The wind curled around the ancient tower like a watchful spirit, whispering against moss-laced stone. I stood at the castle's highest balcony, overlooking the citadel below. Courtyards bustled with end-of-day energy: robes fluttered as young scholars crossed cobbled paths, parchments tucked under arms, familiars trailing behind like curious shadows.
From this height, the world looked painted. Towers and ivy-wrapped spires bathed in bronze and violet, golden light stretching in slow arcs across the sky. Below, first-years dueled in bursts of harmless magic, sparks and laughter rising from the courtyard. I rested my gloved hands on the stonework, eyes drawn past the citadel's edge where forest met sky. A dragon drifted lazily in the distance, wings casting long shadows over the hills. The wards shimmered faintly in the air, like dew in sunlight. I could feel their hum beneath my fingertips. Protective. Familiar.
Ten minutes early. Upon the highest balcony, just after sunset, when the sky hit its most dramatic. That's where I said to meet.
So I waited. Expecting someone. Anyone.
The air was sharp with altitude and quiet magic. Below, the citadel buzzed with end-of-day rhythm: robes, parchment, laughter. But up here, it was just me, the wind, and the hope that this might be the start of something.
I thought of Iroha. She'd helped me post the missives around the Academy. Handwritten invitations to a new kind of adventure, one not found in the dusty tomes of the archives but shaped around a table, with stories spun from choice, not fate. She said it wasn't her place to do the convincing.
"I could charm a nun into selling her soul to a lich," her voice echoing up from memory. "But this? This is your quest."
I watched the sun dip lower.
For a moment, everything stilled.
Then, the bell rang.
Deep, resonant, like an ancient cathedral chime, slow and heavy with time. It echoed like the closing verse of a spell, class dismissed, but the magic still hanging in the air. I expected it. Counted on it, even.
Then it rang again.
And again.
Quicker, softer. The rhythm shifted, lost its weight, reshaping into something ordinary. Inescapable.
The sky dulled around the edges. The sunlight softened into the flat grey of winter. Stone gave way to concrete. The wind lost its mysticism and became something colder, more biting.
The enchanted tower faded into the periphery of my thoughts, retreating without resistance. My hands now rested on cool metal, not ancient stone. The satchel felt heavier, no runes, just a zipper half-broken from years of use.
I blinked slowly, the world settling back over my skin like a hoodie I hadn't meant to put on. The bell was still ringing, the last one of the day. Below, students packed up and spilled onto the sidewalks. From the rooftop, I watched: the soccer field dotted with stragglers, tennis courts already empty, the walkway between buildings buzzing with after-school chatter. Bags slung over shoulders. Thumbs tapping screens. Laughter blooming in clusters of people who had somewhere to be.
Up here, nothing. Just silence and cold wind.
I tucked my hands into my hoodie pocket, thumb brushing the folded flyer I'd posted with Iroha yesterday. She couldn't make it today, student council duties. She wasn't worried, though. I remembered her words clearly.
"I could convince a nun to sell her soul to the wrong people. But this? That's you, Dungeon Boy."
No one had come yet.
I stared at the door, half-expecting it to open any second. Then glanced back over the grounds, just in case someone was making their way up, a late arrival perhaps.
Still nothing.
Maybe the flyer was too vague. Maybe "Fantasy Adventure. Rooftop. After School" sounded more like a prank than a real invite. Or worse, maybe no one cared. Maybe fantasy adventure was outdated. Maybe no one cared about old-school fantasy anymore, not when the trend these days was all about: devils, demons, curses, kaiju, yokai, aliens, and some quirky, totally overpowered ability to slay them all.
I let out a slow breath, the kind you don't notice until it's already gone.
The air was still.
Then, the door creaked open.
My heart seized. Relief surged, followed by panic.
Please let it be someone.
For half a second, I let myself believe. Then came the usual suspects: the janitor? a delinquent?
One of those dyed-hair third years who smoked cheap cigarettes and wore their ties like makeshift ropes? Ties weren't supposed to be functional, but somehow delinquents made them even less so.
But when the door opened fully.
It wasn't any of those.
It was her.
The same girl from homeroom. Platinum hair. The one whose hand brushed mine when I picked up her pencil.
She stepped forward, the wind catching the hem of her skirt and the edge of her woollen V-neck sweater, the kind that hugged close, with her school tie neatly framed in the dip of the collar. Her presence had a quiet gravity, the kind that didn't ask for attention but held it anyway. Her expression didn't change. Calm. Distant. Measured.
Like she was always meant to be here.
Her eyes, silver-grey, locked onto mine. Then, without a word, she reached into her bag.
She held up a flyer.
"Hi. I'm Rika Morisaki,"
Her voice was smooth. Soft. No inflection. Like she wasn't asking, just confirming.
"Do we speak to you about this?"
The wind whispered around us. The rooftop seemed to still.
And just like that...
The first player had arrived.
She didn't move closer. Not right away. Just stood there, hand still holding the flyer like she expected a transaction.
I scrambled to find my voice.
"Uh... yeah. Yeah, that's me."
She gave the smallest of nods. Not disinterest. Just… efficiency. Like she had a quota of motions to hit and refused to go over.
I cleared my throat. "You're here because of the flyer?"
She glanced at it, then back at me. "It said 'Fantasy Adventure.' After school. Rooftop."
A pause.
"This is a rooftop. It's after school. So."
Her tone was flat but not cold. More like she was reading the time off a train schedule.
"Right. Of course," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "I just… wasn't sure anyone would actually come."
She blinked slowly. "I'm here."
"Yeah. You are." I scratched my cheek, trying to buy time. "Sorry, you probably don't remember me, but—"
"Third row from the window," she said, not unkindly. "You sit behind me in homeroom."
I blinked. "Wait… you know that?"
"You gave back my pencil," she said plainly. "Most people don't bother."
She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to figure out why that would surprise me.
A small pause.
"I'm Rika Morisaki," she said again, this time as a formality.
Rika Morisaki.
The name bounced around in my head like a pinball. I knew that name. Morisaki.
Lots of Morisakis in the country, probably. Nothing special.
"So… what exactly is this?" Rika asked, holding up the flyer again, eyes scanning the paper like it might reveal more if she stared hard enough.
"It's, uh, a kind of collaborative story game," I started. "Fantasy-based. You make a character, roll dice, go on quests. Kind of like… group improvisation meets strategy, but also fun. Hopefully."
She blinked once. "You made it?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "Rules, classes, world… I've been refining it for a while. It's pretty polished now."
Rika tilted her head. "You built a game system. From scratch."
"It's not as cool as it sounds," I said, scratching the back of my neck. "Mostly it's just me scribbling on printer paper and arguing with probability charts."
She didn't say anything right away. Just folded the flyer once and slipped it neatly into her bag.
"I thought it was a club for fantasy novel readers," she said finally. "That's why I came."
"Oh. Yeah, no, not exactly," I said. "But… same kind of vibe, right?"
She shrugged slightly. "Close enough."
A quiet pause settled in.
Then, almost absently, she added, "I figured I should try… something."
I glanced at her. "Something?"
"It's my last year. Thought I'd try participating in my own existence for once."
The words landed heavier than expected, not dramatic, just honest. Familiar.
Not like I was drowning in friendships either. Most days were spent hunched over lore sheets, dodging reality with printer paper kingdoms and half-eaten instant noodles for company.
A slow breath eased out of me. "Yeah. I get that."
She didn't say anything, but I saw the faintest shift in her posture. Like maybe she didn't expect anyone to say it out loud.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, barely there, more suggestion than expression, before she looked away again.
"People think being honour student means I shouldn't be spoken to," she said, voice steady.
"Like saying hi might lower my grades or something."
A faint shrug followed.
"It started as respect. Or caution. I don't know. But after a while… no one talked to me. And that just became normal."
She glanced off to the side.
"Hard to meet anyone when silence is the default."
I blinked. "Honour student?"
The words slipped out before I could catch them.
She glanced at me, nonchalant. "That's what the board says."
Something in my brain twitched.
Bulletin board. Faculty office.
#1: Rika Morisaki.
#2: Iroha Minazuki.
I felt a cold weight drop into my stomach.
"Oh no," I whispered.
She raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, waving it off. "Just… wasn't who I pictured showing up, that's all."
She tilted her head, faintly curious. "Who did you picture?"
"Ah, nobody specific," I lied. "Just… a vague blur of interest. Maybe someone who forgot their homework and needed a distraction."
She studied me a second longer, not offended, just observant. Then looked back out at the city like I hadn't said anything at all.
I let out a breath through my nose. Okay. Deep breath. This was fine. Not chaotic at all. Definitely not the kind of situation Iroha would flip out over.
Probably.
"...So, what's it called?" she asked.
I blinked. "What's what called?"
"Your game."
"Oh. Right. My game."
I froze.
Her question felt like a slap to the face with a rulebook.
All the effort. The late nights. The scribbled drafts, the balancing, the charts, the edits.
And somehow, after all that, I'd never actually named the damn thing.
"Does it even have a name?" she asked, not cruelly, just curious.
Oof. Another critical hit.
"Uhh... Critical Hit!" I blurted.
She raised an eyebrow. "Critical Hit?"
"Y-yeah! Critical Hit Series..."
"Series?"
I flailed mentally. "Because… it's a series of adventures? Told over time?"
She gave the smallest nod, not entirely convinced, but not about to argue either.
A short moment passed. Her eyes drifted around the rooftop, casually scanning the area.
Then she looked back at me.
"So how do we play?"
Another simple question. Another direct hit. I didn't freeze this time, I'd already taken enough psychic damage for one afternoon.
I opened my mouth to answer, but she cut in again.
"Are we just supposed to sit on the ground? There's nothing here. No table. No setup?"
In that moment, despite mentally building resistance to magic-type attacks, it felt like every word she spoke was a spell carefully prepared to break down a main character's will to live.
"Okay," I said. "You've made… very fair points."
She didn't sound disappointed, just confused. Like someone who'd arrived at a restaurant and found out there was no kitchen.
"The flyer was just supposed to be a way to find people," I explained. "Get them interested. I hadn't actually planned for someone showing up today. It was more like… a recruitment pitch."
"So you put out a vague invitation with no plan beyond it," she said. Not judging. Just stating a fact.
"Basically."
A pause.
"Where's the actual game, then?"
"At my apartment," I said. "All of it. Rules, notes, character sheets, everything's there."
She gave a small nod. "Are you busy right now?"
My brain short-circuited. "Wh-what?"
"You said the game exists. I want to try it. If you're free, we can go now."
I stared at her. She wasn't messing with me. Her face was the same calm, unreadable expression it had been since the moment she stepped onto the roof.
"Ahh… no," I said, flustered. "I'm not busy. Not really."
"Alright," she said, adjusting the strap of her bag. "Then let's go to yours."
The way she said it, like it was the most normal thing in the world, made it feel somehow more surreal.
No hesitation. No ulterior motive.
Just one girl. Answering an invitation for fantasy adventure.
And just like that, I was walking the last person I should've recruited straight into my living room.
🦊 IROHA — 4:21 PM
Dungeon Boy.
Report.
🎲 RANJIRO — 4:22 PM
uh
someone actually came
🦊 IROHA — 4:22 PM
👏👏
Nice
Who? 👀
🎲 RANJIRO — 4:23 PM
…
you might not like them
🦊 IROHA — 4:23 PM
Pfft.
I get along with everyone.
🎲 RANJIRO — 4:24 PM
no i mean like
idk if this'll go well
🦊 IROHA — 4:24 PM
Relax 😎
I'm not gonna bite anyone
Weirdos make the best party members
🎲 RANJIRO — 4:25 PM
they're coming over to my place
to try the game
🦊 IROHA — 4:25 PM
Perfect.
That makes 3 of us
We can finally fix your god-awful proposal.
🎲 RANJIRO — 4:25 PM
wait what
🦊 IROHA — 4:26 PM
I'm coming over 💃
Obviously
It's good optics for the pres to know what she's endorsing
And I want to see what you've been secretly building at home 😈
🎲 RANJIRO — 4:27 PM
uhh
i'm not sure that's a good idea
🦊 IROHA — 4:27 PM
What, are you afraid I'll scare them off
🎲 RANJIRO — 4:28 PM
yeah
🦊 IROHA — 4:28 PM
Address.
Now.
…pls 🥺
🎲 RANJIRO — 4:29 PM
…
Fine
We turned the corner into a quiet residential street, the buzz of the city softening behind us. Laundry hung stiff on wire balconies. A cat darted past a stack of plastic crates near a vending machine. A woman's voice drifted from an open window, scolding someone about homework.
Rika followed a step behind, her school bag sat casually over one shoulder. She hadn't said much since we left campus. Not that she'd said much before either. But something about the silence felt… contained. Like she was processing everything on her own, and letting me be in the frame while she did it.
"My place's just up here," I said, nodding at the low-rise building ahead.
"Mm."
We stopped at the front entrance, a scuffed metal door with a keypad lock and a slightly rusted communal mailbox bolted just below it. I tapped the intercom with the worn plastic fob dangling from my keychain, probably passed down through six other tenants before me. The latch gave a soft, familiar click.
I led the way up the narrow stairwell, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. My footsteps felt louder than usual against the concrete.
We reached the first floor and followed the short hallway toward my unit. As we passed the door two down from mine, I noticed there was no light slipping through the seams of the frame or window. Senna wasn't home. Probably still at work, or stuck in one of her late uni classes.
Typical Tuesday.
Outside my door, I paused, hand hovering over the knob.
This had seemed like a great idea five minutes ago. Now, with someone actually here, someone real, everything felt heavier. I opened the door.
And immediately wanted to shut it again.
The place wasn't a disaster. But suddenly, every pile of scribbled notes, scattered dice, and half-folded futon felt like it had been outlined in red. The kotatsu sat dead centre on the tatami
floor like a shrine to procrastination. My desk by the wall still had an open rulebook splayed across it, a lamp slumped sideways. A single sock rested near a stack of coloured pencils, as if it had lost the will to be paired.
I stepped inside, holding the door awkwardly. "Sorry," I muttered. "Didn't think I'd be hosting anyone today."
Rika said nothing, just stepped in behind me and gave the room a quick scan. Not judgmental. Just… taking inventory.
She slipped off her shoes like it was muscle memory and made her way to the kotatsu, tucking her legs beneath the blanket without a word. Like she'd done it a thousand times before. Like this wasn't weird at all.
I hovered near the fridge. "Uh... can I get you something? Tea? Water? …Tea?"
She blinked once. "Water's fine."
"Right, yeah. Totally."
I fumbled a clean glass from the dish rack, poured from the filter jug, and tried not to look like someone having a low-level crisis over cup placement. On the corner of the kotatsu, a hair tie sat curled around a pen, Senna's probably.
Rika's eyes flicked to it.
"Are these yours?" she asked, nodding at the hair tie, then glancing meaningfully at my short hair.
"Oh, no, no," I said quickly. "It's my neighbor's. She drops by most nights. We watch anime, I cook her dinner… and on some days, when she's super exhausted, I let her sleep with me, I mean, in bed, I mean, sleep over."
Rika looked at me, expression unreadable.
A moment passed, just a fraction too long.
Moments like these made me wish I had AI-generated dialogue options floating in front of me.
Something better than… whatever that was.
Then she glanced at the hair tie again, said nothing, and took the glass of water.
"So…" she said after a few sips, eyes on me now. "Am I the first member of this… guild?"
I paused.
"Technically? No."
She tilted her head.
"There's someone else," I said. "She kind of… helped me post the flyers."
Rika didn't comment. Just waited.
"She's… coming over. Too. To try it out."
Still no comment. Just a faint nod.
"She's... uh. Iroha Minazuki."
This time, there was a reaction, slight but there. A flicker of recognition, maybe. Her eyes drifted toward the window, the way people do when mentally sorting a file.
"Oh," she said.
That was it.
Not surprised. Not interested. Just… acknowledgement.
"You know her?" I asked.
"We've had classes," she said simply.
That was all she gave me.
No scoff. No raised eyebrow. No visible tension I could latch onto.
Just a quiet, neutral "oh."
And yet… something subtle shifted. Not in a bad way, more like the atmosphere adjusting to fit a new variable. A recalibration.
I watched her for a second longer than I meant to, waiting for more. A question. A jab. Even a sigh.
Nothing came.
If she had thoughts about Iroha, she wasn't offering them. Maybe she didn't care. Maybe she didn't think it was worth the breath.
Either way, it left me with a strange mix of relief and confusion.
I stood there for a second, unsure what to say next. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, just… open. Like we were both waiting to see who would move first.
Then I sat cross-legged opposite her and reached for the folder beside me and began spreading out a small cluster of notes, a few laminated cheat sheets, and a crumpled rulebook that had survived three iterations of game balancing and one unfortunate yakisoba spill.
"Um," I said, glancing up at her. "I guess I should show you how it works."
Rika watched without comment, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Not impatient, just waiting.
"You make a character," I continued, clearing my throat. "Your class, your stats, your backstory, and then we pick a quest. The story sort of builds itself from there."
She raised an eyebrow. "So do you play a character too? Or are you just… the narrator?"
"I do play," I said. "But I'm not really running the story."
I reached beside me and pulled out a thick, overstuffed folder, the cover warped from hours under my elbow. Pages spilled out like wild grass, dotted with post-its and scribbled side notes.
"These are all questlines I've written," I said, handing it to her. "Some connect. Some don't. Honestly, I've forgotten how half of them end."
She took the folder without hesitation, not delicately, but with the calm, focused energy of someone reviewing material they fully intended to ace. Her fingers flipped through the first few pages, then faster, scanning, noting, processing. Like this wasn't a game, it was a syllabus.
"You really wrote all of this?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Over time."
She glanced up. "So your game is just… reading stories to each other?"
"Not exactly." I rubbed the back of my neck. "The quests are just a framework, a guide for how the story might unfold."
She waited, eyes steady, until I went on.
"But it all depends on the choices the players make. Like, if we're in a forest, and the quest says we're supposed to go west into the mountains, but one party member decides to head east to the nearest town instead… we all roll. Twenty-sided die. Whoever gets the highest, we follow their suggestion."
Her brow twitched. "Then why do we need the quest lines at all?"
I grinned, sheepish. "Think of it like an open-world video game. The main story's there, but players can ignore it and do whatever they want. Nine times out of ten, people follow the path, but the freedom's built in. They can create their own story if they want."
"Wouldn't it be easier," she asked, "to have one person steer the story? Keep everyone on track?"
"Good question," I said, pulling out a separate rulebook from the pile and tapping a highlighted paragraph marked Game Mechanics. "In traditional games, that's the role of the Game Master. They don't play a character, just control the world, narrate the scenes, decide what happens. Kind of like a referee and storyteller rolled into one."
"So the players just… react?"
"Mostly, yeah. The GM sets up the scenario, the players decide what to do, and if there's a risk involved, they roll to see how well it goes."
She frowned. "That sounds… unbalanced. One person controlling everything?"
"Exactly," I said, perking up. "That's why I changed it. Game Masters do all the heavy lifting, the setup, the prep, the pressure to keep things running."
I leaned forward slightly.
"It's more collaborative now. Instead of one person running the show, everyone gets to shape it. We all suggest what happens next, where to go, what to do, and we roll to decide which path we follow."
"So if I wanted to run instead of fight, and I roll high…"
"Then we run. Unless someone rolls higher and says we fight."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful, not skeptical. "And during fights?"
"Same idea. Everyone rolls initiative to see who acts first. Then, on your turn, you describe what you want to do, swing a sword, cast a spell, and roll to see how well you pull it off."
"And the number decides if it works?"
"Yep. Low rolls usually miss or backfire. High rolls hit hard. If you roll a natural twenty, it's a critical success."
She looked down at the folder again. "So… improv theatre. With math."
I grinned. "Pretty much."
She looked at the pages again. "So, what's your character?"
"Oh. Right." I sat up straighter, trying not to sound proud. "I'm playing a samurai. Ronin-type. Wears a half-mask, uses a cursed blade, follows an honour code but has no master. Bit of a lone-wolf archetype."
She frowned slightly. "Are samurai even supposed to be in fantasy roleplaying games?"
I blinked. "Well… in this game they are."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I made the system," I added, a little defensive. "It's kind of homebrew."
"So you're not bound by traditional tropes," Rika mused. "I could make anything?"
"To a reasonable extent, yeah. It's more fun when people get creative."
There was a flicker behind her eyes, not quite excitement, but the kind of spark people get when they realise the rules aren't fixed, just gently suggested.
"Then I want to be a wizard."
"Great choice." I flipped to a page in the class guide I'd made. "There's a bunch of magic schools to choose from."
"Such as?"
I held up my fingers, counting them off. "Elementalism. Glamour. Warding. Summoning. Spiritcraft. Foresight. Mindweaving. Alteration."
A beat.
"All of them."
I looked up. "What?"
"You said I could make anything." Her tone was still even, matter-of-fact. "So I want to be a wizard that uses all schools of magic."
"That's not how... I mean..." I waved the rulebook weakly. "That's not… balanced."
"I'm not trying to be broken. It fits the world. I'm not asking for a time-travelling gunslinger with laser eyes. I just want full-spectrum spellcasting."
I opened my mouth, then shut it again.
"It's logical," she added, folding her hands neatly. "I'm the honour student. If this were a real world, I'd be top of the mage academy."
"You're not in the mage academy."
"In character I would be."
And for the first time since we met, there was something faintly playful at the corner of her expression. Not quite a smile, just the idea of one, flickering in the distance.
"I mean…" I scratched the back of my head. "Technically, sure. I can build it that way."
She nodded once, then glanced down at the rulebook. "Good. Then I'll be all of them."
A weird warmth crept up my chest. This was the most anyone had ever talked to me about the game without falling asleep… or telling me to go outside.
And she hadn't looked at her phone once.
Leaning in, I found myself more excited than nervous. "So what kind of vibe are you going for? Serious scholar? Mysterious prodigy? Outcast genius?"
She tilted her head, considering.
"Quiet. Controlled. Knows things no one else does. Thinks before she acts."
I raised an eyebrow. "Sounds familiar."
That earned me a glance, not sharp, not soft, just… held. Like she was going to say something but chose not to.
But she didn't look away.
We sat there in that calm space for a moment longer. The air felt warmer. Less staged. More real.
Then...
The door creaked open.
The air snapped tight.
Not with sound, with presence. Like getting caught doing something you weren't supposed to enjoy. Like the sharp inhale before a teacher catches you laughing during a funeral video. Not loud. Just instant.
"Wow," came a familiar voice, light and honeyed. "Ranjiro, you really undersold the guest list."
I looked up just in time to see Iroha step into view like she'd always been part of the scene. One hand on the doorframe, the other already perched on her hip. Her eyes scanned the kotatsu, the dice, the notes, the seating arrangement, then landed squarely on Rika with surgical precision.
"I'm surprised you forgot to mention that Kitagawa High's very own honour student would be joining us today."
My brain tripped over itself. "I... I didn't mean to leave it out. I just… it was hard to explain? Like, you said you get along with everyone, and I thought if I mentioned names, you'd get the wrong impression or—"
I stopped. Realised I was rambling.
"…Okay, yeah. I chickened out."
Iroha raised an eyebrow. "Adorable," she said. "Tragic. But adorable."
She clicked her tongue and gave a performative shrug as she slipped off her shoes and stepped in. "Honestly, if you'd told me she was coming, I would've brought sparkling cider and plastic champagne flutes."
Rika looked up, level. "I don't drink."
Iroha arched an eyebrow, then smiled, wide and faux-innocent. "Of course you don't."
I cleared my throat, gesturing vaguely at the table. "We were just setting up characters."
"Great," Iroha said, settling in with a theatrical sigh. "Of course Little Miss Number One found a way to slip into my club before it even existed. Gotta make sure I stay locked at number two somehow, right, honour girl?"
Rika didn't react. She turned the page in the rulebook like Iroha's words were background noise.
"I already picked," she said simply. "I'm a wizard. All schools."
Iroha blinked. "All of them? Not greedy at all."
"Just efficient."
Iroha dropped her bag near the doorway and strolled over with the energy of someone showing up to a group project they didn't ask to be part of.
"Well," she said, sinking into the half-deflated bean bag like she'd already resigned herself to wasting the next hour. "Looks like you two started without me."
"Technically, yes," Rika replied, not looking up.
"Cool," Iroha muttered, tugging her blazer straight with zero enthusiasm. "I'll just be here. Supervising."
"Or…" I offered, hesitant. "You could make a character too?"
She looked at me, almost bored.
"You inviting me into your fantasy world, Dungeon Boy?"
"Uh... yes. I mean, if you want," I said, scratching my cheek.
For a beat, she didn't say anything. Then something shifted, a flicker of interest sneaking past the edge of her indifference.
"What kind of characters can I be?" she asked, casual but suddenly far more awake.
I cleared my throat, trying not to sound too eager. "Alright. So you've got your usual fantasy classes: Barbarian, Cleric, Druid, Rogue—"
"Barbarian?" Iroha wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. That sounds like it smells like body spray and poor decision-making."
I snorted.
Rika, still flipping through the rulebook, didn't even glance up. "Technically, she's not wrong." She turned the page and held it out, pointing to the Barbarian description. "'Primal rage-fueled warriors who forgo armor to maximise their brute strength.'"
Iroha leaned forward, scanning the text. "See? Sweaty and shirtless. Not my vibe."
"Okay, so no Barbarian," I said quickly. "There's also Mage types: Sorcerer, Wizard—"
"Too academic," she muttered.
"Rogue?"
"Please. I don't sneak. I enter."
"Right," I said, pushing on. "Then there's Bards. They're kind of support-specialists, but also a little bit of everything. Really high charisma. Great at persuasion, misdirection, charm spells—"
"Misdirection?" Iroha leaned in slightly.
"Yeah. Like convincing a guard to look the other way. Or bluffing your way out of jail. Deception, seduction, that kind of stuff."
Rika blinked. "That's a real mechanic?"
"Y-yeah," I said. "Bards can talk their way through problems. They're also good at performing, singing, dancing, inspiring allies…"
"So this class lets me flirt, lie, win arguments, and it's good at karaoke?" Iroha asked.
"I mean… yes."
Iroha leaned back with a sly grin. "Now that's hot."
"You'd fit," Rika said, still thumbing through the rulebook like she was grading it for accuracy, eyes never leaving the page.
Iroha raised an eyebrow. "Was that a compliment?"
"Interpret how you like."
I tried to steer us back. "So… you wanna try Bard?"
"Obviously," she said. "It's the one that sounds most like me."
I flipped to a blank character sheet. "Alright. Bard it is."
I was mid-way through jotting things down when Iroha leaned forward, voice sugary-smooth.
"So… if Honour Girl gets to master every school of magic, how do I make my character ridiculously overpowered?"
I blinked. "Uh…"
"Just asking for a friend," she added sweetly.
I rubbed my face. "Well… bards usually specialise. Some focus on buffs and debuffs, boosting allies, roasting enemies. Others lean into charm spells and deception. Then there are bards who are more combat-oriented, agile, fast, and great with finesse weapons like rapiers."
She rested her chin on her palm. "Can mine do all that?"
I glanced over at Rika instinctively.
Without looking up, she said, "You did set the standard."
I slumped. 'I'm a victim of my own system,' I muttered. 'Should've added a few more restrictions to character creation.'"
"Too late, Dungeon Boy," Iroha sang.
"Fine. Yes. You can be a charming, blade-dancing, magically manipulative chaos package."
She beamed. "Excellent. Jack of all trades it is."
"You know that phrase ends with 'master of none,' right?" Rika said.
"I prefer 'master of fun.'" She tilted her head, then flicked a wink in Rika's direction
"I'm assuming you want a rapier?" I asked, fully focused on perfecting Iroha's character.
"I want two," she said, then paused. "…Actually, no. Just one. But it better be stylish."
I scribbled the gear down with mock seriousness. "Rapier, sleight of hand, seduction, psychological warfare…"
"I call it multitasking," she said, smug.
"Or showing off," Rika muttered.
I gave up trying to manage their flow and tapped the final field.
"Alright… we're all set."
I took a breath, then straightened my back and put on my best theatrical voice.
"Our party now consists of three adventurers. First, myself, the wandering samurai. Masked. Masterless. Bound by honour and wielding a cursed blade no one dares to name."
Iroha raised her hand. "Question. Do you practice that in front of a mirror, or just whisper it into a pillow before bed?"
I barrelled on. "Next, Iroha-san, the versatile bard. Part duelist, part enchantress, all charisma. Can sway hearts, mislead enemies, and stab you while quoting poetry."
She gave a seated bow. "You're too kind."
"And finally… Morisaki-san. The Wizard of all schools. Scholar of the Arcane. Quiet, calculating, and almost definitely planning all our deaths."
Rika looked up, deadpan. "Not in order. Depends who annoys me first."
A long pause.
"…Let's roll."
"So it wasn't a threesome."
"For the millionth time, no."
A spoon jabbed lazily across the table. "Dunno. There was a lot of yelling coming from your room."
"You know… you could've joined us."
"And what, make it a foursome? Hard pass, pervert."
I groaned and slouched forward. "Unbelievable."
A palm flicked a spoonful of egg toward my plate. "Hey. I expect better manners from someone eating food I cooked."
I glanced down. "Whatever this is, it's not omurice. You forgot to mix the ketchup into the rice."
A bare foot kicked mine under the table. "Just shut up and eat your food."