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"Of course."
Kato Megumi's smile was gentle. It wasn't dazzling like Utaha's, nor was it energetic and blinding like Eriri's. It was like a flowing mountain stream—clear, quiet, and perfectly refreshing.
Leo nodded and untied the cloth wrapping. Inside sat an exquisite transparent plastic box, revealing rows of neatly stacked cookies. Half were dipped in rich, dark chocolate, while the others were plain butter cookies, golden-brown and uniform in shape. They looked professional.
Leo popped the lid, the faint scent of vanilla and cocoa drifting up. He picked one up and took a bite.
Snap.
The texture was perfect—crisp on the edges, tender in the middle. The flavor exploded on his taste buds, sweet but not cloying, with a buttery richness that lingered.
She's skilled, Leo realized. She's not a Michelin pastry chef, but with this level of consistency? She could easily open a boutique dessert shop in Harajuku.
"These are dangerous," Leo said, closing the box to save himself from devouring the whole thing. "If I don't control myself, I'll finish them before lunch. They'll make a perfect afternoon snack."
Although this wasn't the first time Leo had received gifts from girls—both in this life and his previous ones—this felt different.
He recalled his own immaturity as a child. Back then, if a girl gave him a gift, he found it troublesome or embarrassing, often ignoring the gesture completely. He had been a "straight man" in the densest sense, failing to realize that these small gifts were crystallized affection.
But Leo wasn't that child anymore. He wouldn't make that mistake.
He knew Megumi giving him cookies didn't necessarily mean she was in love with him. It was likely a gesture of gratitude for including her in the group, for seeing her when no one else did. Leo wasn't narcissistic enough to assume it was a confession, but he was mature enough to value the sentiment.
"There's no need to hold back," Megumi said slowly, her voice lacking urgency. "I made a second batch. If it's not enough, I can bring more tomorrow."
"Making these must have taken hours," Leo noted, tapping the lid of the box. "You can feel the care in every bite."
The concept of "intention" in food is mysterious. Even Leo, with his enhanced intellect, found it hard to quantify. Some meals, even if technically average, carried the chef's emotions. It was unscientific, but it was real.
These cookies were like that. They tasted of patience. They tasted of a quiet, steady joy. Eating them made him want to smile involuntarily.
"Megumi," Leo said suddenly, shifting the topic. "To be honest, sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing dragging you into this Game Development Circle. I made the decision without really consulting you."
He looked at her. Her expression was as flat as ever, giving off a soft, harmless aura that made it easy to underestimate her.
"Why do you say that?" Megumi asked, tilting her head. "Everyone in the circle is... interesting. Although I can't be of much help with the technical stuff, it's quite enjoyable to watch everyone bicker and laugh. It's lively."
For Megumi, the club was a sanctuary.
Before meeting Leo, she hadn't belonged anywhere. Her presence was so faint that she drifted through life like a ghost. Clerks at convenience stores looked right through her. Classmates forgot she was in the room. Even her family sometimes forgot to set a place for her at dinner.
The club was chaotic, yes. But in that chaos, she was seen. She was the fifth member. She was the anchor.
"Megumi," Leo asked, leaning forward slightly. "Have you thought about what you want to do in the future? And don't give me a standard answer like 'being a bride.' Be specific. What do you want to create?"
Leo wanted to give her agency. When people are idle, they stagnate. When they have a purpose, they shine.
Megumi looked up at the classroom ceiling, her eyes unfocused. It was a question she rarely considered. She had always assumed she would drift through life, invisible and unbothered.
How could she increase her presence? She had tried dressing up—didn't work. She had tried speaking louder—didn't work. She had accepted her role as an NPC in other people's lives.
But Leo was asking her to be a player.
"I think..." Megumi started, her voice thoughtful. "I want to write something. Or maybe draw. Although people have trouble perceiving me, I've noticed that the things I create aren't affected by my condition. If I write a story, the words don't turn invisible."
She looked back at Leo, her eyes unusually serious.
"Painting requires years of muscle memory and innate talent," Leo said, analyzing her options instantly. "Writing, however, has a lower barrier to entry. It's about structure and empathy—two things you have in spades. You could try writing short stories. Maybe even a novel eventually."
Megumi nodded slowly. "Then... I'll have to ask you for guidance, Leo-kun. I'm a complete novice."
"Everyone starts as a novice," Leo smiled, echoing the advice he had given Tomoya, though with much more genuine warmth. "Even me. I believe you can write wonderful stories, Megumi. And if you have questions? My door is always open."