He glanced away, something in his expression flickering between surprise and something far more forlorn. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that—wasn’t sure he could respond to that.
Friendship had always been a complicated, fraying thread in his life.
His old college friends—pushed away by his own hands, lost in the singular pursuit of his research.
And Akira-kun. From his world.
The one who had been his guiding light, who had helped him see beyond what was in front of him. Who had, in some small way, acted as the very lenses now resting on his nose—dusting off the fog, letting him see what he never could have before.
He had been Maruki’s friend.
And now? Every Akira—or Ren—he had encountered in this place had made their feelings perfectly, painfully clear.
Hatred. Disgust. Bitterness.
He had never asked.
And especially after the tapes? He hadn't needed to ask.
A middle-aged weirdo like him? No, that wasn’t a good friend for someone like her. Someone so sharp, so attuned to the world around her.
But in the end, he said nothing about it.
He kept walking, kept his gaze ahead, and instead, after a long silence, muttered, "These ideas of people… they have their own idea of life, too. Even if it’s a pretense. It’s still a life."
A certain, gnawing thought tugged at the edges of his mind. Rumi.
The one he hadn’t reached out to after the whole debacle during the Christmas Party. The one he couldn’t bring himself to find again.
But now wasn’t the time for that.
At Hamuko’s question, he stayed quiet for a little too long. Then, suddenly blinking, he offered her a sheepish grin. "Ah, my apologies! I was just admiring the… interesting studio. Certainly fits the theme." He made a sweeping gesture at their unsettling surroundings, voice dripping with obvious sarcasm.
Still, she had a point. If they were going to move forward, they needed direction.
Maruki exhaled, closing his eyes briefly as he tapped into his ability, reaching outward—trying to feel something beyond the immediate fog.
1/2
Did she… see a friend in him?
He glanced away, something in his expression flickering between surprise and something far more forlorn. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that—wasn’t sure he could respond to that.
Friendship had always been a complicated, fraying thread in his life.
His old college friends—pushed away by his own hands, lost in the singular pursuit of his research.
And Akira-kun. From his world.
The one who had been his guiding light, who had helped him see beyond what was in front of him. Who had, in some small way, acted as the very lenses now resting on his nose—dusting off the fog, letting him see what he never could have before.
He had been Maruki’s friend.
And now? Every Akira—or Ren—he had encountered in this place had made their feelings perfectly, painfully clear.
Hatred. Disgust. Bitterness.
He had never asked.
And especially after the tapes? He hadn't needed to ask.
A middle-aged weirdo like him? No, that wasn’t a good friend for someone like her. Someone so sharp, so attuned to the world around her.
But in the end, he said nothing about it.
He kept walking, kept his gaze ahead, and instead, after a long silence, muttered, "These ideas of people… they have their own idea of life, too. Even if it’s a pretense. It’s still a life."
A certain, gnawing thought tugged at the edges of his mind. Rumi.
The one he hadn’t reached out to after the whole debacle during the Christmas Party. The one he couldn’t bring himself to find again.
But now wasn’t the time for that.
At Hamuko’s question, he stayed quiet for a little too long. Then, suddenly blinking, he offered her a sheepish grin. "Ah, my apologies! I was just admiring the… interesting studio. Certainly fits the theme." He made a sweeping gesture at their unsettling surroundings, voice dripping with obvious sarcasm.
Still, she had a point. If they were going to move forward, they needed direction.
Maruki exhaled, closing his eyes briefly as he tapped into his ability, reaching outward—trying to feel something beyond the immediate fog.
And there it was.