"Huh? What is this even supposed to be?"
Eriri furrowed her brows as she flipped through the pages.
"It's a plan!" Aki Tomoya beamed.
"Let's create the greatest galgame together!"
"And how, exactly, did you come up with such a ridiculous, embarrassing idea?" she asked flatly.
"Because last week, I met her. The fated heroine. Just like the prologue to an anime—or the opening CG of a visual novel!"
"Then why don't you go confess to her instead of dragging me into your delusions?"
"Wait, confess? In real life?"
Eriri felt a sharp, physical ache behind her eyes.
This guy… seriously.
Aki Tomoya had always had a twisted way of thinking. Delusional. Overly dramatic. Living entirely inside his head.
Maybe that's why things turned out the way they did when they were kids.
Maybe… if Yukima hadn't come along back then, she—
No. She shook the thought away before it fully formed.
It just made things more complicated.
"So what?" she snapped. "What do you gain from dragging me into your little fantasy?"
"Because out of everyone I know, only you, Eriri, could draw the art for this game!"
"Even if you say that…" she gestured toward the papers, "…how are we supposed to make anything from this? Two lines of text and fifteen blank pages?"
Aki scratched his head, clearly flustered.
"W-Well… as long as we have passion, anything is possible! This is just the seed of an idea, and I'm the only one who can bring it to life!"
Without a word, Eriri crumpled the "plan" into a ball.
Bonk.
It hit Aki square on the forehead.
"What a joke." She turned to leave.
"I'm out."
"Wait—! I'll have a real plan by the end of the week, I swear!" Aki cried.
"And the team's already set! We just need you, Eriri, as the artist!"
"Kasumi-sensei is writing the script, Yukima's doing the programming—"
Eriri stopped.
Not because she believed him.
Because he said Yukima Azuma.
If she joined the club…
She'd see him more often.
Maybe… maybe something could change.
Maybe she could finally put the past behind her.
"…Fine." Her voice was low. Reluctant.
"But if there's no actual plan by the end of the week, I'm gone. Got it?"
Meanwhile, at Yukima Azuma's apartment.
He pushed the door open and was greeted by the familiar sight of small shoes neatly arranged at the entrance.
Kasumigaoka Utaha was already home, as always. Being part of the "Go Home" club had its perks.
"I'm home."
"Welcome back."
She sat elegantly on the sofa, long black-stockinged legs crossed, a book resting on her lap. Her slippers dangled lazily from her toes, swinging with the rhythm of her thoughts.
Yukima walked into the kitchen, removed his jacket, and got straight to work.
"Seafood porridge tonight. Senpai, help me prep the ingredients. Also—there's something I want to ask."
He never wasted time on guesswork or unspoken tension.
Yukima Azuma's rule of life was simple:
Face the problem. Solve it. Don't spiral.
No miscommunication. No dramatic outbursts. No lashing out at the people you care about.
Even if he were angry, confused, or hurt—he'd never take it out on her.
Because no one, especially not the one you love, deserves to shoulder your emotional fallout.
He sliced the North Atlantic lobster with practiced precision. Removed the intestines, cleaned the shell, set it aside.
Beside him, Utaha rinsed the rice and prepped the pot.
"Senpai," Yukima said casually, "Today, Aki Tomoya asked you to join his club—and you agreed, didn't you?"
Utaha paused.
She glanced sideways at him.
"Yeah. He came to find me during lunch."
Yukima nodded, no surprise in his expression.
"I don't mean to pry, but… why agree? His plan is honestly terrible. I thought you'd never waste your time on something like that."
Utaha set the rice down.
She grabbed a towel, wiped her hands dry, then gently reached forward and stopped Yukima's movements.
She set the knife aside, cupped his face in both hands, and leaned in.
"So? Is my ex-boyfriend-kun getting jealous?" she asked with a teasing smirk.
Yukima stared into her crimson eyes.
There was warmth in them. Genuine, affectionate mischief.
"…Yeah."
"It feels awful."
"I'm so angry I can barely breathe."
"I almost cried."
Utaha blinked.
Then smiled softly.
This—this was it.
Not the childish boy from before.
Not the overly composed adult she'd seen since their reunion.
But him.
He hadn't disappeared.
He'd just grown up.