It’s been three days.
Three.
Entire.
Days.
Since the incident.
You know, the one where I—allegedly—fell asleep wrapped around Sora like a desperate body pillow, drooling on her hair while mumbling "so soft" like a freaking teddy bear addict.
I didn’t rember most of it. Only that I woke up to four girls in my room. Silent. Staring.
Sora had slipped out of my arms so fast, you’d think I electrocuted her.
And then... silence.
Complete and total silence.
Not just the "I’m mad" kind. No. This was coordinated. Strategic. Calculated psychological warfare.
Let paint you a picture.
---
Day one:
I was holding a spoon like a sword.
Why?
Because the atmosphere in this house had beco hostile territory.
Sora wouldn’t look at . i wouldn’t even breathe near . Elira, who usually found joy in giving lectures, now communicated solely through "tsk"s. And Akane—the firebrand—literally set the microwave on fire this morning and walked away while whispering, "Oops."
I was beginning to think I’d died and was in so bizarre hellish afterlife where beautiful won punished with aggressive silence and passive-aggressive olets.
So when the knock ca at the door, I thought: finally. Maybe it was Death. Maybe I could welco him inside and explain how I got here.
I opened the door—
And saw Aya.
Wearing a hoodie two sizes too big, dragging a suitcase that looked like it had been through three wars, and smiling like she knew this was going to be awkward.
"Hey, roomie," she said, brushing past .
My mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again like a dying fish. "W-What are you doing here?"
"You told to stay the night," she said innocently, waltzing in. "That ans forever, right?"
Sora appeared in the hallway like a ghost summoned by betrayal. i followed, holding a book with all the subtle threat of a shuriken. Elira raised a single brow. And Akane? Akane was holding the knife again.
"Oh. You didn’t tell them?" Aya asked sweetly, looking at .
"I didn’t even tell !"
Aya dumped her luggage in the middle of the living room and plopped onto the couch like she had just claid new territory for her kingdom.
"I call the room closest to yours," she said.
There was no talking after that. Just... vibes.
Deadly, sharp, tension-filled vibes.
---
That Night...
The girls cooked without .
They laughed at jokes I wasn’t part of. One of them locked out of the bathroom while I was shampooing my hair. I don’t even know how that’s possible.
They even ford a group chat.
I know this because my phone buzzed and I saw the title of the group was:
> [Operation: Make Ren Suffer]
I cried in the shower. Silently. Like a man.
---
The Next Morning...
Aya was in the kitchen humming and flipping pancakes while chaos reigned behind her.
i and Elira were whispering about "accidental" poison testing.
Akane was sharpening a spoon like it owed her money.
Sora was writing a list of "punishnts."
I walked in and said, "Morning."
Dead silence.
Aya cheerfully replied, "Morning!" and everyone glared at her like she’d broken girl code.
"I had a dream last night," I said, desperate to break the tension. "You were all riding on unicorns and beating up with heart-shaped pillows—"
"No one cares," said Elira.
I turned to Aya.
She gave a sympathetic pat on the back. "You really ssed up, huh?"
I blinked. "YOU’RE the one who showed up and claid squatters’ rights!"
Then she stood up and walked out.
---
Day Two:
I entered the kitchen like a prisoner on death row.
i was making tea. i. The usually sweet, humming, pastel-colored angel of calm.
She looked at .
Then looked through .
Then passed a cup of tea.
Without sugar.
She’s never done that.
I took a sip. Almost died. Looked up.
She was already gone.
Sora walked in right after, carrying a tray of eggs and toast. I thought, yes, maybe Sora’s forgiven .
She served herself. Sat down. Ate in front of .
No extra plate.
No words.
Just cold, perfectly seasoned betrayal.
---
Day Three:
Akane was in the living room bingeing her favorite drama. Usually, she’d drag into the couch to "suffer with her," claiming I had the right shoulder shape for emotional support.
Today?
She turned up the volu as I walked in.
Then—then—she turned on subtitles and lowered the volu back down, just to pretend I didn’t exist.
That hurt more than stepping on a Lego.
Elira? Oh, Elira went full ani villain mode. She didn’t just ignore . She monologued to herself right next to like I was an invisible ghost sidekick.
"Hmm. I wonder if so people deserve forgiveness," she muttered while sharpening one of her throwing daggers.
I didn’t even do anything wrong! (Okay maybe I did. A little. But still!)
---
Evening: I Tried Apologizing
I gathered them in the living room. Candlelit. Mood set. My hands were clasped. I had practiced lines.
"Ladies," I began, dramatically, "I know I may have—"
"ow."
That was Elira. She made a cat sound.
Sora patted her. "Good girl."
They all left the room together.
Even the cat wasn’t real.
---
So I got desperate.
I tried cooking breakfast the next morning.
Sora walked in, sniffed the air, and went:
"Hmm. Sothing slls burnt. Probably my trust."
And left.
Elira ca in right after, stared at my apron, and said, "So the hostage learned to cook. Adorable."
i peeked in, said nothing, but wrote sothing on a notepad. I managed to peek when she left it on the table:
> "Attempted breakfast. Presentation: 2/10. Suffering: ongoing."
Akane just watched mop eggs off the wall and whispered:
"This is your punishnt. Let it simr."
---
But the worst? Aya.
She hadn’t said a word either.
Just... glared.
And today... she cornered .
In the laundry room.
"Ren," she said quietly, voice sweet like syrup hiding cyanide.
"Yes?" I croaked.
"Do you know what today is?"
I checked my phone. "Um. Wednesday?"
She nodded.
"Exactly. Wednesday. Do you know what happened last Wednesday?"
"...Was it the curry incident?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"No," she said. "Last Wednesday, you said you’d be my partner for the haunted house festival booth."
Oh no.
OH NO.
"Oh. Uh. Right. Right! Haunted house. Ghosts. Fun."
She leaned in.
"I was going to be the ghost bride. You were supposed to be the cursed husband. Romantic horror."
She stepped even closer.
"You know who volunteered when you didn’t show up?"
"...Who?"
"Mr. Tanaka."
Mr. Tanaka was 62. Retired. And used to teach woodshop.
He also wore socks with sandals and called people "sport."
"Oh."
"Yes. Oh. I scread ’husband’ and he giggled like a raccoon. The trauma is permanent."
I nodded rapidly, sweating.
"Am I forgiven?" I asked.
She smiled.
"Almost. But not yet."
---
Later That Night
I thought maybe—maybe—they were warming up to again.
Until I entered my room and found all of them there.
Sitting. Waiting.
No one spoke.
I stepped inside like I was entering a lion’s den.
They all looked at with the sa face.
You know that face ani characters make before they beat you to death with sparkles and a chair? Yeah.
That.
Then i stood up and handed a box.
"What’s this?" I asked.
"It’s a silence survival kit," she said calmly.
Inside was:
A stress ball shaped like Sora’s face.
A whistle labeled "In case of emotional ergency."
And a note.
> "You have 48 hours left to grovel. Or the harem moves out."
I looked up.
i was smiling.
"Sleep well," Elira added sweetly.
Then they all left my room like a mafia leaving after delivering a threat.
I stood there.
Alone.
Staring at my stress ball.
"...Maybe I deserve this."
---
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