[ Ryokan ]

After a late lunch at the town's only ramen shop (where there were just enough stools at the counter to accommodate the five of them; and just how amazingly fortuitous were they that nobody else happened to be there, am I right?), the five women hauled their luggage across the island and checked in to the town's only ryokan, the very same place they'd stayed last time to film their TV special (because duh, where else were they going to stay?), where the proprietor of the establishment, an old lady who had been singlehandedly running every aspect of the place for over forty years—and still did—and who still, somehow, remembered the members of the FAC(T) after all these years—welcomed them in, to show them to their room (singular).

The aged wooden floorboards creaking below their slippered feet.

Passing by the entertainment room, in which sat a weathered ping pong table, a pair of Showa-era coin-operated massage chairs, the upholstery cracked and peeling, as well as an old fighting game cabinet with an Out of Order sign taped to the CRT screen. (Which, if Misaki wasn't mistaken, was there the last time she was here.)

After that, the entrance to the baths, separated by the ever so customary red and blue curtains.

And then finally, their room, the shoji sliding open, beckoning them in.

Tatami floor, fraying at several edges. Faded kotatsu in the middle of the room. An old CRT in the corner, VHS unit sitting atop it. Futons to the side, folded away neatly.

"I mean, it is all really quite clean. For a place with such a … storied history."

"Right? Right?? Obaa-chan must work really hard."

"You guys remember after the TV special, this place had a huge spike in visitors?"

"Yeah, place was booked full for the next few months."

"Oh yeah! There was the cross-promotion, where they had the cardboard cutouts of the FAC(T) set up in the rooms. I saw all the SNS posts."

(Hey.)

"Yeah, when you were ego-searching, I bet."

"What, and you don't?"

(Hey, Misaki.)

"Actually, now that you mention it … The room kinda does remind you of the club room in the anime, doesn't it?"

(Miyazwa Misaki, I'm talking to you.)

"Yeah! It does! Never noticed that before."

You should probably join the conversation, now.

"Even the tokonoma is in the same place!"

Because if you don't …

"Tsuka-chan, most tokonomas are in the same place in any room."

… then they'll ask you again.

"Hey, hey. I'm supposed to be the tsukkomi of the group."

And you don't want that, do you?

"Yes. Yes, you are. And you're somehow terrible at it in real life."

… Any minute now.

"If we're going by how mismatched our real selves are with regard to our FAC(T) counterparts, then I'd say Sasa-shi takes the cake on that one."

So say something, Misaki.

"Hmm? Did someone say cake?"

Anything.

"Not unlike Micchan. She's probably the closest to … well, Micchan. In real life, I mean."

Anything at all.

"Yup! Isn't that right, Micchan?"

"Micchan?"

"…"

"… Everything okay, Micchan?"

Ah. Shit. Too late. There it is.

The same dreaded refrain.

Miyazawa Misaki looked up from the kotatsu.

The other four faces, looking at her.

Those same worried expressions.

After a long silence, Misaki managed to force a smile.

"… Think I'm gonna go take that bath now," she said.

The others, exchanging looks.

"O-oh. Okay. … Already?"

"Yeah," said Miyazawa Misaki, rising.

"Hey, a bath would be great, we'll join you—"

But Misaki was already gone.