The Social Cue Reversal Club - 1
In the aftermath of that pure madness known as the mass-dumping tea party, the atmosphere of the club had changed.
Whether they were trying to salvage the last shreds of dignity befitting their noble status, the idiots who had been dumped en masse showed Luise neither lingering resentment nor any undignified behavior.
Honestly, I had expected at least a little pathetic clinging. Instead they just hung around like ordinary friends—as if there had never been a scrap of romantic feeling between them.
It's exactly the same.
Thinking about it, things were barely different from before the dumpings. These idiot bastards—how the hell had they been living if pre-dumping and post-dumping looked this similar? Calling it a breakup almost felt too generous.
Still, something had definitely changed.
"I never said this at the time, but honestly? It tasted terrible."
"The macarons were okay, but the cookies were a disaster."
There was no grudge—but there was also no longer any need to read the room. The members started unloading everything they had been silently swallowing. The stuff you made? Yeah, it was bad.
Before, the final shred of consideration for the girl they loved had kept their mouths shut. Now their position had shifted from unrequited crush to friend. And friends, after all, tend to speak bluntly without the packaging.
A whole semester's worth of bottled-up commentary exploded at once, and the force of it was considerable. Watching them, it looked less like friendly banter and more like a presidential hearing. With skills like that, how exactly did you end up as president?
Is this residual bitterness from getting dumped?
You guys said you had no hard feelings, right? I thought you didn't, but looking at this I'm starting to have serious doubts.
"I-If I make them properly, they taste good!"
"Is that so. Then if I do things properly, I'll become a mage who surpasses the Demon Duke."
Luise's trembling protest was dismantled in a single stroke by Later.
Fair enough. Claiming something without results makes it hard for people to believe you. Anyone can talk.
"You said the macarons were fine! Those were properly made!"
"Isn't it possible Miss Luise only practiced the macarons?"
Whoa.
You people have been holding this in for a long time, haven't you. Not a single exchange lost—straight into the counterargument every time.
Not that it mattered much. I had eaten every last thing Luise ever made.
Empty wagons make the most noise, as they say.
Their stomachs must have been empty, because their voices were loud. The same people who had taken a single polite bite at the start of the semester and then quietly avoided everything else—how dare they. If Luise got hurt and abandoned her dream of pastry, my personal human feed supply would vanish.
"Fine. I'll make them properly. Just wait."
Fortunately, Luise's pride in her baking ran deeper than I had expected. Far from crumbling, she was practically vibrating as she hauled out the flour—pride thoroughly scratched.
She looked furious. Objectively speaking, though, it was no more threatening than a cat hissing. So even when a capybara gets angry, it still only goes as far as a cat…
"This is working."
"We'll finally get to eat something decent."
I deliberately ignored the other members whispering behind her. Didn't you drop your lingering feelings a little too fast? You did like her, right?
The lightning-speed attitude flip was startling, but at least they weren't being clingy—that was a relief. Luise had only just shaken off her trauma; if someone started obsessing over her again, she would retreat right back into her shell.
They probably knew that too, and were doing this on purpose. Because they wanted Luise to live brightly.
They're perfectly functional human beings as long as romance isn't involved.
The moment the category shifted from romance to friendship, their social awareness roared back to life. If their romantic awareness had been even half this sharp, one of them might actually have ended up with Luise.
Of course, that ship had already sailed. It couldn't be reversed, and none of the parties involved seemed interested in reversing it.
"Looks like the president's cover is getting blown today."
"A baking club president who can't bake is a bit much. Who should we pick next?"
"Conveniently there are five of us, so we can rotate each semester."
Those were words only people with zero remaining attachment could say. Your teabagging technique was honestly impressive.
Even Erich was right there in the middle of it.
So this is the sight I worked for.
I felt like I might cry. I had done my best. I could say with confidence that I had given every piece of advice within my power. I had not poured that effort into watching my little brother get the "let's just be friends" treatment from the girl he liked and then sit there snickering about it.
I swallowed the sigh trying to claw its way out and looked at Luise. Her face was set in anger, but the corners of her mouth were turned up.
I looked back at the idiots. They looked pretty happy too.
Does it even matter?
Right. This was the path they chose. Luise had decided to dump every last one of them, and the rest had chosen to accept that decision. Afterward they had agreed to stay friends rather than strangers. All of it had been their choice.
As a third party, I had no business finding it pathetic. I didn't have the right. These kids had summoned their own courage and made their own calls—who was I to interfere?
This actually looks better.
If the club felt more intimate now—after everyone had been dumped—than it had when they were all competing for Luise, was that just my imagination?
Luise no longer had anything to hide, and the other members no longer restrained or monitored one another. Everyone had shown their true colors, and the result was pure, cheerful noise—exactly the mood of students that age gathering together.
This is what a club is supposed to be.
A structure built on friendship was the best possible outcome. At the very least, no one would do anything weird trying to impress Luise anymore.
Right. Just hold out like this for another two and a half years.
Two and a half years.
Fuck.
No—the actual best case was still these people going home early. Look at me, already compromising with myself in a single breath.
What kind of filthy compromise was this? When exactly had I become such a cowardly adult?
Contrary to my expectations, the heat of the presidential impeachment only grew fiercer.
"…Properly?"
"Th-This can't be right…?"
The cookies Luise confidently produced yielded results that were, unfortunately, inversely proportional to her confidence.
Still, unlike before, everyone actually finished their cookies. A positive process.
"Not good."
"It's ordinarily bad."
But they tasted bad. A negative result.
No—more importantly, what the hell did "ordinarily bad" mean? What had they been like up until now?
Unable to hide her shock, Luise hurriedly stuffed a cookie into her own mouth and promptly froze solid. So it was bad even to her palate.
I carefully tried one myself.
It's fine.
Of course it was fine for me. It seemed a little different from before, but this much was nothing.
No matter how foolish or cowardly I might be, I still possessed the social awareness required of a noble. I could tell that the members scolding me on the surface were, underneath it all, full of warm consideration.
In that case, I should ride that consideration. Relying on the kindness of the people I had only recently dumped was embarrassing—but I still had to accept it.
So I worked hard. Not the experimental cookies. Not the health cookies only Brother ever ate. Proper cookies.
Once they tasted these, everyone would be amazed. And that whole considerate performance would end right there.
Yes. That was how it was supposed to go.
"……."
"No, this is…"
The reactions were strange. They were eating them, but their expressions were not good.
This was not the same teasing as before. They looked genuinely startled and confused.
"…Properly?"
"Th-This can't be right…?"
It couldn't be. I was confident in my baking. The macarons I had made for Irina had been delicious to everyone, and the cookies Brother had gifted to the young lady had been properly made too.
It was only that I usually used unconventional ingredients—when I actually tried to make them properly, I could. This was not baseless confidence. I had done it right before.
Steadying my trembling hands, I carefully put one in my mouth.
It's bad.
If no one else had been here, I would have closed my eyes on the spot. Of course I hadn't tasted them, assuming they were fine—and this was the result.
Had my hands gone stiff over the break? Was that why I failed even something this simple?
Or had my body rejected making proper cookies because I had never given these people the real thing before?
Then it's my fault.
I was ruined. The members who had wrapped me in consideration had been repaid not with gratitude, but with betrayal.
At a moment like this, I was supposed to give them proper cookies. That was how the performance was meant to end.
"Anyone want to be president?"
In the choking silence, Ryutis spoke up—though even he seemed confused. His smile was awkward, and his pupils were trembling.
No one answered him. No one had anticipated a situation like this.
"Better if the current person just keeps doing it."
The silence that followed was broken by Brother.
"If the president changes, we have to submit a new roster. That means more work for me."
"Ah, we failed to consider our advisor's position."
Ryutis latched onto Brother's words immediately—as if he had just found an exit.
"True, someone who's already done it would handle it better."
"It's improved since last semester, hasn't it? That kind of growth is exactly what a president needs. Absolutely."
The words that followed made my face burn.
It was mortifying. Even so, I hated this kind of consideration…
"Since everyone agrees, I guess Luise is the only one who can be president."
Just as my head started to drop, Brother patted my shoulder.
It was something he would have done lightly, without thinking—but that light gesture made my heart hammer wildly in my chest.
I barely managed to suppress the twitch at the corner of my mouth. Not yet. I still had a long way to go before I could show Brother my feelings. I had decided to hold them in until his engagement ceremony with the young lady.
But smiling a little should be fine.
If I suddenly went completely straight-faced only in front of Brother, wouldn't that be even stranger?
Yes. That had to be it. I used to smile in front of him all the time.
Right. This wasn't a confession. It was just a smile.
"Thank you, Brother."
So this wasn't me trying to overtake the young lady.
Once I set my heart down and took a step back, my field of vision finally widened.
So I only just realized this.
The way Luise looked at the club advisor was completely different from the way she looked at us. That the difference could be so clear—and that I was only seeing it now.
A knight's duty was to protect his lady. And yet I had failed to properly grasp even the heart of the lady closest to me.
"I have to say, Luise pleaded so earnestly. At this rate I almost fear I'll end up competing with the advisor."
"Fight cleanly, accept defeat cleanly. That is the way of an Armein knight."
"So if I lose, I will acknowledge it. Though of course, it would be best if no such thing ever happens."
The conversation I had with the advisor at the exposition came back to me. Had my instincts already sensed defeat even then?
Of course, what I said then had been sincere. I would accept the result and acknowledge anyone. Even if that anyone was the advisor himself.
Nothing to be done about it.
It simply meant she trusted the advisor more than she trusted me.
I watched Luise's bright smiling face for a moment, then casually shifted my gaze.
As expected.
Erich's complicated expression caught my eye. If even I had noticed, of course Erich knew as well.
Erich, for his part, had cleanly accepted the result of being dumped by Luise. He held no lingering attachment. He was probably ready to congratulate her no matter whom she loved.
Still—having the person you once pined for fall for your own older brother was a different kind of feeling entirely. Something to celebrate, yet strange; something that felt awkward to celebrate, yet still worthy of celebration.
Well. That was Erich's problem to overcome.