Friday, 11/4

"You're burning it."

"I'm not bur—"

"No, no… See? It's blackened. That means burnt."

"Futaba, I swear to God, just let me focus, then you'll get your—"

"Stop burning my food!"

Tuning Futaba out was a difficult task, especially when Ren couldn't retreat into hiding. He required himself to stay at the pot of curry and at Leblanc's stove to make sure he got the chicken just right before he cut it up to add it to the rice. The way she leaned over the counter and let her hair dangle threatened the perfection of her curry more than his negligence of the chicken.

"Go look for Chinpokomon or something," he said, taking his free hand and pointing it toward Leblanc's door. Getting the curry right wasn't solely for Futaba—Ren had his own reasons. He'd spent months training under Sojiro learning to cook something other than toasted bread. If his curry went over well, it meant he had crossed the threshold into true manhood.

"Fine, whatever…" Futaba hopped off the stool and scurried out the door. Ren hoped none of her hair contaminated the curry, but it was impossible to see because of how quickly he stirred.

Sojiro, who sat in one of Leblanc's many unused booths, flipped his newspaper down to reveal a proud smirk. "You two get along well."

"We'd get along better if she cooked the chicken herself."

"Don't be too bitter—you'll ruin the curry." Sojiro set his newspaper down and stood up. He walked around Leblanc's counter so he could do the worst thing ever: hover and lecture. "Food is dependent on the mood of the chef. Your personal experiences shape each grain of rice, kid. See that one on top? That's for the first friend you ever made. All the rice on the bottom? They encapsulate your failures with women."

Failure, okay fine, but plural? Might be a bit of a stretch. Can't miss if you're not shooting. I never gave myself a chance before Makoto.

As always, Sojiro went on and on, somehow finding a way to bring the discussion back to himself and his past exploits. Ren verged on requesting that his mentor shut up and let him cook in peace, but that meant he let his emotions control his cooking—the cardinal sin of the kitchen.

"...And that was why my principal keeled over from curry poisoning during the school talent show, but I digress."

Wait, what the fuck did I miss?

It was too late to ask. Sojiro's hovering became intrusive peering over Ren's shoulder. "Looking good. I'll finish up the chicken. You get the rest ready to serve and text Futaba that her food's ready." Ren flipped the switch on the stove off, then moved the pot to a cold surface to cool. He admired his beautiful work: a mass of brown sludge with rice mixed in. He pulled out his phone and snapped a photo to send to Futaba. "You and that therapist have done wonders for her," Sojiro said. "I get to see her smiling around the house now."

I hate to think it, but Maruki deserves more praise than me. I've gotta help Futaba without reverting her to her old self. Is that even possible? Maruki's out of the picture for me. I have a choice: avoid him, or reach out and confront him about what he's done to Futaba, Kasumi, and me, and try to get him to undo it for those two. Fat fucking chance.

Ren's reaction was to rear away and sneer at the thought of Maruki's brainwashing, but the look on Sojiro's face stopped him. Sojiro was content; satisfied with life. The suffering exacted upon Futaba had been put to rest and she could finally be happy. By proxy, so could he.

I can't take that away from him. I can't undo Futaba's condition without knowing that she'll be better without it. I have to put up with the miserable fact that the Futaba I've befriended is some kind of lie. Maruki can't just leave and get away with putting her through all this, for making me think about all this. I'll see him again eventually, and I'll…

Being useless was a hard pill to swallow and a tough fact to remember, but it silenced Ren's thoughts when it came anyway. That was fine. He could enjoy a happy moment with Sojiro instead of moping around when life—on the surface—was perfectly fine.

"Thanks, boss, but give more of the credit to Maruki. He's a miracle worker."

"I'll make sure to tell him next time he stops by for Futaba's counseling. Maybe he'll even tell me how he did it… He's a secretive bastard, you know."

Ren knew it all too well. "Something something, doctor-patient confidentiality."

"You got a point." Sojiro opened his mouth to say something again, hopefully not another stomach-churning piece of praise for the all-powerful liar, but the bells of Leblanc's door cut him off. "Now, let's see if you got the chops for making half-decent curry," he said instead.

Futaba hopped onto a stool. "Smells good!" Ren watched her bouncing up and down in excitement, licking her lips at the giant plate of curry Sojiro was putting together for her. "Major props, Ren. Seems like you didn't burn my chicken."

"I burned only the pieces that are going on your plate."

Futaba was unamused. "Very funny." Sojiro kept piling the curry onto her plate and her uncontainable excitement grew into rude greed. "Sojiro! I hunger! That's enough curry."

Sojrio looked up from the mountain of curry on the plate. "Hm? Enough for who?" Futaba's bouncing stopped, Ren raised an eyebrow, and both of them felt an impending over-the-counter lunging attack. "This is my plate, Futaba," Sojiro said with a chuckle. "You're old enough to make your own."

Ren had to pile on. "And to say please once in a while."

"Ugh…" The way Futaba groaned made it sound like she had agreed to watch video recordings of an entire semester of Ushimaru lectures. "Fiiiiiiine." She slid off the stool and walked around the counter to grab a plate for herself. Ren moved out of the way to give her access to the pot.

I'll wait for their opinions before I try my own curry. Not that I don't trust myself, it's just… That curry could be lethal. That being said, I'm ready to perform CPR on any victims of curry-induced cardiac arrest, if need be.

Sojiro didn't return to the booth that had his newspaper; he stayed standing behind the counter, letting the plate balance on his hand while he tested the first bite. Ren watched Sojiro lift the curry into his mouth, close around the fork, and pop out a clean piece of silver. Sojiro's face contorted in all manner of ways, going left and right, up and down, north and south, etc. until it went perfectly centered. Then, that same list of movements traveled through his eyebrows, taking the exhausted wrinkles of his face on the journey of a lifetime.

"I gotta say," Sojiro said after swallowing. "This is woman-pleasing curry."

"Is that a compliment or a sexist way to tell me I wasted my time?"

"It's me telling you that it's the best damn curry ever made by a seventeen-year-old since I made curry for my school talent show. Bravo!"

"I'll believe it when I eat it." Futaba didn't believe a word, vigorously shaking her head as she took her crafted plate of curry to the countertop and sat down. She opted for a large serving spoon instead of normal silverware. "I mean, I'm an actual woman, so I would know if it's woman-pleasing curry."

Sojiro chuckled. "Sorry. That's not how it works." He turned his attention back to Ren. "Congrats. How're you gonna use this particular set of skills you've developed?"

"I'll…" Ren thought back to the compliment Sojiro gave with newfound clarity on its lack of sexism. "I'll make dinner for my girlfriend and her sister for once."

Saturday, 11/5

Haru scrolled through Shujinstagram as she sat alone in the conference room. Her afternoon took her straight from school to the Okumura Foods headquarters where she was to meet with the lawyer delegated with the resolution of all the Big Bang Burger lawsuits. She had school and made it on time; what was the lawyer's excuse?

Luckily, her friends kept her entertained in the meantime.

The Renji Fanclub

Big Boss:

-Who wants to celebrate Ann's birthday early with a girls night?

Makoto Niijima:

-Not with "Big Boss", sorry.

*Big Boss has changed their name to Futaba Sakura*

Futaba Sakura:

-Smh, Makoto's not a true patriot. But how about now? I know that none of you have plans tonight.

Makoto Niijima:

-I could.

Ann Takamaki:

-Same. I'm surprised you're planning this, "Big Boss."

Futaba Sakura:

-I'm very particular about early birthdays.

Haru recalled each instance where Futaba celebrated someone's early birthday. She finished quickly because there weren't any memories to look back on.

Haru Okumura:

-Is that so?

Futaba Sakura:

-Don't doubt my scheduling abilities, Miss-hasn't-agreed-to-tonight's-plans-yet.

Haru Okumura:

-Apologies, but I am busy. My evening is set with company meetings.

Futaba Sakura:

-But business is boring!

Haru Okumura:

-I have to do it at some point.

Haru didn't want to read anymore, lest she tempt herself to cancel all her meetings and join her friends for the evening. Reading Futaba and Ann's excited messages about whatever their plans were would only distract.

Haru Okumura:

-Have fun celebrating.

She set her phone face down and glanced at the door to the conference room. Still, her lawyer was late and hadn't bothered to send a polite voicemail her way with reasoning. Should I fire him? This kind of lateness is supposed to result in firing, right? Too many decisions that she wasn't educated on presented themselves to her, and the lawyer would only bring more when he walked in the door.

However, Haru was decisive. For the decisions brought by the lawyer, Okumura Foods would settle. It would devastate the company's checkbook, but if that was what it took… So be it. Haru could sacrifice the company if it meant she could live with a clear conscience. Sacrificing the company wasn't the goal—just a potential outcome. What was guaranteed, though, was significant downsizing.

"Ugh…" she groaned, stretching her legs out beneath the table while locking her elbows behind her head. Her eyes wanted to close and a yawn begged to come out, but she had a few hours of boring business before she could give in to sleep. Thinking of all the big words she was about to hear enticed that yawn out.

Staying until the end of this sounds horrid, she thought. The image of the girls gallivanting around Tokyo, filling subways with chatter and enjoying themselves, kept her awake but only took her further from the conference room.

"You know, when I agreed to 'girls night', I didn't think we'd be going to nerd central," Ann said as the three walked the streets of Akihabara. Makoto held the same opinion, she just had the manners not to put down Futaba's favorite part of Tokyo.

Futaba dismissed the complaint as if they weren't out to celebrate Ann's early birthday. "There's no fun anywhere else in the city."

"Really? No fun outside Akihabara? No fun in Harajuku, Odaiba, or Kichijoji? None at all?"

"Hm…" Futaba stopped walking. Just as Ann and Makoto halted to look at her, she smiled. "Nope!" She overtook them and continued leading them through the crowded streets of nerds, gift-shopping adults, and everyone else who had business in Akihabara on a Saturday night.

I wonder why she's so insistent on Akihabara, Makoto thought. Considering that we're here for Ann, there isn't much for her to enjoy. Clothing stores, perhaps, but they're all media merchandise and dedicated to promotional items—not the clothes she likes. If that's not why we're here… I have no clue.

Futaba kept up a solid pace so they could pass around slower groups and pedestrians. They meandered through the crowd, passing every store and business that Makoto saw Ann take a second look at. The further into Akihabara they ventured, the less sure Makoto was that they were celebrating Ann.

Finally, she stopped outside a short black building with a simple exterior and an even simpler logo that brought horror to Ann and Makoto's faces. "Ta-da!" Futaba was tiny compared to the humongous ray gun logo that she presented to the other two with the jazziest of hands.

"Laser tag?" Makoto surprised herself by complaining before Ann did. That said, she kept hers subtle enough to not be overt complaining that could be pointed out. "Futaba… I'm not sure this is a great way to spend girls night."

"No, no. It'll be fun!"

Ann took her turn. "Yeah… No. Laser tag's for kids."

"We're kids, aren't we?" Futaba looked at Makoto. "'Cept for her, but she's still a high schooler and my point stands. Live a little!"

She's telling us to live a little by participating in laser tag. Ren would be throwing up if he were here, Makoto thought, which did bring a little humor to the situation. Still, she dreaded going beyond the building's entrance. Not like that would happen.

"I'm gonna use my soon-to-be-birthday-girl veto on this. Sorry," Ann said.

"Then… Then…" Every time Futaba uttered the word it grew in strength until she stomped forward to Ann. "Then I'll use my already-paid-for-the-time-slot veto on your veto!"

"What?! No fair!"

"It was fair as soon as you pulled out the veto. Now, come. Do not waste my money, young one." Futaba stopped bickering with Ann and ran to the door, tugging with both hands to open it for her stunned friends. "What're you waiting for? Your boyfriends to rescue you?"

Ann crossed her arms. "That's—"

"Sexist? You're goddamn right it is. I'll discriminate against anyone for the sake of laser tag."

I'm going to walk through the door instead of processing the implications that sentence brought, Makoto told herself as she gave in to Futaba's demands. She crossed the doorway, looked back to see Ann pouting, and waved her friend onward. There was no escape from the horrible fate that awaited them.

Inside brought more decoration. The floors were sleek silver tiles, though they maintained the minimalism from the front of the building. Makoto walked forward because there weren't many directions she could go—all the doors and paths out of the room were restricted by cheesy locked doors from a sci-fi movie. Her only destination could be the metal check-in desk manned by two people in full uniform as soldiers on a spaceship.

"Hello, and welcome to The Art of Laser War. How can I help you?"

Makoto hesitated when she cringed and that gave Futaba the opportunity to run ahead and make herself the center of attention. She tapped all ten fingers on the desk repeatedly as she spoke to the startled employee. "I have a reservation for Big Fuckin' Boss!"

"Um… That's not…" If their system didn't allow profane reservations, he didn't finish speaking it into existence. He checked his computer anyway and Futaba's luck held. "Oh, here it is!" His eyes went above the display so he could look at the trio. "Is your party missing one?" Futaba nodded. "How unfortunate. Well, Big Fuckin' Boss, have you ever battled with The Art of Laser War before?"

"Nope."

"Then let me explain the rules." Rules? Didn't one just point and shoot infrared rays out of plastic contraptions? Laser tag was something too simple for rules and the attention of Ann or Makoto. Both shared a struggle as the man proudly proclaimed the uniqueness of the company. "The Art of Laser War is a high-octane, adrenaline-fueled ten-minute battle to the death (but not actual death). Soldiers will be outfitted with state-of-the-art combat vests designed to protect you from the intense radiation (but not actually dangerous radiation). Your laser rifles, outfitted with high-tech weaponry that will evaporate the competition (not literally), are not for killing, but for protecting your country. Remember, if you fail, your nation will crumble beneath the enemy's boots, but not—"

Each time he contradicted the company's marketing jargon, he lowered and quickened his voice as if he was providing the side effects of a TV drug. Makoto witnessed one pause too many and decided to channel her inner Ren. "Really? Japan won't be beset by hellfire if we lose a game of laser tag?"

"No, probably not, but it's a good idea to try your best. You never know!"

Ann tapped the desk. "Could you explain the rules without all the flare?"

"Uh… Fine." Her request reminded the man that he wasn't getting soldiers to enlist for galactic warfare—he was working a nine-to-five that didn't pay enough for how much effort he gave. "Your vests detect when you're hit and will shock you. When you feel the shock, you must go down until the end of the game or when a teammate that is still alive revives you. Guns have infinite ammo, cover is indestructible, and the only thing holding you back from victory is yourself." His mood slumped even further when he rested his chin on his supportive hands atop the desk. "And you're aware that you reserved a tournament spot, correct?"

Ann looked at Futaba, pale in the face and on the verge of throwing up. "Tourn—"

Futaba cut in. "Yep, we know!"

"Great. Take the door to your left and you'll get set up with your equipment and the battle plan for your first matchup. Good luck!"

I never should've taken Futaba up on girls night. I could've gone to Ren's, made some food with him, and watched a movie, but I'm stuck doing laser tag… She wasn't one for complaining, yet Makoto felt like a kid in the back of a suitcase-jammed car on a road trip. Honestly, I hope he's as unhappy as me right now so we both learn not to give up our evenings like this. I wonder what he's up to…

"Personally, I don't see what's wrong with takin' a little cup of soy sauce and… Ya know. It's for scientific purposes!"

"I'm not talking to you about this."

"I mean, what's the big deal? Not like someone came into the room and was like, 'Ryuji! Take your effin' balls out of the cup of soy sauce right the eff now!' Ya know? If nobody catches me, if nobody sees me do it, who cares if I advance my knowledge of the human body?

"I care because I have to hear about it, because you are telling this wonderful story while we're standing in a very dense line, and because people are actively walking away from us in disgust."

"They can judge all they want. They don't know what I know."

"You're sick."

"When I conduct an experiment, I often capture my findings on the canvas. Did you capture your findings on a canvas, Ryuji?"

"Nah, nah, but I did drop the cup and spill soy sauce all over the floor. Then, ya know, I didn't account for what would happen after the act of dipping and—"

The group in front of them finished their business with the manager, leaving Ren, Ryuji, and Yusuke to step up to the counter and conclude their very productive conversation. "Evening. How can I help you?" the manager of Penguin Sniper asked. If he knew that Ryuji single-handedly convinced a few customers at the back of the line to give up on waiting, he didn't show it.

"We'll take a table," Ryuji said, sliding the necessary yen over the counter. The manager obliged and set them up with a set of pool balls, chalk, and a wooden triangle.

"Happy shootin'."

It's surprisingly cheap for such a crowded place. Every stool has someone on it, all the countertops have unattended drinks, the darts are occupied, and we got the last pool table. Seems like guys night was meant to be.

Getting turned down by Makoto was no easy thing to deal with, so Ren needed the help of his friends. Yusuke and Ryuji were quick to respond by formulating an evening for the three of them: intense sport and competition until they could no longer call each other friends.

It'll be glorious. I've never played, but how hard can it be? I'm, like, super angular and shit. All that studying for the math exams will help. I can at least beat Ryuji—he undoubtedly sucks. Yusuke, I'm not so sure about. That story of him shooting with the stick balanced on his teeth has to be fake, but he was at least good enough to earn a legendary story like that.

They surrounded their pool table with a three-point triangle—Yusuke at the top, Ren and Ryuji on the long sides. Yusuke set up the triangle and his preferred sequence of balls while Ren and Ryuji unfriended each other with their scowls. They weren't clubmates—they were long-time enemies that smelled blood in the water. Maybe a bit of soy sauce, too.

"Before we start, Renny, I wanna remind you that it's the effort that matters. Don't worry about winning—just have fun."

Dear Unnamed Deity, give me your strength to defeat this condescending bastard and make visible a temper tantrum that rocks ships, purses lips, and cocks hips.

If luck was on his side, Ren didn't need to trash talk. Or, if he wanted to fight fire with fire, he didn't need to subtly talk down and get in his opponent's head for victory. Simplicity mattered more than making a point. "Okay, bud."

Yusuke stepped back from the table, taking the triangle with him and leaving behind a perfect formation of pool balls. Ryuji leaned over, swayed his gripping arm back, and rocked it forward to smash the cue ball into the formation. Balls went in every direction; he even sunk a stripe.

"If I pocket every ball on my first turn, you're shaving your hair into a mohawk."

"Okay, bud."

"Let's see, let's see…" Ryuji incoherently mumbled to himself as he circled the table like a vulture, picking off the scraps of his opening break. He found an easy shot to follow it with, but barely missed it off the corner. "Aw, shit. Doesn't matter. You ain't making it. Know what? If you make it, I'll do my next shot with my eyes closed."

Ren didn't need what had become his mantra to snub Ryuji. He lined up the shot without paying Ryuji a glance and carefully set his form like the pool players of yore—impossible shot compilations and stray movie scenes. His right hand ached from his deathgrip and his hand muscles cramped from pinching his thumb to his pointer so tightly. He found the delicacy to guide the stick back and forth, then unleash a burst of power into the cue ball.

Slower than Ryuji's break but faster than he expected, the cue rolled straight into Ren's desired solid ball and glanced it into the corner pocket.

I shoulda stuck with the trash talk. "Wanna close your eyes now so you don't have to watch me clear the table?" Hm… Eh, it'll be funnier if I beat him while repeating two words over and over. His reaction to that will be better than anything trash talk could produce.

"The eff?!" Ryuji walked the length of the table to peer into the pocket and confirm what he saw. By the time he locked eyes with Ren, the man of too many surprises had chosen his next shot: a tough angle on a ball that rested right next to a side pocket. "Get the eff outta here, man. Even pros ain't going for that!"

"Okay, bud."

Ren upheld Ryuji's promise for him by not watching the cue ball as he struck it. Instead, he looked Ryuji dead in the eye, so confident in himself that he knew the shot would fall if it meant Ryuji would scream. That, or stoking the flame of hilarity amused him so much that pool became easy. He maintained eye contact, using his peripheral vision to watch the cue ball hit the object ball at just the right angle and give him the lead.

"Uh…" Ryuji had no answers, stutter-stepping around the pocket to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. He thrust his hand into the pocket and ripped out the ball, weighing it in his hand to make sure Ren hadn't implanted gravity-altering engines in it. Despite Ren's innocent luck, Ryuji called bullshit. "Hacking!"

Ren shrugged. "Okay, bud."

"I doubt it is hacking, friend," Yusuke chimed in from his stool. He held a dark purple glass with a beach umbrella sticking out of it. When he ordered it, Ren did not know—perhaps he took it from its carefree owner. "Ren shows no signs of cheating in any aspect of life."

"First time for everything!"

Ren didn't want to defend himself because that required him to say more than his new trademark. Instead, he soaked up Ryuji's anger and Yusuke's attempts to calm the mood while he decided on his next act of pool-shooting tomfoolery.

Yusuke stood up, kicking his stool into a smooth slide under the counter. "Are you or are you not Classroom 2-B's leader in Successful Cheats per question?" he asked as he strolled up to his friend. The beach umbrella in his drink rolled around the glass's edge.

"The eff does that have to do with—"

"It is everything, Ryuji! Your lifeblood, your soul—the essence of Straight-Shootin'-Sakamoto is fashioned by the exponential rise in your cheating rates, you fiend!" Ryuji's anger faded within the first few words and by Yusuke's chest-thumping shout that silenced the lounge. "Shoot your shot, I dare it, for no ball on this table—pocketed or unpocketed—can fill the truthfully-taken-test-sized hole in Ushimaru-sensei's heart. You are but a virgin to victory and an alacritous accuser, one that cheaply cheats to gain nothing. Speak not of our leader's impossible hacks when your own are just as vile.""

I like the energy, but… Damn. "Virgin to victory," is as cold as the bottom of Hell.

"Good evening to you, Ryuji, Master of Scratches and Savorer of Soy Sauce." Yusuke patted Ryuji's shoulder and walked past his stunned friend. Just as he reached the end of the pool table, he turned back. "I must use the bathroom. Expect my return."

With that, Yusuke dissipated into thin air—a hushed breath of fog amidst a crowd of people too quiet to be minding their own business.

He actually just walked to the bathroom like a normal person, but Ren preferred his own description of the exit.

"So, uh…" Ryuji turned his attention back to the pool table as if Yusuke hadn't disciplined him and made the entire lounge watch. "Was it your turn or…?"

Ren leaned over the table and shot a smile at his friend. "My turn, Soy Sauce Savorer."

"Eff off."

"Rifles up, ladies! Today, we stand on the field of battle, nothing but maggots in the eyes of the enemy. They don't fear us—they want us because they know we're scared. Blood's in the water, and the sharks are circling. What the fuck are you gonna do about it, Takamaki-chan?!" Futaba paused her line march to get in Ann's face, somehow managing to make the taller girl squirm from the intimidation despite the height difference. "I asked you a question!"

"I'm gonna… fight?"

"God damn right you're gonna fight. We will fight and we will win, ladies, because we will be perfect, and we will be perfect because there is no other option!" Ann and Makoto stood side by side, laser rifles raised against their bodies as Futaba marched back and forth, preparing them for the onslaught. The enemy team outnumbered them five to three—they certainly needed the motivation. "You miss a shot, you die. You hesitate, you die. Improperly use cover, and guess what? You die. Anything less than perfect is a loss, ladies—you'll take that into account on the field of battle, correct?!"

No matter how close her speech was to the movies, Futaba couldn't get through to Ann. "Yeah, yeah. Correct."

At the end of the day, it's just laser tag. It's not intense, it doesn't require a competitive spirit, and there isn't much skill involved. Perfection isn't necessary and we don't have to worry about losing—what matters is having fun, Makoto thought. If that's even possible…

The Art of Laser Tag had team locker rooms designed like military bunkers, outfitted with gimmicky tactical vests and true-to-life rifles that shot nothing more than harmless radiation. It was no wonder that Futaba took it so seriously when the company took itself too seriously.

"What about you, Private Niijiama? You gonna mow down those invaders?"

Like earlier, she channeled Ren's sarcasm that wasn't overt enough to offend. "You bet."

"Remember: there is no survival in losing, even if you run from the field of battle because I, so help me God, will hunt you down to show you the real meaning of pain. Clear?!" Ann and Makoto nodded, their tactical vests shook. "Good. Then we are ready for war!"

As if the bunker had a hidden microphone, a metal door with yellow hazard markings on it slid open. Alarms blared and all three of them exhaled fear, but they had nowhere else to go. They marched forward into the arena.

On the other side of the door was the only part of The Art of Laser War that was expected. The standard laser tag arena awaited them—a dark maze of neon lights, dancing shadows, and Tron fetishization. It hardly matched their gritty military replica gear, but TALW had to run out of budget at some point.

"Soldiers! Hold in your fort for one minute, then the battle shall commence! Use this time for strategy, tuning your weapons, and taking your last peaceful breaths," a digitized announcer boomed throughout the dim indoor arena. Makoto felt too old for any of it, even with the darker war aesthetic making the competition off-limits to kids under thirteen. She wondered how well the business strategy of eliminating laser tag's primary consumers—kids that had nothing fun to do—worked.

They marched into their fort—an elevated platform that gave them cover on all sides except the doorways. In the center was a gap in the cover for a line of sight and for holding off the enemy.

"Let's talk strategy," Futaba said as they stopped walking and stood in the center of the fort. "There's no chance we win a straight-up firefight, so we got no choice but to take their fort. Question is, which one of us is doing that?"

Makoto and Ann looked at each other. The formerly unintroduced mechanic of the game scared both of them into wanting to back out, but it was too late for that.

Futaba shrugged. "Well, it can't be me because I'm slow as shit."

"But you're tiny! There's less target to shoot at."

"Slow is more of a disadvantage than tiny is an advantage," Futaba said. "One of you has to do it."

Makoto raised her hand. "I'll go." If she went alone, maybe she'd 'die' early and get to leave.

"Got it. Ann and I will get up to a little bit of mischief on the left side of the arena, draw the enemy there. You'll go right and take the unguarded path to the fort."

"Um… How do I take the fort?"

"Ya know. Just stand there for a bit without letting the enemy in, then the announcer should have something to say," Futaba said. "Easy-peasy."

Makoto hoped she didn't get that far.

"Soldiers! Take position and ready your arms! The battle begins in five, four…" Ann and Futaba rushed to the left side of the fort and Makoto went the opposite way. Her combat boots didn't quite fit and left her steps slow and clunky. "Three, two, one! Begin Round One!"

Synthwave music replaced the announcer's voice and Makoto was off. She trotted down the straightest path she saw to the other side, which didn't mean much when her only guides were the neon lines along the black walls. Finding the optimal route was impossible and hurrying was the only decent way to go about the journey.

As she jogged down a narrow, winding path, she heard the first shot fired. Movie sound effects erupted from the other side of the arena, too far for her to worry about, so Makoto continued running. Part of her wished she was there fighting and Futaba was the mouse scurrying through the back door; part of her missed Haru's presence that probably would've kept them out of laser tag; part of her missed Ren's zero tolerance for bullshit that wasn't created by him.

The laser noises continued back and forth, not revealing much because digital effects conveyed so little. For instance, they showed when a rifle was fired, but not where the shot landed—cover or in someone's chest—and that was crucial. I suppose the rate of fire would slow if they were losing the firefight. Sounds like they're doing fine, Makoto thought. If it was an even match for Futaba and Ann, did that mean two enemies were waiting for Makoto near their fort?

She wanted to be out early, not run into an ambush.

The bend evened out and Makoto came to an area not constricted by coiling walls of neon. Perfect spot to ambush someone, she thought, her eyes jumping from wall to wall and dreading when she inevitably saw someone pointing a laser rifle at her. The firefight on the other side of the arena hadn't slowed a bit—Futaba and Ann were putting up more of a fight than thought they would. Ann must have found at least some motivation in the last few minutes.

With plenty of luck, Makoto crossed through the open area without the enemy descending on her. A few rigid, blocky paths later, she saw what had to be the enemy fort. It had the same structure as her team's, but its neon orange lights told her who owned it.

Just stand in it until the announcer ends the game, she thought. If she wasn't going to purposefully lose, she could at least end the game quickly and be done with it. Then I'd have to do this all over again for the next round of the tournaments… Maybe I should lose.

Ann and Futaba's fighting never ceased, never slowed, yet Makoto thought of deliberately throwing the game away. That wasn't fair to the work they put in or to the effort Makoto made in rapidly crossing the arena. She had to go through with winning because her friends risked so much for her—how could she fail them?

And, well, the queasy feeling in her stomach when she scanned the walls for enemies was exhilarating. It made her walk faster, keep her rifle trained, and think like a special-op commando on a world-saving mission. Makoto spent all the preparation time doubting the necessity of the theatrics The Art of Laser War had, but they turned her into a solider at no time at all.

Maybe laser tag was fun. Only a little, though. Makoto didn't want to admit it, not when she was so against it for so long.

Rounding the last corner and staring up the ramp into the fort heightened that feeling—the rush of success. Makoto was ready to celebrate as she slowly walked up the ramp and that allowed her rifle to drop from readiness, just in time for the ambush to arrive. A dark figure jumped around the counter with their rifle aimed straight down the ramp at Makoto.

She was the definition of speed. The sound of digital lasers rang out a few feet away, but Makoto's vest didn't shock her and she stayed alive, allowing her to roll back, reset the moment, and point her rifle at the figure. Without hesitating, she pulled the trigger and unleashed low-intensity radiation upon her attacker.

Their chest piece lit up with flashing red light and their form crumpled to the ground. Makoto heard faint buzzing over the continuing firefight that kept Ann and Futaba busy, but that faded into the background when a shrill scream erupted from in front of her. The teenager she'd taken down understood the definition of pain as she laid on the ground and endured the paralyzing shock of the tactical vest, all courtesy of Makoto and her laser rifle.

"Oh my god, oh my god! I'm so sorry!" She crouched next to the person as they shook with electricity, moving from gurgled moans to the kind of screams only heard on invasion beaches. Makoto desperately wanted to end the girl's pain, but she knew the clock ticked. All the screaming would call her teammates back to the fort, then Makoto would end up just like the girl facing unimaginable pain.

She forgot about caring for the enemy, instead choosing to step over the poor girl and walk into the fort. The pain the girl felt not only humanized the enemy, but it made the game all the more real. Losing didn't mean the end of the nation—it meant pain and suffering on an unprecedented level. Makoto understood why laser tag was taken so seriously: it was shock or be shocked.

"What nice bathrooms they have, bar the exclusion of urinals. What a strange business decision."

"Dude, the eff are ya talking about? They have urinals in there."

"Then why was my vision clouded with stalls, not a wall of men enjoying the truest form of relief?"

"Maybe you went to the women's room."

"Ah… That would explain the presence of the fairer sex and their anger at my intrusion."

"Dude…"

"No matter. Continued adventures into their domain will improve diplomatic relations. How goes the pool?" Yusuke placed his hands on the pool table and leaned over it. He must have noticed the disparity in how many solids were pocketed compared to stripes.

He does see that I'm lining up a shot on the eight, right?

"Ren's one lucky guy, I'll say that much. 'Specially 'cause mentioning a certain C-word is frowned upon."

"Do you feel lucky, Ren?" Yusuke asked. Ren felt no need to toy with Yusuke because he was not his opponent. "If aliens chose one primate from this planet, would they pick you?"

"Pick me for what?" Ren cocked his arm back and stared through the eyes of the eight-ball. "Pool match for the fate of the Earth?" With enough ginger to ruin a plate of sushi, Ren tapped the cue ball into a slow roll to the corner where the eight sat.

Ryuji's comments were true—Ren did have a tremendous amount of luck thus far. He was an amateur to the sport, yet he handily pushed Ryuji against the ropes and had him routed within two turns. All that was left was to watch the cue ball strike the eight into the corner pocket, then the game would be over and Ryuji would throw even more of a fit.

But all luck ran out eventually. The cue ball hit exactly as Ren wanted, yet the eight bounced softly off the corner and rolled toward the center.

I'll make it next time. Ryuji's got six balls left—a comeback is unlikely.

"Know what? I choose to oppose luck." Yusuke stood up straight and walked up to Ryuji. "Your stick, please."

"But—"

"But what? You want to lose? Your stick, please, friend." Ryuji couldn't argue with that. He tilted his tool to Yusuke, who firmly grabbed it by the neck and took over the table. Immediately, Ren knew that things were different. Unlike Ryuji, Yusuke approached the table with presence. Ren no longer waited for the shot to be over so he could get on with his turn—he feared every movement of his opponent. Luckily for him, Yusuke kept remarkably still except for his eyes, which traveled ball to ball, lining up all the shot combos that would win him the game with the least effort.

Yusuke stepped back from the table, giving himself at least a meter of distance. "Some tunnels are long, some are short—all have an end. Do you see the light on the far side of the tunnel, Ryuji?"

"I'm pretty sure that I'm fifteen percent colorblind so—"

"I see the light." Yusuke didn't lean over the table, he didn't rest the stick in an aiming position. Instead, he squared his hips, shuffled forward, and hurled the stick like a javelin straight into the cue ball. A loud crack deafened the lounge, almost as if a boulder was struck by lightning. The cue ball's perfect roll was topped off by it sinking one striped ball, then another after a rebound.

My god…

Each shot Yusuke took introduced Ren to a new angle that obliterated physics and struck down all the good work done by human scientists. He played pool like a Biblically-accurate angel—all-seeing, all-knowing, and undeniably menacing. Ren wondered what other secret habits Yusuke possessed an apocalyptic amount of skill in.

One shot had Yusuke kick-flip the stick into the ball; another almost crashed the chandelier into the ground after Yusuke swung from it onto the table with perfect form. By the end of Yusuke's miraculous run, the only trick shot left was taking another person, impaling them upon the stick, and taking a literal death shot, but thankfully, Yusuke abstained.

As if he hadn't subbed into the game and ended Ren's chances of victory without a single fuck given, Yusuke called his shot and sank it like a normal person. "Thank you for the opportunity, friend," he said as he passed the stick back to the awestruck Ryuji, whose hands were too numb to accept the tool. "And thank you Ren for the competition. Now, I must use the bathroom. Toodle-doo."

At least he didn't kick me in the balls this time. I got to watch Yusuke do something cool without him injuring me—that's a win no matter who made the eight-ball.

Ryuji stood up. "Man, didn't you just go to the bathroom?"

"Correct. However, my excellence in billiards sends my kidneys into overdrive." He gave a polite smile, followed it with a bow, then turned away to vanish behind the line for the bathroom.

"We've gotta—I dunno the right word—limit him somehow?"

"As in... How regularly he pisses or being really good at pool?"

"The eff do you think?"

At least Ren made himself laugh. "What, you wanna sanction his pool shots?"

"Yeah, like the rest of GRAVY is the UN and he's a rogue power. He can only take normal shots or else we cut off his food."

"He'd still win. Actually, he'd be better if food was on the line."

"Yeah… But it'd be less frustrating."

The image of Yusuke Spartan-throwing the stick was not frustrating—it was crisis-inducing. If all religions gathered to spectate Yusuke taking such absurd shots, they'd believe in their respective gods a little bit less. "I see your point."

"Ya think he's beatable? Not by us, of course. We suck ass, but by—"

"Hey. You suck ass. I was winning until you pussied out."

"I didn't pussy out!"

"Yeah, you did."

"You'd pussy out, too, if the pool god demanded your stick. And as I was saying before your untruthful interruption… What if we got some pro player to teach him a lesson? There's always a bigger fish."

What a brave idea from someone who says that he didn't pussy out. I'll be damned if I have someone else beat Yusuke for me—I will get revenge. There are only so many trick shots he can take. If get lucky—not just a few shots in a row, but the whole table—then I have a chance. I just need to practice. Maybe work on my karma for a bit.

"Sounds like the easy way out. Why don't we come here a bunch and train?"

"B-but… That makes it into work!"

"My parents always told me it'd take hard work and perseverance to beat an artist in pool."

"That so?"

"Among a few other things." Ren leaned his stick against the table and let it balance. He left it behind and journeyed to Ryuji's side of the table, grabbing the unoccupied stool next to him and taking a seat. Pool didn't seem as enticing as it had at the start of the night. Perhaps they could break while Yusuke took his bathroom trip. "If the girls keep going out for girls nights, we could run up pool a bunch."

"Ugh, don't get me started on girls night. It's some sexist BS."

"You serious?"

"Yeah, man. Why shouldn't we be able to hang out with them?"

"Because, you know…" Ren figured the answer was obvious. "They're doing girl shit, stuff that we don't care about. You really wanna shop for clothes or do each other's makeup?"

"Nah, but I'd like to hang out with Ann instead of getting passed up. Guys night isn't a priority for us like girls night is for them."

"Just let them have it. Not like they're doing anything cool anyway."

"I guess…" They trailed into silence, choosing to watch other people instead of talking. A few games of pool were heating up with money on the line, but none showed the intensity of the match Yusuke just played. Speaking of Yusuke… "Yusuke takes so damn long on these bathroom trips."

"Tell me about it. Ya think he's in the ladies' room again?"

"Probably putting a mural on the wall."

"That would explain how effing long he's been gone."

Ren got off the stool and walked to the bathroom area. The lines for both rooms dwindled since Yusuke joined the crowd, so Ren managed to walk right into the men's room. Two stalls were next to a row of urinals, all occupied by men who were not Yusuke Kitagawa. Neither of the stalls had closed doors.

This fucking guy… He really wasn't joking about going to the women's bathroom. Gross.

He left the men's room and, for the shortest of moments, considered popping in and out of the other bathroom but decided against it because his behavior could not be explained by the fact that he was a billiards god and an aspiring artist. Instead, he took the much simpler route of waiting for the next person to come out of the bathroom, as creepy as it may have been.

"Excuse me, but was there a blue-haired guy in there?" he asked a twenty-something woman. "Tall, thin, white shirt. Maybe some black dress shoes sticking out from under a stall?"

"Uh, no." The woman was offended at even being questioned about her time in the bathroom. "I think I'd know if there was a man in the stall next to me."

Eh, I'd be rude too if someone asked me about the time I spent taking a shit.

Ren smiled and nodded thanks to the woman, then walked back to the common area where Ryuji sat.

He's not in the bathroom, he's not back at the pool table, and I don't see him anywhere around the lounge. Where the fuck is he?

"'Nade out!" Futaba yelled, lobbing a wired piece of plastic over the cover that protected her, Makoto, and Ann from doom. A roar of laser shots returned and made them pay for throwing the grenade—they wouldn't be leaving cover anytime soon.

I don't think any of us, even Futaba, expected something like this, Makoto thought. She had committed herself to full-on participating in the game, as did Ann by the end of the first match, and that only enhanced the intensity. Their subsequent battles were victories, though just as costly as their first. Each of them had to witness the pain they inflicted on others in order to win. Makoto tried desperately to avoid it, but in the world of laser tag, it was kill or be killed.

By the start of the tournament's championship match, they were grizzled veterans with years on the frontlines; their faces dirtied with blood and soot, their hearts weighed down by all the lives lost in the name of their nation.

The opposition was even more experienced. Makoto never saw them before her team was pinned down beneath a fence of cover just in front of their fort. Lasers fired from all directions, keeping them trapped unless they wanted to face the excruciating pain of electrocution. I don't even want to win anymore—I just want to get out of this without being shocked, Makoto thought, knowing the odds were not in her favor.

Self-preservation did not outweigh her team spirit, though. Cowardice in the face of pain couldn't get Makoto to abandon her teammates no matter how many volts would be shot into her chest when the opposing team finally came around the cover. All three would die painful deaths, Japan would crumble, and all the teams they massacred along the way would be in vain.

"I just wanna say, Futaba," Ann said, panting between each word as if she'd been running for five minutes instead of the undoubtedly exhausting act of crouching behind an object. "I'm sorry for doubting laser tag!" Bullets, invisible but felt, grazed the top of their cover and made Ann wince. "And I love both you guys! I don't wanna die like this!"

"We're not gonna die, soldier." Futaba was yet to give up the role of commanding officer, though one that couldn't be bothered to lift the team's spirits. "Just get captured, forced into labor, maybe a bit of starvation. Ya know… The easy stuff. No death involved!"

"That's not helping!"

"If we surrender…" Makoto's self-preserving cowardice expanded to include her teammates. "Do we lose? Is it over without them having to shoot us?"

Futaba reached across their cover, cocked her arm back, and slapped Makoto in stunned silence. Only the echoes of lasers could be heard between the three girls. "There's no honor in the white flag, Niijima. Steel yourself!"

"But… We can't win. They outnumber us, we're trapped, and—"

"Is that doubt I hear, soldier?!"

"Yes, commander. It is doubt. There is no way to escape unscathed without surrender. Now, unless your death wish extends to all of us, surrender is exactly what I intend to do." Makoto stayed behind cover, but her priority became searching for an object of surrender. Socks? Throwing her gun in the open? Standing up with hug-ready arms? The continued volley of lasers into their cover meant that any movement, even one of surrender, would mean pain. She couldn't even shout out they were quitting because of how loudly the synthwave music blared.

Surrendering isn't a bad choice—it's an impossible one. There's no way out, no hope of survival, Makoto thought. This is it: the end. When reason—and the fear of her muscles coursing with voltage—crossed surrender off her list of options, Makoto saw one way out of their predicament.

"Alright, commander. We won't surrender, but we won't let them come to us either." Makoto sat up straight and picked her rifle up, flicking the switch to activate its power. "I won't sit here; I refuse to die sitting on my ass, waiting for the enemy to surround us. Futaba and Ann, if you have any fight left, join me for GRAVY's final stand."

Futaba was stunned enough to forget that she was the commanding officer. "Ma'am…" Ann had fewer words, but a compliant salute said plenty. All three knew that only a blaze of glory—sputtering out in defeat or erupting into a victorious explosion—could maintain their dignity and honor. With nothing left to say, they picked up their rifles and bent their knees, awaiting Makoto's signal to charge.

Makoto's breath steadied. She pushed her shoulder against the cover, creating the pressure to slip past as soon as she shifted her weight. Her legs screamed at her to stay in place and the rifle's plastic barely stuck in her clammy grip. It's on you, Makoto. You have to lead. They'll stay here if you don't charge right now. It'll hurt, you know that, but you won't die a quitter—die with your honor, she thought.

She shut up her screaming legs and burst around the corner, trigger finger done with itching and moving onto massacre. However, her honor-fueled bloodlust discovered a problem: there was nobody to mow down with her rifle, perhaps because two black-clad figures, both wielding laser-miniguns, filled the enemy with metaphorical holes. Makoto's charge abruptly ended to watch the violence.

One enemy was pinned against a wall because his shock vest was repeatedly triggered by one of the minigun users firing bullet after bullet into him. Another desperately hopped from obstacle to obstacle to avoid the unending spray, but death caught them in the middle of a cover-changing leap, sending them to the ground with a thump and a scream.

"Uh…" Ann and Futaba had followed through on their agreement—they also copied Makoto's shocked spectatorship. "What's going on?" asked the former.

One of the minigun men put down an enemy executioner style at close range and finally stopped the spray of metaphorical bullets. They turned around as quickly as the bulky device allowed them to and began the walk toward three confused soldiers.

The sight of a silhouette with the largest gun ever intimidated Makoto into still silence, but Ann and Futaba still found the opportunity to bicker.

"You think he's gonna kill us?"

"You idiot. Look at the gun! We'd be dead already."

"Oh yeah…"

"Bravo on a well-fought series of skirmishes. I commend your bravery," the minigun man said when he got close. Makoto peered around the arena to find the other user. They were somewhere far away, judging by the unloading of metaphorical bullets and the continued screams of anguish. Makoto was too concerned with the friend or foe before her to worry about the pain of those who would do the same to her. "Ladies, it is I, your favorite friend and the one who never fails to rescue you from your time of need, Yusuke Kitagawa!"

When he got close enough, green light struck his face and Makoto thought to faint. There he was in the flesh, raiding girls night but saving them in the process. Without him and his suspiciously well-armed companion, they would've been electrocuted into oblivion.

Ann groaned. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Hah, my man!" Futaba walked up to Yusuke, simultaneously slapped him on the gun and the shoulder, and swung an arm around his neck. The height difference forced Yusuke to lower into a bow, lest he wanted to lift Futaba up with his neck. "I can always count on you."

Makoto's question practically asked itself. She functioned on dumbfounded autopilot and her natural inquisitiveness did the rest. "Thank you, Yusuke, but, er… How did you know to come here?"

"I sensed that GRAVY's women were an endangered species on the brink of extinction. Naturally, I had to drop everything and swiftly arrive with aid."

"Uh… Okay then. Who's your friend?" Ann asked.

"A fellow woman of GRAVY, though her threatened extinction came by the most malevolent means of all: endless legal meetings."

From the other side of the arena, what had to be the last remaining enemy (judging by how many Yusuke and his friend slaughtered) begged for his life only to get a blast of lasers. Makoto, Ann, and Futaba saw nothing of the brutal act, but they all gulped down their fear.

"Yes, that is Haru doing the murdering. Quite talented in that regard, isn't she?" Yusuke sounded like a proud parent whose kid just dominated a laser tag tournament.

"How'd you get her to skip the legal shit?!" The offense that Futaba took must've been from Yusuke's lack of social skills. They were inept in their own ways, yet Yusuke's success where Futaba failed seemed to piss her off and tighten her arm's grip around his neck. Yusuke didn't mind. "She says no to girls night, but joins you when you give her a big fucking gun?"

"Precisely. Haru and I have much in common."

Ann crossed her arms. "Really?"

"Of course. Appreciation of art, fondness of respectable cuisine, and our love of excessively large weaponry..." The bullet rain stopped. Only heavy breaths and the occasional groans sounded through the arena, but then sharp, rhythmic footsteps cut through the monotony. The one who had to be Haru walked fast and loud, not hesitating and stuttering in her gait. Even when she came into their view and stepped over a metaphorical corpse, her pace remained the same. "...Our complete and total agreement on the necessity of badassery in today's society. We are one and the same."

"Totally…"

"Hello, everyone!" Makoto wished Haru didn't sound so happy after putting down so many people so ruthlessly. "Did you have fun tonight?"

"Did we?" Futaba released Yusuke and ran up to Haru, stopping her just in front of the group. "Bitch, did you have fun shooting all those people?! You were like," Futaba brandished an invisible minigun and mimicked it as best she could, "dedededededededede!"

Haru's helmet forced her hair straight down, leaving her the unusual opportunity to sheepishly tuck it behind her ear. Her eyes shied away from anyone in the group—she was embarrassed by how easily she took part in their war drama. "There was some catharsis in it, yes."

Ann attempted a side-hug with Haru, but the minigun made it clunky and awkward. "Thanks for showing up. Coulda used you a bit earlier, but better late than never." She backed away from Haru and turned to Yusuke, who she was not nearly as thankful for by virtue of him being a weirdo. "Seriously though, how did you get here? Haru wouldn't have known because Futaba said nothing about laser tag in the texts. And aren't you supposed to be with Ren and Ryuji right now?"

"They bored me. Guys night is nothing in comparison to girls night." The girls exchanged mixed reactions: held-back laughs, concerned doubt, and head-shaking refusal. "In return for disposing of your competition and single-handedly winning you the tournament championship, I ask for an invitation to all further girls nights."

"Nope!" Futaba said.

"Then could I perhaps initiate a trade request—myself and cash considerations for the ever-unenthusiastic Ann Takamaki?"

Makoto rolled her eyes. "Trade denied. Go back to wherever you were with Ren and Ryuji. It couldn't have been that bad, right?"

"Just try it."

"No."

"C'mon, it's not that weird. You'll like it, I swear to God. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Still no."

"Dude, you are missing out on a life-changing experience. Think about it: tasting soy sauce with—""

"If you ever beat me in pool, I'll fucking try it. There? You happy? Will you stop vividly describing your sexual experience with soy sauce to me while we sit on this very crowded subway now, please?!"

"It's not sexual—it's a sixth sense!"

"Just shut up."

"You think Yusuke left Penguin Sniper to go home and, y'know, try it out?"

"I think Yusuke left because he realized that you would talk about soaking your balls in soy sauce the entire subway ride home."

Ren knew that unless he found a distraction, Ryuji would pester until everyone on the subway had a dirty look for them. He knew how to infuriate Ryuji as easily as anyone, so he quickly got his phone out and opened Shujinstagram in search of the controversial Newspaper Club article of the day.

Fortunately, he found something even better.

"Dude..." he said as his jaw fell on the lap from the photo at the top of his feed. "The girls went to laser tag without us."

"What the eff?!" Ren turned his phone to face Ryuji and show him the group holding up their laser guns and sharing the weight of a humongous golden trophy, the kind that was only given out for pro sports leagues. "And they poached Yusuke!"

"All because you couldn't shut up about your balls."

Immediately, Ryuji took to defensive finger-wagging which meant Ren struck a chord. "I'll have you know that Yusuke was quite fascinated by—"

"Okay, bud."

Ren slid his phone back into his pocket to the tune of complete silence. They weren't drawing disgusted stares anymore; just being completely shunned by the rest of the subway.

I can live with that.

A/N: I was *this* close to finishing this chapter a week after the last one, then vacation struck alongside an unexpectedly poor internet connection. Couldn't access AO3 to update, didn't have much time to write. But here is the finished chapter, hope you liked it. Thanks for reading!