A small number, yet strangely heavy for Nijika who was always seen as the energetic, optimistic big sister who never lost mini-games like this. Her face fell slightly, not quite pouting, but clearly provoked.
Nijika inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, then stretched like she was getting ready for the second half of a schoolyard soccer match. She gripped her ballpoint pen like it was the sword of a warrior trying to reclaim honor after a bitter loss.
"Alright! I'm not going down that easy!"
She declared firmly, eyes sparkling with unshakable resolve.
"My turn!"
Izayoi remained calm, holding his drink with two fingers as if appreciating tea in a formal ceremony. His eyes narrowed with anticipation, like a noble's house cat watching a mouse in a training hunt for young aristocrats.
"I look forward to it, Nijika-senpai"
he said with a voice as soft as silk, yet laced with a gentle threat.
Ryou still slouched by the door, chin resting on her palm, eyelids halfway to sleep.
"Hang in there... It's just a game to decide if we're throwing a party or not..."
In the corner, Hitori curled up behind Izayoi, hands covering her cheeks, eyes wide with the anxious awe of a side character witnessing a historic event.
"Just think... the winner of this decides our entire social future..." she thought, tugging gently at the hem of her hoodie.
"I... Izayoi... I'm counting on you..."
Nijika cleared her throat not the polite kind a teacher does when entering class, but a sharp, pointed one full of intent:
"Listen carefully."
She raised three fingers and spoke clearly:
"1. I once dropped a drumstick in the middle of a performance but pretended like nothing happened."
"2. I was once asked to be a hair model for a school fashion magazine."
"3. I once yelled at my older sister Seika so loudly the entire Starry café went silent."
The atmosphere shifted instantly from a gentle tea party to the weight of a parent-teacher meeting after report cards were handed out.
Izayoi folded his hands and rested his chin on them, like a Greek philosopher contemplating the origins of existence.
Ryou cracked an eye open. She wasn't shocked more like a bystander to a minor car crash, half-dazed but curious:
"Number three... if that's true, that's kinda terrifying."
Bocchi gently shook her head, murmuring in a voice meant only for the wind and wandering spirits to hear:
"No... even if she's really mad, there's no way Nijika-san would yell at her sister like that... right...?"
Izayoi remained silent, like a computer retrieving the entire sociological behavior database of Nijika from the past six months.
"Statement one..." he muttered, eyes staring off into the distance.
"Believable. Drumsticks falling is common, especially in student bands. And she said she pretended to stay calm... that's what a professional would do."
Nijika smiled, a hint of pride in her expression.
"You really do understand music."
"Statement three..." Izayoi repeated slowly, squinting as if peering through fog.
"She once scolded her sister so harshly the entire shop went silent?"
He turned and asked softly, like a breeze:
"Bocchi, the manager of Starry is named Seika, right?"
Bocchi nodded furiously, so fast her ears practically trembled.
Izayoi narrowed his eyes. The image of Seika Ijichi the calm, quiet older sister whose mere voice could raise the air pressure in a room appeared in his mind like a silent final boss.
"The likelihood that Nijika-senpai scolded her enough to make the shop go dead quiet..." Izayoi shrugged slightly,
"...is possible, but unlikely. However..."
He raised his head, eyes lighting up like someone who had just deciphered an ancient treasure map.
"I choose... statement two as the lie."
The room froze for two whole seconds.
Nijika's eyes widened, round as a snare drum hit too hard.
"What... Why would you choose that?!"
Izayoi smiled gently not smugly but with the pure confidence of someone who simply knows.
"Based on natural reflexes."
He lowered his hand and spoke clearly:
"When you read statement two, your eyes briefly glanced to the right. Your voice had a hesitation not even a second but it shifted pitch above the norm. That's a classic tell of lying."
Nijika: "..."
Izayoi tilted his head.
"Also while you are very cute, your hair is thick, naturally messy and doesn't follow a defined styling pattern. A student fashion magazine focusing on trends would pick a hairstyle with more deliberate flair. Yours looks like it was freshly trimmed after summer break... probably at that 1,200-yen salon near the station."
Ryou snorted a small sound, but with the impact of a firecracker in a classroom.
Bocchi quietly turned away, whispering with a hiss:
"Aaah... the reason... it's painfully accurate..."
Nijika clutched her forehead and slumped face-down on the table with a soft thump, like a rice cracker falling on a plate.
"...It was the lie..." she groaned.
Bocchi was still curled in the corner, her hands trembling like she had just witnessed a murder committed through words.
But Izayoi wasn't done yet.
The game wasn't over it was his turn now. Even with victory nearly in hand, would he finish this gently... or unleash one final intellectual strike?
Under the flickering ceiling light, the rehearsal room felt like an arena about to witness the finale of a psychological mime battle.
The cup of water had grown cold on the table. No one touched the snacks. The room was so silent, even a candy wrapper falling sounded like a countdown clock ticking.
Izayoi slowly set down his cup, not rushed, not delayed. He crossed his arms and scanned the room like mapping a battlefield before the final move. Then he smiled and gently tilted his head toward Nijika the lone warrior still standing amidst the wreckage.
"This might be the final round, Nijika-senpai," he said, voice flat but each syllable striking with the weight of a bell toll.
"If you guess wrong this time, the score will be 2-0. Meaning..." He narrowed his eyes. "...there will be no turning back."
Nijika swallowed hard. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple. She gripped her pen tightly it trembled slightly. But she lifted her chin, her eyes unwavering.
"Go on... bring out your final move."
Izayoi smirked like a wise deity just summoned to unleash their ultimate spell.
"Alright." He slowly raised three fingers, then pulled out a small slip of paper, the handwriting crisp, clear... almost unnaturally neat.
"Three facts about me. Please listen carefully."
A long pause followed, as if giving everyone time to brace themselves.
"One: I once got lost in the Amazon rainforest for four days without a map or GPS."
"Two: I can read ancient Mesopotamian script."
"Three: I once won a professional chess match in exactly 20 moves."
Nijika stood frozen. No reaction on her face. But inside her head, dozens of mental "analysis units" were working overtime.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
The first one sounded like a survival movie. But for someone like Izayoi... kind of plausible.
The third one was about chess. She'd seen a YouTube video of someone winning in 25 moves, so 20 wasn't impossible.
But the second... ancient Mesopotamian script? Who even studies that in the 21st century?
Nijika furrowed her brow. She put one hand to her chin, the other on her hip. Her golden eyes scanned through the invisible text as if trying to trace... the ink trail of a lie.
"Number two..." she muttered. "Sounds unreal. Even if he's showing off, you can't just learn Mesopotamian glyphs through Google."
She turned to Izayoi and pointed dramatically, like a judge handing down a verdict.
"I choose... statement two. You can't read Mesopotamian script. That's the lie!"
One... two... three seconds.
Izayoi smiled.
It wasn't a smug smile of someone basking in victory.
It was a weightless smile like a breeze drifting through a foggy forest of intellect.
"Correct..." he nodded.
Nijika exhaled like someone who had just escaped doom but before she could even start celebrating...
"Because actually..." Izayoi tilted his head, resting his chin on his hand, eyes gazing at the ceiling as if scanning a mental list of his superpowers.
"...I can also read Egyptian hieroglyphs, Rapa Nui script and some lost writings from the Library of Alexandria. Mesopotamian cuneiform? About as simple as reading a first-grade textbook."
The room fell into a silence so absolute, you could almost hear a single neuron in Hitori's brain... explode.
Izayoi still wasn't done.
"The third statement is actually the false one."
"Because in truth, my opponent forfeited before reaching the twentieth move out of sheer panic."
Nijika stood frozen.
One hand still raised in the air like an actor frozen mid-action before their final battle cry.
"Score: 2-0"
Izayoi gently declared, his voice soft as a teacher reading out grades.
"A perfect victory... for Team Go Home Early."
Ryou clapped slowly half in admiration, half in resignation.
And Hitori... burrowed even deeper into her box, as if celebrating victory with a ritual known only to cave-dwelling creatures.
Nijika still hadn't moved. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling light, which blinked at her like it was teasing.
"This game..." she whispered.
"...was never fair to begin with..."
But she just sighed in the end, waving a hand as if accepting the fate of a defeated commander.
Izayoi turned to Bocchi and Ryou, flashing a mysterious smile not mocking, just genuinely cheerful like someone who'd won, but still wanted his friends to feel at ease.
"I am quite the team player, you know." He smiled, pouring himself another glass of water.
Ryou nodded slightly, eyes betraying a quiet admiration.
"I've never seen anyone win like that... and leave their opponents so utterly helpless."
And Bocchi?
She bit the edge of her sleeve, blushing, then shrank five more centimeters into the box to celebrate silently.
No one else in the room had any desire to fight over the snacks.
The victor was undeniable.
And the defeated... had learned a valuable lesson:
Never play a mind game with Sakamaki Izayoi unless you want to become the textbook example of absolute defeat.
Under the soft yellow glow of the flickering ceiling light sighing in unison with its owner Izayoi turned to Nijika.
He still wore that harmless smile, though a tiny spark of triumphant fireworks shimmered in his eyes.
"So... per our agreement, we're allowed to leave now, right?"
The question floated gently through the air like a sea-foam bubble...
But it carried the final weight of a court sentence, quietly snuffing out the last flicker of hope Nijika had for pulling this bizarre bunch into a normal celebration.
She stared at him, her expression like someone being handed a birthday cake only to find a Latin dictionary hidden inside.
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again, like swallowing an aspirin without water.
"...Yeah. I agreed." she replied awkwardly, her shoulders slumping slightly like a general signing a reluctant retreat.
Ryou had already slung her backpack over her shoulders, as silently and efficiently as a backstage ghost.
She yawned deeply, lifting her strap with the same energy one would give to a feather.
"I'm heading home" she muttered with the air of someone stating the obvious.
"Don't forget to clean up, Nijika."
No condolences.
No shoulder pats.
Just a fact of life like the moon rising at night.
Hitori who'd spent the whole evening existing like a shadow in vaguely human form suddenly stood up with the twitch of a cat hearing an unfamiliar sound.
She tugged at the collar of her oversized coat like raising a last line of defense.
"Th-thank you for inviting me..."
Her voice was so tiny it was barely audible to the surrounding air molecules.
"But I... I'll go hide under my blanket now..."
She gave a small wave, like a dry twig trembling in a March wind.
A goodbye that was shy, apologetic... and already disappearing.
Izayoi was the last one left standing.
He looked around Starry the room now devoid of chatter, lit only by the golden afterglow bouncing off the polished wooden floor and a few half-empty cups.
He gave a slight bow not theatrical, not mocking just the simple farewell of someone politely taking their leave.
His footsteps tapped softly against the floorboards, like the closing bars of an old ballad.
Nijika still stood there, eyes following the backs of each friend leaving the room like watching a train slowly pulling away from the station, carrying with it all hopes of a lively evening.
The wooden door of Starry shut behind Izayoi with a small thump.
Not loud, just loud enough to leave a pause.
A pause where Nijika's quiet, helpless sigh rang out like the final note dropping gently on an old piano.
Above, the last ceiling light flickered once... then finally stopped.
As if Starry, too, had decided it was time to sleep.
Under the cool night sky of Shimokitazawa, the warm streetlights painted golden trails across the cobblestone pavement like a sparkling path leading home.
A gentle breeze rustled through sparse roadside trees, carrying with it the late-night scent of pastries from some bakery still open nearby.
The sound of small, hurried footsteps echoed rhythmically.
Gotou Hitori was sprinting across the sidewalk like a tiny antelope fleeing from a social gathering.
Her face flushed, sweat beading on her forehead, backpack flailing wildly behind her while the guitar thumped against her back in protest clearly offended that its owner was ignoring all sense of rhythm.
"Home... home, let's go home...!"
She muttered breathlessly while narrowly avoiding slamming into a streetlight.
"That was way too much socializing for one day! My motherboard's about to catch fire...!"
She didn't dare look back. In her mind, Nijika, Ryou, and Izayoi were probably still behind, either packing up or arguing about whether they should force Bocchi to stay for a little farewell cake.
Hitori wasn't sure. She had activated her "emergency invisibility mode" and bolted the moment the match between Izayoi and Nijika ended.
But then, as she dashed along the lit sidewalk, something inside her gently stilled.
Her pace slowed... and came to a stop.
She stood still, gasping for breath, hands on her knees.
"...Ha... ha... I actually... went on stage."
Even if... it was inside a box.
And she trembled. And messed up the rhythm.
But she did something she thought was impossible just a few hours ago.
A small smile flickered on her lips.
She looked up at the blinking streetlamps, like digital stars in the night.
Her chest still heaved, but her eyes began to brighten.
"It's okay... I'll keep trying. Bit by bit."
"Socializing... won't be a nightmare forever."
"Because... I'm Guitar Hero!"
She dramatically threw her arm forward only to nearly slam her hand into the glass wall of a convenience store.
"Ahh...ahh! I'm sorry, dear glass...!"
She quickly stepped back and bowed... to the window.
But then, as she stood upright and saw her reflection in the glass messy hair, jacket slipping off one shoulder, cheeks red but still smiling foolishly Hitori felt her heart warm up.
"...I'm really glad I met them."
"Nijika the big sister full of energy, patience, and decisiveness."
"Ryou quiet, composed, with a heart softer than any mellow bass line."
"...And Izayoi..."
She paused here.
Izayoi's face came to mind his smile that seemed to know everything, his sharp eyes that somehow remained gentle enough not to scare her.
He wasn't like anyone she had ever met.
And in just one day, he had helped her take the first few steps outside her shell.
"...I didn't just meet wonderful people."
"No... I was brought to them."
She clenched her fists and smiled softly.
"They pulled me out of the dark."
The soft chime of a bicycle bell rang out in the distance.
A pair of students cycled past, hand in hand.
Hitori stepped to the side and murmured:
"I still have a long way to go..."
"...But at least..."
She looked up, her eyes shining with an unfamiliar determination.
"...My journey has begun."
Under the warm yellow glow of streetlights casting scattered patches across the gray pavement, a small corner near Shimokitazawa station seemed to hold the day's last breath.
A gentle breeze stirred the last few cherry blossoms, the rustling leaves like a quiet round of applause for the emotional monologue just performed.
Though sparse, the petals still spun lightly through the air before landing gently on Hitori's back.
Her shadow stretched long beneath the light.
Her small figure, running with resolve, looked like a protagonist who had just defeated the final boss and was now hurrying home to save the game.
Hitori ran, her mind busy with thoughts of tomorrow.
Should she start the conversation or wait to be greeted?
Should she say "Good morning" in a bright, high tone or try a softer, quieter one?
Her thoughts overlapped like an unfinished composition no harmony, no arrangement.
And then...thump!
She bumped into a figure rounding the corner. Not hard, but enough to throw her off balance.
"Aah...!"
She let out a small yelp, arms flailing instinctively as she fell forward.
The asphalt wasn't as scorching as it would be under midday sun, but it was still rough enough to scrape her knee as she slid a few feet.
Her backpack tumbled aside, and her guitar let out a sound of protest.
"S-sorry...!"
Hitori scrambled upright, face crumpled like an oversteamed bun.
But when a familiar voice came from behind, the world seemed to quiet down:
"...You really do run fast, Bocchi."
She looked up.
Standing under the streetlight, wrapped in the soft shadows and spring breeze, was Sakamaki Izayoi.
Hands tucked into his uniform pockets, his posture lazy—but his eyes glinted with concern as they fell on her scraped knee.
"You're hurt."
"Uh...ah...it's okay! I'm used to it..."
Hitori stammered, trying to brush off the dirt while awkwardly hiding her knee.
But the motion only made a bit more blood well up.
"Someone being used to falling is exactly why it is a concern."
Izayoi spoke not scolding, but like stating an age-old truth.
From the breast pocket of his uniform, he pulled out a small band-aid shaped like a bunny wearing a safety helmet.
It was so cute that Hitori almost passed out again this time from emotional overload.
"Th-that... why do you even..."
She hadn't even finished her question, Izayoi knelt down in front of her his movement decisive, but unhurried.
"I'll clean the wound first. It might sting a little."
The gentle warning came just as the damp tissue touched her skin. Hitori clenched her teeth not from the pain, but from... emotion. Her head felt like it was steaming and her face flushed red like a freshly boiled radish.
He was careful. He didn't touch anywhere unnecessary, but he also wasn't careless. When he was done applying the band-aid, he stood up and gave her knee a light pat, as if completing some small ritual.
"All done. It's not serious, but be sure to disinfect it again when you get home."
"Do you... usually carry stuff like this around...?" Hitori asked, her voice barely louder than a late-season cicada.
"Yeah. I grew up in an orphanage" Izayoi replied, his gaze drifting slightly as he spoke, though his tone remained calm.
"Kids there get little injuries like this all the time. Since we were really small, we all had to learn basic first aid."
That simple explanation made the air between them soften. Hitori looked down at the pastel band-aid on her knee. On it, the cartoon bunny seemed to be cheering her on. She smiled, just a little.
"Thanks... Izayoi."
"No big deal. I just did what a friend's supposed to do."
He held out his hand. She hesitated for half a second, then placed hers in his. Her hand was small and cold; his was warm and steady. That moment didn't need words everything was already clear without a single sentence more.
They walked together to the entrance of the station. The digital board displayed two trains heading in opposite directions. A fleeting moment, where the sparse crowd passed by like faded shadows of the city at night.
Izayoi looked up at the schedule board, then turned to her.
"I'm going this way."
Hitori nodded slightly.
"I... I'm going that way."
A gentle pause between them. After a moment, Izayoi said,
"See you at school tomorrow?"
Hitori blinked. Then she nodded firmly, clutching her backpack strap.
"Yeah... definitely!"
She answered not after overthinking, not after rehearsing it in her mind. Just a promise, and a bit of trust.
The train doors closed. Izayoi waved. Hitori stood there, watching until the train disappeared around the bend.
She was alone under the soft glow of the streetlights but not lonely.
Turning around, she gently touched the band-aid still stuck to her knee.
"Tomorrow... tomorrow will definitely be better than today."
And so the night ended, bathed in soft yellow light, with the faint smile of a girl learning to open her heart and a quiet promise: See you tomorrow.