It's been three days.
Three.
Entire.
Days.
Since the incident.
You know, the one where I—allegedly—fell asleep wrapped around Sora like a desperate body pillow, drooling on her hair while mumbling "so soft" like a freaking teddy bear addict.
I didn't remember most of it. Only that I woke up to four girls in my room. Silent. Staring.
Sora had slipped out of my arms so fast, you'd think I electrocuted her.
And then… silence.
Complete and total silence.
Not just the "I'm mad" kind. No. This was coordinated. Strategic. Calculated psychological warfare.
Let me paint you a picture.
---
Day one:
I was holding a spoon like a sword.
Why?
Because the atmosphere in this house had become hostile territory.
Sora wouldn't look at me. Mei wouldn't even breathe near me. Elira, who usually found joy in giving me lectures, now communicated solely through "tsk"s. And Akane—the firebrand—literally set the microwave on fire this morning and walked away while whispering, "Oops."
I was beginning to think I'd died and was in some bizarre hellish afterlife where beautiful women punished me with aggressive silence and passive-aggressive omelets.
So when the knock came at the door, I thought: finally. Maybe it was Death. Maybe I could welcome him inside and explain how I got here.
I opened the door—
And saw Ayame.
Wearing a hoodie two sizes too big, dragging a suitcase that looked like it had been through three wars, and smiling like she knew this was going to be awkward.
"Hey, roomie," she said, brushing past me.
My mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again like a dying fish. "W-What are you doing here?"
"You told me to stay the night," she said innocently, waltzing in. "That means forever, right?"
Sora appeared in the hallway like a ghost summoned by betrayal. Mei followed, holding a book with all the subtle threat of a shuriken. Elira raised a single brow. And Akane? Akane was holding the knife again.
"Oh. You didn't tell them?" Ayame asked sweetly, looking at me.
"I didn't even tell me!"
Ayame dumped her luggage in the middle of the living room and plopped onto the couch like she had just claimed new territory for her kingdom.
"I call the room closest to yours," she said.
There was no talking after that. Just… vibes.
Deadly, sharp, tension-filled vibes.
---
That Night…
The girls cooked without me.
They laughed at jokes I wasn't part of. One of them locked me out of the bathroom while I was shampooing my hair. I don't even know how that's possible.
They even formed a group chat.
I know this because my phone buzzed and I saw the title of the group was:
> [Operation: Make Ren Suffer]
I cried in the shower. Silently. Like a man.
---
The Next Morning…
Ayame was in the kitchen humming and flipping pancakes while chaos reigned behind her.
Mei and Elira were whispering about "accidental" poison testing.
Akane was sharpening a spoon like it owed her money.
Sora was writing a list of "punishments."
I walked in and said, "Morning."
Dead silence.
Ayame cheerfully replied, "Morning!" and everyone glared at her like she'd broken girl code.
"I had a dream last night," I said, desperate to break the tension. "You were all riding on unicorns and beating me up with heart-shaped pillows—"
"No one cares," said Elira.
I turned to Ayame.
She gave me a sympathetic pat on the back. "You really messed up, huh?"
I blinked. "YOU'RE the one who showed up and claimed squatters' rights!"
Then she stood up and walked out.
---
Day Two:
I entered the kitchen like a prisoner on death row.
Mei was making tea. Mei. The usually sweet, humming, pastel-colored angel of calm.
She looked at me.
Then looked through me.
Then passed me a cup of tea.
Without sugar.
She's never done that.
I took a sip. Almost died. Looked up.
She was already gone.
Sora walked in right after, carrying a tray of eggs and toast. I thought, yes, maybe Sora's forgiven me.
She served herself. Sat down. Ate in front of me.
No extra plate.
No words.
Just cold, perfectly seasoned betrayal.
---
Day Three:
Akane was in the living room bingeing her favorite drama. Usually, she'd drag me into the couch to "suffer with her," claiming I had the right shoulder shape for emotional support.
Today?
She turned up the volume as I walked in.
Then—then—she turned on subtitles and lowered the volume back down, just to pretend I didn't exist.
That hurt more than stepping on a Lego.
Elira? Oh, Elira went full anime villain mode. She didn't just ignore me. She monologued to herself right next to me like I was an invisible ghost sidekick.
"Hmm. I wonder if some people deserve forgiveness," she muttered while sharpening one of her throwing daggers.
I didn't even do anything wrong! (Okay maybe I did. A little. But still!)
---
Evening: I Tried Apologizing
I gathered them in the living room. Candlelit. Mood set. My hands were clasped. I had practiced lines.
"Ladies," I began, dramatically, "I know I may have—"
"Meow."
That was Elira. She made a cat sound.
Sora patted her. "Good girl."
They all left the room together.
Even the cat wasn't real.
---
So I got desperate.
I tried cooking breakfast the next morning.
Sora walked in, sniffed the air, and went:
"Hmm. Something smells burnt. Probably my trust."
And left.
Elira came in right after, stared at my apron, and said, "So the hostage learned to cook. Adorable."
Mei peeked in, said nothing, but wrote something on a notepad. I managed to peek when she left it on the table:
> "Attempted breakfast. Presentation: 2/10. Suffering: ongoing."
Akane just watched me mop eggs off the wall and whispered:
"This is your punishment. Let it simmer."
---
But the worst? Ayame.
She hadn't said a word either.
Just… glared.
And today… she cornered me.
In the laundry room.
"Ren," she said quietly, voice sweet like syrup hiding cyanide.
"Yes?" I croaked.
"Do you know what today is?"
I checked my phone. "Um. Wednesday?"
She nodded.
"Exactly. Wednesday. Do you know what happened last Wednesday?"
"…Was it the curry incident?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"No," she said. "Last Wednesday, you said you'd be my partner for the haunted house festival booth."
Oh no.
OH NO.
"Oh. Uh. Right. Right! Haunted house. Ghosts. Fun."
She leaned in.
"I was going to be the ghost bride. You were supposed to be the cursed husband. Romantic horror."
She stepped even closer.
"You know who volunteered when you didn't show up?"
"…Who?"
"Mr. Tanaka."
Mr. Tanaka was 62. Retired. And used to teach woodshop.
He also wore socks with sandals and called people "sport."
"Oh."
"Yes. Oh. I screamed 'husband' and he giggled like a raccoon. The trauma is permanent."
I nodded rapidly, sweating.
"Am I forgiven?" I asked.
She smiled.
"Almost. But not yet."
---
Later That Night
I thought maybe—maybe—they were warming up to me again.
Until I entered my room and found all of them there.
Sitting. Waiting.
No one spoke.
I stepped inside like I was entering a lion's den.
They all looked at me with the same face.
You know that face anime characters make before they beat you to death with sparkles and a chair? Yeah.
That.
Then Mei stood up and handed me a box.
"What's this?" I asked.
"It's a silence survival kit," she said calmly.
Inside was:
A stress ball shaped like Sora's face.
A whistle labeled "In case of emotional emergency."
And a note.
> "You have 48 hours left to grovel. Or the harem moves out."
I looked up.
Mei was smiling.
"Sleep well," Elira added sweetly.
Then they all left my room like a mafia leaving after delivering a threat.
I stood there.
Alone.
Staring at my stress ball.
"…Maybe I deserve this."
---