Chapter 4: Our Last Day

‘In the stillness of goodbye, he found the courage to stay.’

Night fell, and as usual, we logged into the game together, our call already connected for easier communication. It has become a quiet routine now—spending this hour with him, in our own worlds.

Tonight’s event was a Clan Banquet.

“When the timer’s up, you can enter the banquet hall. Go to the first table and make the recipe,” I explained.

「んー,」

(“Unn..”) he hummed, confirming softly.

When the timer ended, both our avatars entered the hall. He followed right behind me, mirroring my every move. Rows of tables appeared, shimmering with dishes waiting to be crafted.

“Scallions, coriander, chili sauce, crushed peanuts, garlic,” I murmured, reading the ingredients aloud.

From the other side of the call came the sound of frantic tapping, soft mutters, and the glide of his finger across the screen. Then his small groan. 

「あー、やっとできた！」

(“I finally got it right!!”)

I couldn’t help but laugh—his relief was too genuine, too adorable. Only when he finally got the recipe right did I move on to the dining table I’d been waiting at. I’d already sent him the menu earlier, but even now, he was still fumbling through the clicks. 

I smiled to myself, as I watched his avatar catch up beside mine. 

While we were dining for rewards, a set of quiz appeared—a little challenge for the whole clan to solve together. The first question popped up, and the guild chat instantly came alive. Lines of answers flooded in one after another, everyone tapping frantically to grab a few extra points for the guild.

But I didn’t move. My character stayed still, the cursor blinking idly on the screen.

「やらないの？」

(“Are we not doing it?”) his voice drifted through the call, gentle and curious.

“Nope. Too bothersome.” I replied, my tone flat, lazy.

I stretched a little, eyes still on the screen. 

“You can just copy from the clan chat. Everyone’s putting the same thing anyway—the more who join in, the more points we get.”

He let out a soft hum of acknowledgment. 

“Hmm…”

Still, his avatar didn’t move either.  He stayed right beside me, just as idle. 

The next few questions flashed by, and we both ignored them, letting the rest of the guild handle everything. When the results finally rolled in, the reward bar was maxed out—our guild had reached the top tier, even without our help.

A quiet laugh slipped from my lips.

From the other end, I could hear his chuckle too—light, unbothered, perfectly in sync with mine. For a while, the silence that followed didn’t feel empty at all. The event came to an end, and I slipped out of the venue.

“Ren-san? What are you doing?” I called softly. For a while, the faint tapping of fingers on a screen, but no movement from his avatar. Then, startled by my voice, he stopped. 

The quiet stretched thin before he finally spoke.

「もし…私と付き合ってくれる？」

I blinked, half-distracted, barely processing the words.

“Hm?” I hummed, my tone casual, unaware of the weight behind his question. I heard the sound of him brushing his hair, the faint rustle near his mic, followed by a shy laugh.

“Tomorrow, after the closing ceremony… Are you free? Do you want to go out somewhere with me?” he began again, steadier this time.

My character, who had been circling idly around his avatar, came to a stop—mirroring my brief silence.

「まあ、暇だと思う… 」

(“I guess I’ll be free,”) I replied after a pause.

His voice brightened instantly, the kind of excitement that carried warmth even through the thin veil of a call.

“Then let’s go for a trip. I’ll show you some places around.”

I smiled faintly at his energy, teasing.

“So that’s what you were up to?”

A short laugh crackled through the line—soft, genuine. On the other end, I could still hear the tapping of his fingers, faster now, restless with anticipation.

The closing ceremony was simple—a few words of gratitude, some awards, and the soft applause of a crowd ready to go home. Among the shifting sea of people, I spotted the one figure I had been meaning to approach. 

My quiet goal for this entire event.

As the chatter began to fade and the room settled into calm, I stepped forward, heart steady but firm.
“Ikimura-sensei,” I called, my voice low but clear enough to reach him.

He turned at once, his expression breaking into a broad, familiar smile.
「ま、それは…アリンじゃない？」
(“Wait, well—if it isn’t Arin?”)

Recognition lit his face. Before I could say another word, he beckoned me closer, pulling me gently into his circle of colleagues. I bowed politely, offering my best formal smile as I greeted each of them in turn. 

The conversation around me was warm, full of laughter and polite admiration—the kind of professional ease I’d always admired from afar. After a few polite exchanges, I took a small step back and excused myself with another bow.

As I slipped away from the group, I exhaled softly, a quiet laugh escaping my lips.
“Well… that’s one thing done. Good work, me.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the thought—a small personal victory tucked into the hum of the fading ceremony. I stepped out of the hall, the cool air brushing gently against my skin after the long, stuffy ceremony. 

Just outside, a familiar figure stood waiting for me— Ren.

He smiled as our eyes met and tilted his head slightly, a quiet, wordless question: ‘Shall we go?’

I walked up to him, letting a teasing remark slip out.
「君に、ほんとにやることないんだね。」
(“You really have nothing better to do, huh?”)

We both chuckled softly, the kind of laughter that comes easily after too much time spent together. This time, I followed his lead. He guided us down a quieter hallway toward a room tucked behind the main venue.

「待ってね、ちょっと持ってくものあるの」

(“Wait here, I just need to grab something,”) he said, half-turning toward me.

“Unn,” I murmured in reply, giving him a small nod.

Left alone, I glanced toward the door in front of me. A small sign hung beside it:「委員会室」

I squinted at the unfamiliar characters, trying to make sense of them. After a moment of silent defeat, I pulled out my phone, snapped a photo, and opened my translation app: (‘Committee Room.’)

“Ahh,” I exhaled softly in understanding. Just as I lowered my phone, a voice came from behind me—low, tired, and edged with quiet surprise.

「今、何してるの？」
(“What are you doing right now?”)

I turned sharply, startled. A man stood there, a tall male figure, the weariness in his tone matching the faint shadows under his eyes. His gaze flicked between me, my phone, and the sign—as if trying to piece together the scene. 

The man took a step toward me, his presence pressing closer than I expected. Instinctively, I stepped back. The difference in our height made him feel larger, heavier somehow. His gaze pinned me in place—sharp, questioning, almost predatory, as if he were trying to catch me doing something wrong.

I shifted back again, only to realize the door behind me was inches away. My breath caught. And then—the door clicked open. A familiar voice slipped through, calm and light, breaking the tension like sunlight through a storm.

「ん？…ごめんね。中、見てみたい？」
(“Hmm? Sorry… Did you want to look inside?”)

I turned quickly. It was him—Ren. 

Without thinking, my hand found the fabric of his sleeve, tugging gently, grounding myself in the comfort of his presence.

The man’s tone dropped a little, cool and probing.
「知り合いなの？」
(“Do you know her?”)

Ren’s answer came instantly, almost too smoothly.
「はい、彼女です。」
(“Yes, she’s my girlfriend.”)

His arm slid closer, resting protectively against my shoulder. The motion was light, almost teasing, but the words hung in the air like a quiet claim—one that made my heart skip before I could even process it. I turned toward him, disbelief flickering in my chest—my earlier unease completely forgotten.

Only his fleeting little joke echoed in my mind now, looping like a soft aftertaste I couldn’t shake off. 

He turned to me as well, probably wanting to check if I was all right, only to find our faces far too close. Our eyes met for a heartbeat—too long, too near—before he immediately averted his gaze, ears tinting crimson with embarrassment.

「ほかでやって。」
(“Go do that somewhere else,”) the man’s sharp tone cut through the awkward silence, making Ren flinch slightly before stepping aside.

Unbothered, he leaned toward the open doorway again, cheerfully calling out.
「行ってきますねー！」
(“I’m heading out now!”)

The room burst with laughter and half-serious complaints—
「もう行くの？」

(“You’re leaving already?”)

「連れてって！」

(“Take me with you!”)
「こっちは仕事増えたんだからね！」

(“You made us get more work, you know!”)

He just waved with an exaggerated grin, the easy energy of someone who knew how to charm a crowd.

I followed beside him, matching his steps as we finally walked out together—the noise fading behind us, replaced by the quiet rhythm of our footsteps.

Standing in the ground floor lobby, I tried to calm the restless stir in my chest. Probably… he didn’t mean anything just now. Right? I mean, look at him.

I stole a glance at Ren beside me. 

He was completely absorbed in his phone—tapping away with quiet focus, sometimes replying to a message, sometimes scrolling through something that looked like a map. I let him be, just standing there quietly, pretending to be more composed than I felt.

Then a car pulled up in front of us—a sleek black one, the kind usually reserved for formal events. For a moment, I thought it had come to fetch someone important. A professor, maybe. Or one of the conference heads. 

The driver stepped out, neatly dressed, sunglasses on, posture precise—and stood by the door, waiting.

Ren bent forward slightly, scanning the man’s face before murmuring,
「保作さん。 」
(“Hosaku-san.”)

He paused, then straightened with a soft, knowing smile.
「...でしょう?」

(“...right”)

The driver gave a polite bow, then moved to open the back door, one hand gesturing toward us with quiet professionalism—an unspoken invitation for us to enter. He took a step forward, but I stopped him, uncertainty tugging at me.

“Is this… your car?” I asked.

He blinked, looking a little thrown off, then replied smoothly,
“Our ride.”

He moved ahead again, but when he noticed I still hadn’t taken a step, he turned back slightly.
“It’s… a taxi, I booked it — thought it’d be easier.” he explained, voice gentle. 

He paused and glanced at me.

“Sorry… Do you want to take the train instead?”

I stared at him for a moment, guilt pricking at me for making him second-guess himself. Finally, I shook my head and followed, slipping into the car beside him. The air felt strangely heavy inside, a silence that neither of us seemed to know how to fill.

He looked distracted—or maybe troubled—by my earlier reaction. Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, gave me a soft, apologetic gesture— and answered. His voice was different this time. Lower. More measured.

A quiet mix of dialect I couldn’t quite place, with words that sounded formal, careful. It was a tone I’d never heard from him before—the kind of voice used in meetings or negotiations, not lighthearted conversations or gaming calls.

I didn’t say anything, afraid to interrupt. Instead, I turned my gaze to the window, letting the reflection of his face replace the view outside — watching him, quietly, as if he were someone I was only just beginning to know.

The car slowed to a stop at the side of the road. We both stepped out.

He bowed politely to the driver, and the driver returned the gesture before slipping back behind the wheel.
I followed suit, offering a small bow of my own. He took in a deep breath, stretching his arms slightly as though shaking off the weight of the long day. 

Then he turned toward me, that familiar smile lighting up his face again.

「行こ！」
(“Let’s go!”) he said softly.

The brightness in his voice—so effortless, so him—eased something in me. It felt like seeing a familiar light flicker back on.

「朝からイベントに出てたんでしょ？お腹すいたでしょ？」
(“You’ve been at the event since morning, right? You must be hungry.”)

I let out a small laugh, nodding.
“Yeah… a little.”

We started walking along the sidewalk, our pace unhurried. 

The air felt lighter now, our steps falling into a quiet rhythm—casual, comfortable, the kind of calm I’d always liked best.