, he certainly would have said something about it."
Ren cleared his throat. "It's… complicated why I transferred to Tokyo last year. Shujin Academy didn't have a baseball team, but there was a batting cage near where I lived in Yongen-Jaya where I spent a lot of free time. I decided that I'd at least keep myself sharp for when I came back home, and then rub it in Iizuka's face when I did. Fat chance for that now, I guess."
"Well, son, you weren't just sharp out there, you were on goddamn fire. You've got that 'it' factor, I know it! And if you keep this up, and the national title is as good as ours this year!"
"I'll do my best, Coach Kanzaki," said Ren, smiling politely, and turning to leave.
"Shujin Academy, though…" said Kanzaki. "Wasn't that the one with the volleyball coach who confessed to abusing his students last May? Horrible stuff, from what I've heard."
Ren stopped in his tracks, unaware of Shiho nearby clutching the fence with white knuckles. "Yeah… that's the one." His smile had faded, turning to a scowl. "I knew a few of them who suffered it firsthand, some… worse than others. And the fact that it took Kamoshida publicly admitting to it all himself before they were taken seriously was disgusting. They deserved so much better than to be silenced until then."
Shiho's grip loosened, along with the knot in her stomach. Ren-kun… she thought, feeling color form in her cheeks.
Kanzaki put a hand on Ren's shoulder. "Well, that's the kind of conviction I look for in my players, Amamiya-kun. First practice begins two days from now after school. I'll see you there!"
Ren bowed. "See you then, coach." He grabbed his assigned duffel bag and trotted off the field, but slowed when he noticed Shiho by the fence. Neither of them spoke right away. A light breeze rustled the trees behind her, carrying the faint scent of newly cut grass.
"Didn't think you'd have had time to come out here," he said at last.
Shiho shrugged, letting a faint smile touch her lips. "I heard the noise," she replied simply. "And… I was curious."
He chuckled. "Well, most of that noise was from Coach Kanzaki over there singing my praises just now. How was the drama club?"
"It was… interesting," she managed, still processing the scene she'd just witnessed. "You're pretty amazing, you know? Didn't you say you barely even made the starting lineup back in first year?"
"That's right," he said, shifting the weight of his duffel bag on his shoulder. "But like I told coach, the batting cage in Yongen-Jaya really helped me. And there was always something to do in Tokyo on top of it. You can probably thank crusty old Coach Iizuka for not giving me a chance sooner back then."
Shiho thought nothing more of it. She knew well enough how coaches expressed their own brands of "favoritism" and such.
"I guess that's Coach Iizuka's loss, then," she said, conjuring a small smile. "I can't wait to see you play out there, Ren-kun."
Ren smiled in turn. "And I can't wait to see you perform on stage when the first play shows. By the way, you still haven't told me about your Drama Club experience. How did the audition go?"
Shiho blushed. "Ah! I'm sorry! I got caught up in your baseball tryouts. Well, here's what happened…"
She told him about entering the club room feeling out of place at first; club president Miki reminding her of Ann as she guided everyone and told them what it was all about; and Shiho herself, a bundle of nerves, giving the heartfelt monologue in front of everyone.
"I don't know why," she continued, "but I feel like it might really be something for me. What do you think?"
"What do I think?" he said. "What I'm more interested in is what you think about it. If you've got a good feeling about it, then that's all that matters to me, to Ann, and to you especially."
Her gaze fell to her feet and her ears started to burn. How the heck was he so good at that, too?
He cares… about what I think… just like Ann…
Then he offered a faint, polite smile. "Want to walk out together?"
"Sure," she agreed before she even realized what he'd asked, stepping back from the fence. But even once she did, she found she didn't dislike the idea. They left the school grounds in a comfortable silence, the low sun casting stretched shadows across the pavement.
As they walked across town, she stole a glance at him. He seemed content just watching the sky change color, his bags slung loosely over one shoulder. The quiet between them wasn't forced or awkward; it simply was, and for once, Shiho found herself grateful for the stillness. The streets of Midoriyama, usually so lonely in the late afternoon, felt a little less empty with Ren by her side.
Soon enough, they reached a fork in the road, framed by tall hedges on one side and a winding lane on the other. Ren slowed to a stop and turned to her. In the soft light, she noticed the faintest curve of a smile on his lips—warm, unhurried, and genuine.
"This is my turn," he said, nodding toward the left-hand path. "I guess we'll see each other tomorrow."
Shiho shifted her weight, an unexpected tinge of disappointment threading through her. "Oh... sure. Thanks for… well, for everything today." She hesitated, uncertain what else to say.
His smile grew a fraction. "You know… I'm glad I'm getting a real chance to know you. I hate that I never got that chance last year. I'll bet Ann would be over the moon for you right now." His tone was so casual that it took Shiho a second to realize her cheeks were heating. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words tangled in her throat.
Before she managed to speak, Ren lifted a hand in a small, easy wave. "See you tomorrow, Shiho-san," he murmured, then turned and strode down the left-hand path, sneakers scuffing lightly on the pavement.
Shiho watched him go, her breath caught somewhere in her chest. The echo of his words lingered: I hate that I never got that chance last year. For a moment, the world felt suspended between the sun's fading glow and the hush of early evening.
He wants to know me, she realized, warmth curling through her like the coils of a toaster oven. Oh my god, Ann was right!
She forced herself to turn away and head along her own road. As her feet carried her home, she caught herself glancing back over her shoulder, half-hoping to see his silhouette there still. The path was empty, but her heart pounded all the same.
After Ren began down the path to his house, with Shiho out of sight and earshot, he felt something rustling inside his school bag. Knowing exactly what it was, he grinned.
"Okay, what is it, Morgana?"
From the unzipped opening of the bag, a black cat with a white underside, a yellow collar, and piercing blue eyes popped its head out, inhaling the country's spring air. To anyone else who might have overheard, all they'd hear was it meowing up a storm.
But Morgana was no ordinary cat.
"Well, aren't you the smooth operator?" said the cat, grinning in turn. "Ah, sweet serendipity! Not only do you have the opportunity to reconnect with Lady Ann's best friend out here, but there you are charming her with your words and baseball prowess. The latter of which, I might add, is only possible because of all our Palace infiltrations and Mementos dives from last year."
"Well—yeah, but I can't exactly explain all that to Shiho, you know? Believe me, if there's one person who deserves to know the real reason why Kamoshida confessed that day, it's her. But if Ann hasn't said anything to her, I'm not about to spill the beans either. Besides—" he stretched his arms, "it's a good thing we used to go to that batting cage every so often after school anyway, because that makes the cover at least partially true."
"True. Such is the bittersweet cost of victory, I suppose. Without the Metaverse, the Phantom Thieves of Hearts are just ordinary humans again. Who'd believe we saved the world just a few months ago? And now that you're back in your hometown, what's there to do beyond what all you used to tell me about it?"
"Yeah, I get that." Ren's gaze panned across the horizon, where the sun's disc had just set below it. He knew this town inside and out, and he was doubtless glad to be home, but in just a few weeks since leaving Tokyo, he'd really started to miss that shabby loft attic above Café Leblanc. Or maybe it was Ann, Ryuji, and the others he was missing, the friends he'd made and bled for inside the Metaverse.
Compared to that, coming home to Midoriyama, where hardly anyone seemed to notice beyond a surface level that he'd been gone for a year, made him feel almost like he was a stranger in a familiar town.
"Still," Morgana said. "Who would have thought that this was where Shiho moved to last August? You'd think Lady Ann would have mentioned that at some point."
"I think she just wanted to protect Shiho's privacy," said Ren. "Give her a chance to find herself on her terms before anyone wanted to involve theirs, maybe."
"That makes sense, I guess." Morgana's whiskers twitched. "But, here you two are now, in adjacent classrooms. I saw how she talked and acted while I was in your bag; she really seems glad that you're here."
Ren smiled. "I'm glad she's here too. I just want her to know she always has a friend watching out for her." He approached his doorstep and took a deep breath.
"Serendipity, as you said."
A/N: Next time, Shiho calls Ann to tell her about her day, gets some BFF teasing, and later asks Ren to be her study buddy.
Peace.