The moment it became clear that Seimei had answered on his behalf, Yuto let out a sheepish chuckle. He didn’t need words to understand the look Seimei was giving him; it wasn’t mere concern but mild irritation—the kind that silently warned him to pull himself together before embarrassing himself in front of everyone. A faint sense of shame settled in his chest. For a brief moment, Yuto focused on the others as they placed their orders, committing each one to memory as though it were vital information he ought to retain. Once it seemed Toru had gathered everyone’s requests, Yuto watched the strange host drift back into the background. Even then, that lingering sense of shame refused to fully dissipate.
That feeling shifted, however, the moment Yūgen spoke up to formally introduce himself—to the others, and by extension, to Yuto. Yuto’s eyes flicked back to the same streaks of ink threaded through the red-haired man’s hair he had noticed moments earlier. Curiosity stirred; he found himself wondering what could have driven someone to have ink worked into their hair—only for that unspoken question to be answered almost immediately.
“Yūgen Kazahuna, Eighth Division. Cultural Preservation.”
The words settled, and something clicked into place. Of course—it made sense. A great many Shinigami assigned to the Eighth Division were closely tied to the fine arts—painting, acting, calligraphy, and other forms of creative expression. Yuto continued to listen as others introduced themselves, until he realized his turn was next.
“I’m… Yuto Togami, of the Tenth Division.”
He hesitated, his gaze fixed firmly on the tabletop in front of him.
“Um… how is everyone today?” The words came out softer than he intended, edged with nerves—like someone unaccustomed to speaking up, yet determined to see the sentence through.
I did it…
The thought echoed faintly in his mind, as though he were fighting his own instincts not to stand out. In a place like this, the mere idea of drawing attention to himself felt overwhelming—something he was utterly unequipped to process. Speaking out, being noticed, even existing too loudly among others left him painfully self-aware, and so he retreated into listening, content to remain in the background for now. Much like his companion Seimei, Yuto quietly took note of those around him—their appearances, personalities, and the subtle details of their actions. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder about the host of the dinner party; his appearance was undeniably unsettling, yet his personality seemed the complete opposite. Then again, as he had read time and again in books, one shouldn’t judge people solely on how they present themselves.
Then the sound of a door drew his attention, and he found himself staring at Toru, who carried several plates with impressive precision. To anyone else, it might have seemed graceful—but to Yuto, it was nothing short of horrifying. The host walked down the side of the room and stopped just behind him. Yuto’s entire being screamed in fear, yet he couldn’t move. He was paralyzed, frozen by sheer terror. Even more unsettling, Toru leaned close to his face. Yuto’s eyes flicked to the side of Toru’s face; the perspective—the way his head loomed in a slight fish-eye distortion—made him appear even more menacing.
And then Toru revealed the meal and sake he had ordered—but what he didn’t notice was a little extra alongside the regular meal: a sweeter version of what Yuto had requested.
"I decided to experiment with a sweeter version of this meal—a little cinnamon and dark chocolate in the flour. I thought it sounded fun!"
“Ahaha… thanks for the food,” he managed, his voice tight and hesitant, almost as if outright denying it would be disastrous. He paused, carefully emphasizing the words:
“It looked… rather sweet… Thank you, Mister.” He said it, though the host probably didn’t hear, as it happened quickly with him moving to the next person.
Out of pure instinct not to stand out, Yuto took a deep breath and, clapping his hands together in a near-ritualistic gesture, murmured, “Itadakimasu,” before beginning the meal. It soon became clear he was struggling internally; every bite seemed almost poisonous to him.
“Erk… too sweet…” Yuto’s eyes went wide—almost white—as it became painfully clear that he had a strong aversion to sweet food. The taste was physically overwhelming.
“I… I don’t like how sweet it is… even a little…” He had preferred the spicy karaage and tofu, and now, confronted with this unexpected sweetness, he could barely process it.
“But… I don’t want to come off as ungrateful…” And yet… he had managed to finish his bites, driven purely by sheer will—not to stand out, and not to upset the host with any sign of displeasure on his expression it may have come across as joyous. Taking a glance at everyone's reaction to their orders, especially Seimei. His eyes remained glued to the host’s expression, though something drew his attention elsewhere as Jaakuna stood up in a manner that, while almost routine to those in the know, might have seemed unusual to outsiders, yet perfectly normal to the host’s employees.
"Tsunayashiro-san, the moon is rather beautiful tonight. I do hope you’ll accept my proposal and become my husband.”
EHHHH?
He paused in the middle of his meal, slamming his chest as if to force the food down that had suddenly halted. His head raced with an unusual torrent of questions—how, where, what, when, and why—colliding in his mind like an endless, storm-tossed ocean. Each thought crashed into the next, refusing to pause, dragging him under a tide of possibilities he couldn’t quite untangle. Faces, gestures, and half-heard words swirled together, overlapping like waves, while his heart pounded against his ribs, as if trying to signal him to make sense of it all. Every passing second seemed to multiply the questions, each one spawning another, leaving him both fascinated and unnervingly aware of how little he truly understood about the unfolding scene before him.
"I don’t think anybody would believe this…" he thought, glancing at the reactions of the others.
"If you'll excuse me, dear guests, it seems we have some potential friends to join us! Please, dig in!"
He was still processing what had occurred as the host and even the Academy's Jewel departs from the room, it was almost as if it was routine. He was simply in shock. It was changed, however. Mostly due to boredom, or perhaps a touch of curiosity, he kept watching the individuals making conversations by now. For a moment or two, he continued to take a glance at the humanoid large-framed beast across the table, his face that of a curious soul. His eyes glistened with excitement—or perhaps even hope—as if he longed to touch the creature’s fur, admitting that he had succumbed to his own desires in moments like this. Then, he turned his gaze to the rather detached Rokka, a stark contrast to his own personality; he felt a twinge of envy toward the latter.
And then the host returned—not with one guest, but four individuals at once, far more than Yuto had expected. Among them, one set of eyes immediately caught his attention, stirring a vague sense of familiarity:
Hideo Shihoin’s. The recognition sparked a fleeting curiosity, though he quickly pushed the thought aside. After all, similar skin, hair and eye colors were hardly unusual these days, right? Too common to imply any meaningful connection.
“Nah… can’t be. Just imagining things, innit.” Yuto thought. Still, a subtle sense of familiarity lingered in the shorter Shinigami’s chest, a quiet tingle he couldn’t quite explain. Something about Hideo’s presence—his posture, the rhythm of his movements—felt faintly reminiscent of someone he ought to know. Yuto dismissed the thought once more, insisting it was nothing more than a passing impression, yet the feeling clung stubbornly, refusing to be ignored. Shaking it off as best he could, he returned his attention to his dinner; which he could enjoy the regular meal almost as if it was to purify the sweetness.
