Chapter 5 - Just a Simple Quiet Day

Haruaki returned to Class 2-C with the echoes of the koi pond still rippling in his thoughts. The warm breeze from the garden felt like it had followed him inside, like Mizuki's quiet voice had clung to his collar. He didn't realize how long he'd been staring at his desk until the chair beside him creaked and a voice tugged him back.

"You look like you lost a bet with God," Aika said, squinting at him suspiciously. "Or like you won, but it came with a cursed monkey paw."

Haruaki blinked. "Huh?"

Aika leaned in, poking his cheek. "You're glitching. Hello? Earth to Haruaki. Class is about to start."

"Sorry," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Just... thinking."

He didn't say about what, of course. Or who. Because really, what was there to say? Mizuki Fuyune, top student of Ivory Spire, elegant and unreadable, had sat across from him and spoken like she knew what it felt like to want to disappear. And then she lost. Gracefully. To him. And offered a handshake like it meant something.

It did mean something, didn't it?

The teacher's voice snapped him out of his fog again, this time in front of everyone.

"Tsugihara-kun, would you mind answering the question on the board?"

He nearly fell out of his chair. "Uh—yes. Sorry. I mean, no—I mean... sure." He gave an answer that made some sense, judging by the mild nod he got back. But Aika leaned over just to whisper, "Yep. You're definitely broken."

He didn't deny it.

Lunch came and went. So did two more classes. The fog didn't lift.

It wasn't until dismissal when Aika cornered him by the shoe lockers with a grin and a backpack full of snacks.

"Arcade. Now."

"I thought you had club."

"Cancelled," she said. "And you owe me a rematch after you totally cheated at Beat Prism last time."

"I didn't cheat."

"You exploited the timing system with savant-level precision. That's basically cheating."

Despite himself, he laughed. Just a little. And when she tugged on his sleeve like an overly determined raccoon, he let himself be dragged along.

The arcade was neon-drenched, loud, and mercifully distracting.

For an hour, he forgot how complicated everything was. He forgot the chessboard. He forgot Mizuki's eyes. He focused instead on absolutely destroying Aika in a rhythm game set to an overly energetic idol song, where her accuracy suffered from her insisting on dancing along.

"Are you even trying?" he shouted over the music.

"I'm TRYING to be cool!" she shouted back, tripping on her own foot. They both laughed so hard they nearly got kicked off the machine.

After their third game and a battle at the crane machines (in which Haruaki won a weird whale plush that Aika named "Detective Blobby"), they plopped down on a bench near the snack machines, both out of breath.

She looked at him. Not joking this time.

"You okay, though?"

He looked at her, startled.

"You seemed... off today," she said. "You don't have to tell me why. I just—if you're thinking about stuff too hard, you know you can rely on me, right?"

He hesitated, then gave a quiet smile.

"I know. Thanks, Aika."

And for a moment, he let himself breathe again.

They decided on one last game before heading out—some ridiculous rhythm battle that lit up in a blur of flashing colors and dramatic anime beats. Aika won, by sheer frantic button-mashing and a lot of yelling. Haruaki just laughed, shaking his head as the screen declared "CRITICAL CRUSH!!" in neon letters.

They stepped out into the evening light, the arcade's doors sliding shut behind them with a hiss. The station wasn't far.

As they reached the turnstiles, Aika fumbled for her train card with a hum. "You sure you don't wanna hang out a bit longer? There's still that takoyaki stand—"

"Nah," Haruaki said, stretching with a light groan. "My ice cream's calling me."

Aika stuck her tongue out. "Lame. But fine. I'll message you if I dream up anything weird again."

"Please don't," he deadpanned, then waved lazily as she headed toward her platform. "Don't fall asleep on the train."

"No promises!"

They exchanged a small, silly salute before slipping onto different platforms—two trains rumbling in like mirrored halves of the same evening. Haruaki glanced up at the city's shifting sky, then tugged his hoodie sleeves down and turned toward home.

Haruaki stepped into the familiar scent of toasted beans and freshly wiped countertops. Even though the café was closed for the night, the warmth still lingered like a favorite sweater.

"Welcome back, Haruaki!" his mother called from behind the counter, wearing her sunflower apron dusted in flour.

His father gave him a silent wave from the corner booth, where he sat sipping tea with one of the café's late-night regulars—an old man who insisted their matcha was better than Kyoto's.

"I'm home," Haruaki replied, then headed straight up the stairs.

He didn't have to work today. A rare break. And honestly? His brain felt half-fried from thinking in five layers ever since the koi pond.

He barely got the door to their shared living space open before—

"HARU-NIIIIIIIIIIIII!"

Tsugihara Nozomi launched herself onto him like a caffeine-powered stage play.

"You took forever! I've got the bean bag ready! I bought the strawberry-mochi pints! And I only watched the first five minutes of the movie—okay, seven—BUT I WAITED FOR YOU."

Haruaki blinked. "Wait. You didn't eat dinner yet?"

"...No."

He stared. "You were planning to have ice cream for dinner?"

"Technically it's dairy," she offered, sheepishly twisting a lock of her ponytail. "...Calcium?"

Haruaki gave her the flattest look known to man. "Nozomi."

"Yes, O Wise Culinary Shaman?"

"Sit. I'm making dinner."

Their upstairs kitchen wasn't fancy, but it was his space. Within five minutes, he had a bowl of vinegared rice steaming, tuna marinating with scallions and soy sauce, and thin slices of cheese ready to melt into a thick golden crust.

He heard shuffling behind him.

"You've never made that for me before," Nozomi said, peeking over his shoulder.

"It's heavy. I figured you ate already."

"You wound me," she whispered. "Neglecting your precious, youthful sister like this."

"It's tuna and rice, not a declaration of sibling affection."

"Then let me declare mine!" she sang, poking his side. "Make me one too. Extra cheesy!"

He sighed. "Fine. But vegetables too."

"Nooooooo—"

"You. Will. Eat. A. Bell. Pepper."

Her dramatic wail was cut off by the oven humming to life. Both bowls went inside.

As he waited, arms folded, his voice came out casual—but not really.

"Hey. You're on the council, right?"

"Hmm?"

"You know Fuyune-san well?"

Nozomi's eyes lit up. And that was never a good sign.

"Hoooooooo~? Why do you wanna know about Fuyune-senpai?" She leaned in like a nosy reporter with pink glittered nails.

Haruaki deadpanned. "We played shogi."

She blinked. "That's it?"

"…And chess. She asked to play again."

Now she was grinning ear to ear.

"You do realize that's like… her version of a love letter, right?"

"What? No, it's—" he sputtered. "She probably just wants a rematch. She didn't look happy she lost."

"She never asks for a rematch," Nozomi said, folding her arms with the smugness of a girl holding spicy gossip. "You, dear brother, have been handpicked by the Ice Queen herself. Prepare yourself."

He looked at her. "…You're exaggerating."

She gave him a pointed look. "She complimented your play style, didn't she?"

He blinked.

"That's her version of 'I had fun.' You got the deluxe edition."

The oven beeped. He wordlessly pulled the bowls out, placed them on the table, and grabbed chopsticks.

"You're annoying," he muttered, handing hers over.

She beamed. "You love me."

As they dug in—hot, cheesy rice with tangy tuna and sharp scallions—Nozomi started sharing everything she "knew" about Fuyune Mizuki.

How she never smiled unless it was about a game. How she didn't like group chats. How she drank jasmine tea with one sugar cube like clockwork. How she once told a first-year, "I do not accept bribes," when they offered her strawberry milk.

"…Why would someone try to bribe her with that?"

"Because she's pretty and terrifying. And some of the kids think she's like an eldritch being sealed in the honor student ranks."

Haruaki choked on his rice.

"She's not that bad."

"Oh?" Nozomi gave him a sidelong glance. "You like her now?"

He cleared his throat and didn't answer.

Which was an answer.

"I'm telling you," Nozomi continued, stabbing a finger in his direction like she was delivering a closing argument, "you're totally smitten."

Haruaki rolled his eyes and turned back to check on the oven. "No. I'm just trying to understand what makes someone like her tick. It's academic."

"Academic???" Nozomi gasped. "That is the worst excuse I've ever heard, and I once told our music teacher I couldn't sing because I had 'emotional hiccups.'"

"You do have emotional hiccups," Haruaki muttered.

"You're dodging," she sing-songed.

He pulled out the two bubbling bowls and pointed one spoon-first at her. "Do you want this or not?"

"I accept your peace offering," she said dramatically, hugging the bowl. "But this doesn't mean I'm letting it go."

"Of course not," he sighed. "You never do."

Ten minutes and two cleaned bowls later, they were curled up in front of the TV—Nozomi starfished on a beanbag, Haruaki sunk into the couch with one leg over the armrest, both armed with half-melted ice cream pints and spoons they didn't quite need anymore but still wielded like duelists.

"Okay," Haruaki said, eyeing the screen, "you do realize we never started your movie lineup, right?"

"OH CRAP YOU'RE RIGHT."

She scrambled for the remote with the frantic energy of someone who'd just remembered her Sims were on fire.

Haruaki snorted, reaching over to grab it from behind her shoulder. "Here."

"You're lucky you have long arms," she said, beaming up at him. "This is why you're my favorite sibling."

"I'm your only sibling."

"And yet you're still winning," she replied, triumphant.

As the title screen rolled in with sparkles and overly dramatic string music, they both settled deeper into their seats.

"Ah yes," Haruaki said, pointing his spoon as if it were a lecturing stick. "The tale of magical girls and emotionally damaged villains."

"Shhh. This is peak cinema."

"You said that about the penguin heist movie."

"It was peak cinema."

They both cracked up, laughing mid-bite.

A few minutes passed—ice cream slowly vanishing, snarky commentary sprinkled between magical duels—before Nozomi broke the rhythm.

"So," she began, eyes still on the screen. "Clubs?"

Haruaki blinked. "Clubs?"

"School clubs," she clarified, tossing a spoonful of cream in the air and catching it. "Are you joining one?"

"Dunno," he said, leaning his head back.

"Oh c'mon," she said, sitting up. "I've got bets on Archery Club or the Physics Department's weird science society."

He made a face. "Not sure yet."

"Not sure??" she repeated, aghast. "But you're, like, scary smart. You're gonna end up in the top rankings without even trying."

He let out a long sigh. "That's the point."

"What?"

"I don't want to be seen," he said flatly, like he was talking about the weather. "I'm maintaining the scholarship with minimum effort. That's it."

Nozomi blinked at him. "But… isn't that boring?"

"It's quiet," he said.

"That's boring," she replied, stabbing her ice cream with zero pity. "You could do something cool. Like… the Gardening Club! You used to garden, right? Grandma Fumiko and all that?"

Haruaki's spoon paused midair. "Yeah. I did. But… maybe not."

"…What about archery?"

"Haven't touched a bow in years."

"Wow. You really are the world champion of procrastination," she said, impressed.

He didn't even argue. Just nodded once. "Gold medal."

Nozomi rolled over onto her stomach, looking at him upside-down with a determined pout. "Well, I think you should join something fun. Not because you have to. But because quiet is good for naps, not for living. You're too interesting to be boring on purpose."

Haruaki blinked. His expression twitched—not quite a smile, but not far off.

"You say that," he said dryly, "but you just ate my ice cream and accused me of falling in love."

"And I was correct on both counts," she replied sweetly.

They watched the screen for a bit longer in silence, the muffled sound of a magical explosion painting them in pink light.

Nozomi flopped sideways, legs kicked over the couch armrest, spoon still in hand like she was delivering a TED Talk to the ceiling. "You're such a great procrastinator. Honestly impressive. Weaponized potential."

"I'll put that on my resume," Haruaki muttered, licking his spoon clean. "Right under Professional Ice Cream Vanisher."

"You joke, but you could literally do anything, Haru," she said, more quietly now. "And you're just… not doing it."

He glanced at her, then down at his mostly-empty pint. "…I'm maintaining the scholarship. That's enough."

Nozomi sat up, balancing her half-finished ice cream on her knees. "Barely doing enough isn't living. That's surviving. You could be out there actually enjoying stuff."

Haruaki opened his mouth, then closed it.

She didn't press—just smiled, a little softer this time. "I mean, maybe you're not supposed to be some genius overachiever. But you've got good hands, a weird brain, and that face that makes cafeteria ladies give you extra toppings."

"I've tested that," he said. "It works on three out of five."

"There you go. Use your powers for good."

He chuckled, and she leaned over to bump her shoulder against his.

"Just don't vanish into a corner again, okay?" she said, voice quieter now. "I like it when you're here. Not just… in the room. But here."

Haruaki looked at her for a moment. Then: "Yeah," he said, stretching his arms over his head. "I'll try."

A long silence followed, broken only by the final credits of the movie and Nozomi slurping the dregs of her ice cream.

"…So, Drama Club?" she said with a wiggling brow.

"Absolutely not."

"Gardening Club?"

"…Maybe."

"Oho."

"Shush."

She beamed, and just like that, the mood lifted again—two siblings in a warm, late afternoon bubble, lit by movie glow and soft comfort.

Tomorrow, school would happen. But right now, the couch was safe. And the world could wait a little longer.