A month after Dagger’s incident, when the winds of March gave way to the fragrances of April, another day unfolded at Churiri's house. She had invited her genmates over for dinner, and the trio was bustling around the kitchen, preparing the meal. By no means was this a rare sight. Given Churiri’s utter lack of life skills, Tadasu and Dagger frequently found themselves at her house, helping with chores or meals, or simply passing the time. This week, however, there had been a slight deviation from the norm.
“Tadasu-san,” Churiri said. “Just what is the meaning of this? You haven’t come here at all, streamed at all, posted on socials at all, or even sent me so much as a message!”
“Now, now,” Dagger said. “No need to sound so confrontational. Just tell her how you really feel—you were worried about her.”
“I... I wasn’t worried!” Churiri snapped. “I get moody when things don’t go according to schedule, that’s all!”
“Mm-hmm,” Dagger hummed before shifting her attention to Tadasu. “Unlike Sensei, however, I’m not too emotionally constipated to say that I was worried. What’s going on?”
Tadasu, however, seemed unaware of the concerned looks directed at her, her gaze lost to the ceiling.
“Tadasu-chan?” Dagger said.
“H-Hey,” Churiri said. “Don’t tell me something’s actually wrong with you? Do you feel ill?” Her indifferent facade faltered as she clasped Tadasu’s shoulders. “Have you lost weight?”
“Wha?” Only then, noticing the pressure on her frame and the familiar face right in front of her, did Tadasu react. “Oh, um, my apologies. No, I’m fine. Where were we? Right, dinner.” With that, Tadasu reclaimed some of her usual energy—at least for the moment.
“T-Tadasu-chan!” Dagger yelled. “The pot’s boiling over!”
“Hm?” Tadasu glanced down at the pot in front of her. “Ack! Crap! What do I do, what do I do?!”
“Turn the burner off!” Dagger said.
Tadasu hurriedly did so.
“Are you okay?” Sensei said. “Did it burn you?”
“No, I’m fine,” Tadasu said.
“That’s it! You’re banned from the kitchen today, Tadasu-chan!” Dagger said. “I can handle the rest. Go take a seat!”
Normally it was unthinkable for Tadasu to let a pot boil over. This lapse was the tipping point, and she found herself ousted from the kitchen.
Taking a seat at the dinner table, Tadasu let out a big sigh.
“What happened after your graduation ceremony?” Churiri asked, visibly concerned.
There was one day that stood out as the beginning of Tadasu’s odd behavior, and that was the day of her school’s graduation ceremony.
Actually, Tadasu-san has seemed a little preoccupied ever since we hashed it out with Dagger-san post her incident, Churiri thought, reflecting on the past month.
Tadasu remained silent. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t want to talk, but rather that she was unsure of how to approach the subject.
Is she worried about her future postgraduation? Churiri continued to ponder. No, that can’t be it. She already decided to continue as a streamer alongside the rest of us quite some time ago.
She thought long and hard, but in the end, decided to let the matter drop. “Whatever. Let’s just eat.” Experience had taught her that when Tadasu was like this, it was wiser to take a step back and let Tadasu open up of her own volition.
“Sensei, could you bring these dishes to the table for me?” Dagger said.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Just one ‘yeah’ is enough. Don’t sass me, young lady.”
“Is it just me, or do our roles seem reversed here?”
Despite their prickly exchange, their actions were quick and efficient, setting the table before Tadasu could raise a finger. Then, as usual, they all dug in.
“Hey,” Dagger said. “Was my amnesia act really that bad?”
“It was about as believable as a politician saying, ‘I don’t recall,’” Churiri replied.
“I-I mean, maybe they really don’t recall!” Dagger pouted. “Tadasu-chan, what do you think?”
Perhaps Tadasu noticed they were trying to include her in the conversation for her sake, or perhaps it was the delicious cooking that touched her. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was neither, and this was simply as far as Tadasu could hold it in. But regardless of the reason, her emotions spilled out.
“Hareru-senpai realized,” Tadasu whispered.
Churiri and Dagger both hmm?ed in confusion.
Distress pressing down upon her, Tadasu’s voice trembled. “Hareru-senpai has always realized. That’s why she said...”
“T-Tadasu-chan?” Dagger’s voice filled with a growing concern.
“It was all a lie,” Tadasu continued, now seemingly unaware of her surroundings. “I cloaked my lust in morality. I blamed Live-On, even though they didn’t do anything wrong. No, not just Live-On, but everything, everyone...” Her voice shook. “Why... Why?”
“Tadasu-chan, can you hear me?” Dagger said.
A crack in her composure had formed, and it could no longer bear the weight of her burden. “I’m so sorry. I truly am. I wish I could go back. I wish I could undo it all. I wish I could erase every single decision. Someone should have stopped me. Why didn’t they stop me? No, no. It’s not them, it’s me. It’s all on me. Don’t you dare shift this blame. You’ve disgraced yourself over and over. You knew better. You always knew...so why? Why did I do what I did? I have Sensei. I have Dagger-chan, so why?” Her voice crescendoed into a wail. “Ah, I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take it! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!!!”
Dagger had no idea what was going on, but rushed to Tadasu’s side and shook her shoulders. “Tadasu-chan! Talk to me, please. What’s happening? Are you all right?”
Churiri, meanwhile, was rooted to her seat in shock. Her eyes remained glued to Tadasu, unable to look away even for a moment. Tadasu-san, you... Her thoughts trailed off, choked by a sudden surge of empathy.
The paralysis that gripped her was rooted in familiarity—a haunting recognition that prevented her from jumping into action like Dagger. Churiri had seen this kind of despair before. Although she didn’t know the precise events that had led to this moment, the outcome was painfully familiar.
You...
There was no mistaking it. The overwhelming desire to rewind time, to correct past errors; the crushing self-loathing paired with a terror of what lay ahead—these were emotions Churiri herself had battled time and again.
When Tadasu finally lifted her head to lock eyes with her two genmates, her expression was one of utter despair, her gaze searching, almost pleading for answers. “Tell me. Tell me what I should do...”
In that moment, Churiri’s mind was besieged by flashbacks of her own darkest days. Yet it wasn’t the shock of witnessing such pain that hit her hardest—it was the heart-wrenching realization that it was Tadasu, of all people, who was unraveling before her.
Tadasu-san’s...having a nervous breakdown?