Canvas of Silent Colors

It's been a week since school started.

Tomoya and I… well, we've become friends.

I never thought my first genuine friend in this world would be an earnest, anime-geeking high school boy with glasses and an awkwardly sincere smile. But maybe that's precisely why it happened so easily.

During lunch breaks, he would chatter on about his favorite anime scenes, game releases, and character tropes with bright eyes, while I sat beside him, quietly nodding, occasionally slipping in my opinions or softly teasing him with sarcastic retorts.

He seemed to like that.

When he got too excited explaining a convoluted plot twist, I'd tilt my head and say, "Slow down. I'm not an AI processor, you know," earning a sheepish laugh as he adjusted his glasses, apologizing before continuing with just as much enthusiasm.

And when he asked me about my hobbies, I told him honestly. Cooking. Games. Anime. Manga. Novels.

His eyes had sparkled at the word games, almost comically. That day, he spent the entire lunch dragging out every game genre he knew, trying to find common ground.

He didn't need to try so hard.

In the end, we hit it off over a shared appreciation for classic JRPGs and some lesser-known indie titles.

At one time, Tomoya asking about my life.

-----------------------

"Hey, Ren," Tomoya asked one afternoon as we sat under the eaves, avoiding the spring drizzle after class. "You… um, where do you live? You're not from Tokyo, right?"

I paused, twirling the plastic bottle cap between my fingers, listening to the muted patter of rain against concrete.

"Shizuoka," I replied simply. "I'm boarding here… in Sakurasou."

"Eh… Sakurasou?" His voice cracked slightly, eyes widening behind his glasses. For a moment, his expression twisted into worry. Anxiety, almost. "That Sakurasou? The infamous problem dorm…?"

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Yeah. That one."

He looked down, fidgeting with his bag strap, brows furrowing in doubt.

"It's not that bad," I said, offering him a small smile. "Sure, it's old and… lively. But the people there are good, and they're all… normal, in their own way."

His shoulders relaxed, though his brows still knitted in puzzlement.

"But… why did you come all the way here? Isn't Shizuoka far? I mean, it has good schools too, right? And if I'm not wrong, there's a prestigious school near your area."

The question lingered in the air between us, mingled with the scent of rain-soaked concrete.

I smiled faintly, closing my eyes for a moment before answering.

"…Training. For independence, I guess. Preparing for university life. I didn't want to stay too comfortable at home forever."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

"And…," I added, almost inaudible beneath the drizzle, "Suimei has the environment I need. For what I want to do."

His eyes widened slightly at that, the admiration plain in them. His mouth moved silently before he spoke up, voice tinted with quiet awe.

"That's… amazing. You're really mature, Ren. Dependable… I guess that's why it's so easy to talk to you."

I smiled again, leaning back against the pillar, feeling the cool damp air brush against my skin. Then I turned my gaze to him.

"So, Tomoya," I said softly, spinning the bottle cap between my fingers. "Equivalent exchange… right?"

His brows drew together in confusion.

"Huh?"

"You asked about my private life. Now it's my turn." I smirked faintly, raising an eyebrow. "Where do you live? Here in Tokyo?"

He stared at me for a second, mouth half-open, before letting out a quiet laugh. Rubbing the back of his head, he looked away, glasses slipping down his nose.

"Ahaha… yeah, fair enough. Equivalent exchange, huh…"

He sighed, adjusting his glasses.

"I live with my parents. Just a small apartment near Nerima. Dad's an office worker, Mom works part-time at a clinic. Pretty normal life."

He paused, fingers tightening on his bag strap.

"I guess… that's why I want to make something special. Because… if I don't, my life will just stay… ordinary."

His words faded into the sound of falling rain.

I watched him quietly, feeling the breeze brush past, cool and damp against my skin.

"Nothing wrong with normal," I murmured, tilting my head back against the pillar. "But… if you want to create something special, I think you can."

He blinked, then let out a small laugh, this time with a quiet warmth.

"Coming from you… that's kinda reassuring."

I hummed softly, closing my eyes for a moment, listening to the gentle patter of rain on concrete.

"So," I continued, opening my eyes again, "why Suimei? You could've gone to a normal high school, right?"

His shoulders stiffened slightly. For a moment, he didn't answer, just staring at the edge of the roof where rainwater fell in silver threads.

"…I don't know," he finally muttered. "It's not like I had any dream or… special talent. I just… like anime, games, stuff like that."

His voice lowered, almost lost beneath the rain's soft patter.

"My parents asked what I wanted to do. I didn't really… know. So when I said Suimei… they just… agreed."

He let out a short, humourless laugh.

"Honestly, it feels selfish. Like I'm wasting their support just because of some whim."

I watched him quietly, the drizzle soaking into my hair and uniform.

"At least," I said softly, "you have parents who are willing to support even your whims."

He blinked, then turned his eyes to me. There was guilt there… but also a flicker of quiet gratitude.

"…Yeah," he whispered. "I guess… you're right."

A small smile tugged at his lips.

"And… maybe… if I came here, something extraordinary would happen."

Silence settled between us, filled only by the drizzle's quiet rhythm.

I hummed, bringing a hand to my chin in an exaggerated thinking pose.

"Extraordinary, huh…"

My lips curled into a rare, smug grin.

"Or… is it to search for a girlfriend?"

His head snapped towards me so fast his glasses nearly flew off. His entire face turned crimson.

"Wh–?! N–No, it's not like that! I mean, well, I wouldn't mind if that happened, but that's not why I'm here! I–I just want to make games, okay?! I'm serious about this!"

His flustered voice rose and fell as he waved his hands in frantic denial, glasses slipping down his nose again.

I chuckled softly, leaning back against the pillar, letting the sound of his embarrassed protests blend into the gentle hush of rain around us.

I knew befriending him might invite more trouble than peace. He's the protagonist, after all. Drama will follow him like bees to nectar.

But even so… having someone who shared even a small piece of the same loneliness I carried in my past life…

That's worth the risk.

---------------------------

But Tomoya wasn't the only person I spoke to this week.

There was Nakahara-senpai from Class 2-D, struggling to carry canvases and watercolor sets to the art room. I offered to help her, walking beside her as she hummed an unfamiliar tune.

There was Nakamoto-san from my class, whose mechanical pencil jammed in the middle of math. I fixed it quietly and handed it back, while he gaped at me like I'd just done something impossible.

Even Morishita-san, the library aide, asked if I wanted to volunteer to shelve books after noticing how carefully I handled them.

Small interactions, nothing deep or lasting. But… people remembered.

Even Kagami-sensei, our homeroom teacher, paused during roll call to look at me longer than necessary. His tired eyes narrowed a little, and he let out a quiet hum.

"Ren-kun… you're from Shizuoka, right? I think I heard about you back in middle school. You're… interesting."

Then he moved on to the next name, his voice calm and half-asleep, carrying no judgment. Just quiet curiosity.

And in this one week, outside of class, I've been… trying, too.

I started by offering to make dessert for Sakurasou's dinner one night. Sorata-senpai had blinked at me in surprise but nodded with that tired, grateful expression he often wore. Together, we made simple matcha pudding and fruit jelly cups. I noticed Mashiro-senpai watching quietly from the living room sofa, brush still in hand, her eyes flicking towards my movements in silent observation.

She didn't say anything, but when I left a small cup by her side with a quiet "Here," she ate it all without a word, returning the empty container to the kitchen later that night.

Sometimes, after dinner, Sorata-senpai would work in the common room on his illustrations and game character drafts. One evening, I quietly joined him there. I didn't say much—just settled on the opposite side of the table with my old sketchbook, flipping to a blank page.

I started drawing out what my memory offered me. Quick pencil lines formed the outline of Granny Turbo from Dandadan. I altered the proportions slightly to fit a more compact mascot design, just in case.

Next, I scribbled a rough sketch of Mash from Mashle, his simple but strong build easy to recreate even from faint memory.

Sorata-senpai glanced over between his tablet strokes. His brows rose slightly at Granny Turbo's bizarre silhouette, but he only shook his head with a tired chuckle before returning to his own draft.

On the sofa nearby, Nanami-senpai was rehearsing lines under her breath, her script propped open on her knees. I caught snippets—some romantic confession scene, it seemed, by the flushed determination on her face.

"Again… from the top…" she whispered to herself, then spoke out louder, voice clear and trembling with emotion. "I've… I've always loved you…!"

She paused, blinking rapidly, then turned to us with an embarrassed laugh.

"Ahaha… sorry, you two. Did I disturb you?"

"It's fine," Sorata-senpai said with a small smile, tapping his stylus against his tablet. "You're improving a lot."

Nanami-senpai's eyes lit up at his words. Then she turned to me, her gaze landing on my sketchbook.

"Ren-kun… what are you drawing?"

I flipped the page slightly towards her so she could see Granny Turbo's engine-charged back and Mash's blocky shoulders. Her brows shot up in surprise, then softened into an impressed smile.

"Wow… they're… unique," she said with a soft laugh, though her eyes lingered on Granny Turbo's grin with cautious curiosity. "Do you… plan to use them for something?"

"Just a hobby," I replied softly, tapping my pencil against the paper. "Game sprites are… fun to imagine. Even if I can't program them yet."

A harmless lie. But it wasn't that I couldn't program. I could. With my past life's memories, my natural intelligence, and the system feeding me concepts, coding and designing felt as easy as breathing.

That was exactly why I had to keep it hidden.

I was afraid. Afraid of what it meant to be noticed for something like that. Afraid that if everyone at Sakurasou knew, they would stop seeing me as just Ren, the quiet boy who sketched silly little sprites, and start seeing me as another genius. Another person too distant to reach, like Mashiro.

And Sorata… he was working so hard every day. Grinding his skills, pushing himself, building up his dreams piece by piece with nothing but stubborn effort. If he knew I could do the same things effortlessly, if he found out about the dozens of finished concepts sitting locked away in my head, what would happen to him?

I didn't want to see that look in his eyes. That silent, bitter frustration. I didn't want him to feel like all his struggles were pointless just because I existed.

That was my first reason.

The second was Undertale. That story needed to stay secret. If anyone knew about it before it was complete, before it reached the person it was meant for, it would lose its meaning. Its soul. 

Sometimes it made my chest tighten with guilt.

Sorata-senpai trusted me.

Sakurasou accepted me.

But it was necessary. To make Mashiro become human… to make her just Mashiro, not some unreachable genius lost in white canvases. It was a selfish hope.

But even if I had to carry that secret alone… someday, when Undertale released, and Sorata saw the change in her eyes and attitude slowly, when he connected everything back to me—

That would be a moment worth waiting for.

And someday, I would create games with my own ideas, without relying on my past life's memories or the system's help. I'd make stories that were truly mine.

And I could help Sorata's dreams too.

Sorata-senpai leaned over slightly to glance at my sketchbook. His brows rose in mild surprise.

"Pixel art, huh…" he murmured, his tone thoughtful. 

I looked up at him, catching the faint smile on his lips.

"You know, Ren… if you're interested, I might want to ask for your help someday. For illustrations… and soundtrack production too.

He chuckled softly, scratching his cheek with a hint of embarrassment.

"I mean… it's still just a vague plan for now, but… having someone like you on the team would be reassuring."

My chest tightened at his words. I felt warmth spread under my ribs, an emotion both light and unbearably heavy.

"…Yeah," I whispered, my voice almost drowned out by Nanami-senpai practicing her voice lines nearby. "Someday."

Because I would agree. Of course I would. And when that time came… Sorata-senpai would learn who I really was. Who I had been, and who I was meant to be.

But for now, he didn't know anything about that afternoon. About Undertale. About what I was truly making for Mashiro-senpai. And Mashiro… she hadn't told him either. Even though she easily could have.

I knew why she didn't.

She was protecting it. Protecting me. Protecting herself, just as I was protecting her.

Mashiro-senpai had been sitting in her usual spot by the window, brush flicking quietly across her canvas. She hadn't looked up once since I entered. But as I started sketching a small fox mascot in pixel form, stylized with oversized ears and a fluffy tail, I caught a flicker of her gaze from the corner of my eye.

She kept glancing at the drawing, then back to her canvas, as if making sure I wouldn't notice.

I paused, tore out the page carefully, and with Sorata-senpai's quiet nod of permission, stood and walked over to her.

"This might be useful for your canvas corner mascot. Or just… keep it," I said, placing the page on the small table beside her paint jars. She didn't respond, only continuing to paint with her usual silent focus.

She never said anything about it.

But she also stopped leaving the common room whenever I entered.

She never said anything about it.

One day, as I returned to the common room after getting a glass of water, I found my sketchbook lying slightly ajar on the table. Curious, I flipped it open to the page I'd left blank the night before.

There, drawn with clean, confident lines in the corner, was a small black cat in pixel form. Its ears were sharp, tail curled with a hint of mischievous life. Next to it, in faint pencil strokes, was a simple note:

"For your game too."

I looked across the room. Mashiro was already back at her canvas, brush in hand, her expression unchanging as if nothing had happened. But her shoulders seemed just a little less tense.

She didn't leave the room when I entered after that. And later, I noticed her carrying a thick manuscript binder and her manga tools back into the common room.

Nanairo Drops.

She was continuing it again.

Her quiet determination flickered with the same subdued light as always—but now, there was a faint warmth beneath it. A warmth that reminded me she was, at the core, still human. Still Mashiro.

Small gestures. Small trust.

That was enough for now.

Misaki-senpai still crashed into the dorm in a whirl of chaos, dragging Jin-senpai along like a storm with a calm eye. But that night was… different.

At Saturday night, the common room was warm with quiet chatter and the soft slap of cards on the table.

"Reverse," Nanami-senpai declared triumphantly, placing her blue card down with a grin. Sorata-senpai groaned dramatically, glaring at his dwindling hand.

Mashiro-senpai sat beside me, holding her cards close to her chest, blank as ever but peeking at Nanami's move before shifting her gaze to her own hand again. Chihiro-sensei lounged lazily on the sofa behind us, swirling her can of beer with mild interest.

I set down a +2 card. "Sorry, senpai."

Sorata-senpai glared harder, reaching for the draw pile. "You're not sorry at all."

Just as Nanami-senpai began laughing at his misery, the front door burst open with a bang loud enough to make Chihiro-sensei flinch, beer sloshing onto her fingers.

"We're hoooome~!" Misaki-senpai's slurred voice rang out, her entrance grand and unsteady.

She stumbled into the common room with flushed cheeks, her hair tousled and her cardigan slipping off one shoulder. Her eyes were glazed with tipsy delight as she waved at us with wobbly enthusiasm.

Behind her shuffled Jin-senpai, looking like he'd walked all the way back from another prefecture. His shirt was wrinkled and half untucked, hair mussed and eyes dull with exhaustion.

He had one hand wrapped firmly around Misaki-senpai's arm, steadying her before she could faceplant onto the tatami.

The entire room froze mid-game.

Nanami-senpai's grin faltered, eyes wide in shock. Sorata-senpai's hand hovered over his newly drawn cards, mouth slightly open. Even Mashiro-senpai paused, staring blankly but with her eyes just a touch wider than usual.

Chihiro-sensei blinked once, twice, before letting out a sigh that carried years of resignation.

"…I don't even want to ask," she muttered, placing her half-finished beer on the low table and rising to her feet. "Just get her inside before she throws up in the genkan."

"Understood, sensei," Jin-senpai mumbled tiredly, adjusting his grip as Misaki -senpai giggled and reached out toward our card pile with a dreamy, drunken smile.

Their arrival was chaotic, disruptive, and exhausting. But somehow, in its own messy way, it felt like… home.

Most nights, after everything quieted down, I would sit by the dim glow of my laptop, typing out Undertale's scripts or adjusting sprite frames, the ticking clock reminding me how little time remained before morning. My usual eight hours of sleep had dwindled to five. But it was worth it. Each pixel, each line of code… it all felt necessary.

And so, one week passed like that.

-------------------------

The entire first-year cohort was gathered in the auditorium that morning for club demonstrations. Rows upon rows of students sat slouched in their seats, half-awake, staring at the stage or scrolling on their phones with glassy eyes.

Tomoya sat beside me, idly flicking through his game news feed. He let out a sigh. "These things always drag on forever… I just wanna go home and grind that event quest before reset."

I smiled faintly, resting my chin on my hand. "You're not planning to join any club today?"

"Not really." He shrugged. "Probably literature club again. Easy attendance, no running laps, and I can just read or do my own stuff without the advisor caring."

I chuckled under my breath. "Sounds… efficient."

He turned his gaze to me, squinting a little. "What about you, Ren? You look pretty fit. Joining soccer? Basketball? Maybe track?"

"Track?" I raised a brow.

"Yeah, I mean… you're not exactly skinny like me." He gestured at his own scrawny arms with an embarrassed laugh. "But you're also an otaku, right? You were reading Fire Emblems novelizations the other day."

I let out a small laugh. "I don't really like sports clubs. Too strict. Too… suffocating."

"Oh." Tomoya blinked, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. I get that."

I glanced down at my closed notebook resting on my lap. My thumb traced the frayed edge absently.

Clubs, huh…

In truth, I already had my own tasks. Undertale… Mashiro… and Sakurasou itself. That was enough to fill every corner of my days.

Joining some official club felt unnecessary. It would only bind me into rules and schedules I didn't need.

If anything…

Maybe I'd just become a jack-of-all-trades helper. The type who drifts around, lending a hand to whichever club needs it that week. Music recording, digital art, event scripts, physics experiment setups…

That felt more like me.

"I'm thinking of joining the go-home club," I said quietly, resting my chin on my hand.

Tomoya turned to me with a half-shocked, half-amused expression. "Seriously? You, of all people? You're like… the mature adult type here. Feels weird for you to not join anything."

I chuckled softly, scratching my cheek. "Well… if, and I mean if, the school forces us to choose at least one club…"

"Yeah?"

"I'll pick cooking," I said simply.

His eyes widened, lighting up with a sudden excitement. "Ohhh, yes! That makes sense. I still think about that fried mackerel bento you shared last Wednesday… and the nikujaga… seriously, you could open a lunch shop."

I smiled faintly, glancing at my hands. They still smelled faintly of soy sauce from the morning prep.

Sometimes, Sorata-senpai or Nanami-senpai would see me packing extra portions into a small lunch box before school. They'd ask, half-curious, half-teasing, if I had someone waiting. I'd just nod and say, "A friend."

And each time, they'd exchange looks—subtle, but warm. As if silently acknowledging something about me I hadn't realized myself. Maybe it surprised them. A Sakurasou member having friends outside that chaotic dorm… even if it was just one person.

Tomoya's eyes widened in realization. "Cooking? Wait… isn't the cooking club mostly girls? Like, lots of girls?"

He leaned closer, whispering with a conspiratorial grin. "Man… maybe I should change my choice to cooking too…"

I sighed softly, flicking my finger against his forehead.

"Ow—! What was that for?" he yelped, rubbing the spot with a pout.

"Don't think about clubs just for girls," I said, my voice calm but firm. "If you join, do it because you want to. Otherwise, you'll just end up wasting your time… and theirs too."

Tomoya looked away sheepishly, scratching his cheek. "Yeah… yeah, I know. It's just… you know."

Before I could reply, my phone buzzed with a quiet vibration against my thigh. I glanced down. Kana.

[Kana]: Oi, Aniki. Have you called mom yet? ( ¯•ω•¯ )

I exhaled softly and typed back, my thumbs moving fast.

]Ren]: Not yet. I'll call tonight.

[Kana]: You better. She keeps asking. ( ≖_≖ )

[Kana]: And did you text dad too? He's acting all stoic as usual, but you know he worries about you even more than mom does. ( ಠ⌣ಠ )

A faint smile tugged at my lips despite myself.

]Ren]: I'll text him after this. I'm in the auditorium now.

[Kana]: Auditorium? What for? Σ(⊙ᗜ⊙)

]Ren]: Club demonstrations. Waiting to start.

[Kana]: Lol. Bet you're just sitting alone like some tragic light novel protagonist. (¬‿¬ )

I paused, blinking at the screen as her next message arrived almost immediately.

[Kana]: You do have friends, right?

[Ren]: Yes, I do have friend Kana.

[Kana]: Liar. Proof plz. (ง •̀_•́)ง

I sighed. As expected.

I looked at Tomoya, who was still rubbing his forehead, mumbling under his breath about 'violent childhood friends' in games. Without a word, I reached out, hooked my arm around his shoulders, and pulled him closer. My phone camera clicked before he could react.

"Huh—? Wait—!"

Too late. I released him just as quickly, ignoring his stunned, open-mouthed stare.

I attached the selfie—Tomoya with eyes wide like a startled goldfish, my expression as calm as ever—and sent it to Kana.

She read it almost instantly but didn't reply. I slipped the phone back into my pocket, a small chuckle escaping. I could already imagine her, sitting in her classroom, staring at her phone with her face burning red in silent screaming disbelief.

My eyes softened faintly. That's right. I'm doing fine, Kana.

Tomoya blinked rapidly, coming back to life after his short-circuited shock. "Wha… why'd you do that out of nowhere, man?!"

I lowered my phone, flicking through Kana's unread stamps with a soft exhale. "My sister wanted proof."

"Proof?" Tomoya tilted his head like a confused puppy. "Proof of what?"

"That I have friends."

His mouth dropped open. For a moment, he just stared at me, eyes wide behind his bangs. "…Wait. Hold on. You—Ren, you're calm, dependable, smart, mature, handsome, fit, responsible… You're not your stereotypical otaku, even though you don't hide it either. Why… why would you need to prove that you have friends?"

I let out a quiet laugh, tucking my phone away. Words flickered in my throat, half-formed. Before I could answer, though, a light, airy voice chimed in from Tomoya's right.

"Um… excuse me. Are these seats taken?"

The tone was polite, almost formal, but carried a bright confidence beneath it. I turned, curious.

Tomoya, however, froze instantly. His eyes widened, flicking toward the girl standing beside our row. For a split second, his mouth opened, but no words came out. His expression… it was like seeing a ghost from a memory he'd buried under stacks of game boxes and unfinished light novels.

"…That voice…" he whispered under his breath, so quietly I almost missed it.

The girl tilted her head slightly, her long twin tails shifting over her blazer. Sky-blue ribbons fluttered against golden hair as she glanced down at Tomoya with eyes that seemed both distant and sharp.

She didn't notice him staring, her attention instead flicking briefly toward me. Her gaze paused for half a second, assessing me with quiet curiosity before turning back to the empty seat.

"If not, I'll sit here," she said softly, already moving to place her bag down.

Tomoya swallowed hard, his fingers trembling slightly against his knees.

"…Eriri…?" Tomoya's voice was barely a mumble, so quiet I almost missed it.

I raised an eyebrow slightly. Sawamura Eriri Spencer. Childhood friend of Tomoya, and one of Saekano's heroines.

Tomoya's shoulders trembled faintly, his head bowed. He didn't turn around. Didn't even twitch.

I exhaled quietly. 

'This was… going to be difficult.'

Without a word, I rose from my seat and tapped his shoulder. He flinched, eyes darting up in alarm.

"Switch with me," I whispered.

His eyes widened. For a moment, it seemed he wanted to protest, but instead, his gaze shifted downward, shoulders curling inward as if trying to make himself smaller, his hands clenching.

"…Thanks," he breathed, voice small.

We exchanged seats silently. Now, I sat between them. She didn't even glance up, her posture straight and composed as she flipped through the thick Suimei school reference booklet resting neatly on her lap.

Her gaze remained focused ahead, eyes sharp and unblinking toward the stage, exuding an air of quiet diligence befitting a girl of her upbringing.

Tomoya exhaled shakily beside me, relief radiating from him in fragile waves.

I settled in, folding my hands on my lap, and studied the girl out of the corner of my eye. Long twin tails, hair like spun gold, blue ribbons tied neatly.

'So this is Sawamura Eriri Spencer. The prodigy illustrator'

She hadn't noticed him. Or maybe… she was deliberately ignoring him.

I turned back to the stage as the lights dimmed for the next club's demonstration. Beside me, Tomoya whispered, almost inaudible beneath the murmurs of the crowd.

"…Thank you, Ren."

I didn't answer, just allowed a faint smile to cross my lips as I faced forward.

'It's fine. For now… just leave this to me.'

The stage lights brightened slightly, illuminating a group preparing their performance, but my thoughts drifted elsewhere—towards a flickering pixel screen waiting in my room, a silent girl painting.

And then… back to Tomoya beside me, his shoulders trembling with every quiet breath. Another task to solve. Another broken piece to mend.

I sighed inwardly, eyes fixed on the stage as I planned my next move.

.