Part 3
—All right, movie time! —Jake said, stretching enthusiastically. —I vote for something explosively action-packed with zero plot!
—I want romance! —Akari jumped in, raising her hand like in class.
—Isn't comedy an option? —Hina muttered as she browsed through the old collection of films.
—Is that... a disc player? —Touma asked, walking over with interest to the corner of the room.
—I turned it on earlier —Mirai said softly. —It works... mostly.
Between laughs, debates, and random comments, the group scattered around the old TV, arguing about what to watch. In the middle of the small chaos, Shizuki remained seated on the sofa, her book now closed on her lap, silently observing.
Touma noticed her distant expression. While the others continued wrapped up in their choices, he quietly slid over to sit near her, leaving a respectful space between them.
—Aren't you going to vote for a movie? —he asked in a low voice.
Shizuki took a moment before replying.
—None of them really interest me —she said softly. —Though... I do find it fascinating how much effort they put into something so trivial.
Touma smiled.
—That's kind of the charm. Doesn't matter what they pick, they'll end up talking over the movie or falling asleep halfway through anyway.
She turned her head slightly toward him.
—And you? What would you have picked?
—Me? —Touma glanced over at the group, then looked straight ahead again. —Something quiet. One of those movies no one remembers, but leaves a warm feeling at the end. Though I doubt it'd win the vote.
Shizuki lowered her gaze.
—That sounds... nice.
A brief silence settled between them.
Not awkward—just light, shared. Like their thoughts were walking side by side.
Touma turned slightly to get a better look at her.
—Doesn't all this noise bother you? I thought you preferred being alone.
She hesitated for a moment before answering.
—Normally, yes. But this place... —she glanced toward the others, who were now arguing whether a samurai movie counted as "romantic"— it's not like the others. Here, I don't have to say much... and still, I don't feel alone.
Touma looked at her, surprised.
Not because it was a big revelation—but because for the first time, Shizuki seemed to let her guard down. Even if just a little.
—Hina's not going to be happy about that —he said jokingly.
Shizuki gave a faint smile.
—I know. That's why I try not to provoke her too much.
—Doesn't seem like you're trying, to be honest.
She laughed—soft and barely audible.
—Maybe... just a little.
Touma didn't know what to say after that.
The silence returned, but this time it was different. Comfortable.
Across the room, Jake held up a random disc and shouted:
—Perfect! I picked for everyone! A 90s high school romantic comedy!
—What kind of choice is that?! —Hina protested.
—Come on, I bet it has a super catchy opening! —Akari added.
The movie began with oversaturated animation, over-the-top music, and a protagonist with the most outdated hairstyle in existence. Everyone burst into laughter.
Touma and Shizuki, without saying anything more, simply watched the screen.
For a few moments, they seemed distant from the club's noise. Just two people, sharing a simple, quiet moment… their moment.
The movie went on, full of its typical over-the-top plot and exaggerated characters, but by then, no one was really paying attention anymore.
The laughter had quieted, the voices softened, and the atmosphere—though still lively—had become more relaxed, gentler... almost intimate.
Shizuki remained silent, legs crossed, her book closed on her lap.
—Touma —she said suddenly, in a voice so low only he could hear her.
—Hmm?
—This is the first time I've been in a group where no one expects anything from me —she said, staring straight ahead, expressionless.
Touma turned slightly toward her.
—What do you mean?
She kept her eyes on the screen.
—I was always "the mysterious girl," "the foreigner," "the perfect student." If someone approached me, it was for one of two reasons: to ask me to solve something for them... or to confess. —She paused, briefly. —Both things bore me.
Touma lowered his gaze a little, letting her words settle.
—And here?
—Here, it's different. —Her fingers played softly with the edge of the book. —No one asks me to be special. No one expects anything from me. I just... exist. And somehow, that's more comfortable than I imagined.
Touma nodded, smiling to the side.
—I guess this club does have something special after all.
She let out a faint, almost inaudible laugh.
—Maybe.
A brief silence followed, until Touma pointed at the book still in her hands.
—By the way, I always see you with that same book. Do you like it that much?
Shizuki glanced down at the cover. Her expression shifted slightly, as if hiding something behind her usual calm.
—I carry it with me because... sometimes I don't remember if I've already read it.
Touma blinked, confused.
—What?
She slowly turned her face toward him, her gray eyes glowing with a strange kind of calm.
—My Astra Core isn't like the others. It's... unstable. Sometimes, when I use it, something in me becomes disordered. Like my mind fragments... and parts of me get left behind.
Touma felt a faint chill run down his spine—not from fear, but from the weight of her words.
—And the book...?
—...helps me know if something's changed. If I've read it before, but it feels new... then I know something's wrong. —She closed it slowly. —It's my way of measuring how much of me is still here.
For a moment, Touma didn't know what to say. But then, with a quiet smile, he said:
—Well... if you ever forget how it ends, I can always tell you.
She looked at him. Not with coldness, not with arrogance... but with a serene, warm expression.
—Thank you. But if one day I forget who you are... I hope you'll tell me that too.
Touma nodded.
—Promise.
They both turned back to the screen, saying no more. And even though the rest of the group laughed, argued, or chatted loudly, between the two of them, the silence was perfect.
A bond had formed. Invisible. Intangible. But real.