Chapter 6:

Tea: Would You Like Tea?

The Remake Project

Arata looked back at their hands.

That was probably the worst place he could have looked, considering that the entire problem was located there.

His hand was still firmly in Nagisa’s grip, her fingers curled around his, with the wet cloth collapsed onto the sofa beside them. Of course, she was kneeling on the couch in a position that, from any angle that did not include the last ten minutes of context, looked unbelievably difficult to explain.

Unfortunately, the other Nagisa had entered the room with exactly zero minutes of context.

…

Nagisa pulled away first.

What?

The same Nagisa who had shifted closer without asking, taken his hand without asking, and iced his knuckles without asking suddenly let go as if his skin had burnt her.

For one brief second, Nagisa looked like she had been the one to walk in on it.

Well, she was technically the person who walked in on it. That’s not how sisters work.

She grabbed the cloth from the sofa and folded it with a rushed little movement that did not fit her at all, before pressing it onto his knuckles again. The sharpness of the ice had completely disappeared. Probably because the ice had mostly disappeared, too.

What are you doing?

He looked back up at her. Her eyes were wider than before. Only slightly, but with Nagisa, slightly was enough. A minute ago, her gaze could’ve made him forget that there was a world outside of her eyes.

Well, not could’ve. That already happened.

Her face was redder, too. Easy to miss, unless you’d already been paying far too much attention to her face, which Arata unfortunately had.

Why are YOU embarrassed?

Nagisa glanced towards the doorway, then back down at his hand. She pressed the cloth more firmly over his knuckles, for some reason.

Ow—You literally started this, I’m the victim here! Eh, victim might be dramatic. Participant? No, participant implies consent. Witness? Injured party? Actually, victim is the most accurate description.

“S-Sister Nagisa!”

‘Sister Nagisa’? Is she a nun?

“What, Ibuki?” Nagisa said.

What do you mean, ‘what’?

“W-What do you mean, ‘what’!?”

That’s what I’m saying!

“Why are you kneeling like that!? Why is he sitting there!? Why are you holding his hand!? Why is your face like that!? Why is his face like that!?”

Ouch.

“Actually, WH-WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” She jabbed her finger at him again.

Why did you say it like that? What’s wrong with me? What did I do wrong?

Nagisa looked down at the cloth, then back up at Ibuki.

Whatever, she’ll find a way to make this whole ordeal sound completely normal.

“Well, you see,”

Why the fuck are you talking like that now!?

“his knuckles were swollen, and they were turning red, so I brought ice. The cloth slipped because you came in suddenly, that’s all. I wasn’t doing anything strange. I was just cooling the bruise down before it got worse.”

I’d much prefer if you spoke to me like that instead of treating me like a dog, but okay.

Ibuki did not look reassured.

“T-Then why are you talking like that?”

I said that too!

Nagisa blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you… Like you rehearsed it!”

“I’m explaining, aren’t I?”

“You don’t explain like that!”

Nagisa shrugged. “Maybe.”

Ibuki’s mouth stayed open.

“And why are you kneeling like that!?”

Nagisa glanced down, as if her own posture had somehow betrayed her. “It was easier.”

“Easier for what?!”

“His hand.”

“Then why does it look like something ELSE?”

Nagisa looked back up. “What does it look like?”

Ibuki froze.

Are you fucking dense? Why are you asking her that?

No response.

That was the wisest thing she had done since entering the room. Well, that lasted until she tried to answer.

Her eyes kept flicking between Nagisa’s face, Nagisa’s knees, Arata’s hand, the cloth, the sofa, the empty space between them (which wasn’t much), the wall, the other wall, the floor, the third wall I forgot to mention, then back to Nagisa’s face.

Do NOT answer that. Seriously, don’t answer that. Isn’t that right, Sister Ibuki? Sister. Why ‘Sister’, exactly? Is it a respect thing? A nun thing? Are they all nuns? God, this nun thing again?

“I-It looks like…” Ibuki began.

No.

“Like you were…”

Stop it.

“I came downstairs and found you kneeling in front of a boy! W-What else could it look like!?” Ibuki squeezed her eyes shut as she spoke.

Arata’s soul left his body for a moment, examined the room from above, decided that the situation down there had become unsalvageable, and briefly considered not returning.

Unfortunately, it did return.

Do NOT say it like that. She’s not in front of me, she’s BESIDE me. Beside means next to. Hell, this isn’t even my fault. You’re the one who walked in with such an… impure interpretation.

Nagisa stared at her. “Kneeling in front of a boy?”

Don’t repeat it!

“D-Don’t repeat it!”

“Hm…” Nagisa looked down again. “I was cooling his hand.”

“Yes, you said that!”

“His knuckles were swollen.”

“You said that too!”

“And the cloth slipped.”

“You also said that!”

“Then I’ve explained.”

…

Ibuki inhaled and straightened.

“I-I apologise for entering without warning.” She bowed.

“No, wait—” She snapped up with alarming speed. “I do not apologise! This is my house! Sister, what exactly are you doing?!”

How many times are we going to do this?

“I told you.”

“You told me his hand was injured, but that does not explain why you were doing it like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like—like that!” Ibuki pointed at the entire arrangement, which absolutely did not clear anything up.

“That isn’t an explanation.”

“I know that isn’t! That’s why I’m asking you!”

“What?”

…

You guys suck at communication, by the way. Even I’m better than that.

…

“I-I have been terribly rude. Please forgive my outburst. My name is Shiraishi Ibuki. I am the fourth daughter of the Shiraishi household.”

“Fifth.”

Ibuki’s eye twitched.

“I am the fourth daughter of the Shiraishi household. It is… it is good to meet you!” She bowed once more.

Can you stop with the bowing? I don’t plan on bowing to you, you know.

“It’s Kurosawa,” he told the top of her head.

She lifted her head, her eye twitching again. “A-And you are?”

“Pardon?”

…

“I said, my name is—”
“—He’s the tutor,” Nagisa said, somehow sounding like she was rolling her eyes.

Ibuki went still.

“The tutor?”

I’m not a tutor.

Ibuki clasped her hands in front of her skirt. “Oh.”

Her fingers tightened. “Okay.”

“That’s you.”

You look so disappointed. What, were you expecting some 10/10 light-novel pretty boy?

Ibuki noticed him noticing.

“I-I apologise,” she said quickly. “That was rude of me.”

Yes. Extremely rude.

“I did not mean to imply that your presence was…” She looked away. “Unfortunate. In any capacity. S-Sorry.”

Arata did not respond.

…

Her fingers loosened. “Um… Would you like tea? I-I can prepare some, it won’t take long…” Ibuki was looking at him properly again, though her stare was definitely too intense.

“I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“It is no trouble! I shall prepare some for us.” She turned around sharply.

Why the hell did you even ask me, then?

“Ah!” Ibuki clasped her hands together with a small clap. She slowly turned back to him. “Since we’re having tea, this would be a wonderful opportunity to introduce you to the rest of the family.”

You clearly had that scripted.

“Sister Nagisa, please call them down!” She turned rigidly to Nagisa.

Ibuki then remembered that Nagisa was still, in fact, kneeling in front—

Beside.

—beside a boy.

Nagisa launched herself to a more respectable distance. It was an impressive move, but it would’ve been more dignified if she hadn’t knocked into Arata’s thigh in the process.

Rude.

“Thank you, Sister.”

…

“Sister.” Ibuki cleared her throat. “Please call them down.”

Nagisa nodded, tossed the cloth onto the low table, and swiftly left the room.

Ibuki let out a sigh of relief. Then her eyes landed on Arata.

“Ah—”

She shut her eyes and smiled widely, her teeth showing.

“I-I shall prepare the tea!”

Creepy.

She power-walked out of the living room, opening the door on the left.

…

She then turned around and opened a different door, one to the right.

She left both doors open.

Rude.

The kitchen looked into the living room over a long built-in counter, leaving Ibuki partly visible from the couch. Her back was turned, and she seemed to be doing something with her hands. Probably preparing the tea.

No shit.

________

A dull thud came from the kitchen.

Arata tilted his right ear towards it, because apparently, that would help him hear better.

No screaming, no crashing, no sound of broken glass… Alright. Not my issue then.

He lay down on the admittedly comfortable couch, cold wet spot and all, and began to stare at the ceiling. There’s no need for an internal monologue here, because all of his thoughts were extremely boring.

…

A thing got placed down a bit too forcefully in the kitchen. Another thing rolled in a tightening wobble, rattling faster and faster until it finally settled flat. A gasp.

Are you really just making tea?

Some more sounds, this time from upstairs.

A voice, calm and collected.

Another voice, neither calm nor collected.

He continued to stare at the ceiling. He didn’t even bother tilting his ear this time.

Making out actual words from where he was would have been impossible, obviously. The living room was downstairs, and the voices were upstairs. This would have been a very convincing argument if he had not already done exactly that earlier.

…

He closed his eyes.

That’s Homura, I’m sure of it.

Moments later, the staircase received its usual, painful punishment. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Easy.

The footsteps stopped just outside the living room.

“Why’s the door open?”

Why do you LOVE asking that question so much? This is, what, the third time? And what’s the point of asking why an inanimate object is open? Are you magically going to find an answer like that? Is this what I’ll be dealing with for the next who knows how long? Are you going to point at doors all day like a Sims character and ask—

“Get your feet off the couch.”

She was now standing directly across from him in the doorway, arms crossed. For some reason, she had changed into a different outfit. A dark-red hoodie with the hood up, and a pair of black trousers. Such clothing did not appear to suit her, but that seemed to be the point.

Arata stopped.

Very, very annoying.

She was completely correct. No doubt about it.

He sat up and got his legs off the couch. “Sorry.”

Homura stared at him for a few more seconds. It was unclear whether she had accepted his apology or not. Probably not.

“Why are you still here?”

Arata blinked.

As in, generally speaking, or just, why am I still in the living room? Probably both, right? Right.

“The school thing.”

“Huh?”

Oh no. I’m gonna have to say it, won’t I?

Ugh, fine.

“I’m the tutor.”

Homura looked him up and down. “You?”

“Yeah. Me.” He tapped his own chest. Not quite theatrically, but close enough.

…

“Nagisa let you in?”

This again? And what does that question even mean?

“Of course she let a guy in,” Homura muttered.

“No one said that.” He crossed his arms and settled back against the sofa.

“Then don’t get near her.” She pointed at him without stepping into the room.

Tell that to her, not me!

“Got it?” She leaned forward slightly.

He gave her one shallow nod.

Homura’s eyes did not leave him, nor did she move away.

Something shifted behind her.

Fingers curled around the doorway, then a shoulder poked out. Then half of a face.

She was different from Homura. No, not in looks. For some reason, this house really liked using Ctrl+C and Ctrl+V. However, her one visible eye did not have Homura’s fire.

I wonder if you caught that.

The girl’s shoulder was tucked in, her chin was slightly lowered, and it was as if she was using the doorframe as cover.

A-ha. There’s the one I imagined.

For someone who had spent most of his life being irritated by other people’s assumptions, it wasn’t a great start.

“Is… is he here?”

Are you blind?

“I’m here.” Arata sat up straight and put his hands on his lap.

“H-Hi.” She smiled. Well, she tried to, but it looked a little strained.

“Good evening.” Arata put one leg over the other.

That was too much. I sound like a therapist.

“You’re here to help us, right?”

That sounds like a question you’d ask a therapist.

But help? Hmm…

Arata blinked.

Normally, this would be the point where I’d spend an unnecessary amount of time deciding whether the word help was technically accurate, but I’ve now come to the realisation that I should probably just say something and move on.

…

He sighed.

“I suppose.”

Somehow, that appeared to have worked. The girl’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and she loosened her grip on the doorframe. “That’s good.” Her smile seemed a little less strained than before.

Arata wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

…

“Um… what’s your name?” She took a step into the living room. Homura reached out to stop her from entering the apparent living space of a cockroach, but it was too late.

“Kurosawa.” He stood up and adjusted his shirt. Stand up when you’re spoken to; that’s just manners.

“Kurosawa… Kurosawa…”

She kept repeating it, her voice getting quieter each time. Her gaze had drifted somewhere else entirely.

“…san?” Her eyes snapped back to him.

Why are you saying it like you’re answering a test question?

“That works.”

She nodded.

…

Okay, you can leave now. This is getting awkward.

As expected, no one moved.

“Well, what’s your name?”

“The tea is ready!” Ibuki called from the kitchen. “Everyone, please come to the dining room!”