Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Special A dome was quiet that afternoon. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the kind that feels like the calm before something breaks. Sunlight filtered dimly through the windows, casting long, slow-moving shadows on the polished floor. The scent of tea still lingered in the air, though no one had touched their cups.

Hikari stood by the long table, her hands resting on the edge like she needed the wood to steady her. She wasn’t trembling, she rarely did, but something in the stiffness of her posture betrayed the storm brewing behind her eyes.<
Kei sat a few feet away, leaned slightly forward, elbows on his knees. His expression was unreadable at first glance, as always, but anyone who truly knew him would’ve noticed the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes followed her, not letting go.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, his voice low but not accusing. “Even more than usual… when you’re overthinking.”

She didn’t respond right away. Her fingers tapped lightly against the table, once, twice, like she was searching for the right rhythm.

“I’ve had a lot to think about,” she said eventually, her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor. “And for once, it’s not about how to beat you at something.”

A weak smile tugged at his lips, but it faded just as fast.
“Hikari,” he said, and there was a softness in the way he said her name that made her finally look up.

There it was again, that expression. That tenderness she only ever saw when no one else was watching. The one that said he saw her, even when she tried to hide.

“Kei… do you ever feel like we’re fighting harder to stay together than to be ourselves?”
He blinked. Not because he didn’t understand, but because he hadn’t expected her to say it out loud.

“What do you mean?”

She took a deep breath. Not the kind that steadied you, the kind that braced you.

“I mean… this. Us. The way people look at me when I’m next to you. Like I’m a mistake someone forgot to erase.”

He frowned, starting to speak, but she raised a hand, not to silence him, just to finish her thought.

“I see it every time we’re together. Your grandfather. Your staff. Even some of our teachers. They look at me like I’m… messy. Too loud. Like I don’t belong next to you. Like I’m pulling you down just by being me.”

“You’re not,” he said immediately, voice firmer now. “You never have. You, ”
“I know you don’t think that,” she cut in, but gently. “I’ve never doubted you, Kei. Not once. When I’m with you, I know I’m seen… by you.”

He stood slowly now, walking closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “They don’t know you like I do. They don’t see you.”

She met his gaze fully then, and her answer came without hesitation.

“No, they don’t. But they still matter. Because they’re in your life. They’re around us all the time. I can’t pretend they don’t affect me.”

Kei looked down. He didn’t have a counterargument. He never did when the truth was this clear.
“I love who I am,” Hikari said, her voice more certain now. “I always have. And you’ve never asked me to change. That’s what made this so special. But lately… I feel like I’m shrinking. Like just to survive in your world, I have to lose pieces of myself. Quiet down. Soften edges. Hide the fire.”

He looked up sharply, his eyes glinting with that rare, quiet intensity. “You don’t need to hide anything. You’re not meant to be quiet.”

“But I am,” she said softly, “and that’s the problem. Not because of you, Kei. But because your world keeps trying to sand me down, and I’m getting tired of fighting it. I can stand being underestimated or losing, but not constantly feel like I'm not in the right place…”

Silence stretched between them, not heavy, not cruel, just full of everything they weren’t saying.

“So this is it?” he asked eventually, voice calm but fragile.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Not because I stopped caring. But because I still do.”
He exhaled, slow and deep, and took another step forward. For a second, it looked like he was going to reach for her hand, but he didn’t. His fingers twitched, curled, then relaxed.

“You always run forward,” he said.
A sad smile crossed her face. “So do you. But maybe we’re not running the same way anymore.”

No goodbye was spoken. Just a shared understanding, floating in the space between them, like the quiet echo of something once beautiful.

The moment was already sealed. Just as Kei moved toward the door, it opened.
Akira stepped in, pausing mid-step when she saw them both, Hikari standing, Kei frozen mid-exit, and something unspoken hanging heavy in the air. Her eyes flicked from one face to the other. She didn’t speak for a moment. Then, softly:
“...Should I come back?”

Kei shook his head once. “No need.”

He walked past her without looking back. The door closed behind him with a quiet, final sound. Hikari stands near the long table, her posture rigid, like a general holding her ground on the battlefield. Her palms press into the edge of the table, knuckles white. She doesn’t look up when the door opens; she already knows who it is.

Akira steps in. No fan today. Just her usual calm air, dressed in a soft, composed smile that doesn’t pretend she knows the answers.
She sits beside Hikari on the edge of the table, shoulder-to-shoulder but not crowding.

“Hey.” Soft. Observant.

Hikari takes a breath, one that’s more ritual than relief. Finally, her voice: low, steady.

“Hey.”

Akira studies her for a heartbeat. “You… did it?”

Hikari’s jaw tightens. “Yes, I did. I broke up with Kei.”

Akira nods once, deliberately. “And, how are you, really?”

That question, not “Are you okay?”, but “How are you, really?”, cuts past the usual politeness. Hikari closes her eyes.

“I thought love would be… enough.” Her voice roughens slightly. “I thought if we cared enough, we could fight all that pressure, your grandfather, your work, your reputation. I wanted to prove that two people who love each other can stand anywhere, no matter how narrow it gets.”

Akira shifts, listening, silent but fully present.

“But every day, I wake up and feel smaller,” Hikari continues. “Not because he told me to change, he never did. But being with him meant living in his world. I had to wedge myself into expectations, hold back the loud, fiery part of me… It felt like survival, not living.”

Akira’s hand finds Hikari’s, modest but firm. “You know it better than anyone. You love being loud. You thrive in chaos. You live to chase what’s impossible.”

Hikari gives a sad, honest laugh. “Yeah. You know me too well.”

Akira squeezes her hand. “That’s why it hurts, you shouldn’t have to mute the best parts of you.”

Hikari turns her head, meeting Akira’s gaze for the first time. “I realized something today: Even if we stay together, he will become the head of the company, and I’ll have to become a graceful lady who only knows how to smile. That is not the kind of Life that I want. Even if he’s kind, even if I love him, it doesn’t mean it’s right.”

Akira’s smile is soft but fierce, like steel wrapped in velvet. “Right.”

For the first time, Hikari’s eyes glisten. “I always thought I’d rip through anything life threw at me, academies, rivals, exams, especially Kei. But I wasn’t ready to tear myself apart from the inside out.”

Akira gently guides Hikari’s hand toward her own heart. “You’re bigger than this moment. You’re not the sum of someone else’s world. You’re Hikari Hanazono, unstoppable.”

Hikari swallows, blinking back tears she doesn’t mask. “Thank you… Akira.”

Akira stands and brushes invisible dust from her skirt. “You don’t have to thank me. But I’m here, ” she taps Hikari’s hand, “, and I’ll be here. Whenever you need to remember who you are.”

Hikari nods, her face resolute yet softened, emotional armor shifting. “I’ll be right here,” she says, voice quieter, yet stronger.
Akira moves to the door. Turns once, gives her friend a nod. “Get some air. I’ll be back.”
Hikari exhales fully, like she’s releasing months of held breath.

The Dōmu door creaked open a second time, slower this time, more tentative.

Hikari turned her head slightly, expecting Akira. But instead, a familiar mop of brown hair poked through the doorway, along with a slightly confused expression.

“…Akira?” Tadashi called softly, eyes scanning the room.

When he saw Hikari alone by the long table, his eyebrows rose a little. “Oh. Guess she already left.”

Hikari gave him a faint smile. “You just missed her.”

“Typical,” he said, stepping fully inside with a small paper bag in one hand. “I was supposed to meet her here. She probably went to buy tea again. You know, usual Akira things.”

He walked in casually, but his eyes were alert, more observant than usual.

He stopped a few steps away from her. “Mind if I stay?”

Hikari shook her head. “No. It’s fine.”

Tadashi sat down on the floor in front of her, legs crossed. It looked effortless, like he belonged there.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at her. No teasing grin, no goofy remarks. Just… quiet.

“I figured something was up when Kei walked past me like he didn’t even see me,” he said finally. “Didn’t say a word. Which, you know, is saying a lot.”

Hikari nodded. “We talked. Or… I talked. And ended it.”

There was no drama in her tone, just weariness. Honesty.

Tadashi didn't flinch. “You okay?”

“I think so,” she said after a pause. “I’m not falling apart or anything. I just… feel hollow. Like I spent so long trying to make something work that I forgot to check if I even liked who I was while doing it.”

Tadashi leaned back on his hands, thoughtful. “It takes guts, you know.”

She glanced at him.

“To walk away from something like that. Especially when you still care.”

She didn’t answer. But her silence agreed.

“I’m not really the advice type,” Tadashi said, scratching the back of his head. “But if it makes you feel any better… I think the Hikari who charges headfirst into everything wouldn’t have stayed in something that made her feel smaller.”

A silence. Then, gently:

“And that’s still you. You’re still her… You know, letting go does not mean you lost.”

That made Hikari blink. Just once. But it counted.

He looked away for a second, then stood abruptly and clapped his hands once. “Alright. Time to reset your emotional circuits.”

“…What?”

He turned to her with that mischievous spark in his eyes again.

“I challenge you,” Tadashi said, suddenly standing up and brushing his hands on his pants like a man who’d made a decision without telling his brain first.

Hikari, still sitting on the edge of the table, raised a skeptical eyebrow. “To what? A race? You know that you are faster than me anyway, I'm not in the mood to lose when I am well aware that I have a few pourcent of succes.”

He shook his head, smirking. “Come with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me, wait, why are you smiling like that?”

“Trust me,” he said, already heading to the back entrance of the Dōmu. “You’ll like this one.”

She followed him outside to the parking. The last sliver of sunlight glanced off the polished chrome of a motorcycle. Sleek, black, surprisingly well-kept. Hikari stopped dead in her tracks.

He jingled a familiar set of keys in the air.

She blinked. “You mean the bike?”

Hikari let out a slow breath, but stood anyway. “You know I’ve already ridden with you before, right? The day we had to pretend to be a couple so you could avoid an arrange marriage.”

“I remember. It was so fun!”

“Yeah! We did so much outdoors activities, it's exactly the type of things that I like to do”

What she didn’t expect was him tossing her the helmet.

She caught it on instinct. “Wait. You’re not offering me a ride.”

“Nope.” He grinned. “I’m giving you the controls.”

“…You want me to ride it?”

“Yup. Solo.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. You have exactly thirty minutes to learn how to ride it across the lot and back. If you do, you can ask me anything for a day. If not…”

She stared at him.

“…you'll have to learn how to cook because it's becoming concerning.
She looked down at the helmet. Then at the bike. Then at him.

“Hey! My cooking isn’t that bad, Kei liked it… But Deal.”

Tadashi’s grin widened. “Knew it.”

Some moments later she was on the bike. The helmet clicked into place. Hikari threw one leg over the bike and exhaled slowly, squaring her shoulders. Tadashi stood at her side, one hand on the clutch.

“Okay,” he said, “don’t overthink it. Start with the clutch in, then give it a little throttle as you release. Smooth. Not jumpy.”

“Do I look like I’m panicking?”

He gave her a look.

“…Okay, fine. Maybe a little.”

She turned the key. The engine purred to life beneath her, a low vibration through the frame, through her arms. The sound made something in her chest tighten and loosen at the same time.

Tadashi moved in front of her, walking backward as she slowly rolled forward.

“You’re doing fine,” he said, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. “You’re not screaming, so that’s already greatt.”

She resisted the urge to scowl.

The first attempt, she stalled. The second, she let the clutch go too fast and jerked forward, almost tipping over. Tadashi steadied the handlebars without saying a word.

The third time, she made it five meters before panic kicked in and she slammed the brake too hard. The bike jerked forward and stopped, a little crooked, but upright.

Tadashi was already at her side, crouching low, one hand on the seat to keep it steady.
“You’re trying to control it too much,” he said, gently. “It’s not about fighting it. It’s about knowing when to move with it. Let your center catch up to the speed.”
Hikari blew out a breath. “Yeah, okay. Easy advice from someone who makes everything look effortless.”

He smiled, tipping his head. “It’s not effortless. I’ve just crashed more times than I’ll ever admit.”
She snorted. “Now that I believe.”

“The bike used to help with that,” he added, glancing at it. “Made things feel easy. No one talking, no pressure, just wind and noise.”
Hikari adjusted her helmet. “You ride to forget?”

He shrugged. “Not really. I ride because it’s fun. That’s the whole point.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Well, good luck with that today.”

He stayed crouched next to her, watching her reset her grip. The way she moved, focused, impatient, ready to try again, made him grin without thinking.

It was easy, being with her like this. No drama, no rules, no tiptoeing around moods. He could joke, and she’d roll her eyes instead of snapping. He could talk, and she wouldn’t overanalyze. She just got back on and kept going. And somehow, that made everything more fun.

Then she cleared her throat. “You coming, or are you just gonna stare at me all day?”

He stood up, brushing off his knees. “I was waiting for the dramatic launch sequence. Clearly, I was misinformed.”

She rolled her eyes. “Try not to blink, or you’ll miss my victory lap.”

And just like that, she took off again, wobbling, better, bolder. Tadashi watched her go, his grin lingering. This wasn’t complicated. And that, honestly, was the best part. This time, the balance clicked. Her fingers held the throttle steady, her back straightened, her core aligned with the bike’s rhythm. She moved. Smooth. Clean. One loop around the lot. And when she rolled to a stop in front of him, engine still humming, she looked up with a grin that was tired, breathless, and proud.

“I did it.”

Tadashi stepped closer, tapping the side of the helmet lightly. “You’ve still got ten minutes left. Want to go again?”

She took off the helmet, hair wild, face glowing.

“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s ride.”

Chapter Text

The morning sun cast a soft sheen on the campus of Hakusen Academy, and the air shimmered faintly with the usual buzz of chatter, footsteps, and anticipation. The moment Hikari Hanazono stepped through the gates, conversations paused mid-sentence.

“She’s here.”

“Hanazono-san!”

“She’s still number two, right? Unshakable.”

“Even her walk’s got authority…”

Students outside the Special A class instinctively stepped aside, creating a narrow path as if parted by invisible reverence. A few first-years whispered in awe, others bowed politely, she acknowledged them all with her usual bright nod, she was more or less used to it now, even if it still embarrasses her a bit. She still wants them to treat her normally, but she knows that they wouldn’t listen anyway.

Her uniform was crumpled, her bag swung over one shoulder, she still wasn’t feeling that well. Yet, nothing in her expression betrayed anything out of the ordinary. As always, Hikari was determined, driven, and seemingly unshakable.

She entered the Dōmu without missing a beat. Inside, the greenhouse-like classroom was drenched in soft, diffused light, warm but not heavy. The glass walls hummed faintly with the sound of morning breeze, and the large open space already carried that peculiar elegance that came with Special A, somewhere between a study salon and a palace atrium.

Akira was seated at the long table, as always, pouring tea with that graceful precision she was famous for. Each movement of her wrist seemed choreographed. The teapot was floral today, porcelain with soft gold trim. She didn’t glance up at first.
On the far couch, Ryu was curled like a content cat, eyes half-lidded, a koala draped lazily over his shoulder, munching absently on a leaf it had stolen from somewhere.

When Hikari stepped in, Akira finally looked up, her eyes sharp beneath her tidy fringe.

Akira looked up instantly. Her eyes softened. “Hey.” She patted the cushion beside her. “How are you feeling?”
Hikari took a moment. “Better, ” she said. “Still kind of weird… but better.”

Before Akira could respond, the Dome’s door opened with a sharp click. Tadashi strolled in, hands in his pockets, expression casual, too casual.
Akira’s head snapped toward him.

“Oh. So you do remember where this building is, ” she said flatly.

Tadashi stopped mid-step. “Huh?”

“You were supposed to meet me here yesterday. Ring any bells?”

“I, yeah, I know, I just, ”

“You just vanished, ” she cut in, voice rising. “No message. No call. Nothing. I was waiting for twenty minutes, Tadashi.”

Ryu calmly took another sip of tea.

She stood up. And without waiting another second, she whacked him across the chest with her folded fan.
Tadashi flinched dramatically. “Ow! That’s abuse, Akira!”

“That's the consequence!” she barked. “You were supposed to meet me here yesterday, remember? You left me waiting like some tragic Shakespeare heroine, except I don’t faint on garden benches.”

He gestured vaguely toward Hikari, who sat on one of the steps near the window, pretending to read a magazine upside-down.

“She looked like a ghost. Like… I don’t know, I thought I’d find her crying, but instead it was worse. You know Hikari, seeing her quiet is terrifying.”
Akira turned her head toward her best friend and frowned. “Wait… that bad?”

Tadashi continued, remembering Hikari’s state the day before “Let’s say I was somewhere between ‘meltdown’ and ‘nuclear evacuation’.”
Akira sighed and crossed the room in two strides, sitting next to her and taking her hand. “You should’ve called me if it got worse. Don’t scare me like that.”

“I didn’t want to bother anyone, ” Hikari murmured. “Besides, you already came yesterday, remember?”
Akira nodded gently. Then her eyes narrowed again as she turned toward Tadashi. “Okay. I get it. You did the decent thing for once.”

Tadashi opened his mouth, hopefully.

“But!” Akira raised her fan again. “You still didn’t text. Not a single message! You disappear and you don’t tell me you’re with my best friend? Do I need to implant a GPS on you?!”

“I thought you left the Dōmu, ” he said defensively. “I couldn’t find you!”

“Did you check your phone?” Akira said. “Because I definitely sent five messages. One had all caps. I don’t do all caps for just anyone!”

Hikari covered her mouth, hiding a laugh. Akira turned back to her, a bit calmer now. “So… he didn’t say anything too dumb, right?”

“He tried, ” Hikari said with a teasing glance, “but he didn’t get far.”

Akira blinked, then smirked. “Wow. Progress.”

Tadashi shrugged, hands in his pockets again. “I have my moments.” He was hurt by Akira’s words. She always thinks of him as someone emotionally dumb, which is not the case at all.

Hikari turned to him, genuinely. “Thanks, though.”

He chuckled, the kind of easy laugh a kid gives when saying, ‘Don’t worry about it.’

Tadashi flopped into the seat next to Ryu, who lazily handed him a piece of leaf from his koala’s stash. He stared at it, confused.

Then, with that usual half-grin and a scratch at the back of his neck, he spoke.
“By the way,” he began, glancing sideways at Hikari, “since you actually nailed that challenge yesterday… deal’s a deal.”

Hikari blinked. “Deal?”

“You won,” Tadashi said. “Which means, for one full day, you get to make me do whatever you want. I’m at your service. Name the day.”
Akira, flipping a page of her magazine without even glancing up, muttered, “That sounds incredibly risky.”
She smirked. “Good. I’m saving it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not today?”

“Nope,” she said, stretching her arms above her head. “I’ll use it when you least expect it. Much more satisfying that way.”

Tadashi gave a short laugh. “I should’ve seen that coming.”

The mood was light , unusually so , and even Akira, despite her earlier fury, was beginning to let her shoulders relax.

Then Hikari straightened, tapping a finger against her chin thoughtfully. “Even if I won… I think I still want to learn how to cook.”

That earned a full silence from the Special A room.
Ryu looked up from where he was feeding his koala. Akira stared at her. Tadashi gawked like she’d just announced she wanted to become a sumo wrestler.

“Very,” Hikari replied, nodding once. “It’s honestly kind of embarrassing how bad I am. I figure it’s time I try to fix that.”

“I mean,” Tadashi said carefully, “your last attempt did make the student council president faint.”

“It was just an onigiri.”

“Yeah. One that was hard enough to qualify as a building material.”

She sighed. “Okay, fair.”

Hikari turned toward Akira with an eager expression. “Could you teach me?”

Akira hesitated. “I’d love to, but I’ve got tea workshop meetings all week with those terrifying council girls. You remember them, right?”

“The ones who stare like they’re judging your posture?” Tadashi muttered.

Akira ignored him. “Anyway, I’m totally booked this week. Sorry, Hikari.”

Before Hikari could respond, a quiet voice spoke up from across the room.
“I can teach you.”

Everyone turned. Ryu stood calmly by the window, the koala still perched lazily on his shoulder. His tone hadn’t changed from its usual quiet rhythm.
“You can cook?” Hikari asked, eyebrows raised.

Ryu nodded once. “Often. I usually cook for Jun and Megumi. And Akira’s kitchen in the SA lounge is fully stocked.”

Hikari looked between him and Akira, almost surprised. “You let him cook in your kitchen?”

“He cleans up,” Akira replied simply, as if that explained everything.

Tadashi leaned back, grinning. “Now that I want to see.”

“You can come help wash the dishes if you’re that curious,” Hikari shot back.

“I’m suddenly very busy that day.”

“Okay, then!” Hikari turned to Ryu and grinned. “I’ll be your student. Be warned, though… I’m a disaster.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said.

Tadashi leaned back against a pillar, arms folded behind his head. “I give it one week before Ryu regrets everything.”

Akira sighed. “I give it two days.”

“I give it one meal,” Tadashi added with a grin.

The kitchen of Akira’s estate had seen elegance, precision, and the finest culinary tools imported from across the globe.
It had not, however, prepared itself for Hikari Hanazono’s first attempt at miso soup. Ryu, Hikari, and Tadashi headed into the kitchen together, with Ryu confidently walking Hikari through every step of the process. But from chopping vegetables to prepping the ingredients, and even during the simple task of heating the pot, everything that could go wrong, did. Chaos unfolded at every turn, and by the time the soup was simmering, the kitchen looked like it had survived a small natural disaster. Ryu, once so sure of himself, was beginning to deeply regret volunteering for this mission.

“Alright!” Hikari declared, tying her apron with the confidence of a master chef who had yet to burn water. “Ready to taste history?”

Ryu raised an eyebrow from the corner, arms crossed. “History or a health hazard?”

“I’ve improved!” she said proudly. “This is a new age. A new dish!”

Tadashi leaned forward, eyeing the bowl cautiously. “It smells... brave.”

“That’s miso and ambition,” she replied.

He exchanged a look with Ryu. Ryu sighed like a man preparing for war. Tadashi, being the chosen guinea pig, took the first spoonful.
It touched his tongue.

And the world… stopped.

His expression twisted. His shoulders jolted. His spirit visibly questioned its life choices.

“This… This isn’t soup,” he managed. “This is a declaration of war.”

“What?!” She said, chuckling.

Ryu, ever the stoic, took a dignified sip. Then blinked.
“…Did you season this with… citrus?”

“I used a bit of yuzu!” Hikari offered.

“You boiled yuzu peel in miso? I didn't even see you do that!”

“That’s... innovative,” Tadashi said, placing the spoon down like it might explode. “I feel like my tongue has gone hiking without me.”

Hikari scowled. “You two are unbelievable. That was culinary progress.”

Tadashi looked at her, half-laughing. “Progress? I think I forgot where I was for a second.”

Hikari rolled her eyes, lips twitching at the corners despite herself. “Maybe you two just don’t appreciate fine dining.”

Tadashi stood dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “My body appreciated it. It almost left me.”

“And yet,” she said, reaching for another bowl, “you’re still here.”

Tadashi paused, met her eyes, and grinned, teasing, but softer now. “Yeah. Can’t say why.”

Ryu muttered, “Because he’s incapable of self-preservation.”

“Exactly!” Tadashi beamed.

There was a pause, a flicker of something unspoken. Hikari, flushed with effort and mock frustration, didn’t back down. Tadashi didn’t look away.

“…Next time,” she said, “I’ll make something so good you’ll cry.”

“I am crying,” Tadashi said, wiping an invisible tear. “On the inside.”

“Good. That means you’re alive.”

He chuckled, settling back into his seat. “Barely.”

Ryu, sipping his tea, murmured, “This is going to be a long journey.”

Tadashi tilted his head toward him. “Think we’ll survive it?”

“I have my doubts.”

“But,” Tadashi said, looking back at Hikari with mock reverence, “if this is how I go, at least I’ll die dramatically.”

Hikari crossed her arms and smirked. “That’s the only way I allow.”

Tadashi sat back on the stool, watching the two with a half-smile. Chaotic energy, relentless determination, terrible cooking... and somehow, it was fun. Ridiculously fun.
He didn’t even mind being the official taste-tester anymore.

The kitchen smelled… not dangerous.
That alone felt like a miracle.
The soup shimmered gently in the pot. The tofu cubes floated like they were supposed to. Nothing exploded, nothing boiled over. Hikari was even confident enough to hum while setting the bowls on the counter.

Ryu leaned forward, tasted a spoonful, and simply said, “It’s good.”

Tadashi, arms crossed, peered at his portion like it might still contain a prank. He took a sip, blinked, then looked at her.
“…I don’t hate it.”

“That’s a win,” Hikari grinned.
Just then, the door opened.

Akira stepped in first, composed as always, her eyes going straight to the state of her kitchen. Satisfied that nothing was smoking, she made her way to the group. Behind her came Kei.
He looked calm,expression unreadable as always,but Hikari caught the faint crease in his brow, the way his eyes immediately sought hers.

Akira approached, sniffed the air. “So you didn’t burn down the house. Impressive.”

“I told you I’d improve,” Hikari said, a little breathlessly.

Ryu gestured to the pot. “Want to try?”

Akira took a bite, paused… and nodded. “Edible. I’m… surprised.”

“She’s evolving,” Tadashi said with a smirk. “Give it a few decades, she’ll be making wedding feasts.”

Akira turned to him sharply. “Don’t say things like that.”

He blinked. “Like what?”

She scoffed under her breath and turned away, stirring the soup without looking at him. “You always say things without thinking.”

“I was joking,”

“You’re always joking.”

He opened his mouth but stopped when he caught the shift in her tone , light, but not playful.
Kei’s voice cut through the moment. “I heard you were learning to cook,” he said to Hikari.

She blinked. “Trying and succeeding. Sort of.”

He looked down at the soup, then back at her. His voice was level. “Congratulations, then.”

It was polite. Almost distant.
But his eyes… his eyes were soft.

Hikari smiled, a little uncertain. “Thanks.”

He didn’t add anything, just quietly took a bowl and tasted. No reaction,until he placed it down and gave a short nod. “Not bad.”

Akira raised a brow. “That’s Kei language for ‘exceptional.’”

“I never said that,” he muttered.

But he didn’t deny it either. He kept looking at Hikari.

“You’re amazing,” he said, too softly for anyone but her to fully hear.

Her breath caught.
Ryu noticed. And said nothing.
Tadashi, who had been oddly silent for a while, nudged Hikari gently with his elbow. “See? Told you were capable to not poison us

“I am in the way of becoming a legend,” she said playful

Ryu leaned against the counter, sipping his tea. “Low bar. But cleared.”

Akira set her bowl down. “Let’s eat in the garden. It’s too nice outside.”

Everyone agreed. Ryu gathered the bowls, his koala perched obediently on his shoulder. Kei stepped outside last, after Hikari and Ryu.
Akira was just about to follow when Tadashi moved to her side, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“You know,” he muttered, “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She didn’t look at him. “I know.”

“So why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

He tilted his head. “You sound mad.”

She finally turned her head, just enough to meet his eyes. “You’d know if I was mad.”

He blinked, a little thrown by the calm in her voice.
Then, she smiled, small, and walked ahead.

He kept up with the others and came closer to Ryu. He glanced sideways at Hikari. “So… next time, maybe curry?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You just want to suffer again, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like seeing you try.”

“Careful,” she said. “That sounded like a compliment.”

“Must’ve been a mistake.”

She smiled, small, but real.
Behind them, Kei glanced over his shoulder once, just briefly. Then kept walking.

Chapter Text

It started, as many catastrophes in the Special A did, with Megumi.

She entered the Dōmu late morning with an air of silent determination and a whiteboard nearly her height, adorned in neon stickers, cartoonish exclamation marks, and a few sparkles that caught the sunlight with alarming drama. In perfectly handwritten pink calligraphy, the board declared:

“IMPROVISED THEATER – TODAY 4PM! Attendance = peace ☮️”

Jun took one look and choked on his juice.

“No. Absolutely not.”

From the corner, Ryu glanced up from his tea. “Megumi… please tell me this is a joke.”

She smiled sweetly, then flipped the board over.

“Mandatory. No Exceptions.”

Tadashi whistled. “She’s gone full dictator.”

Akira, lounging on the chaise with a fashion magazine, raised an eyebrow. “Megumi. What is this?”

Megumi produced a second sign from her bag:
“For morale. For bonding. For drama!”

Hikari blinked. “Wait, like… acting? A play?”

Megumi nodded. Then added another card with theatrical flair:
“Improv. Costumes optional. Judgment forbidden.”

Jun stood up. “No. I veto this. Where’s Kei? Kei will veto this.”

Megumi suddenly held up another card:
“If you say no, I’ll sing.”

Jun blanched. “Not that. Anything but that.”

Tadashi cackled. “Blackmail with falsetto. Classic Megumi.”

“Kei doesn’t come to these things unless Hikari drags him,” Tadashi said.

“And he’d still get assigned a role,” Ryu added grimly.

Jun folded his arms. “No offense, Megumi, but the last time you tried something ‘group bonding’ related, we ended up KO because of our music”

Megumi signed innocently:
“That was a beautiful art installation. I did enjoy it.”

Akira sighed. “Alright, let me get this straight. You want all of us , all of us , to participate in a chaotic, unscripted mess of a play with no prep, and no rules?”

Megumi tilted her head, as if calculating the truth in Akira’s statement. Then signed, with a flourish:

“Exactly.”

A heavy silence followed. The type that usually preceded fire, explosions, or emotional disaster.

Then , to everyone’s horror , Hikari smiled. “Actually… it sounds kinda fun.”

“ Hikari?” Jun muttered.

Akira looked around. “Do we even have everyone?”

Megumi flipped to another sign:
“Kei confirmed. Tadashi doesn’t get to say no. Jun will cry if left out. Ryu is already here. Akira loves me. Hikari is sunshine.”

Ryu, ever composed, raised a finger. “I would like to formally protest.”

“No take-backs,” Tadashi said, grinning. “We’re doomed. Accept it.”

Jun crossed his arms tighter. “If you assign me to anything romantic, I swear,”

Megumi blinked. And smiled.

Jun backed away. “I’m doomed too, aren’t I.”

After some time they all reunited in the garden where was installed à scene.

Megumi lifted the little slate board like it was sacred.

“First up… Tadashi and Akira!”

Akira stood gracefully, smoothing her skirt with composed elegance. Tadashi followed with his usual lazy grin, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Your prompt is…” Megumi announced cheerfully, “Two rival merchants. You’ve known each other for years. You meet again in a bustling market after a long time.”

Akira took her position with poised precision, facing an imaginary booth.

Tadashi wandered over to his own side, miming a makeshift stall with the flourish of a bored showman.

He smirked, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Well, well. Still selling overpriced petals in fancy wrapping?”

She returned the gaze with cool detachment.
“Better than hawking leftover rice cakes no one asked for.”

The others chuckled faintly.

Tadashi rested an elbow on his invisible counter.
“Funny. You used to come by every morning. Said my rice cakes were ‘soothing.’”

Akira tilted her chin slightly, her voice sharpening like the edge of fine porcelain.
“Only because I pitied you. You couldn’t keep track of your own stall hours.”

“Oh, I keep track,” he replied. “Just not the way you do. With clocks and ledgers and twelve separate labels for sugar.”

“I sell quality,” she shot back. “You sell chaos in a box.”

There was laughter again, but it was growing thinner.

“You’ve always hated how I do things, huh?” Tadashi said, dropping the playful tone just a notch. “Even when they work.” It sounded like he didn’t act anymore.

Akira’s eyes narrowed, just a fraction.
“They ‘work’ until someone gets hurt.” I was a little too personal to be just the play.

Tadashi blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Akira crossed her arms, stepping forward. “Nothing. Just… you always seem surprised when people expect things from you.”

A silence lingered.

Tadashi’s smile faltered for the first time.
“I never said I didn’t care.”

“You never said anything,” she replied, cool and quiet. “That’s the problem.”

The room had gone still.

Even Megumi looked uncertain, holding her slate like a fragile truce.

“…Scene?” Jun offered weakly.

Akira broke eye contact first, smoothing her hair as she turned on her heel and walked back to her seat. Tadashi stood frozen for a beat longer, jaw clenched, before casually dropping into a chair like nothing happened.

But Ryu and Hikari exchanged a glance. Something felt off.

Ryu cleared his throat, trying to gently shift the tension. “Should we keep going?”

Megumi clapped softly, her cheerful tone smoothing over the awkwardness. “Absolutely. Let’s lift the mood a bit, shall we? Jun, Kei,you’re up.”

Jun visibly tensed. “Me…?”

Kei, calm as ever, stood from his seat and adjusted his blazer. “Fine.”

Megumi smiled sweetly as she handed them their prompt card. “Your scenario is: two travelers get stuck in the mountains during a snowstorm and have to figure out how to survive the night.”

Jun blinked. “Wait, is this comedy or drama?”

Megumi just grinned and gestured to the center. “That’s up to you!”

Jun sighed but followed Kei. Once in place, the two faced each other, the room falling into a quiet, anticipatory hush.

They both did their scene in a humouristic way. Kei was not so comfortable, Jun neither. So even if they were trying to be dramatic, it was hilarious.

Everyone laughed. Even Akira gave a small clap. Tadashi muttered, “They play bickering better than Akira and I.”

Kei returned to his seat, and as he passed Hikari, he said without looking at her:
“Not bad, right?”

She looked up at him, a little surprised. “You were great.”

He didn’t answer, but he did smile faintly, before walking past.

After Jun and Kei stepped down, the next few pairs went by in a blur of laughter and chaos.

Akira and Megumi had to improvise a scene where a noblewoman hires a secret assassin to eliminate her rival at a royal banquet. It was unexpectedly funny,mostly because Megumi played the assassin with complete silence and intense stares while Akira whispered dramatically.

Then came Jun and Tadashi, who got a scene about two shopkeepers trying to outsell each other during a festival. It turned chaotic quickly, with Jun getting more and more flustered while Tadashi threw imaginary fireworks into the crowd. It ended in a draw,mostly because Jun surrendered mid-monologue.

Finally, Megumi called up Ryu, Hikari, and herself for a rare three-person prompt.

Their card read: “Three strangers on a train discover one of them is secretly royalty.”

The result? Surprisingly smooth. Hikari was enthusiastic and a little over-the-top, Megumi kept things quirky with exaggerated elegance, and Ryu… delivered every line with complete seriousness, which made everything twice as funny.

The group actually applauded when the scene ended.

Akira, sipping tea, whispered to no one in particular, “I forgot how good Ryu is at keeping a straight face.”

Tadashi nodded. “It’s scary, honestly”

Now the next pair was quite particular. Hikari and Tadashi.

Prompt (read by Megumi with a playful sparkle):

> “Two travelers must pretend to be a married couple to avoid suspicion from enemy guards.”

As Megumi raised the card, Tadashi and Hikari exchanged a look.

Hikari squinted at the words, then turned toward Tadashi with an expression halfway between disbelief and amusement.
“Oh wow,” she muttered, nudging his arm. “This kinda reminds me of that time we had to pretend to be engaged to stop your arranged marriage.”

Tadashi groaned softly, rubbing his temple. “Don’t remind me. I still have flashbacks of you calling me ‘dearest’ with that terrifying smile.”

“You said I had to be convincing,” she said, mock-offended. “Anyway, I wasn’t the one who tried to fake cry and ended up sneezing.”

“I was under a lot of pressure!” he hissed.

“From who? Your own mother?”

Megumi clapped once, bringing them back to the present.

“Places!” she said silently (via her little sign), then gestured dramatically toward the center of the Dome, where a few props had been lazily arranged , an old trunk, a shawl, and a wooden crate marked “suspicious potatoes.”

The lights dimmed just slightly thanks to a sudden cloud, which someone (probably Ryu) claimed was perfect “stage ambiance.” Hikari and Tadashi stood awkwardly in front of the imaginary guards.

Hikari coughed and turned toward the “invisible enemies.”
“G-good evening, sirs. My… husband and I were just passing through on our, um… honeymoon.”

Tadashi stiffened. “Yes, yes! Just a humble couple of newlyweds… celebrating the joy of… marriage.”

There was a long pause.

Hikari cleared her throat and elbowed him. “Darling.”

“Right!” Tadashi brightened, his eyes widening unnaturally. “My beloved wife here is just… radiant, isn’t she? Could you kindly lower your terrifying crossbows?”

Jun chuckled from the side. Megumi nodded approvingly and jotted something on her “director's clipboard.”

Hikari took Tadashi’s hand, stiff as a board, and held it up for dramatic effect. “See how in love we are? Look at this handholding! It’s very… tender.”

“It’s sweaty,” Tadashi whispered.

“You’re ruining the illusion.”

“You’re squeezing my fingers like a sumo grip.”

They tried to smile at their imaginary captors, but their eyes were full of panic. Hikari awkwardly leaned on his shoulder. Tadashi patted her back like he was burping a toddler.

Akira sighed loudly from the back. “What are they even doing?”

“They’re being romantic,” Kei said without expression.

Akira blinked. “Are they?”

Ryu only nodded in a neutral way, as if this were a documentary and not a disaster.

Back onstage, Hikari let go and faced the “guards” again. “We are… but humble lovers. Just yesterday, he wrote me a poem.”

Tadashi’s eyes snapped to her. “I did?”

“You did.”

“Would you… like me to recite it?” he asked the room uncertainly.

“No,” she hissed through her teeth.

“Yes,” said Megumi’s whiteboard.

Tadashi straightened and raised one arm like a Shakespearean actor on too much caffeine.
“Oh darling… your eyes are like… soup. But not just any soup. The kind that doesn’t burn my mouth and has the right number of mushrooms.”

Someone , probably Jun , made a coughing noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Hikari slowly turned to him. “Soup?”

“I panicked again.”

“Stick to pretending to be married. Don’t freelance.”

“Too late,” he said with a grin.

There was a pause in the scene. Hikari adjusted her stance, eyes scanning the silent room, before glancing toward Tadashi.

He leaned in, voice low, almost teasing:

“Alright… how about we make this interesting?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“A challenge,” he murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Let’s see who’s more convincing.”

She smirked instantly. “You’re on.”

They turned back toward the imaginary guards, slipping into their roles with exaggerated grace.

When she turned back toward him, it was like flipping a switch.

“Darling,” she said, with exaggerated sweetness, “tell the guards we’re just two humble travelers trying to reach the coast before nightfall.”

Tadashi blinked once. “We’re going west now? You said we were heading east.”

“I said no such thing. You must’ve been distracted. Again.”

“I wasn’t distracted,” he muttered. Then, with a casual sweep of movement, he pulled her a little closer by the waist. “Though you do make it difficult to focus.”

She was shocked , for just a moment , before recovering with a sly grin.

“Oh, smooth,” she said under her breath. “Trying hard already?”

“Just warming up.” He whispers

Then she continues for the audience to hear. “Oh no? Not even when I nearly set the campfire on fire because I thought miso soup needed fireworks?”

That earned chuckles around the room.

Tadashi turned to the “guards,” then back to her. “She’s learning to cook,” he stage-whispered, “and every meal feels like an extreme sport.”

“I’m improving,” Hikari huffed. “Ask my official taste-tester.”

“Who hasn’t recovered yet.”

She gave him a sharp look, but her smile was too genuine to be threatening. “Says the man who finishes every bowl anyway.”

Tadashi shrugged. “Can’t help it. I’m a fan of danger.”

There was a glimmer in her eye. “And of me?”

He blinked. “That too.”

She stepped closer, adjusting the collar of his “cloak.” “Remember when we tried your motorbike for the first time? You screamed louder than I did.”

“It was enthusiasm,” he replied. “And I was trying not to crash with a lunatic holding onto me.”

“You mean the same lunatic who learned to shift gears faster than you did?”

He paused, looked her over, and grinned. “You’re terrifying.”

“And yet, you keep coming back.”

“Guess I like terrifying.”

Another beat passed. They stood just a little too close now. The teasing was soft, light, but real. It felt familiar. Like them.

They turned back toward the invisible guards, Hikari throwing in one last line:

“If we were spies, I wouldn’t be dragging him around. He gets distracted by every flower field.”

“False,” Tadashi said. “Only when you’re standing in it.”

That got a very audible reaction from the group.

Kei looked down. Akira raised an eyebrow. Jun blinked. Ryu calmly sipped his tea.

Megumi slowly flipped her sign again:
"Scene Complete. WOW."

Hikari bumped her shoulder against Tadashi’s as they turned back.

“That’s 1–0,” she whispered.

“In whose favor?”

She didn’t answer, but her smirk lingered a little longer than necessary.