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Eating was never an easy task for Wada Masanari.
When he did eat, it was erratic. Small things, typically: a granola bar there, a frozen microwave pasta dish there, some microwavable chicken if he was in a good mood. Cooking had never been his forte, and having enough energy to even get out of bed and use the microwave was something he considered a net positive, so no food was too shameful as far as he was concerned.
His classmates' opinions differed on the matter. It was nice to eat something cooked, of course, and he always made sure to extend the utmost gratitude to whoever was kind enough to play chef, but he was fine keeping "proper meals" few and far between. He was eating. And none of them knew the extent of just how miraculous that was for him, with the whole "killing game" thing going on.
So when he slinks out of his room for some minute rice, he hopes to not encounter anyone. If he does, he'll be pleasant, of course, but right now he'd rather be alone. Food was already enough of a problem when he was on his own, he didn't need someone else to remind him of his abnormalities.
Just within eyeshot, Tamba Ruiko comes bounding down the hall, steps somewhere between skipping and marching. She's got this smile on her face like something incredible has happened, and some sort of mint green ensemble draped on her shoulder. And she's giggling. It makes her impossible to miss—it's only natural that Wada turns his head in her direction—yet he still tries to ignore it, tries to go the other way with his head turned in the opposite direction—
"Wada! Hey!"
Wada grinds his teeth. So much for that.
"Tamba? You sound rather, um, peppy," he mutters, trying his best to make himself loud enough so that his voice can make the distance between them.
"That's because I get to be served by Prince Yanagi tonight! Ehehe!" Tamba swoons. It's rare to see her so giddy, her voice strung so high and taut.
"Prince Yanagi…?"
"Oooh, wait, I just got the best idea!"
"Huh?"
"You should come! Yanagi can cook you a real meal instead of that frozen stuff you always eat!"
Wada tries not to let the comment about his eating habits get to him. She means well, after all.
"I um, I really appreciate it, but I'm fine, really. I-I'm eating, so, that's what matters, right? I was actually gonna go eat right now—"
"Wadaaaaa, come on! You barely even eat once a day. Plus, you could be part of the Princess Club! There's so many cute outfits in the drama room, we should get you one!"
"I don't really know if something like that suits me."
"But I can see it!" Tamba insists. She holds out her hands, fingers pointed like she's trying to capture his face in a photo frame, then extends them wide. "Prince Wada of Sendai! The voice of the people!"
"I don't think I'm fit to be a prince, really… P-Plus, Yanagi's already the prince in this scenario, right? I wouldn't want to steal his thunder…"
Honestly, Wada isn't sure why he says it like he's intending to go along with the idea. Maybe there's a part of him that actually wants to tag along, far back in the recesses of his mind. And wanting to be acknowledged, it twists his words, tuning them like an instrument to produce sounds that betray him.
"Not a prince, huh?" Tamba replies. "We can work with that. You know what? Wait here. Let me drop off this dress at my dorm, we'll go microwave your rice cup or whatever it is you were gonna have for lunch, figure out what role you should be, and then hit the costume rack!"
"I didn't say I was—"
"Come on Wada, pleaseeeee?"
Tamba's got these puppy-dog eyes that he's never seen on her. And she's so insistent, so he might as well—
"Okay. I'll come."
"Woooo!" Tamba hollers. "Princess Party!"
Wada tries to swallow the rising fear in his stomach as Tamba makes the mad dash to her room.
Wada waits, as asked, holding the plastic rice cup in both his hands, playing with the tab between his fingers.
Maybe he was being too pessimistic about the whole thing. There wasn't anything wrong with dressing up, right? Just because it was something he never got to do didn't mean it was awful.
"Wada!"
"Hi, Tamba."
"Let's go microwave that rice cup," Tamba says, a stride in her step as she heads to the dining hall.
"W-Wait."
"Huh? What's up?"
"U-Um, I was just thinking, there's a microwave in the staff room on the first floor, and that's the same floor the drama room's on, right? If we go there, we won't have to walk around as much."
"Huh, you're right!" Tamba agrees. "Let's do that, then. I didn't even consider that. Do you think Watari will get mad at us?"
"I-I mean, she can't technically control who goes in there, right? A-And it's not chicken I'm making, it's rice."
"Hmm… Yeah, I don't see why we shouldn't use it, then. Let's go!"
"Right," Wada mutters, following along.
He doesn't point out the fact that the staff room is far more likely to be vacant than the dining hall. It being on the first floor with the drama room was but a happy coincidence in his book.
"So you don't wanna be a prince," Tamba starts as soon as he's shut the microwave.
"N-Not really."
"Do you wanna be a princess?"
The question gives Wada pause. He looks at the microwave as it counts down from thirty seconds, looking to the numbers for an answer.
They don't give him one.
"Maybe there's some other sort of role I could fill? M-Maybe."
"Okay, then, uh…"
Tamba taps her foot on the carpet. "Well, if you're gonna be a part of Princess Club, you oughta be some type of royalty. Or working at a castle, or something."
The microwave beeps.
"Has it really been a minute?"
"Oh, no, I just put it in twice for thirty seconds and stir in between. Makes it cook a bit more evenly, I think."
"Huh. Didn't think of that."
Wada pushes the start button for a second time as Tamba thinks.
"Hmm… Thinking… I'm thinking…"
Wada doesn't offer Tamba any ideas as the microwave timer slowly ticks down.
"Oooh! I've got it!"
The microwave beeps again. Wada takes his rice out and blows over the top.
"Wada Masanari, Master of Cultural Affairs!"
"Huh?"
"You read manga and stuff, right?"
"Yeah?"
"And that's cultural! So you're the guy that goes over to all the neighboring kingdoms and gets them to form alliances with our kingdom!"
"B-Because I read manga…?"
"Yeah! Whaddya think?"
"I mean—I-I guess? Maybe? I'm not sure if that's something that exists, though…"
"What? Of course it exists! And even if it doesn't, it does in Ruikoland!"
"Ruikoland?"
"Yep! That's my kingdom. You're my cultural affairs guy!"
"Um. Okay. Yeah. I can do that. Maybe."
"Woohoo! We've got a role for you! Princess Club membership complete!"
"Hooray…?"
"Okay, now, eat that rice. We've gotta get a costume for you!"
Wada stares blankly in return.
"Why're you looking at me like that."
"…I forgot a fork."
"Ohhhhh my god."
One trip to the dining hall later, Wada finds himself metaphorically dragged to the drama room.
"Ta-da!"
It's bigger than he imagined, though, to be frank, he hadn't imagined much of anything at all. He's not entirely sure what type of school Fujioka Memorial High School was supposed to be, but if this was their drama room, it meant that they must've put some decent funding into the performing arts department.
"There's no real set look for your position, I think, so pick out whatever you want! Just try to be a little classy, though, okay?"
"A little classy," Wada repeats. "Got it."
Unsure of where to start, Wada gravitates towards a section with soft colors. He'd always been a fan of pastels, imagining that they'd look nice on him, were he a little less stick-thin and had a bit more money to pick out the clothes he wanted. Technically, these were women's clothes, but boy clothes were hard to find in his size anyway, and the selections he was thumbing through looked like they would fit him. And they looked nicer than the gaudy, glitterbombed ensembles on the other rack.
Unable to keep herself occupied, Tamba begins to sift through a nearby rack herself.
"Hey, Wada."
"Yeah?"
"What's your favorite color?"
"My favorite color's pink."
"Pink, huh?"
"I-Is there something wrong with liking pink?"
"Nah, I just thought it'd be like, red or something. Since that shirt you wear so often is red."
"I just wear anything I can get my hands on, really…"
"And that's why we're gonna pick out something you really like!" Tamba insists, using that almost-shouting cheerleader voice that Wada's been hearing for the past hour. "Something that screams Wada Masanari!"
"I don't know if I'd like clothes that scream."
"Oh, come on, you know what I mean! Just pick something out that really draws you in. I'll help you accessorize!"
"R-Right."
While there are a lot of cute options, a lot of them are a bit too much for Wada to handle. Too many ruffles, too tight fit, too many frills… it all makes his head spin.
Maybe he's overthinking this. His pants and sneakers were fine, right? He could just get a nice blouse and look the part with that.
With a renewed sense of determination, Wada continues combing through the garments.
And then one catches his eye.
It's a white blouse, collared like a traditional dress shirt, with ruffles at the sleeves. Two strips of lace make their way down the bodice, but since they're the same color as the rest of the blouse, they don't stand out too much. The wrists are cuffed with the same lace.
It doesn't take long for Tamba to notice that something's grabbed his attention.
"Let me see!"
"Um, I don't know, it might be a bit too girly, or something—"
"Oooh! No, no, I'm getting it! I'm seeing the vision!" Tamba chirps. "If we get you a little bow to put around the collar, you'll look great! You could just wear your pants and sneakers, too! Ooh, maybe we could braid your hair!"
"Braid my hair?"
In truth, Wada had always wanted to try braiding his hair. He'd never looked up how to before he got here, as it was never all that long. But maybe a strand or two would look nice.
Or would it look stupid?
"Found it!"
Wada snaps out of his stupor thanks to another yell from Tamba. He's not sure when she deserted him, or how, but now she's got this long, pink ribbon in her hand and is scampering back in his direction.
For a second, Wada wonders if this is what it's like to be Ojima.
"Okay, hold onto this, and try the shirt on, okay? There's a mirror in the back. If you can't get the tie working, I'll help you put it on!"
"I'm not sure if—"
"It can't hurt to try, can it?"
Wada looks back at her.
Wada doesn't know very much about Tamba. If you asked him about her, he'd tell you about her physical traits—blonde, violet-eyed, and fit, yet still slim. But if he were to make one assertion about her personhood, he'd say that he thinks she's an honest person; the type to wear her heart on her sleeve.
She wouldn't deceive him.
So when she says that, Wada nods, tells her he'll do it, and watches as she shuts the door behind her.
Wada's not sure how to describe the feeling of having the shirt on.
It's nice. The fit is loose enough to where it feels like he picked it out, but not so loose that it looks like he's drowning.
It's cute. Cute is an adjective he's been described as quite a bit, but it always felt off. It always felt not quite there. But with this blouse on, he can believe it, even if just for a brief moment.
"Wada? You done in there?"
"Y-Yeah! Come in!"
Wada's not sure how he expects Tamba to react. Maybe she'll come in and laugh at him, revealing this whole thing was a charade. Maybe her eyes will sparkle and she'll tell him that he looks amazing. Maybe she'll take one look at him and then leave the room out of embarrassment.
"Wow."
Wada cocks his head.
"You look nice. I wasn't sure how it was gonna fit, but, it looks really nice on you, Wada. I mean it."
"You're sure?"
"Totally."
Wada smiles.
"You still have the tie?"
He hands the ribbon to Tamba.
"Tell me if it's too tight, okay?"
There's something strangely intimate in the gesture. Of Tamba lifting the hair on his neck, and then the blouse's collar, and then pressing it back down with the ribbon beneath it. There's something electric under his skin, something giddy. It's an airy lightness he can't put a name to, Tamba's hands ginger as she ties the ribbon into a neat little knot.
She steps back to examine her work, doing that weird framing thing with her hands again.
"It's coming together! But I do think we should try out those braids. I have some hairties. Face me?"
The feeling comes back again as Tamba works at him, taking some strands from along his temples and braiding them to form a sort of crown on each side. They don't connect, but Tamba pins each individual braid back with a bobby pin.
"Okay, I think I'm done. Sorry, I don't know how to do dutch braids or french braids or anything like that, so it could probably look better, but I think it looks all right, at least?"
Wada turns around to look at himself in the full-length mirror.
Something about the way he looks makes him want to cry.
"W… Wada? You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Thank you, Tamba. I really appreciate it."
"It's no problem, really!"
"If you say so…"
"I do say so! We've still got a bit of time left until dinner I think, so maybe we should head back to the dorms? I can come fetch you at dinnertime!"
"That sounds good."
"Good! Eeee, I'm so excited!"
And for once, Wada feels the giddiness, too.
Wada isn't sure how long it is before Tamba comes to get him for dinner. They didn't have any clocks in the dorms besides the one on his PC, and he didn't feel like turning it on if he couldn't browse the internet with it.
It's long enough that the feeling from before has dissipated, a general sense of anxiety returning to him. He supposes that the feeling, whatever it was, was fun while it lasted.
"Sir Wada?"
"Y-Yes?"
"Princess Tamba of Ruikoland has come to formally escort you to tonight's event! Do you accept?"
"Uh, sure? One second—"
As confident as he may have felt before, his steps are nervous now. He knew Yanagi would see him like this, but who else? He hadn't thought of asking who else was in Princess Club. He regrets not doing so.
Tamba seems to be keen on playing her role, curtsying in front of him. "Come along! The party eagerly awaits you!"
"It does?"
"It does indeed!"
With trepidation, Wada takes Tamba's gloved hand.
He knows she's holding back. She walks like she's waiting to burst into a run, but she keeps herself at a steady march for what he can only assume is his own sake.
Wada's grateful.
When they make it to the dining hall, Tamba tells him to wait outside behind the wall for a moment.
"Now announcing Sir Wada Masanari, Master of Cultural Affairs!"
Had she talked to him earlier about being announced, Wada would have definitely turned the proposition down. But now it was said and done, and he had no choice but to walk. So he walks, steps short, hands playing with the hem of his blouse.
"H-Hi."
"Sir Wada!" Yanagi calls, his tone the same as always. "So glad you could make it. You certainly dressed for the occasion!"
Watari, who sits in a dress equally as gaudy as Tamba's, chuckles at his entrance.
"Woooow, I didn't know we had a Master of Cultural Affairs!"
"We do!" Tamba confirms, following. "After doing so much work for the kingdom, I figured it would be remiss to not allow Sir Wada to attend our festivities!"
"The more the merrier!" Yanagi replies, his smile sparkling.
"T-Thanks guys. You… You don't think I look stupid, do you?"
"No way!" Watari says. "I never would have known that pink was your color. Your outfit's so cute!"
"Yeah! You're rocking it, Wada!" Tamba cheers, breaking character to flash a smile.
"What the absolute hell is going on in here."
The group turns to spot its new entrant, none other than Hayashi Mai, brow quirked, expression perplexed.
"Heeeeey Hayashi!" Tamba calls after her.
"Hayashi!" Watari follows, waving her down. "How nice of you to drop by!"
"Ah—" Yanagi stutters, but corrects himself quickly, "Miss Hayashi. I'm so happy you made it. Please, take a seat."
"I came to get dinner, what the hell are you guys even doing?" Hayashi asks, accusatory. "And Wada? Please don't tell me you forced Wada into whatever this is."
"What? No, he wanted to come! He picked out his outfit and everything!" Tamba interjects.
"He did, did he?" Hayashi questions. "Well, okay, but I still need to make dinner. Move."
"Ah, please take a seat," Yanagi counters. "I insist."
"Only if you made enough dinner for five people."
"I can assure you that I did."
"Okay, fine. But continue your whole princess charade or whatever without me. I'm not interested."
It seems the group accepts her request, Yanagi retreating into the kitchen with a smile. Hayashi sits at one end of the table, while Tamba and Watari sit at the other, giggling like schoolgirls about "royal affairs" or whatever else Wada is able to pick up on in between his thoughts.
"Wada," Mai calls after a beat.
Wada looks around.
"Me?"
"Are there any other Wadas in this school?"
"No…"
"Then c'mere."
Wada walks over to Hayashi's end of the table, taking a seat across from her.
"Be honest with me. Did Tamba drag you into this?"
"No. Yes. I mean, kinda?"
"Either she did or she didn't. And if she did, I'll have a talk with her afterwards. Just tell me what happened."
"Well, I happened to run into her in the hall when she was bringing that dress she has on back to her room, I think," Wada explains, now toying with the ends of the ribbon around his neck. "And she said I should join her 'Princess Club.' I was pretty reluctant, honestly, but she had these really sad eyes, like I'd just told her I hurt a puppy or something—"
"So she coerced you."
"I… I wouldn't say coerced," Wada mutters." I mean… I don't think she had any bad intentions. She did kinda make me feel bad, when she kept talking about how little I eat and stuff."
"Uh-huh," Hayashi quips, looking unimpressed.
"B-But it's not all bad! Really! I…"
Wada hesitates.
"She put the bow on for me. And she did the braids in my hair. I really like this outfit. I know it might not look like it, but, I really, really appreciate what she's done. I probably would never wear something like this on my own. I needed a little push, I think. S-So please don't be mad at her! A-At least, don't be too hard on her for me."
Hayashi leans back in her chair, an elbow on the table.
"Can I see the outfit?"
"Oh, yeah, sure."
Wada fixes his posture, resting his hands in his lap so Hayashi can examine him.
"You know what? It does look nice on you. How's it make you feel?"
"How's it make me feel?"
"You mentioned really appreciating it. You've never talked about your clothes before. This outfit special?"
Wada isn't sure how to respond.
"Sir Wada, Miss Hayashi," Yanagi greets them, as if having appeared out of thin air. "Your meals for the evening."
"Ah, thanks, Yanagi!"
"Thanks."
"Of course. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."
And Yanagi disappears, just as quickly as he as entered.
"It makes me feel… happy, I think," Wada answers.
"Happy?"
"I dunno. I don't have the right words to describe it, really. It just gave me a sort of feeling that other clothes haven't given me before. Like, it wasn't made for me, since it was just from the drama room, but it feels like it was made for me, somehow?"
"Hmm… I think I get it," Mai replies. "That's a good thing, you know. Try and cherish the things that make you feel like that. The things that make you feel like you. Shit like that can be fickle."
Wada pokes at his chicken as Hayashi talks.
"You're really good with words, Mai."
"Pff, nah. I've just lived through a lotta shit."
"No, I mean it. Thank you, Mai. I'm feeling a lot less nervous now."
"Well, that's good. You'll drive yourself nuts if you're nervous like that all the damn time. We don't need any more people flying off the handle."
"Totally."
While the kitchen would probably always hold bad memories for him, Wada finds himself at peace in the dining hall for the time being. The sounds of Hayashi eating (rather politely, he might admit), Tamba and Watari squealing over their princess treatment, and Yanagi making his way from table end to table end as he gifts everyone a slice of cake fade into the background as he lets his guard down for the night.
There was no doubt this killing game was bad. There was no doubt that Wada Masanari would leave Fujioka Memorial High School traumatized.
But perhaps he would take with him moments like these with him as well—moments that made him feel seen. Acknowledged. Whole.
Moments, where, just for a second, he feels like he's someone with a life worth living.