Chương 90: 35.Kushima Sisters 36-3

I stayed on the roof for another five minutes, mostly to verify I could still breathe normally and to try scrubbing some of that psychological dissection from my head. It didn't work. The more I tried to clear it, the sharper it became. Finally I gave up and headed downstairs. The stairwell held the day's trapped heat. Old white paint peeled from the walls, the handrail slightly sticky under my palm.

The further down I went, the louder the Family Visitation Day noise became, seeping up through every crack in the building—laughter, people calling names, the slap of someone running down the corridor. From somewhere came the cloying sweetness of whatever treats a parent had brought, mixing with the dorm's baseline blend of sweat and laundry detergent until the air itself felt like emotional overload. I wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back to the roof.

Unfortunately, you can't live your whole life on wind. At least not yet. I'd just reached the second-floor landing when a very familiar voice drifted up from below.

"Hoshino—" I stopped dead. Shit. There was exactly one person in this dorm who could turn my name into a fishing hook like that. I leaned slowly over the railing to look down. Jess was standing at the bottom of the stairs, grinning up at me with absolute malice. The man beside her—built like he could eat a bed frame for breakfast—was clearly hers. The woman next to him looked so unreasonably like Jess it was unfair, only with cleaner lines and the same glint in her eyes that said this is going to be fun to watch.

My first instinct was to retreat. Jess immediately pointed at me.

"Got you."

"Nobody got anybody. I was just passing through."

"Through our dorm stairwell?" Jess looked deeply sincere.

"What a coincidence." I genuinely wanted to kick her back down to the first floor. Her mother laughed first. Not the polite parental kind—the genuine this is actually funny kind. Which made it worse, because when she laughed, she looked even more like Jess. I suddenly understood what people meant by genetic malice. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

"You must be Hoshino," she said, voice bright and easy.

"Jess has mentioned you." My step faltered. Wait. Mentioned what, exactly? I absolutely did not want to find out.

"Mentioned what?" Before I could ask, Jess's father looked down at his daughter, voice low enough to rattle the floorboards.

"Didn't you say your roommates were all normal?"

"Did I say all normal?" Jess blinked innocently.

"I'm pretty sure I only said she was good at surviving."

"That's not a compliment," I said.

"In our family it is," her mother laughed, looking between me and Jess.

"Smaller than I expected. And more spirited than you described." I went on high alert immediately.

"How exactly did she describe me?" Jess coughed. Too late. You're done for. Her mother's smile widened.

"She said you—""Mom." Jess's tone carried a rare note of urgency.

"We can skip that part." Wow. I raised an eyebrow at her. That was genuinely rare. Anything that made Jess want to interrupt was usually worth collecting. Her father helpfully filled in the gap.

"She said you're like a stray cat that bites." I went quiet for two seconds. Then turned to look at Jess.

"…I can demonstrate that right now." Jess pressed her hand to her forehead with the expression of someone who'd seen this coming from miles away. Her mother waved it off, still laughing.

"It wasn't an insult. She added that even though you're fierce, you're reliable." My mouth twitched. That sentence coming from Jess was less believable than the Student Council announcing free dessert for the entire school.

"I'm more interested in the first half," I said.

"The first half has better imagery," her father agreed, nodding.

"Dad, don't encourage this," Jess immediately protested.

"I'm not encouraging anything. I'm restoring factual accuracy." His tone was completely steady—the voice of someone who'd spent years delivering finishing blows at the dinner table. Right. So that's where it came from. Jess's mouth wasn't self-taught. It was hereditary. I suddenly felt a flicker of respect for her childhood environment. Just a flicker. The hallway was still flowing with students and their visiting families.

Standing in the middle of it, I felt like an invasive species that had wandered into a Family Bonding Exhibition. Everywhere, people were asking if you'd lost weight, if you were eating well, if you needed anything from home, occasionally mixed with this building is so old and why is it so hot in here? The warmth itself wasn't doing anything wrong, but the longer I stayed, the more I felt a strange suffocation—like someone trying to wrap their own body temperature around me. I wasn't built for this. Not even close.

Jess could tell. Her smile pulled back a notch, and she let me off the hook with uncharacteristic mercy.

"Alright, your face is already broadcasting evacuation imminent." She waved me off.

"Go back to the room before my mom actually tries to force-feed you something."

"That's not a threat, that's a disaster warning."

"My scones are excellent," her mother protested immediately.

"Exactly why it's a disaster," Jess said with complete sincerity.

"She'll keep feeding you until you lose your sense of self." Her father nodded.

"That part is accurate." I looked at this family and suddenly understood why Jess could walk into any awkward situation like she owned it. She'd been raised in crossfire and mutual finishing blows.

"I'll head back then," I said. Jess gave me a lazy wave, grinning without conscience.

"Off you go, little stray cat."

"Sleep with both eyes open tonight." Her mother laughed again. Her father looked like he was genuinely assessing whether I might actually follow through at 3 a. m. As I walked away, I heard her mother ask behind me: "Does she really bite people?" Jess answered without hesitation.

"Depends on the situation. Most of the time she only bites psychologically." …Right. I was now even more certain I'd made the correct choice leaving.