The student cafeteria wasn’t as crowded as I’d expected.
Maybe it was the high prices, or maybe the staggered class schedules kept the lunch rush from hitting all at once. Either way, I was thankful—fewer people meant fewer eyes on this awkwardly mismatched group.
"You two are roommates? That’s kind of rare, isn’t it? I heard most early arrivals get scattered across different buildings."
Ryen’s voice carried a light, friendly curiosity as he looked between me and Leona.
"Right?" Leona chimed in cheerfully, already halfway through her tray. "We didn’t plan it or anything, but it just worked out that way."
As expected, Ryen was easygoing, the type who could spark a conversation with a rock if left alone long enough. He kept the conversation flowing, bouncing between questions about classes, dorm life, and what food was worth trying.
Leona matched his energy effortlessly, smiling and chatting like she was catching up with an old friend instead of meeting the protagonist of a novel for the first time.
Even Nora chipped in here and there, mostly quiet but adding a comment or laugh when Ryen nudged her into the conversation.
And me?
I was too emotionally compromised by grilled eggplant to form a coherent sentence.
I’d picked it up without thinking, expecting that same soggy, slimy texture that haunted my childhood memories at the orphanage.
But no.
This was different.
It was grilled—crispy at the edges, soft in the center, and paired with a sauce that had just the right kick of spice and tang.
It was so good I nearly forgot my name.
How had I gone this long thinking eggplant was some kind of punishment disguised as food?
The conversation around me became background noise as I stared down at my plate in quiet revelation.
Why had people been steaming it into mush all this time?
Who started that trend?
They needed to be arrested.
I glanced up for a moment, just long enough to realize Ryen had asked me a question I hadn’t heard, and three pairs of eyes were now focused on me.
I blinked.
"...Huh?"
Leona snorted into her drink, and even Nora raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.
Ryen just smiled, entirely unbothered. "You really are quiet, huh? Lost in thought?"
I looked down at the eggplant, then back at them.
"Yeah. I just... learned something important."
Ryen laughed like I’d said something profound.
Leona grinned at me with a raised brow. "Let me guess—grilled eggplant?"
"...Maybe."
She laughed again, and for the first time since sitting down, I didn’t feel like I was on the verge of dying from secondhand tension.
Still, I made a mental note:
Next time, skip the protagonist’s lunch invite.
But keep the eggplant.
At least the tension that had been coiling around my shoulders finally loosened. For now.
"Ah!"
Leona suddenly made a small noise beside me, snapping me out of my peaceful eggplant moment.
I turned to her. "What is it?"
She gave me a sheepish smile. "Well... I can’t eat cherry tomatoes. I don’t like them."
Ah, shit.
My head snapped toward Ryen just as he tilted his own toward Leona, spoon already in hand like a knight preparing for battle.
"You really don’t like them? Well then..."
He reached for his spiky spoon.
Oh no.
I knew this scene. This was that moment from the original story—where Ryen, trying to be considerate, offered to eat Leona’s cherry tomatoes for her.
What he thought was an act of kindness turned into a landmine.
Readers roasted him. Nora glared daggers at him. Leona, who hated physical contact, felt awkward. It tanked his goodwill with both of them.
And now, it was happening right in front of me.
"Ryen!" I blurted before I could stop myself.
He froze mid-spoon reach. "Huh? What? What is it?"
"What are you doing after lunch?"
He blinked. "Uh... probably gonna hit the gym for a bit. Light workout before class."
"Really? Let’s go together. I’ve been meaning to stretch out a bit too."
He looked surprised but smiled. "Yeah? Sounds good."
Thank God.
As I spoke, I caught Leona quietly plucking the cherry tomatoes off her plate—and dropping them on mine.
Seriously? This was the solution?
I sighed. "Alright, sure. Let’s do it."
Ryen nodded, completely unaware of the cherry tomato drama he narrowly avoided.
Of course, now I had another problem.
There they were. Four cherry tomatoes. Sitting smugly on my plate like ticking time bombs.
I glanced up.
Both girls were staring at me.
"Heh," Nora muttered.
"Hehehe," Leona giggled under her breath.
Their expressions said it all—mischief, judgment, amusement.
Ryen, meanwhile, looked slightly confused as he glanced toward Leona’s plate.
"Wait, didn’t you have—"
But by then it was too late.
Gone. Tomatoes: relocated.
Because of that crafty fox.
I narrowed my eyes at Leona, who gave me an innocent smile, as if she hadn’t just dumped her food-related trauma onto my plate.
Damn it. I hated cherry tomatoes too.
As I weighed my options—eat them and suffer, or leave them and face possible karmic wrath—I heard Nora murmur beside me.
"You’re quite quick-witted."
Her voice was cool, but there was a glint of approval buried somewhere in there.
"Yes, he’s quick-witted~" Leona chimed in, teasingly.
Yeah, yeah. I helped you both avoid a scene. You’re welcome.
But would it have killed either of you to eat your own damn tomatoes?
I stared at the four red spheres of betrayal on my plate.
Could I just... leave them?
No.
I really couldn’t.
Not just because I didn’t want to offend anyone, but because I remembered a minor character from later in the story—a half-baked villain, maybe a hero, I forgot—but his ability was literally based on uneaten food. Something about resentment of waste gathering into curses.
I wasn’t about to risk that.
Sighing, I grabbed my fork.
"You win this time," I muttered under my breath.
And I took a bite.
Instantly, regret.
Why the hell did cherry tomatoes have to burst like that?