Rita didn't mind Nozomi's not-so-subtle glances. There was still that mischievous smile curling on her lips.
Was this just that famed "foreign openness" everyone whispered about?
Nozomi grumbled internally. No way. She was totally putting on an act.
"Miss Rita, you didn't even bother closing the door. What are you gonna do if Mashiro sees me drying your hair?"
Rita flinched. "W-Why would I want that? I just… forgot!"
Nozomi raised an eyebrow but didn't press her. He calmly stood up, walked over, and closed the door himself. Then, wordlessly, he returned to sit behind her and resumed blowing her golden locks.
Rita let out a small sigh, her eyes downcast.
"Nozomi… do you know something?" she said quietly. "No one can stay by Mashiro's side forever. She lives in a world far too high for the rest of us to reach."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"The longer you're with her, the easier it is to feel… hopeless."
Nozomi nodded slowly.
"If you're talking about Mashiro's talent in art, then yeah. It's inhuman," he admitted. "But even so, I'll never feel despair staying beside her. Because painting isn't my whole world."
Rita pouted, her lips curling downward.
"That's exactly why you don't get it!"
Nozomi chuckled softly, his fingers gently combing through her hair with a round brush.
"You've always been drawing alongside Mashiro, haven't you?" he said casually. "And you started to feel like no matter how much you improved, you'd never catch up. So, you just gave up."
Rita's shoulders trembled slightly.
"But Rita, have you ever thought—drawing isn't everything in life?"
"Even Mashiro chose to leave that world behind. She gave up pure art and decided to draw manga instead."
"She made that choice on her own. She no longer clings to a single purpose. She found a new dream." ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ Nov3lFɪre.ɴet
"So how about you? Talk to her, seriously. She's not as clueless as you think."
Rita's cheeks puffed up, and her eyes narrowed.
"Why do you talk like you know Mashiro better than I do?"
"I've been with her since we were kids! I took care of her all this time!"
Nozomi met her gaze with a soft smile. "Maybe. But maybe you've been too close to see what's really going on."
"You care about her so much that it blinded you a little, didn't it?"
Rita bit her lower lip and looked away, her eyes slightly glossy.
"Nozomi… you're annoying."
"Yeah, I hear that a lot."
"Do you… hate yourself or something?"
"Sometimes," he admitted, shrugging. "But I have people around me who care. So I've started to like myself again."
"You're so narcissistic," she muttered, pouting harder.
Nozomi just grinned and said nothing.
Eventually, he turned off the dryer and gently set the brush aside.
"Alright, Miss Rita. Your hair's all dry. Time for you to head back and get some rest."
Instead of leaving, Rita turned and stood before him.
Because he was still seated on the bed, her full, towel-clad figure stood at eye level with his face. A dangerous height, indeed.
"I'm dressed ," she said playfully, "and you're seriously letting me walk away? If it were Mashiro standing here, wouldn't you keep her?"
Nozomi waved his hand dismissively.
"You said it yourself—you're not Mashiro."
"And I'm not that arrogant. I don't think I've charmed Miss Rita enough for her to fall head over heels in one night."
"Besides… I'm not touching what I can't keep."
Rita's face flushed a deeper red.
"So just looking is okay?! You pervert!"
She turned away, clearly flustered, and her golden hair whipped across Nozomi's cheek, leaving behind the scent of jasmine shampoo.
Without another word, she dashed out the room and up to the third floor.
Nozomi watched Rita's silhouette vanish into the hallway, her golden hair swaying like sunlight caught in a breeze. He let out a quiet sigh, a mix of concern and resignation flickering in his eyes.
"I hope she figures it out soon."
She had once burned with a passion for painting, but now, all that remained was a complicated tangle of affection and envy directed at Mashiro. Without painting to anchor her, she drifted. Her fondness for Mashiro, her jealousy, and the uncertainty she felt—everything was spiraling because of one simple fact: Mashiro's emotions rarely showed on her face. That ever-serene expression made Rita question whether she even mattered to Mashiro at all.
But how could she know unless she asked?
Overthinking only leads to deeper confusion. Nozomi hoped she'd find the courage to have that conversation.
The night deepened, casting Sakurasou into a gentle hush. Moonlight filtered through the windows, silver and still.
The door to Nozomi's room opened quietly.
A warm weight suddenly pressed against him. Nozomi blinked, half in a daze, and looked down.
Standing there, cheeks flushed and smile sheepish, was Kamiigusa Misaki. Her arms wrapped around his waist with childlike ease, her face nestled against his chest. Her presence, bright and impulsive as always, brought a familiar warmth.
"Are you asleep, Nozomi?" she asked, voice soft and sweet.
Nozomi chuckled, ruffling her fluffy hair. "With you sneaking in like that? How could I be?"
He sat up a bit, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. "So, what brings my beloved senpai to my room this late at night?"
Misaki tightened her hold, swaying a little like a kid seeking comfort. "We did it, Nozomi! Magical Girl Misaki blew past all projections. The sales are insane. If this keeps up, we can start work on the anime and merchandise by next month!"
Nozomi's brows lifted, clearly impressed. "That's amazing. Though I saw some of the Twitter posts. People are furious about that ending."
Misaki let out a mischievous giggle. "Hehe~ They're threatening to hunt down the author. They said it hurt too much watching her die like that."
Nozomi smirked. "Let them cry. A powerful story needs impact. A perfect ending every time would just be boring."
"You're so evil!" Misaki laughed, covering her mouth, eyes sparkling.
"Nope," Nozomi teased, inching closer. "I'm worse."
He leaned in, his breath brushing against her skin. Misaki's eyes fluttered, cheeks blooming with a deeper red. Her heart was beating so loud, she swore he could hear it.
"M-Misaki... Want to know just how bad I am?"
She didn't move away. In fact, she leaned in closer, voice barely a whisper.
"I-I do… I want to know~"
"Then I'll show you."
Nozomi gently pulled her closer and pressed his lips against hers.
Misaki froze, then slowly melted into his arms. Her eyes slid closed, her heart soaring. The kiss was soft, almost reverent. Cherry-sweet and slow.
She remembered the first time she'd kissed him—when she was drunk and braver than usual. But this moment was different.
Now, it wasn't just impulsive emotion or kouhai-senpai affection. It was connection—real and solid.
They were more than creators of a game. More than just housemates or partners in chaos.
In that quiet, moonlit room, Misaki felt it deep in her heart. She was exactly where she wanted to be.
No words were needed. The moon shyly retreated behind the clouds.
And the night carried on, tender and still.