The small dorm room was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic clicking of Ren's keyboard. The "Invisible Line" had been temporarily ignored as they sat on the floor, using the low coffee table as a shared dining area.
Shizuka stared at her strawberry parfait. The whipped cream had begun to sag, and the red syrup was bleeding into the white layers—much like how her professional life was bleeding into her private one.
"You're not eating," Ren said without looking up from his screen.
"I'm thinking," Shizuka replied softly. She picked up the plastic spoon, swirling the melting cream. "Ishii-senpai is the head of the Disciplinary Committee. He doesn't just 'run into' people. He's suspicious, Ren."
Ren stopped typing. He pushed his laptop aside and looked at her. In the dim light of the desk lamp, the "Ice Queen" looked small. The bravado she wore in the lecture hall was gone, replaced by a weary vulnerability.
"Let him be suspicious," Ren said, his voice grounding and calm. "There's no evidence. As long as we stick to the rules, we're safe."
"But that's the problem, isn't it?" Shizuka looked up, her violet eyes shimmering. "The rules. We're already breaking them. You protected me today. You took the blame for the photos. You're sitting here eating parfaits with me at midnight. This wasn't in the contract."
Ren reached out, but he didn't touch her. His hand hovered over the table, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his skin. "Maybe the contract was flawed from the start."
Shizuka took a bite of the parfait, the sweetness a sharp contrast to the bitter anxiety in her chest. "Why are you being so kind to me? I'm your professor. I'm supposed to be the one guiding you, not the other way around."
"I don't see a professor right now," Ren said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that made Shizuka's breath hitch. "I see a girl who works too hard, hides her hobbies from the world, and eats way too much sugar when she's stressed."
Shizuka felt a tear prick at the corner of her eye. She quickly wiped it away, embarrassed. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"
"You're human," Ren countered. He finally moved his hand, his fingers gently brushing against hers on the table. "And for the record... I like the mess better than the Ice Queen."
The air in the room shifted. It wasn't just about the "404 Error" anymore. The tension was no longer just a byproduct of the small space—it was a choice.
Shizuka leaned in slightly, the scent of strawberries and vanilla hanging between them. For a heartbeat, the "Teacher-Student" boundary vanished entirely. Ren began to lean forward, his eyes dropping to her lips, which were stained a faint pink from the syrup.
Beep-beep-beep!
The microwave loud, electronic chime shattered the moment. Ren pulled back instantly, clearing his throat and grabbing his laptop. Shizuka straightened her pajama top, her face burning.
"I... I should probably finish my grading," she stammered, picking up her parfait and scurrying toward her side of the room.
Ren didn't say anything, but as he went back to his coding, his heart was racing faster than any program he had ever written. He looked at the empty space on the table where her hand had been.
The secret wasn't just about the room anymore. It was about the feeling growing in the dark corners of Room 404—a feeling that was melting the Ice Queen faster than any summer sun.