Chapter 133: The Sound of Silence (and Internal Screaming)

The silence in the apartment is not peaceful. It is the heavy, oppressive silence of a horror movie right before the jump scare. Rina is acting completely, terrifyingly normal. She hums as she makes breakfast (a balanced, nutritious meal I do not deserve). She asks about my "study session" with Kenji (a lie I foolishly stick to) with polite, sisterly interest. She does not yell. She does not glare. She does not subtly poison my miso soup. It is the most terrifying thing she has ever done.

My brain is running a thousand different catastrophe simulations. Simulation A: She knows. She tracked my phone. She has photographic evidence. She is currently lacing my coffee with a slow-acting muscle relaxant before revealing everything at the next family gathering. Simulation B: She suspects. She does not have proof, but her sisterly intuition is screaming betrayal. She is playing the long game, gathering evidence, waiting for me to slip up. Simulation C: She actually believes my pathetic lie about studying with Kenji all night. (Probability: Approximately 0.0001%).

"You are quiet this morning, Onii-chan," Rina observes cheerfully, placing a perfectly arranged plate in front of me. "Did you not sleep well? Cramming too hard?" Her eyes hold a look of innocent concern that I am 99% sure is fake.

"Slept okay," I mumble, cautiously taking a bite of tamagoyaki. It tastes delicious. Deceptively delicious. "Just… tired. Big project."

"Ah, the literature project!" she says brightly. "With Matsuki-san, right? How is that going? Did you two make lots of progress during your respective study sessions?" The emphasis is subtle, but it hits me like a freight train. She knows I was not with Kenji. Does she know where I was?

"It is going fine," I say, trying to keep my voice even. "Almost done."

The rest of the morning passes in this state of high-alert, low-key panic. Every normal interaction feels loaded with hidden meaning. Every cheerful comment feels like a veiled threat. I feel like a prisoner on death row being offered an unexpectedly nice final meal.

Walking to school is torture. Rina walks beside me, chatting about mundane things – a new song she likes, a funny thing that happened at the Cosplay Club – but I cannot relax. I keep expecting her to suddenly stop, grab me by the collar, and demand to know why I smell faintly of Aiwa's vanilla-scented apartment.

When we arrive at school, Kenji immediately rushes over, his face a mask of frantic concern. "Dude! Are you okay?!" he whisper-shouts, pulling me aside. "Rina called me last night, asking where our 'study session' was! I had to improvise like crazy! I told her we were at the 24-hour manga cafe, deep-diving into the philosophical undertones of 'Magical Mecha Poodle Force'! Did she buy it?!"

"I have no idea," I whisper back, my stomach twisting into a knot. "She is acting weird. Calm. Too calm."

Kenji pales. "Oh no. That is the worst kind. That is the calm before the 'I burn all your limited-edition figures' storm. We are doomed."

Haruka joins us, having clearly been briefed by Rina earlier. She gives me a cool, appraising look. "Survived the night, Rui-kun?" she asks, her voice laced with a knowing amusement. "You look… haunted."

"Just tired," I insist, trying to project an aura of nonchalance that is utterly unconvincing.

Aiwa arrives, and the awkwardness intensifies. She gives me a brief, hesitant smile, her cheeks flushing pink, before quickly looking away. Rina and Haruka immediately stiffen, their "Rui Surveillance Mode" activating.

The entire morning is a tightrope walk over a pit of social crocodiles. Rina maintains her terrifyingly pleasant facade. Haruka observes everything with the cool detachment of a wildlife documentarian studying particularly stupid prey. Aiwa alternates between shy avoidance and hesitant smiles directed at me. Kenji keeps trying to give me coded warnings using only hand gestures related to obscure anime. And I am just trying not to spontaneously combust from sheer, unadulterated anxiety. The silence from Rina is deafening, and my internal screaming is reaching operatic levels.