"Itadakimasu!!"
The chorus echoed through the common room as everyone clapped their hands together in perfect synchrony – except Chihiro-sensei, who merely raised her canned beer with a lethargic grunt before chugging it down.
I quietly picked up my chopsticks. The scent of simmering sukiyaki wafted up – thinly sliced beef stewed with onion and tofu, sweet shiitake mushrooms soaked in dashi broth, grilled asparagus still glistening with streaks of char, and tender bamboo shoots stacked like miniature towers on each plate.
On the side sat bowls of pickled daikon and cucumber sunomono, the vinegar sharpness tingling my nose, while small plates of chilled tofu topped with katsuobushi and ponzu lined the table's edge.
I picked up my chopsticks, sipping the miso soup first, letting its warmth spread through my chest. Then a small bite of pickles to freshen the palate, before I moved onto rice, and finally dipped a slice of beef into my bowl to savour its juices together with the steaming white grains.
Nanami-senpai glanced at me from across the hotpot, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. "By the way… how's the sukiyaki, Ren-kun? Does it suit your taste?"
Sorata-senpai nodded, looking a bit nervous. "Yeah, sorry it's simple. We just used what was on sale."
I put down my chopsticks politely and gave them a small smile. "It's really delicious, thank you.
Nanami-senpai's eyes softened slightly, looking relieved. "That's good then."
But before they could ask anything further, Misaki-senpai leaned dramatically across the table, nearly tipping her bowl. "Heeeey, Ren-kun~ How's Sakurasou treating you so far? Amazing, right? RIGHT?!" Her eyes sparkled with chaotic enthusiasm, cheeks slightly flushed from excitement.
I blinked at her sudden closeness but kept my expression calm. "It's been… enlightening," I finally replied, keeping my tone neutral.
"ENLIGHTENING~?" Misaki-senpai echoed loudly, grinning like a gremlin. "That's such a boringly polite answer~ Sakurasou is the BEST, you'll see! We have freedom, chaos, and art! And me!!"
Chihiro-sensei just let out a sigh and took another swig of her beer, not even bothering to look up. "Don't scare the new kid on his first day, Misaki…"
But Misaki-senpai didn't hear her at all. She had already shifted into stealth mode, chopsticks poised like twin blades as she targeted Jin's bowl. "Hehehe… Jin's beef slice… mine…!"
Jin-senpai didn't even glance up from his rice bowl, as if resigned to fate. "Just take it already, Misaki. You always do anyway."
"YAY~!" Misaki-senpai squeaked, snatching the beef triumphantly and stuffing it into her mouth in one bite. "DELICIOUS!! TRUE LOVE TASTES LIKE SUKIYAKI BEEF!"
Nanami-senpai chuckled tiredly, brushing sweat off her brow. "This is just… Sakurasou as usual."
Beside her, Sorata-senpai stabbed a piece of tofu, giving me that tired older-brother expression he always wore. "Sorry about this… but honestly, this is normal for Sakurasou. Please… adapt, okay?"
I smiled at him reassuringly. "It's okay, senpai. I understand."
Then, without warning, Chihiro-sensei, who had been sitting there looking half-asleep and half-drunk, suddenly straightened up and flicked her chopsticks lazily towards Misaki-senpai and Jin-senpai.
"Oi, oi… college freeloaders," she slurred, her voice dry with irritation. "Why the hell are you two here eating dinner like a pair of bums? Don't you have… I dunno, college assignments to work on or maybe just eat in your place?"
"Sensei~," Misaki-senpai whined dramatically, cheeks puffing out as she hugged her rice bowl like a child. "My private project funds are being delayed this week~ I need to save money on meals or I'll starve to death before my anime gets completed~!"
"Hah… do what you want," Chihiro-sensei muttered, downing the rest of her beer with a sharp gulp, as if their pitiful struggles weren't worth her energy to process.
She let out a quiet burp, sighed tiredly, and leaned back with that expression of a salarywoman who had given up on everything but beer.
While everyone was busy bickering, I let my eyes drift to Mashiro-senpai.
She was sitting at the end of the table, her posture straight but somehow absent. Her chopsticks moved with mechanical precision as she picked at the rice and grilled mackerel, chewing slowly, eyes half-focused as if staring into another world entirely. Her tray had small portions—miso soup, a few slices of pickled daikon, and tofu salad—but she only really touched the rice and fish.
She didn't seem picky with food… but if left alone, with her condition, she'll eat only plain things that required no decision-making.
Then, just as Sorata-senpai sighed and turned to help Nanami-senpai pour tea, Mashiro-senpai suddenly raised her chopsticks slightly, looking at him with that same flat gaze.
"…Baumkuchen."
The table fell silent.
Misaki-senpai's eyes sparkled. "Mashiron wants cake?! Let's buy some now—"
"No," Nanami-senpai cut in sharply, her expression strict like a mother disciplining a stubborn child. "You can't just eat sweets for dinner, Mashiro. Eat your vegetables first."
Mashiro-senpai blinked slowly, processing Nanami's-senpai words with visible effort. Then she tilted her head, almost confused. "…Vegetables don't taste like baumkuchen."
Misaki-senpai burst into cackling laughter. Jin-senpai smirked, Sorata-senpai buried his face in his hands, and Chihiro-sensei just cracked open another beer like this was the most normal conversation in the world.
Watching them, I eat and sipped my tea quietly,
So this… is dinner at Sakurasou.
--------------------------
After the plates were cleared—well, as cleared as they could be with Misaki-senpai chaos spreading entire dinner, everyone drifted into the common room. The floorboards creaked under mismatched cushions as we settled in a loose circle.
Chihiro-sensei, still nursing her can of beer with that half-lidded, world-weary look, suddenly cleared her throat. Or maybe it was more of a hiccup. Still, the meaning was clear—she waved her hand lazily like a conductor telling an orchestra to hush.
"Alright, alright. Pipe down, you kids," she slurred, but her eyes flicked to me with a sharpness that cut through the haze. "Natsuki, stand up. Do your formal self-intro, even if these idiots already know your name. Custom, you know?"
I stood, brushing imaginary dust from my knees. The old tatami felt soft under my socks.
"Um. Good evening again, everyone," I started, keeping my tone polite but steady. "I'm Natsuki Ren. First year, just transferred in. From this spring I'll be in the Suimei for next three years… planning to focus on illustration and maybe… music production, too. I want to create something that makes people feel… a bit less alone, I guess."
I kept my smile mild, half-truths folded neatly under my polite tone.
Chihiro-sensei gave a lazy nod, as if she'd heard my thoughts anyway. "Haaah… illustration and music, huh? Good luck not starving." She took another sip of her beer, then leaned back against the couch, her eyes drifting half-shut but still flicking to me once or twice.
A beat of silence—then Misaki-senpai exploded.
"EEEHH?!! Illustration? Music?! Kouhaiiii, that's amazing! Amazing amazing amazing! That means you can help animate my next short! Wait—wait—maybe you can help with backgrounds— or— or sound— or—"
She practically bounced on her knees, eyes sparkling like fireworks.
Jin-senpai, ever the long-suffering handler, reached out a hand and gently tugged her sleeve. "Calm down, Misaki. You'll scare the poor kouhai."
Misaki-senpai pouted, her cheeks puffing out like a squirrel. "But—but—he's a kouhai in the same industry! This is fate! Destiny! Artistic synergy—!"
I just smiled, giving a polite bow.
"Thank you for the meal… and for the warm welcome. Please take care of me from now on."
A small wave of reaction followed — Sorata-senpai gave a tired but warm sigh, nodding as if saying good, good. Nanami-senpai clapped lightly, her eyes soft despite the slight flush on her cheeks from helping in the kitchen so long.
And Mashiro… her blank, doll-like stare fixed right on me. No change in her expression — but I could feel it. That quiet spark of curiosity flickering in her eyes.
So there's someone else here who can draw… Maybe that was what she was thinking. Maybe not. But her gaze was steady, like she was already dissecting my lines and colors before I'd even shown them to her.
After the last dishes were pushed aside and the clatter died down, Sorata-senpai stood up, taking the lead like the older brother he was doomed to be here. He scratched the back of his neck and gave me a wry grin.
"Well, since Chihiro-sensei made you do it properly… guess we'll follow too. I'm Kanda Sorata — third year. My dream's to be a game developer who makes something people will remember. If you're doing music, maybe someday I'll come begging for a soundtrack."
Nanami-senpai was next. She straightened her back like she was on stage already, voice strong but gentle.
"Aoyama Nanami. I'm a third year too. My dream is to be a professional voice actor… seiyuu. So… I hope you'll watch over me too." She gave a quick bow, glancing at Sorata-senpai for half a second longer than necessary.
Misaki-senpai bounced where she sat — or at least tried to, her energy leaking out..
"Kamiigusa Misaki! College freshman! I'm gonna be an animator who makes everyone smile! And cry! And then smile again! Ren-kun, when I make my next short, you have to help me okay?"
Beside her, Jin-senpai just pushed up his glasses with a tired smile that didn't quite hide how fond he was.
"Sorata's friend and Misaki's… well, boyfriend. Mitaka Jin. I want to be a screenwriter that'll match Misaki's animation, so… yeah. Nice to meet you."
Finally, when everyone finished, silence settled for a moment. Mashiro, who had been quietly sitting with her blank stare, suddenly shifted. She stood up with that same ethereal grace, and looked at me with her glass-like eyes.
"Shiina Mashiro… third year," she said in her almost monotone voice. "My dream is… to become a mangaka."
Her words floated in the room, simple and unadorned. But in that flat tone… I saw it. Faint, almost imperceptible — like the glow of a dying star refusing to disappear.
There was life there.
A spark of something real.
Something that wasn't decided for her by teachers, curators, agents, or… anyone.
Becoming a mangaka.
It was one of the few dreams Mashiro chose herself, without orders, without expectations laid out like stepping stones in a gallery.
I lowered my gaze, hiding the bitter smile curling on my lips.
'Even after the light novel ended… this was one thing you could decide yourself, huh, Mashiro.'
'Something you chose… like a quiet rebellion against the world that only ever saw you as a genius painting machine.'
But in the end, in that happy ending everyone cheered for… you still went back. Back to England, back to being the genius girl from England.
I wondered…
Did she ever really want that?
Or was it just another lie she told herself, because it was what everyone expected her to do?
After Mashiro's-senpai introduction, Sorata-senpai let out a soft chuckle. "That's amazing, Mashiro. You introduced yourself properly today."
Mashiro-senpai blinked at him, tilting her head slightly. "Because… it's proper to say your dream in an introduction."
Her voice remained flat, but I could see Sorata's-senpai lips twitch upward, eyes softening with a warmth only reserved for her.
"Yeah… that's true," he replied with a small sigh, as if holding back words he couldn't say right now.
Nanami-senpai clapped her hands lightly, trying to ease the mood back into casual cheerfulness. "Alright, everyone's done now!"
I took that moment to glance around the group. "Ah, by the way… where is Ryūnnosuke-senpai.... is he not joining us for dinner?"
At my question, Nanami-senpai and Sorata-senpai let out a synchronized, almost comedic, "Ahh—"
Sorata-senpai scratched his cheek awkwardly. "Well… he usually eats alone in his room. It's rare for him to come out, so we just give him a separate portion and leave it by his door. He'll microwave it later when he feels like it."
Nanami-senpai nodded. "He's… not really good with crowds or eating with people. You'll probably see him more when you need to connect your devices or… well, when Rita-san calls."
At the mention of Rita, Nanami's-senpai lips curved into a teasing smile, but she kept it vague, glancing away as if remembering something troublesome yet amusing.
I simply smiled back at her. "Thank you for telling me, Nanami-senpai."
Inside, I already knew.
Ryūnnosuke-senpai, the genius programmer who built an entire AI assistant.
The recluse who shut out the world, yet still got dragged back into the mess of daily life by a certain stubborn blonde overseas.
But outwardly, I just bowed my head politely.
"Thank you for telling me this."
"Welcome to Sakurasou," they all said in their own voices, some tired, some excited, some teasing. It overlapped into a strangely warm chorus.
Chihiro-sensei, meanwhile, was already half-asleep on the sofa, an empty can of beer rolling gently on the wooden floor beside her hand.
Sorata-senpai sighed softly and picked up the can, placing it on the table so it wouldn't spill. Beside him, Nanami-senpai folded up a discarded napkin and wiped down the table, her expression gentle with the kind of care that felt almost maternal.
Father and mother, I thought with an amused smile.
Sorata-senpai and Nanami-senpai… the two who quietly hold this chaos together.
Misaki-senpai and Jin-senpai were still bickering about tomorrow's lunch schedule, Jin's-senpai resigned baritone contrasting Misaki's-senpai high-energy whines. The sound felt alive, like a gentle storm swirling around the room.
But Mashiro…
She sat slightly apart, her posture straight, just sitting there. Her gaze moved slowly, tracing everyone with that same blank expression — the gaze of someone watching a world behind glass.
Different from how she looked at Sorata-senpai earlier. That faint affection, that subtle gravity pulling her to him… it wasn't here right now.
Instead, what I saw in her eyes was the same emptiness I'd seen two years ago.
Eyes that saw everything, yet felt nothing.
Eyes that only reflected back what the world expected to see.
I lowered my gaze to the steaming cup of tea before me, its warmth seeping into my palms.
A dinner table of dreams… and broken wings.
Each person here carried something extraordinary. Talents sharpened to brilliance, dreams bright enough to burn.
But at the same time…
They lost something on their way here. Something small, human, and irreplaceable.
Wounds hidden under brilliance.
Scars carried behind polite smiles.
'Maybe… that's fair.'
'The world never gives without taking. That's what it means to be human, after all'
But… what about Mashiro?
I glanced at her again. Her delicate fingers lightly tapping the table, her posture straight without tension, her eyes calmly scanning the room without lingering. That blank gaze that seemed almost serene.
But inside, I knew.
Mashiro is a genius. Monstrously so.
In the original story, she only studied for her finals the night before… and got perfect scores like it was nothing. As if knowledge itself bent to her will the moment she laid eyes upon it.
If it's like that for school material…
Then what about lying? Acting?
I narrowed my gaze slightly. Her acting was flawless. Her lies so natural that even Sorata, the person closest to her, never saw through them.
When she's with Sorata… when she lies there with that blank face, acting like a helpless girl in love, or playing the role of a dependent friend… it's just that — an act. A lie so perfect even he can't see through it.
A perfect performance that no one can see through.
How can I tell it's a lie…?
Because it's too perfect.
Mashiro… she's like a flawless porcelain doll.
Monotone voice. Flat expression. That quiet, kuudere aura that draws everyone in.
She does everything so precisely — like reading from a script she memorised long ago.
Her head tilts at the exact angle of innocence, her eyes lock onto Sorata-senpai with that soft emptiness people mistake for affection.
But it's hollow. Completely hollow.
People think love is about saying the right words or doing the right gestures. But love is messy. Cracked. Filled with contradictions and warmth leaking from places you can't control.
Her confession… her kiss… even in the anime ending, she said "I love you" with that same blank, quiet tone.
No tremble. No hidden smile. Just… neutral.
Because she doesn't even know what she's feeling.
She can't name it. Can't taste it.
That's Alexithymia. Emotions blur into static noise. She feels… blank. So she copies what she thinks is right.
And yet…
Earlier, when she spoke about becoming a mangaka, I saw it.
Her fingers clenched the table edge for just a moment.
Her shoulders leaned forward, like a cat drawn to warmth.
Her eyes… flickered. Just a small, uncalculated spark.
That was real.
But when she realises she can't feel anything behind her art…That's when she rips her own drawings apart. Like today.
Because for her, the worst pain isn't rejection.
It's knowing her colours are empty. Her lines meaningless. That no matter how beautiful her world is, it will never be filled with something she herself cannot feel.
And that… is the true tragedy of Shiina Mashiro.
Where did it all begin, I wonder.
The acting.
The flawless mimicry.
That blank yet perfect lie she shows to everyone, without a single crack.
The light novel never tells us.
The anime certainly never bothered.
But for now , what matters is this:
Can I crack that perfect act?
Can my art… my game… reach her?
If she feels even a flicker of something genuine — curiosity, wonder, sadness — then that's already a win.
Because that spark would be real. No mimicry. No textbook-perfect lie. Just… Mashiro.
I looked around the room.
A dinner table of dreams and broken wings.
They're all good people.
Truly, genuinely good people with bright futures, dark wounds, and fragile hearts. But none of them see it.
None of them see her.
Well… I don't blame them.
If I wasn't reincarnated… if I didn't know the ending of this series… maybe I wouldn't see it either.
Even now, if I didn't spend half my life reading psychology papers, I might have just thought,
"Ah… she's a cute kuudere. That's all."
But now that I see it… it scares me.
Because she can deceive everyone.
And if she ever chooses not to be saved — if she ever decides she's fine staying in that blank void forever — then no one will ever know.
No one… except me.