The room didn't change after that.
Not immediately.
The words lingered longer than they should have.
I am what answers.
Itsuki didn't respond. Not right away.
He leaned back slightly, eyes still on the corner, as if waiting for something to follow—some correction, some addition.
Nothing came.
The presence remained where it was.
Still.
Watching.
The clock ticked.
7:49.
Itsuki exhaled slowly and looked away first.
"That's… inconvenient," he muttered.
Silence.
He reached for his notebook again, flipping to a page filled with half-erased work. Numbers, lines, careless corrections.
Something normal.
Something that stayed where he left it.
He picked up his pen.
"You said you don't interfere," he said, not looking up.
"Yes."
"So that means no helping either."
A pause.
"I respond."
"That's the same thing."
"No."
Itsuki pressed the pen to the page, writing the first line of a problem he barely remembered starting.
"Then what's the difference?"
"You choose when I exist."
His pen stopped.
He didn't look up.
"That doesn't make sense."
"It does here."
Itsuki frowned slightly, eyes tracing the equation.
He solved halfway. Stopped.
Something felt off.
Not wrong—just… incomplete.
He tapped the pen against the paper once.
Twice.
Then—
"If I ask something small," he said, voice casual, almost careless, "that still counts, right?"
Silence held for a moment.
"Yes."
Itsuki nodded to himself.
"Okay."
He stared at the last line he'd written.
"…Is this wrong?"
The air didn't shift.
No pressure.
No push.
Just—
"Yes."
Itsuki erased the final step without hesitation.
He rewrote it.
Checked it again.
"…Now?"
A pause.
Then—
"Yes."
His hand stilled.
"You just said—"
"You changed the structure."
Itsuki let out a quiet breath, somewhere between irritation and something else.
"That's annoying."
The smile in the corner didn't change.
"You're not helping."
"You didn't ask for help."
Itsuki leaned back again, staring at the ceiling.
A faint laugh escaped him.
"Right."
The clock ticked.
7:56.
Outside, the house continued without pause. His mother moving in the kitchen. The soft hum of the television. Distant, normal sounds.
He let them sit in the background.
Then—
"What if I don't ask?" Itsuki said.
Silence.
"If I just… think it?"
A longer pause this time.
Then—
"I will not answer."
Itsuki turned his head slightly, just enough to let the corner enter his vision again.
"You're very specific with rules."
"They matter to you."
"That's not an answer."
"It's enough."
Itsuki watched the darkness for a moment longer than usual.
Then looked away.
His phone buzzed.
Haruto.
You disappeared again. You good?
Itsuki stared at the message.
His thumb hovered.
He typed:
Yeah. Just studying.
He paused.
Then added:
Nothing much.
Send.
The phone dimmed.
"…Was that a lie?" he asked.
The answer came without delay.
"Yes."
Itsuki's jaw tightened slightly.
"It wasn't important."
"Not yet."
He didn't like how easily that settled in.
Like it had been waiting.
The clock shifted.
8:01.
Eight again.
The air didn't change.
But something else did.
Itsuki felt it in the way his shoulders weren't as tense anymore. In the way his breathing stayed even. In the way the presence didn't feel like something to endure.
He picked up the pen again.
Another problem.
Another pause.
"…If I ask," he said quietly, "you answer."
"Yes."
"And if I don't—"
"You remain uncertain."
Itsuki nodded slowly.
"That's normal."
"Yes."
"But you're not."
Silence.
Then—
"No."
That didn't feel like agreement.
It felt like correction.
Itsuki didn't push it.
Instead, he wrote again.
Stopped again.
A small mistake. He could feel it.
Not see it.
Just… know it was there.
His grip tightened slightly.
"…Is there an error?"
A pause.
Then—
"Yes."
He closed his eyes for a second.
Not frustration.
Not relief.
Something quieter.
"…Okay."
He fixed it.
Didn't question how fast it came to him.
Didn't question why it felt easier the second time.
The clock ticked.
8:14.
The room remained still.
The presence remained.
And Itsuki—
didn't ask anything for a while.
But the questions stayed.
Waiting.
Forming.
Smaller now.
Easier.