It had been nearly twenty-four hours since Rukia encountered her 'savior' from literature class, and he had pestered her ever since.

The thought of him did, anyway.

His cocky expression and scowl remained locked in her mind with all the stubbornness of a bug clinging to a windshield. Even as she walked across campus after her last class of the day. She would've frowned or scowled at the mere thought. But people were watching, and she managed a neutral expression- as a Respectable Japanese Woman.

It took significant willpower.

Perhaps she could avoid working with him. It was worth a lower grade if it meant keeping her sanity on campus intact. He seemed the sort to create trouble. Loud-mouthed, too-

A familiar figure rode by on a blue vintage bike. For a brief moment, the dark cloud following Rukia lifted, and she couldn't help but smile and wave. His name was Mustache Man. He was called that because of the large, exquisite mustache which graced his upper lip and face. It harkened back to another age when facial hair was essential to a man's dignity and reputation. A sign of class. It was impossibly glorious. Perfectly manicured, combed, and swirling upwards in twin curls.

"Hello, Mustache Man!" Rukia called airily.

Mustache Man lazily rode past, smiling at her brilliantly, and waved back. A chorus of other students joined in along the way with cheers.

Then, he was gone.

Rukia ducked down a narrow walk between two faculty buildings. There was an entire network across campus that was known only to a select few; another maze hidden within plain sight. A domain where her company consisted more of squirrels than humans. She continued on past three eternal construction sites, five deserted crosswalks, and a fountain that had been dry for years. Finally, she arrived at a building hidden in the heart of campus. Its facade crumbled more than the others; its bricks clinging together through sheer stubbornness rather than mortar. But it was rarely seen by students. And the construction budget followed what parents saw during campus tours.

She passed through a rusting green metal door, down a hallway, then down two flights of stairs. A long dimly-lit corridor opened up to faculty offices on either side. As faculty needed money to exist, most of the offices remained empty. Save for one at the very end of the hall. A primly printed 'Private' sign hung on the door.

Rukia took her familiar route to the final office. She entered, flipped on the lights, and placed her bag in its usual spot. Complimentary snacks and bottled drinks were already placed against the wall. Rukia grabbed a bottle of water before sitting at the long table in the middle of the room. A benefit of her status as a minor celebrity. Although her brother's generous donation to the school may helped, slightly.

Her 'private study space', as the university had dubbed it, was the exception to a campus dominated by smartphones, and the irresistible urge to gossip online. Nothing stopped anyone from entering the space. There were no locks, no secret codes for entrance. But it remained a safe place simply because no one else knew it existed.

Except for Renji. But he didn't really count.

After taking a sip of water, she leaned back in her favorite chair and idly checked her phone. New emails were rolling into her campus inbox from all her new professors. She opened the message from her literature class, downloading the syllabus that was attached. Sure enough, there was an entire section devoted to the partnered project and its lengthy, specific requirements. Every bullet point added pain to an already nightmarish assignment. It was as if it were designed to inflict the most frustrating class possible upon unsuspecting students. Forcing them to work in pairs like some kind of sadistic animal. Rukia knew her professor was truly an evil man.

Of all the professors on campus, Jushiro Ukitake did more work than half of the faculty combined. In addition to his courses (which were well-reviewed, if mostly taught by his teaching assistants,) he enjoyed solving problems. Sudoku, on some days. Mostly, he devoted time in trying to solve a minor issue the University had been dealing with for many years.

They didn't have any money.

It was truly a simple problem. More money was spent than what came in, as if the funds magically decided to run away in the dead of night. Numbers didn't add up as they hoped, departments had to go without, and the bank accounts even had frowny faces typed in the memo line.

President Yamamoto urged long-standing professors and other staff to find new ways of sponsorship. Ukitake had found the Second Chances program, which provided funds in exchange for taking on approved students like Ichigo. It was successful despite the low numbers involved. Still, it wasn't enough.

Professor Mayuri's proposal brought in enough to pay for a quarter of the electricity bill. All they had to do was charge fifty yen to access a public bathroom on campus. The only exceptions were the restrooms at the campus visitor center- the place campus tours left from. Those restrooms usually had ten-minute waits to get in. The other restrooms were flocked by aspiring student loansharks, lying in wait of someone desperate enough to take out a quick loan. (At twenty-five percent interest, to be paid back within two hours.) Business was booming.

Other faculty preferred more traditional methods- like Professor Urahara, the man whose background and department was a mystery to everyone on campus. Yamamoto included.

But, since no one would admit to it, no one had gathered the courage to ask.

One unsuspecting day Urahara had breezed into the main office, and with a wink and smile made it past the secretary straight through Yamamoto's office doors.

"President Yamamoto? I may have a solution to our funding problems," Urahara said.

Yamamoto, a much older man with a trimmed grey beard and liver-spot-speckled face, stopped writing and looked up in irritation. "Urahara! What have I told you about-"

Then, Yamamoto stopped. "…You do?"

Urahara sat comfortably in a chair across the desk, leaning backward and lacing his hands together in front of him. "I've started talks for a sponsorship with the restaurant 'KFC'. I think it would be quite our while," he said with a smile that would've made the Cheshire Cat jealous.

"No," President Yamamoto said, his voice thundering in the large office. "Our University represents dignity and excellence in learning. For nearly a hundred years, we've held ourselves to a higher standard. Inspiring young minds. Lighting the way in academia for others. I helped shape this school when I had nothing more than a shirt on my back, and my deceased father's large inheritance. I won't stand to see our image cheapened by such a thing!"

The smile never left Urahara's face. He slid a piece of paper across the table. There was a number written on it.

Yamamoto made a faint strangled sound in the back of his throat. "When can we begin this program?"

Urahara's smile widened even further. "Right away."

Like many brands looking to be culturally relevant, KFC wanted to expand its reach towards teenagers and young adults. All the marketing said it was the next big demographic, and they needed to change tactics in order to appeal to them. To do that, they sought partnerships with schools and universities. They also wanted to be seen as 'hip' or 'cool' and 'lit', or whatever other words were actively used by those under the age of 25.

The Karakura University sponsorship was well underway. First, KFC was now available on campus in the dining hall. It was terrible KFC, but official KFC nonetheless. Promotional items were given away each semester, all bearing the bright red against white colors and images of The Colonel. The students loved it because it was free. Then there would be select events on campus to increase interest and build positive word-of-mouth, which they hoped would spread online through social media.

One fine Kentucky day, an intern at the KFC headquarters had an idea. His name was Phillip. His idea was revolutionary, and yet simple: use video games to reach the valued young adult demographic. Thus, they set out to create a video game promotion for KFC and the Colonel in ways no one had ever dreamed before. Not even their rivals at Wendy's.

That was how it happened. As Renji Abarai was walking across campus, innocently unaware. His love of all things KFC meant that anything slightly resembling the Colonel drew his attention with the power of a thousand suns. And that was how he saw them- the hundreds of flyers plastered across campus in common areas and billboards. The Colonel was featured in all his glory, drawn as a young anime man. A very attractive anime man. He was surrounded by cartoon hearts and other eccentric characters.

After Renji overcame the shock and sheer excitement that washed over him, he grabbed a flyer and made his way straight to the hidden study room.

He burst through the doors, the sound violent against the wall of tranquility. "I love KFC!"

Rukia didn't look up from her phone. "I know."

"No- That's not- See? Look!" Renji shoved the flyer towards Rukia. She jerked her head away out of reflex, the reaction all students had when flyers were being passed out in any capacity.

"What the hell…?" Rukia blinked, attempting to process what she saw.

Too often, she would need to decode her friend's musings. Renji was prone to blurting out whatever was on his mind, sometimes. That was how she learned of his view that all homework was just 'optional', and that electrocution via sticking a fork into a wall outlet was just an urban myth. His nature was the cause of more than one fight at the orphanage during their childhood together. His bright red hair, tied into a pineapple-like ponytail, drew attention like a neon sign. The geometric tattoos now covering his body also didn't help matters. Someone with limited knowledge of the Yazuka might mistake him as such. Perpetually on his forehead were a pair of knock-off sunglasses, which he wore no matter the time of day.

She grabbed the flyer out of his hands. It was printed in black and white but was clearly designed for color. (It was cheaper to print in grayscale, something Rukia knew the school was notorious for doing.) There were giant grey blobs where she assumed words had once lurked, only to be blurred beyond comprehension.

"…You're dating Colonel Sanders?" she asked.

"Yeah!"

She turned to stare at him.

"I mean- Look! It's a game!"

Rukia peered again at the flyer and its multitudes of gray. Vaguely, she could make out the icons for the online game store and consoles down at the bottom. "A KFC… game?"

Renji was practically vibrating from excitement. "Yeah! It's perfect, isn't it?! Ya can play it on stream!" he grinned, as if he won all the lotteries in the world.

"You need a girlfriend, Renji," she said.

"S-shut up! I'm just try'n ta help. Ya wanted a new game to play, right? This just came out!"

There was an inherent risk to accepting game recommendations and playing them blindly on stream. One murder-mystery game in particular came to mind, a laborious affair of thirty hours. It teased a secret twist that was mentioned every ten minutes by the characters. What had happened? What was the notorious event that set everything in motion, scarring humanity for life, in ways never before seen? How had the secret hallways been destroyed and scratched? She was enraptured enough to endure the terrible story and annoying characters. All in the name of learning the truth of the mysterious event.

Finally, at the very end, the reveal came- the one thing she had been looking forward to over thirty painful hours. Except, it never came.

Rukia had blankly stared at the screen. "What?" Then, she started to glare. "…What?"

'You find out more later,' someone wrote in chat. 'After the next game and the anime based off of it you find out what happens.'

Her strength of will nearly made the monitor implode from her gaze. "What?!"

Thirty. Hours.

'Yeah. play the sequel then you can watch the anime. it explains everything,' someone else wrote.

Chappy gave a very long, very drawn-out sigh.

She'd sworn off any game suggestions since that day. Not unless she researched them thoroughly first. Or if she read playthroughs in advance.

But new games held a very narrow window for attracting viewers; when the game itself was trending. There was an excitement around new releases she hadn't experienced for some time.

Rukia stared at the flyer, trying to parse more information out of the illegible grays. She was more than aware of dating-style story games, but she hadn't played them much herself. It wasn't the sort she usually played on stream, especially. Renji was more than aware of that. She doubted her viewers would be interested in an obvious marketing ploy for Kentucky Fried Chicken.

And, above all, it looked very silly.

"I'm not doing that, Renji." She shoved the flyer in his general direction.

Renji looked like he'd been kicked in the gut. "Come on! It's the new thing! Ya gotta."

"I don't have to do anything. You know my policy on games. Do you know anything about it, besides the flyer? How do you even know it would be entertaining to watch?"

"'Cause it's got the Colonel! And there's a talking dog!" He pointed to the flyer, at a lightish gray blob off to the side.

"No. I wouldn't play that game in a million years," she said. And that was final.

"Today, we're going to play…"

Rukia all but sagged in her gaming chair as she stared into the camera. Her resigned and deadpan expression translated surprisingly well to her rabbit avatar. She had trouble getting out the words. It was almost painful, like her body was physically resisting and knew what an absurd idea it was. That was probably a survival instinct. It would be truly foolish to ignore it.

She gritted her teeth and sighed. "…I Love You, Colonel… Sanders."

The chat exploded in a fresh wave of emojis and shocked expressions. It seemed mostly positive, if shocked and confused. It took exactly half a second for someone to find a chicken emoji. The chatbox was instantly filled.

Rukia sighed, again.

She pulled up the game on screen and was bombarded with bright pinks, reds, and whites, all in true shojo style. Her character was a new arrival at some kind of cooking school that had a three-day semester. The Colonel was there, a young handsome man with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There was also a talking dog (a strict professor at the academy, which Rukia doubted met health codes) and a fork-based monster. Everything seemed to be going well.

Then, they died from eating fried chicken that simply tasted too good.

"Did we just die from… Chicken?" Rukia asked aloud in disbelief. The chat echoed her sentiment. She glanced over and saw Renji- under username Howling_Monkey_Snake69- actively commenting on everything. She checked the names for the hundredth time that session. She hadn't seen-

Protector15: This game is messed up.

She smiled. "Yes. I agree. Whoever created this, I have to wonder about their state of mind." It was lighthearted, not meant in malice. She knew better than to think badly of game developers, given the work involved, the punishing hours expected in the industry.

Still, that made it all the worse- because that meant somewhere, a whole team of people had put time and effort into a game based on Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Another choice appeared on the screen. They could either agree with the best friend character and jeopardize their own chances with The Colonel, or try for a different recipe that would likely please The Colonel. Foods coincidentally served at KFC.

The chat was spammed with choices; Renji said to go with The Colonel and leave the friend in the dust. Protector15 said it was probably a trick of the game, and that helping the friend would be the better choice.

Rukia didn't care either way. She only knew she had grown very hungry over the past hour, and the immaculately illustrated images of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits, and gravy had given her a very specific and irresistible craving.

She tabbed into another window on her second monitor. Within seconds, she had the perfect PicText pulled up and looping in the chat window.

PicText: When simple words weren't enough. Or so the saying had gone, as it took the internet by storm in the past two months. It would've gone unnoticed if it weren't for a particular study, shared by an influential but bored singer in Utah, which made claims that text blended with images had a mesmerizing effect on the human mind. It also stated that a person's mood could be controlled by what colors they were shown. But nobody noticed that part- or the fact that the study was completely made up- because only a dozen people actually read the article.

The PicText library was used by millions. Any word, phrase, or idea, and there was a PicText that could be used and shared. If it didn't exist, it probably would in a day or so. There was one for every occasion.

An animation featuring the words 'I'm hungry' flanked by dancing cartoon chickens flashed in chat. Laughing emojis flooded in. She smirked.

Rukia expected the game to end at any moment. But every time she expected the story to come to a close, a new challenge and chapter began. Her less-than-optimal choices might have been a part of that. They had to restart or reload four times since her choices were 'wrong'. And they were eaten by the spork monster.

The Colonel was a very hard man to seduce.

She let out a large huff of air in frustration. Then she held her head in her hands dramatically, barely keeping herself from growling at the screen.

"Idiots! This game shouldn't be this hard!"

She glared at the chat window as some people complained of her wrong choices. 'Do you even know how to play dating otomes?' one of them asked.

"Quiet! I would like to see you do better." She folded her arms, glaring at the all-too-cheerful characters on the loading screen. They'd been at it for hours; surely, they were close to finishing the game.

Without hesitation, she pulled up a spoiler-filled walkthrough tutorial in another window.

"What the hell?" she stared at the screen, leaning forward against her desk. "We aren't even halfway through?!" Her eyebrow twitched, and she let out a long, drawn-out sigh. Sitting back in her chair with her arms folded, she made the decision that she had enough failed virtual dating escapades for one day. Or a month.

"That will be it for tonight," she announced to the camera. "If you would like, thank our moderator Howling Monkey Snake. He's the one responsible for the game selection today. You may direct all your opinions and thoughts on the matter directly to him." She smirked, amusement seeping into her tone. Her avatar captured the deviousness surprisingly well.

Chat flooded with more comments, all of them directed at Renji. A few threats were mixed in for good measure. She smirked again.

Protector15: Gee, thanks for this. Now I want KFC.

She snorted. But the smirk didn't waver.

After ending the stream, she found herself craving one thing and one thing only: Kentucky Fried Chicken.

The thought beckoned her more than anything had in recent memory. Despite the hour, she found herself thinking of ways to procure it. It called for extreme measures.

At the very same time, from his room in the university dorms, another viewer had the very same thought.

Elsewhere, within the shadows of campus, lurked a man with a large and elegant mustache. His normally joyous gait was gone in favor of a cautious trudge. With each step he looked nervously about, at every shadow, at every corner, as he continued his painstakingly slow trek. The campus seemed darker than it usually was after hours. He wondered if there were any tales of spirits haunting the campus. The ghost of a janitor, perhaps. Although that begged the question of how a janitor could be wrongfully killed on campus. Besides murder, there remained the slim chance of a kind of mop-related accident. Or maybe-

He shook his head to clear it and accidentally let out a whimper. His hands shook slightly as they clutched a small brown paper bag. It was his vacation fund for Osaka. At least, it had been.

The lone student all but stumbled his way to a particular courtyard. It was surrounded by towering buildings of classrooms and offices, deserted, and far from any dorms. Only the crickets were company.

In the center were derelict benches flanked by half-dying bushes. The student spotted a particular rock nestled in the brush. It was very ordinary-looking in every respect. Unremarkable.

He crept toward it. "Hello…?" He called just above a whisper. No one could be seen. There was only the constant hum of crickets and rustling of trees in the wind.

He lifted the very normal rock. Underneath it was a small hole that went deep into the ground, the perfect size for the bag he clutched to his chest. Hurridly, he placed the bag there, covering it perfectly with the rock, as his heart said goodbye to his vacation dreams. His seashell collection would have to wait a few more months.

But it was worth it. No one would ever learn the truth of his mustache. And his life would remain intact.