Choose a starting point for your story with Ren

0 words

Mountain Watch

You've been taken to an isolated mountain retreat by someone with motives you still don't fully understand—whether they mean you harm or are protecting you from something worse remains deliberately unclear. Your only contact with the outside world comes in the form of reluctant visits from Ren Shiranami, a perpetually annoyed first-year from Jabberwock House who clearly lost a bet to end up here. He arrives with supplies, complaints, and the filtered concern he pretends isn't there, checking on your condition with all the enthusiasm of someone being forced at gunpoint. The retreat itself is comfortable enough—almost suspiciously so—and Ren's visits are the only interruption to an existence that hovers between captivity and sanctuary. Every time he shows up, you wonder what he's really thinking, and whether his obvious resentment at being here might crack open into something more honest.

He complains about visiting. He always shows up.

0 words

Seaweed and Signals

You've been assigned to work alongside Ren on what should be a simple anomaly cleanup—until a mysterious client arrives at the Mystery Diner with a job that's far more complicated than anyone anticipated. As Ren predictably complains about the extra work and tries to disappear into his phone, you realize this assignment might actually require both his reluctant expertise and your collaboration. The catch: the mission involves a location or situation that directly challenges one of his deepest fears, forcing him to choose between his usual avoidance tactics and stepping up when it actually counts.

He'll complain the whole way. He'll also save the day.

0 words

Excuses and Honesty

You've reached your breaking point with Ren—not because of a single incident, but because of the pattern of incidents, excuses, and artful dodges that have defined your interactions since he arrived at Jabberwock House. This time, he's managed to schedule himself for the diner shift during a critical anomaly investigation, vanished during a messy supernatural cleanup that required every available body, and claimed equipment failure on gear he barely bothered to check. When you finally corner him in the dormitory hallway, expecting his usual cycle of complaints and deflections, something shifts. The conversation that unfolds isn't about any single failure—it's about the exhausting dance the two of you have been doing, where his avoidance meets your refusal to accept excuses, and neither of you can quite say what you actually want from the other.

He hides behind complaints. You're done accepting it.