Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a kingdom called Shibuya. The people of Shibuya were an average sort of people. They were alright at times, but they made a lot of noise. But that has nothing to do with this.
The king of Shibuya, Beat, was benevolent dictator; he took care of Shibuya and it's people, but only if they would listen to the shitty comedy routine he and Queen Rhyme put on every week. They were forced to laugh. But that has nothing to do with this either.
No, this has to do with Shiki, King Beat and Queen Rhyme's daughter. Shiki was quite the social butterfly. All the time she would sneak out of the castle to buy from the local D+B or Wild Boar, or chat with her best peasant friend Eri. Yes, she would do all these things and never spend hours staring at the purple-cladded knight whom she found at J of M occasionally. Of course not. A princess would never do that.
After a while, Shiki would find herself sneaking out of the castle more often to see her purple knight, even if it meant going to a tacky tailor-shop like J of M. The knight would do the same thing everyday; compare two pairs of shorts that looked exactly the same. Oh, how Shiki wished she could sew for the handsome knight. How she wished to feel the combination of the soft purple fabric and the obviously over-gelled hair. There were a handful of instances where she considered approaching the knight, perhaps to ask his name or invite him over to the castle for the night to maybe play a card game or something. But alas, Shiki didn't know what she was going to do, or how for that matter. After much thought, Shiki had decided to do the bravest thing she could think of- unknowingly trip right in front of him. Yes, the plan was foolproof. Shiki boldly strode into the shabby store until she was a few feet away from the knight. She prepared herself; her being a princess meant she never had to trip herself, for the maids always did it for her. She cautiously stuck her foot out and began to curl it inward before she fell backwards. Swearing in an un-princess like manner, she started to focus her rage on whatever had made her topple. Shiki looked up to see the purple knight staring back at her.
There were times when Shiki had written stories. Many were based off the pure fact that she thought the two male chefs looked cute together, so she wrote stories about them falling in love, going on dates, and doing the thing that makes children, or otherwise, nowadays, known as smut. Did Shiki know that this fan fictitious, smut written horror was the worst thing since American cheese? Probably not. Thus making the pages and pages stuffed behind her wardrobe describing in detail what she would do to the knight if they would ever play a card game completely justifiable. Totally.
Of course, it didn't help that Shiki's mind had flashed to those same sweat covered pages she wrote when she was in a questionable mood when the knight had bent down to help her up. Now would be the perfect opportunity for the Japanese stereotype to take effect and Shiki would have a nosebleed. But this is not Japan; this is Shibuya, which is totally not in Japan despite popular claims. Regardless, the normal trickling of blood down her lips did not happen, but rather, after she had taken his hand, a violent, but mostly pleasurable shock was sent through her body. After a few seconds of blood curdling cries, Shiki passed out onto the dirt floor of J of M. The knight stood there for a moment, obviously not knowing what to do. Who the hell would?