Canvas of Silent Colors

Spring evenings in Tokyo felt like standing in a shallow, sunlit dream.

I closed the last coding tab on my Toshiba laptop, the fan wheezing in relief. On screen, the Undertale demo menu flickered quietly in that nostalgic black-and-white pixel art.

"Ah… I guess it's around halfway done now."

Undertale… it wasn't just some small indie game you could clear and forget. The world was alive. Hidden files, obscure dialogues, Easter eggs buried so deep that even after ten years it release in my previous life, people still found new secrets every few months.

This time though… I planned to bring out some of those unused cutscenes and ideas that Toby Fox never implemented. Little fragments left forgotten in data files or buried in half-finished concept sketches.

Like that scene where Sans eats an entire ice cream cone for a full minute, with stupidly goofy cheerful music looping in the background—probably meant to troll speedrunners.

Or Papyrus' failed date endings where he dramatically screams "THIS IS TOO ROMANTIC!" before passing out.

There was even a scrapped baking minigame with Toriel, where you had to use QTE inputs to make her butterscotch-cinnamon pie. In my past life, it never saw the light of day because of time constraints. But here… here I could help make Undertale become the perfect, idealized version Toby Fox once envisioned.

Stuff like that. Goofy, pointless, yet so full of warmth—tiny moments that made Undertale's world feel alive, like it was quietly breathing somewhere beyond your screen.

At least… the Neutral and Genocide routes are finally done. The rest will come later.

I stretched my arms with a quiet groan, listening to the cicadas just starting their evening chorus outside the window. Another day passed. Another step closer to my dream.

'If only Toby Fox knew some reincarnated weirdo is speedrunning his life's magnum opus in 2014… using software that crashes randomly.'

I leaned back against my chair, staring at the ceiling. The rough plaster felt oddly comforting.

------------------------

After a little rest, deciding I had absorbed enough radiation from my laptop screen, I left my room, sliding the door shut behind me.

The wooden floors creaked softly under my slippers as I stepped out into the hallway, thinking to explore the dorm a bit.

I was halfway down when I heard footsteps coming from above. Nanami-senpai appeared at the landing, descending from the third floor. She had changed into her casual dorm clothes, probably on her way to the common room to wait for dinner.

"Oh, Natsuki-kun." She blinked in surprise, then smiled gently. "Are you done unpacking already?"

"Yes, mostly," I replied calmly, bowing my head a little. "I thought I should look around before it gets dark."

"Ah… I forgot to give you a proper tour earlier," she said, sounding a bit guilty. "Sorry about that."

"No, I should've asked too," I replied. "I didn't want to bother you while you were busy."

She shook her head lightly. "It's my task as your senpai to help. Anyway, I'm heading to the common room now. Dinner will be ready soon, so if you want, I can tell you about the dorm."

"That would be great. Thank you, Nanami-senpai."

She smiled again, a little brighter this time, and together we began walking down to the first floor.. After that, Nanami-senpai began explaining Sakurasou dorm.

My room was on the second floor, the boys' wing. Sakurasou itself was an aging four-story dormitory that creaked in the wind and smelled faintly of paint thinner and old tatami.

First floor had the common room, kitchen, small backyard, a cafeteria corner, and the staff office.

Second floor was where all the boys' rooms clustered together, mine included.

The third floor belonged to the girls, and from what I'd heard, boys were allowed up there—of course, only with a proper reason and permission from the dorm supervisor, Chihiro-sensei.

As Nanami-senpai guided me down the stairs, I glanced up at the third floor landing. "Senpai… what about the opposite? Can girls come to the boys' floor without permission too?"

She paused mid-step, her hand gripping the railing lightly. "Eh… well… Chihiro-sensei is a bit more lenient about that," she admitted, sounding a little embarrassed. "I mean, girls can visit the boys' rooms if there's a reason, and they usually just inform her afterwards. Sometimes guests come too, like club members or classmates, so… it's not as strict."

"I see…" I nodded calmly, but internally, I sighed in anime logic resignation. So it's that classic system, huh. Boys need permission like entering a sacred temple, but girls can just walk in with a simple greeting.

Nanami seemed flustered by the topic and quickly changed the subject back to the fourth floor as we reached the bottom of the stairs.

The fourth floor was mostly storage these days, with a dusty art studio no one used anymore, filled with easels, cracked plaster busts, and sun-bleached canvases left to rot.

I asked. "Senpai… is there anyone who actually uses the fourth floor? And… are there any empty rooms up there?"

She shook her head lightly, ponytail swaying. "No, not really. The fourth floor is mostly just storage now. There used to be an art club studio up there, but it's been abandoned for a while. There's no one living on that floor."

"I see…" I nodded, thinking critically as usual. "Can we boys go up there then?"

Nanami blinked at me. "Eh? Well… I don't think Chihiro-sensei would mind if you're just exploring or helping move something. Of course you need permission but no one really goes up there unless they have to. It's dusty and full of old easels and boxes. Plus, it's creepy at night."

"I see…" I answered calmly, but internally, I sighed. So the fourth floor is basically a horror game storage area. Noted.

Of course she also told me that each floor had a communal shower room at the end of the hallway, 

After a while, as Nanami-senpai and I made our way down to the first floor, we heard faint noises drifting from the common room—laughter, quiet chatter, the sizzle of something cooking on a pan. Mixed in was a warm, savory aroma that made my stomach tighten slightly in anticipation.

It smelled like sukiyaki and grilled seasonal vegetables, with hints of dashi broth and sweet simmered mushrooms. A classic spring welcoming dinner for new dorm members—simple, homemade, but deeply comforting.

Nanami's-senpai eyes softened as she heard it, her steps growing lighter. "Ah… looks like dinner's almost ready."

I also caught scattered voices—Misaki-senpai's energetic tone bouncing off the walls, and Jin-senpai's lower, calmer replies, though I couldn't catch their words from this distance. Just fragments, like:

"—AND THEN, THEY COULD PILOT THE GIANT CAT ROBOT—"

"Sure, sure. But wouldn't that bankrupt any production committee—"

When we finally stepped into the common room, it looked completely different from how it was that morning. The living area, once strewn with paper scraps, snack wrappers, and scattered manga volumes, was now clean and organized. The coffee table was wiped down, cushions arranged neatly on the old sofa.

Misaki-senpai sat cross-legged on the floor beside the couch, gesturing wildly as she spoke, her eyes sparkling with some bizarre new anime idea. Jin-senpai leaned back with his usual laid-back smile, simply nodding along.

In the open kitchen area, I saw Sorata-senpai carefully slicing green onions while Mashiro-senpai sat at the dinner table, silent as always. Her gaze, however, was fixed directly on Sorata-senpai, watching every precise movement of his hands with an almost painterly focus.

And then—both Nanami-senpai and myself froze at once.

On the couch, half-hidden behind the armrest, was Chihiro-sensei, sprawled lazily on the couch, one leg tucked under her, sipping from a canned beer with her usual half-awake expression. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her staff ID still hanging loosely from her neck.

Nanami-senpai froze beside me, looking a little embarrassed before sighing softly—this was nothing new for her. Just another evening in Sakurasou.

I glanced at the beer can in Chihiro's hand, the metallic tab clinking softly as she tilted it back for a sip. Wait… wasn't alcohol strictly prohibited in school dormitories? Then again… I sighed inwardly. Anime world logic. No way this would fly back in my past life's reality.

Chihiro's-sensei gaze drifted lazily towards me, finally noticing my presence. She squinted slightly, as if trying to process who I was. "Hm? Who are you?"

I just smiled politely. "Natsuki Ren. Nice to meet you."

Beside me, Nanami-senpai let out a small groan and covered her face with her hand, muttering under her breath, "Sensei… seriously…"

Chihiro-sensei blinked a couple of times, her mind clearly shifting gears at a snail's pace, before her eyes widened just slightly in recognition. "Ah… right. The new student. Natsuki Ren." She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, her T-shirt riding up slightly before falling back down.

Then, her expression turned a little more serious. She set down her beer can on the side table and leaned forward. "Come talk with me for a bit. Over there." She gestured with her chin towards the hallway near the staff room.

I nodded, following as she stood up unsteadily.

Nanami-senpai, recognizing the cue, turned towards the kitchen. "I'll… go help Sorata with dinner."

As I walked away, I saw her naturally grab an apron from the hook and slip it over her clothes, tying it behind her back with practiced ease. She stepped beside Sorata-senpai, who gave her a small, surprised smile, and Mashiro-senpai looked up from the table, quietly watching Nanami-senpai with her usual blank gaze but flickering with something I can't see.

"Hello, Mashiro." Nanami said softly, before picking up a knife to help with the vegetables.

And with that small scene behind me, I stepped into the dim hallway with Chihiro-sensei.

------------------------

Chihiro-sensei led me down the hallway, her slippers dragging against the worn wooden floor. We stopped in front of the staff room door. She glanced back at me with her half-lidded eyes.

"Wait here for a sec."

She slid the door open with a soft clatter and disappeared inside. The muffled sound of rustling paper and clinking mugs filtered out as I stood alone in the dimly lit hallway, staring at the floorboards. Dust motes drifted lazily in the faint evening light leaking from the windows.

After a while, the door slid open again. Chihiro-sensei stepped out, holding a thin folder in one hand and her beer can in the other. She took a quick sip before sighing and tapping the folder lightly against her palm.

"Alright… Natsuki Ren, right?" she said, her tone suddenly sharper, her eyes more focused than before. "I read your file earlier. Special recommendation directly to Sakurasou, huh. That's rare."

She flipped open the folder, skimming through the printed pages with bored expertise. "Top of your class in junior high, multiple academic awards, coding certifications… and…"

Her gaze flicked up to me, a hint of curiosity mixed with faint amusement in her eyes. "That scandal you exposed at your last school. I remember seeing that on the national news ticker."

I stayed silent, feeling the faint chill of old memories trickle down my spine.

Chihiro continued, tone casual despite the gravity of her words. "Director blackmailing students for… sexual favors, huh. Using their grades and scholarship recommendations as leverage. Even had accomplices in the prestigious baseball club, forcing the female managers into things no kid should ever go through." She clicked her tongue softly. "Absolutely disgusting."

She turned a page lazily. "And then there's the coach and a couple of staff members funneling school funds into private businesses. Covering up injuries, beating the kids who didn't comply, threatening to ruin their futures if they spoke out."

Her eyes met mine again, narrowed with something like cold respect. "But you… you gathered the evidence, recorded everything, and leaked it to the right networks and investigative reporters. All at what, fourteen? Fifteen?"

I exhaled quietly. "It wasn't anything impressive. It just… needed to be done."

She tucked the folder under her arm, took another sip of beer, and let out a small sigh.

"Honestly… except for maybe some third-rate or second-rate schools out there, no one wanted you after that scandal blew up. They were all scared shitless. Afraid you'd dig up their own skeletons next."

Her words felt casual, almost amused, but her eyes never left mine.

"That's why you're here. Suimei's the only school crazy enough to take someone like you in—someone who actually does the right thing even if it means burning everything down around them."

She turned slightly, looking back towards the dim hallway as if remembering something. "You know, I even had a special private meeting with the headmaster because of you."

I blinked. "Headmaster…? Because of me?"

She smirked, tapping her beer can lightly against the folder. "Yeah. He wanted my opinion. 'Can he survive Sakurasou without burning it down too?' That's what he asked me."

I swallowed down a laugh at that. "And what did you tell him?"

Chihiro shrugged, stepping away and walking back towards the common room. "I said… it'd be fun to watch and find out."

She then took another sip of beer. "Anyway, it's no wonder Suimei fast-tracked you to Sakurasou. Problem children, geniuses, and outliers—that's what this place is for. But don't worry. As long as you keep your grades up and don't set the building on fire, I don't care what you do."

I bowed lightly. "Thank you, Sensei… for accepting me here."

Chihiro raised an eyebrow, swirling her beer can lazily. "Don't thank me too early. I just do what I'm told, you know."

I kept my expression calm, my gaze neutral, polite. Almost flat. But inside, thoughts flickered like silent embers.

"I see… Sensei," I said softly. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Hm?" She looked at me with mild curiosity, her posture relaxed.

"Why doesn't Mashiro-senpai have a psychologist or counselor checking on her regularly?" My tone remained polite, even gentle, with no trace of accusation. "As a dorm supervisor… you could at least arrange that, right? Why is she left like this?"

For a moment, the air between us felt heavy. Chihiro-sensei stared at me, her eyes narrowing slightly—not with anger, but something far more serious than when she talked about my scandal, or even her responsibilities.

She sighed, looking away down the hallway before replying in a low voice. "You think I didn't try? We did. Right after she transferred here from England. I personally brought her to the hospital for psychological evaluation."

"What… did they say?"

"They said she's unresponsive. No matter what approach, she wouldn't open up. In the end, the psychologist concluded therapy wouldn't help her. What Mashiro needs isn't counselling in the traditional sense."

She paused, shifting her beer can to her other hand with a faint clink. "What she needs is friends. A family-like environment. Maybe even a lover someday. Someone to stay by her side, without forcing her to change with analysis or diagnoses."

I stayed silent, listening to every word.

She leaned against the doorframe, finishing her beer. "Mashiro is… special. Even I don't know why she chose Japan over England's top art universities. But here she is."

Her eyes flicked towards the common room, then back to me. "At least she's opening up a bit now. Hanging out with Nanami, Jin, Misaki… and Sorata."

"Sorata-senpai, huh…" I murmured softly, eyes unfocused.

"Yeah." A faint smile crossed her lips. "There are rumors they're dating. I don't know if it's true, but… it proves what the psychologist said might work. Friends, time, and someone to love her for who she is… that's what Mashiro needs. Not a clinical diagnosis."

I nodded. "I understand. Thank you for answering, Sensei."

Even then, my tone remained the same—calm, polite, unreadable.

Chihiro-sensei glanced back at me, her eyes regaining their usual indifferent sharpness. "Anyway. Enough questions. Go wash your hands before dinner."

"Understood, Sensei."

Chihiro-sensei yawned, crushed her empty beer can, and wandered back towards the common room with the same lazy gait as always. I stood alone in the hallway, silent, the faint hum of fluorescent lights above buzzing in my ears.

My eyes lowered to the wooden floor.

'Friends, time, someone to love her… that's what she needs. Not therapy.'

It sounded good. Respectable, even. Many psychologists believed social immersion and naturalistic support could help Autism Spectrum Disorder Level 1, Social Communication Disorder, and alexithymia. Especially when paired with structured behavioural therapy. In theory, the "natural healing" approach—community care, patience, unconditional acceptance—was a cornerstone for mild ASD treatment worldwide.

But… is it enough?

I thought back to Shiina Mashiro's life in the light novel. Her humanity always overshadowed by her genius or her status as Sorata's pet-like muse. Even in the ending, she never truly became independent. Never made her own decisions. Everything revolved around Sorata. Their "romantic resolution" felt empty, ignoring her need to grow emotionally as her own person.

I exhaled softly, eyes distant.

What if she never truly understands friendship? What if she only mimics? Copies expressions and reactions without ever feeling them?

I read enough studies to know it was possible. People with alexithymia or ASD Level 1 could lie, mimic, and perform social cues convincingly. But inside, they might still feel nothing. Just empty responses stitched together by observation. Functional… but hollow.

Was that what awaited Mashiro's heart in this world? An existence where even her smiles were calculated approximations of human warmth?

I shook my head slightly, dispelling the thought. My slippers slid across the hallway floor as I walked back towards the common room.

'Trust Sorata, huh…'

Light spilled out from the open doorway, flickering softly against the walls. As I stepped inside, the savoury aroma wrapped around me – thinly sliced beef sizzling in sukiyaki broth, sweet simmered shiitake mushrooms, grilled seasonal vegetables like asparagus and bamboo shoots lightly charred on the portable grill, and a pot of steaming white rice with flecks of sakura denbu for colour.

On the side table, there were small plates of chilled tofu topped with freshly shaved katsuobushi and ponzu sauce, alongside bowls of pickled daikon and cucumber sunomono glistening under the fluorescent lights.

Mashiro sat at the dining table, her pale gaze unwavering, focused solely on Sorata as if nothing else existed in this world. Every time a dish was ready, she would wordlessly stand, pick it up with delicate precision, and place it neatly on the table before returning to her seat – her porcelain-like movements devoid of hesitation or wasted motion.

Nanami stood beside Sorata at the stove, apron tied perfectly around her waist, her cheeks flushed from the rising steam. They looked good together. Ordinary. Happy. Nanami's eyes flickered towards Sorata now and then, with that quiet longing she thought no one noticed. But it burned brightly, like a flame refusing to die, even knowing it might never be embraced.

I exhaled silently, eyes narrowing with distant clarity.

'To other people, maybe it's enough'

'But to Shiina Mashiro? It's not enough. Never was.'

In the end, what did Sorata give her?

Affection?

Attention?

Love…?

Or was it just the validation he needed to soothe his own inferiority complex – proof that someone so unreachable, so alien to normality, needed him desperately enough to cling to his existence?

During their third year, Sorata dove headfirst into his game development, burning himself to prove something. To prove he was worthy. That he could stand beside Mashiro not as "someone protected" but as an equal – as a creator, as a man.

But that was never what Mashiro needed, was it…

Shiina Mashiro never needed an equal. She needed someone beside her. Someone to walk with her, quietly, steadily, accepting her silence, her confusion, her emptiness – without demanding her to change, without projecting his own fears of inadequacy onto her brilliance.

Kanda Sorata couldn't do that.

Because deep down, he loved Mashiro as an artist he admired, but despised himself for being unable to reach her world. So he obsessed with his own goals, striving to be "worthy enough." Their relationship twisted with each passing month, dependency becoming suffocation, affection becoming pressure. Until in the end… it broke.

That's why they broke up after graduation.

I lowered my gaze, watching the flickering reflections on the polished floor.

'I understand Sorata, though.'

'In my past life, I was the same. Smart, but never genius. Always ordinary. Just another scholarship student fighting to keep tuition waived. No social life, just studying until my eyes burned bloodshot, working part-time for rent and textbooks, with rest days wasted away on anime, gacha games, and empty fandom debates to numb the fatigue.'

'Ordinary people envy genius. Hate them. Idolise them. Despise them. And sometimes… love them for all the wrong reasons.'

And maybe… maybe I understand what Mashiro thought in those four years after they separated.

Sorata was her anchor.

Without him, Mashiro Shiina was empty. She clung to him because he was the first person to reach out, to say she was allowed to be here, allowed to exist without being just an art tool. Her obsession and dependency grew stronger with each smile he gave her, each gentle scolding, each act of normalcy he provided to her alien world.

That's why she still say 'I Love you' 

I closed my eyes and exhaled, the scent of simmering kombu and beef broth curling around me like a fading warmth.

'Trust Sorata, huh…'

'Chihiro-sensei, maybe you're right. For other people… that's enough.'

'But for someone like Shiina Mashiro… it will never be enough.'

The scent of simmering dashi broth rose again, curling gently around me like a quiet embrace. I blinked once and stepped further in, silent, unnoticed, and sat down at the edge of the table as the evening continued around me.