Chapter 22
The weekend arrived quietly, which was suspicious because quiet things in ANHS usually meant someone was planning something behind a polite smile.
This time, it was Kikyo.
She had chosen her room for the trial date.
No cafeteria audience, no support table commentary, no Pengu somehow gaining legal authority, no Honami smiling like warm poison, no Kei touching her necklace every three minutes, no Arisu turning seating into warfare, and no Ai converting feelings into data charts.
Just a stay-the-room bonding date.
Cooking.
Movies.
Popcorn.
And, most importantly, no masks.
When Kiyotaka arrived at her door, he was carrying a teddy bear.
Kikyo opened the door in casual clothes, hair loosely tied, expression already stripped of its angelic sweetness.
Her room behind her looked like a soft pastel explosion.
Plushies lined the shelves. A round rabbit sat on her pillow.
A tiny cat plush guarded the desk. A bear with a ribbon rested near the window.
Everything looked cute enough to make her public angel image seem honest.
Which was hilarious, because Kikyo herself was staring at Kiyotaka like she wanted to verbally dissect him for sport.
Then her eyes dropped to the teddy bear in his hands.
It was not cute.
It was dark brown, with one eyebrow sewn lower than the other, a tiny black cape, and a face that looked like it had been banned from three kingdoms for tax fraud.
Kikyo stared.
Kiyotaka held it up.
"I brought a gift."
Her lips twitched. "That thing looks like it sells cursed contracts behind the convenience store."
"It reminded me of you."
Kikyo's smile sharpened immediately. "You came to my room and started with a death wish."
"I said it reminded me of your real personality."
"That is not better."
"It's more accurate."
She took the bear from him and examined it. The teddy's tiny cape flopped dramatically over her hand.
After three seconds, Kikyo hugged it to her chest.
"I hate that I like him."
Kiyotaka looked around the room. "Your room is different from your personality."
Kikyo stepped aside and let him in. "That's what idiots think."
"You like cute things."
"I like cute things because they're cute. That doesn't mean I'm secretly sunshine wrapped in friendship coupons."
"I didn't say that."
"You were thinking it with that dead aquarium face."
"My face is neutral."
"Your face looks like boredom learned martial arts."
Kiyotaka entered, his expression flat, eyes calm and almost lifeless.
Without the playful Project EDEN mask, he looked colder, sharper, and far more unsettling.
There was no cafeteria grin, no handsome teasing warmth made for public reactions.
This version of him felt quiet in the wrong way, the kind of quiet that made the room seem smaller around him.
Kikyo loved that more than she wanted to admit.
She closed the door and placed the villain teddy on her bed beside the rabbit plush.
The teddy looked like it had conquered the rabbit's homeland.
Kikyo pointed at it. "His name is Baron Murderfluff."
Kiyotaka blinked once. "That was quick."
"He has villain nobility."
"He looks unemployed."
"He looks like you after someone asks you to show emotion."
Kiyotaka looked at the bear. "Then he deserves respect."
Kikyo laughed, sharp and real. No angel giggle. No perfect tone. Just her actual laugh, pretty in the way broken glass could be pretty under moonlight.
Kiyotaka looked at her.
She noticed. "What?"
"Your real laugh is better."
Her face heated for half a second before she clicked her tongue and turned toward the kitchen counter. "Disgusting. Don't compliment me before we cook. I might drop the knife and blame you."
"You'd blame me either way."
"Correct. You're learning."
The plan was simple: cook together, make popcorn, watch movies, eat dinner later, and insult anything romantic enough to offend their mutual taste.
Kikyo had already prepared ingredients on the counter. Rice. Eggs. vegetables. Chicken. A small pack of curry roux. She had also prepared two aprons.
One was plain.
One had a smiling bunny holding a carrot.
Kikyo handed Kiyotaka the bunny apron.
He stared at it.
She smiled with open venom. "Wear it, corpse prince."
"The rabbit looks too trusting."
"That's why I gave it to you. I want the contrast."
Kiyotaka put it on without complaint.
Kikyo stared.
Then she pressed a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking.
He looked at her with that empty expression while wearing a bunny apron in a room full of plushies, holding a knife beside chopped onions, and somehow still looked more dangerous than most boys did in a fight.
"You look horrible," she said lovingly.
"You look pleased."
"I am. This is emotional compensation for having to tolerate your face."
"My face?"
"Yes. It causes unnecessary problems."
Kiyotaka began cutting vegetables with frightening precision. "Your angel mask causes more."
Kikyo's smile changed.
There it was. The line. He never insulted her real self. Only the mask.
Every time he aimed at the angel, it felt less like mockery and more like he was peeling something suffocating off her skin.
"My angel mask is beloved," she said.
"By people with poor survival instincts."
"It gets me information."
"It also makes you look like a customer service demon."
Kikyo nearly dropped the spoon from laughing.
"Customer service demon?"
"You smile like someone saying 'have a nice day' while memorizing their enemy's address."
She leaned against the counter, laughing into her hand. "You're awful."
"You invited me."
"I invited you because I wanted a relaxing bonding date."
"You gave me a villain bear and a bunny apron."
"That is my version of relaxing."
Kiyotaka glanced at the villain teddy on the bed. "Baron Murderfluff understands."
Kikyo followed his gaze. "Don't use my bear against me."
"You accepted him quickly."
"He has charisma. Unlike your dead fish eyes."
Kiyotaka's hands paused briefly over the cutting board. "You like my eyes."
Kikyo's face warmed.
The knife in her hand lowered slowly.
"That is a disgusting accusation."
"You didn't deny it."
"I'm busy cooking."
"You're holding a spoon."
"I'm emotionally cooking."
He looked at her.
She looked back.
Then Kikyo smiled, real and venomous. "Fine. Your eyes are attractive in a 'this man knows where the bodies are buried' way."
"I don't bury bodies."
"See? That answer made it worse."
They cooked like that, shoulder to shoulder, trading insults as easily as breathing.
Kikyo stirred the curry while muttering that Kiyotaka cut carrots like he was preparing classified evidence.
Kiyotaka said her spice measurements were less fake than her public smile, which made her threaten to season his portion with hatred.
He replied that hatred had better flavor than her angel voice.
She called him a beautiful corpse.
He called her halo defective.
She told him he had the emotional warmth of a locked basement.
He said her real personality had more warmth than her fake one because at least it was alive.
That shut her up for three seconds.
Only three.
Then she shoved a small piece of carrot toward his mouth with the spoon.
"Taste this, basement prince."
He accepted it calmly.
Kikyo's cheeks colored despite herself.
He chewed, then nodded. "Good."
"That's all?"
"It tastes like you cooked it while angry."
"That's a compliment."
"Yes."
She looked away, stirring harder than necessary. "You say nice things like you're hiding knives inside them."
"You do the same."
"I do it better."
"You do it louder."
Her eyes narrowed. "I can still ruin your curry."
"You won't."
"Why?"
"You care about doing it well."
Kikyo's grip on the spoon tightened.
That was the annoying thing about Kiyotaka. His dead voice made compliments sound unavoidable, like facts nailed to the wall.
"You're lucky I like your terrible face," she muttered.
"I know."
"I didn't say that confidently for your benefit."
"I accepted it anyway."
The curry finished warm and fragrant, and the rice came out soft enough for Kikyo to declare herself superior to every cafeteria worker on campus. Kiyotaka said her arrogance had seasoning. She told him his praise needed therapy.
They ate at the low table, sitting close but not too close at first. Kikyo's room lights were softer now, the plushies watching from every corner like a cute jury. Baron Murderfluff sat on the bed, cape crooked, looking like he approved of the darkness.
Kikyo took a bite of curry and hummed. "I'm amazing."
"You followed a basic recipe."
"I elevated it."
"With anger."
"With personality."
Kiyotaka tasted his portion. "It's good."
"You're still reviewing food like a prison inspector."
"The curry is better than your angel act."
She paused, spoon near her lips.
Then smiled slowly.
"Careful. If you keep insulting her, I might start thinking you prefer me."
"I do."
The spoon stopped.
Kikyo looked at him.
He was still wearing that bored, frightening expression, bunny apron folded beside him now, dead eyes fixed on her like he had said something ordinary.
Her throat tightened.
"You're supposed to say things like that with more emotion."
"I meant it."
"That is not the problem."
"What is?"
"You look like a haunted statue and still make it sound romantic."
Kiyotaka looked at her bowl. "Eat before it gets cold."
Kikyo scoffed, but her smile would not leave.
After the meal, they made popcorn.
Freshly made. Warm. Slightly buttery. Poured into one large bowl because Kikyo insisted separate bowls were "for cowards and people with trust issues."
Kiyotaka looked at her.
She clicked her tongue. "Don't analyze me."
"You gave us one bowl."
"It's efficient."
"That's my word."
"I stole it. Suffer."
They sat on the couch with the popcorn bowl between them at first. The first movie was a romance Kikyo chose specifically because the trailer looked unbearable.
The opening scene showed a beautiful couple meeting under falling cherry blossoms.
Kikyo grabbed popcorn. "Nobody meets like that unless the trees are being paid."
Kiyotaka took some popcorn from the same bowl. "The male lead is already lying."
"He said one sentence."
"His collar moved."
"Your romance analysis sounds like police interrogation."
"The heroine trusts too easily."
"She smiled at a stranger under suspiciously funded trees. Of course she trusts too easily."
They ate from the same bowl, hands occasionally brushing in the popcorn. The first time it happened, Kikyo ignored it. The second time, Kiyotaka looked at her. The third time, she grabbed his hand under the excuse of stealing popcorn from his side.
He looked down.
She did not let go.
"What?" she said.
"You're holding my hand."
"I'm preventing you from stealing the best pieces."
"Popcorn doesn't have best pieces."
"Spoken like a man who has never deserved joy."
His fingers shifted, sliding more naturally around hers.
Kikyo's voice caught for half a breath.
Kiyotaka noticed, of course.
"You're quiet."
"I'm watching the movie."
"The heroine is currently crying into a mailbox."
"I'm appreciating art."
"You called her a decorative onion two minutes ago."
"She grew on me."
"No, she cried near stationery and you got distracted."
Kikyo glared at him, but she did not remove her hand.
The movie continued, and so did their commentary.
The couple on-screen held hands in the rain.
Kikyo made a disgusted sound. "Terrible umbrella management."
Kiyotaka nodded. "He angled it toward himself. Selfish."
"He's supposed to be romantic."
"He's keeping seventy percent of the umbrella."
"Seventy-two," Kikyo said.
Kiyotaka looked at her.
She smiled. "I can calculate selfishness too."
"Good."
"Don't praise me."
"You like it."
"I like insults better."
"Your angel mask likes praise."
"My angel mask is a greedy little parasite."
"Your real self is better at receiving insults."
Kikyo's fingers tightened around his.
"And compliments?"
Kiyotaka looked at her, empty eyes calm.
"Only from people you trust."
The room quieted.
The movie kept playing, but neither of them cared for a few seconds.
Kikyo looked at their hands.
No cafeteria noise. No classmates. No need to smile sweetly until her face hurt. Just Kiyotaka sitting beside her, scary and bored-looking, saying things that made her real self feel less like a monster hiding in a pretty dress.
She hated how good it felt.
So she threw popcorn at his shoulder.
He caught it.
Of course.
"You're annoying," she said.
"You're predictable when flustered."
"I am not flustered."
"You attacked me with corn."
"With dignity."
"Baron Murderfluff is judging you."
Kikyo glanced at the villain teddy on the bed. "He supports me."
"He looks disappointed."
"He looks proud."
"He has one eyebrow. Interpretation is limited."
She laughed again, leaning slightly toward him. Her shoulder brushed his.
This time, neither commented.
The second movie was a romantic comedy.
They disagreed with almost every decision the characters made.
Kikyo accused the heroine of having the survival instincts of wet tissue.
Kiyotaka said the male lead's confession plan had the tactical depth of Yamauchi asking a girl for notes.
Kikyo said the rival girl deserved better writing.
Kiyotaka said the plot depended on everyone being allergic to honest conversation.
Kikyo lifted the popcorn bowl slightly. "If we were in this movie, we'd ruin it."
"We would solve the misunderstanding in ten minutes."
"Then insult the couple for the remaining hour."
"Efficient."
"Stop making that word sound attractive."
"You stole it earlier."
"Because it sounded better when I said it."
Kiyotaka's thumb brushed gently over the back of her hand.
Kikyo went still.
Her eyes remained on the movie, but her real attention had collapsed into that one small movement.
He did it again.
Soft. Casual. Innocent.
Completely devastating.
"You're doing that on purpose," she muttered.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You haven't let go."
"That's not an answer."
"It's enough."
Her cheeks warmed.
"You're a corpse with unfair hands."
"That's a new insult."
"It's a compliment wearing black."
He looked at her.
She looked back, maskless and annoyed and warm.
Then both of them looked away at the same time.
The third movie was supposed to be darker, a thriller with a romantic subplot.
Kikyo chose it because she claimed she needed "less glitter and more questionable motives.
" They watched while eating the last of the popcorn from the shared bowl, still holding hands.
When the detective character flirted with the suspect, Kikyo scoffed.
"Finally. Romance with a threat level."
Kiyotaka nodded. "More realistic."
"That says something horrible about us."
"Yes."
"Good."
The thriller's couple had better chemistry, which irritated Kikyo because she could not insult them as easily. Kiyotaka solved the twist early, and Kikyo accused him of ruining joy. He said joy was not dependent on ignorance. She called that the most corpse-like sentence of the night.
Later, they made dinner together.
Simple fried rice with leftover vegetables, eggs, and small pieces of chicken. Kikyo took charge this time, claiming Kiyotaka's cutting precision had "made the ingredients feel interrogated." He stood beside her and dried dishes while she cooked.
The room smelled warm again.
Cute plushies watched from the bed and shelves.
Baron Murderfluff now sat beside the rabbit, looking less like a conqueror and more like a villain slowly learning friendship against his will.
Kikyo glanced at them. "He fits my room."
Kiyotaka followed her gaze. "He looks less evil now."
"Don't insult his growth."
"You like villain characters."
"I like cute villains."
"That explains why you invited me."
She nearly dropped the spatula.
Then she turned with a smile full of venom and warmth. "You calling yourself cute?"
"No. I said villain."
"I heard cute."
"You wanted to."
"I will throw rice at you."
"That would waste dinner."
"I'll throw emotional rice."
"You already did."
Kikyo laughed, then looked down at the pan.
"You know," she said more quietly, "I really do like cute things."
"I noticed."
"People think it's part of the mask."
"It isn't."
She stirred the rice slowly. "No. I liked them before the mask got so heavy."
Kiyotaka said nothing.
That silence was better than pity.
Kikyo kept speaking because his silence did not push her away.
"Cute things don't ask questions. They don't care if I'm nice or awful. They don't care if my smile is fake. They just sit there and look stupidly soft."
Kiyotaka looked at the plush-covered room.
"Then this room is honest."
Kikyo's hand stopped.
She turned toward him.
His expression was still flat, still scary, still almost bored. But the words were gentle in a way only he could make sound dangerous.
She swallowed.
"You're really good at saying things that make me want to insult you less."
"That sounds inconvenient."
"It is."
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Kikyo looked away, face warm.
Kiyotaka did not tease her.
That made it even worse.
They ate dinner at the table while the final movie played softly in the background.
This time, they did not comment as much.
The fried rice was good, and Kikyo announced it was superior because she made it.
Kiyotaka said her pride improved the flavor.
She told him his deadpan praise had finally evolved from prison inspector to mildly haunted food critic.
He accepted the promotion.
After dinner, they returned to the couch.
The popcorn bowl was empty now, but still sitting between them like evidence. Kikyo moved it to the table without saying anything, making the space between them smaller.
Kiyotaka looked at the empty space.
Kikyo glared. "Don't comment."
"I didn't."
"You were about to."
"I was observing."
"I hate that word."
"You use it too."
"I use it with style."
He looked at her.
Then held out his hand.
No teasing line. No dare. No audience.
Kikyo stared at it.
Her real smile slowly appeared.
"Bold for a corpse."
"You moved the bowl."
"So?"
"So I interpreted."
"You interpret too much."
"You still haven't refused."
She placed her hand in his.
Their fingers intertwined again, innocent and quiet.
The movie on-screen had reached its confession scene. The couple stood on a bridge under city lights, saying things that should have sounded romantic but instead made Kikyo wrinkle her nose.
"If someone confessed to me like that, I'd push them into the river."
Kiyotaka watched the screen. "The bridge has railings."
"I'd find a way."
"You're resourceful."
"Thank you."
"The confession is inefficient."
"There it is. The corpse romance review."
"He used too many metaphors."
"You use almost none."
"I called your room honest."
Kikyo went silent.
Then she leaned her head lightly against his shoulder.
"Yeah," she said softly. "That one was good."
Kiyotaka's hand tightened around hers, just enough for her to feel it.
They stayed like that, hand in hand, masks unused, sitting in a room full of cute plushies and one villain teddy bear who looked like he had become the dark guardian of the date.
Kikyo glanced up at Kiyotaka.
"You know the annoying thing?"
"There are many."
"The angel mask gets praised all the time, but it never feels like this."
"What does this feel like?"
She looked at their hands.
"Like I don't have to perform to keep you here."
Kiyotaka's dead eyes softened by a fraction.
"You don't."
Her chest tightened.
For once, Kikyo did not answer with venom immediately.
She let the words sit there, warm and frightening.
Then, because she was still herself, she smiled against his shoulder.
"You're terrible for my personality."
"I thought you liked your real one."
"I do."
"Then I'm helping."
"That's a smug answer."
"It's accurate."
She laughed quietly.
The movie continued, forgotten by both of them.
Outside, the weekend night rested over ANHS. Inside Kikyo's room, curry bowls had been washed, fried rice plates sat clean, the popcorn bowl was empty, and two masks had been left somewhere far away from the couch.
Kikyo held Kiyotaka's hand tighter.
He looked bored, scary, and strangely warm.
She looked venomous, soft, and more honest than her angel self could ever be.
Baron Murderfluff sat beside the rabbit plush on the bed, watching over them like a tiny villain who had approved the alliance.
Kikyo closed her eyes for a moment.
"Corpse prince."
"Yes?"
"Don't tell anyone I have this many plushies."
"They'll assume it's part of your mask."
"I know."
"But I won't."
She smiled.
"Good."
Kiyotaka looked at her, voice flat and quiet.
"Your real self suits this room more."
Kikyo's face warmed again.
She squeezed his hand and muttered, "Disgusting."
"You're welcome."
"I didn't thank you."
"You were going to."
"In your dreams."
"My dreams are efficient."
"Your dreams sound like paperwork."
"You're still holding my hand."
She opened one eye and smiled with soft venom.
"Say that again and I'll never let go."
Kiyotaka looked at the villain teddy bear, then back at her.
"Baron Murderfluff approves."
Kikyo laughed into his shoulder, real and bright and a little wicked.
For tonight, that was enough.
No angel mask.
No Project EDEN audience.
No cafeteria court.
Just a dark little room date, a shared popcorn bowl, a villain teddy bear, and two people who somehow made insults sound like affection.