"I'm not going."
Naoto stood at the door of the study room, arms folded, expression calm—but the answer was firm.
Rika stared at him, arms crossed. "It's not a request."
"Didn't sound like one," he muttered. "But still—no thanks."
She raised an eyebrow. "You'd rather deal with your mountain of homework than walk around for two hours and spend someone else's money?"
"I'd rather be stabbed in the leg with a pencil," he replied, deadpan.
She almost laughed. Almost.
But Shinji Hayato had already given his orders earlier that morning. "Take her out. Festival week is coming, and she needs materials for the class booth. And get something decent for yourself, too. You'll be helping."
So Naoto was trapped.
---
Downtown Hoshikawa - Chaos Incoming
The festival preparations had turned the shopping district into a wild maze of color and noise. Streamers hung across walkways. Booth owners shouted deals. Students in uniforms darted between stores, arms full of paint buckets, fabric, props, and snacks.
Rika walked two steps ahead, naturally commanding the space without even trying. Naoto trailed behind her with a shopping list in one hand and a defeated sigh in the other.
"This is punishment," he muttered. "I didn't sign up for arts and crafts hell."
"You signed up to survive," Rika replied coolly. "So quit whining and carry the bags."
"Didn't realize I'd become your festival pack mule."
"Congratulations," she said sweetly. "You've been promoted."
---
Paint, Props, and Petty Arguments
They ended up in a tiny art store picking out paints and cloth for their class's haunted house booth. The conversation was mostly Rika pointing and Naoto arguing.
"Black or dark purple?" she asked, holding up both fabrics.
Naoto tilted his head. "Black."
"Too obvious."
"Purple's going to look like a sad birthday party."
"I am a sad birthday party."
That made Naoto pause—then laugh. A real one. Loud, unexpected, and warm.
Rika blinked, surprised. "What?"
"You actually made a joke," he grinned. "Write that down, historic moment."
She rolled her eyes. "You're annoying."
"You're welcome."
---
They ended the day with two big bags of materials, a small container of takoyaki, and the kind of silence that didn't feel heavy anymore.
As they waited for the driver, Rika looked over at Naoto and said, "You're not... terrible at this."
"At shopping?"
"At... being tolerable."
He blinked. "Coming from you, that's basically a love letter."
She shoved him lightly with her shoulder. "Shut up."
---
Coming Chapter
That night, Rika dropped the supplies in the corner of her room, already dreading the festival chaos ahead. But there was one thing bothering her more than glitter or fake cobwebs:
She'd signed up for the class cooking booth.
And she couldn't cook.
At all.
She stared down at the stove in the mansion's kitchen like it was a bomb waiting to explode.
Naoto, she realized, would know how to help.
And the thought of asking him made her stomach turn—and not from hunger.