Here it came again.
This kind of inquiry about the "past" and "identity."
Although this time the questions sounded much more normal than the frantic gossip about the "Fire-Chaser Stars" at noon, and even came with good intentions.
But the very act of delving into this fundamental question had already touched Shu's most sensitive nerve.
Shu hated... no, Shu himself was quite averse to this kind of in-depth questioning.
This thought coldly slid across the surface of Shu's consciousness, bringing with it a familiar sense of repulsion that seemed to cause physical discomfort.
This was a resistance to the act of "being deeply investigated" itself.
Like a carefully maintained protective shell being lightly tapped, emitting a heart-stoppingly crisp sound.
In the depths of Shu's mind, a certain deep-rooted, but by no means voluntary, perfectionist tendency and privacy barrier were screaming alarms.
For a long time, whether due to an idol's burden or self-perception, Shu had been subconsciously pursuing an "flawless" image.
A kind of controllability and "correctness" from his behavioral logic to his performance of abilities, and even to his very existence.
Any possible exposure of weaknesses and unbearableness, any irrational choices, and Shu's personal experiences or certain characteristics that Shu believed might not conform to universal values... each of the above issues would trigger this sensitive defense mechanism.
Shu knew he had flaws, a past, and a side that wasn't so glamorous or praiseworthy.
In fact, Shu understood very well that in the eyes of others, those might not even count as "drawbacks" at all, perhaps just ordinary personality traits or life experiences.
But the problem was—
"Perhaps."
Shu couldn't bear this "perhaps."
He was used to being in control, to exhausting all possibilities, to minimizing risks.
Exposing his privacy meant handing over the right to judge to others, meant that he might touch someone else's trigger points because of some "characteristic" he hadn't noticed, leading to misunderstanding, criticism, and even... rejection.
The kind of harm that could be caused by "honesty" was far more terrifying to him than physical trauma.
He would rather maintain a cautious, distant, and even slightly mysterious image than risk betting on the other person's understanding and tolerance.
Therefore, when faced with this kind of "in-depth" question, his first reaction was always defense and evasion.
Am I going to have to start making up stories again?
This was what Shu wanted to do in the first place.
He could answer.
Why did "Stelle" have so many Homu collectibles?
Why did she have a unique temperament?
Why could she open a shop so quickly?
Constructing a logically rigorous, detailed, and even self-consistent story was not difficult for Shu.
Even before he could accelerate his thinking, before he gained his powers, before...
Before he transmigrated.
Shu could do it.
He could weave a story about the descendant of a family of cultural heritage guardians, or a pre-war professional collector and low-profile wealthy person, or even a "survivor who lost everything in the Honkai and was looking for a place to settle down with his only remaining treasures."
And the "script" chosen by Shu could be continuously supplemented and perfected as possible follow-up questions were asked, adding touching details, reasonable setbacks, and a final sense of detachment and persistence.
He could even, when telling the story, due to the "reasonableness" and investment in it, reveal just the right amount of "genuine emotion."
But that was a lie.
No matter how logically self-consistent, how realistic the details, how "on point" the emotions were, its essence was still a carefully constructed lie.
It was nothing more than using information asymmetry and language skills to induce and deceive the questioner.
And Shu, also hated lying.
Especially lying to someone who might have good intentions, and might even be establishing some weak "bond."
That wasn't some empty moral dogma.
A lie meant a relationship built on an untrue foundation. This kind of relationship was like a castle built on sand, which could collapse at any time due to the exposure of the truth, and the harm it brought was often greater than the initial alienation.
He was afraid of "polluting" those perhaps sincere good intentions with lies, and even more afraid of the disappointment, the anger of being deceived, or the cracks of all the beautiful impressions shattering that might appear in the other person's eyes when he had to reveal the lie one day.
The more he cared, the more he couldn't tolerate deception.
This contradiction was almost tearing him apart...
No, or rather...
Shu was bound to be torn apart by the lies that tried to protect his "perfect" self.
On one side was the instinctive self-preservation and the maintenance of a "perfect and controllable image."
On the other was the desire for sincerity and the fear of "polluting relationships."
His emotions were telling him that a vague lie might be the best choice to maintain the status quo and protect both sides.
But Shu's reason was screaming in rejection.
It was strange, wasn't it? Did the driving reasons feel reversed?
No, Shu's subconscious reaction was to lie, and the refusal after thinking about it was truly Shu's reason.
Even his reason was accusing his emotions of being overly sensitive.
This brief psychological struggle probably only lasted a few tenths of a second in real time.
The two "Stelles'" movements just froze for an almost imperceptible moment, and then returned to normal.
He saw the curiosity in the girls' eyes, and behind that curiosity was a slightly childish but sincere sense of closeness that had developed after "fighting" together today.
Through that annoying but unavoidable "empathy," they could even faintly touch the warmth of that goodwill.
He couldn't lie.
But he couldn't be honest either.
My Lord, this chapter is not over yet, please click on the next page to continue reading, the rest is more exciting!
In the end, after this fierce internal tug-of-war, Shu chose that path as usual.
Perfunctory.
Using the shortest, most vague, and least informative statements to gently deflect the sharpness of the question, while leaving enough room for imagination for the other person to fill in the blanks with their own understanding.
"Before... I just liked collecting these things," he avoided career, identity, and social relationships.
"After the Honkai, a lot of things were gone, but these... were still here," he emphasized the universality of the disaster and the accidental survival of the collection, evoking empathy and shifting the focus.
"I opened this shop to give people who still like these things a place to find them," he ennobled and made his motive altruistic, conforming to the pursuit of "correctness" in his "perfect image."
"And to give ourselves... a place to stay," here he returned to a faint personal emotion, appearing real and not artificial, but still blurring the core question of "why they needed this place to stay."
Every sentence was a fragment of the truth, but when combined, they cleverly avoided all the specific details that might trigger further questions.
The blandness in his tone could be interpreted as a sense of detachment after experiencing hardships, or as a natural part of his personality, or an unwillingness to talk more.
After speaking, the two Shus lowered their heads in sync, refocusing their attention on their plates, using the act of chewing to send the silent signal of "the topic ends here."
This was a defense, a gentle refusal.
But at least, Shu did not tarnish the budding sincerity with lies, but he still did not truly open himself up.
Because in his eyes, it was no different from a lie.