Thursday, 11/17

Haru trudged up Shujin's steps. It was too early of a morning for a day off school, but she had work to do. After that, the day was hers to rest, reassess, and then contemplate what schooling would take place while Shujin was closed. Ann's return home brought many answers, and it relieved Haru of the responsibility of living alone. It felt odd to give Ann's maid directions, but it was a hitchless process.

She hadn't been to school since Monday morning, a short time where she watered the plants, showed up to class, and left shortly after. As Ann told it, Haru's class avoided a most awful fate that befell most of the second-years. Haru felt for them, she did, but anyone who got stuck in a classroom… Well, it didn't matter. They were out and living freely once again.

All except one.

Ann needed some comfort over Ryuji's absence from reality, but that didn't outweigh her need for sleep. After some reassurance and a distracting comedy movie, Ann slept on the couch and was yet to awaken. Haru left early to get her garden in order for Shujin's temporary closure before access was restricted to faculty personnel. Perhaps she could get a pass for the garden, but it was nothing more than a small bed confined to the roof—the garden was an afterthought to anyone with enough power to get Haru a lanyard.

At the top of the front steps, Haru saw inside. As expected: emptiness. The dimmed lights sent a creeping chill up her spine, but she opened the door anyway. It was odd to get to Shujin without uniform, without company, and without light. November weather didn't provide much sun either.

"Let me get that for you!"

A hand swept around her and grabbed the door handle before she could, swinging it open while she fell through it from her reaching momentum. Smoothly, she caught herself in a step and turned around to see the polite prankster.

"Apologies for the lack of warning," said Yusuke, taking his turn to walk through the door and shut it behind him. "I'd hoped it'd be more of a fun surprise, but you nearly tumbled to death."

"I wouldn't say that…" Haru composed herself, re-floofed her hair, and stood up straight. "But thank you for trying to make things easier. May I ask what you're doing here, Yusuke-kun?" They entered the second door into Shujin's lobby. The food stand was closed, protected by a metal pull-down barrier while the glass trophy case had paper covers on it to discourage door-to-door burglars.

"I've been sent to clean. There is a rotting filth at the base of this school and it's infested the second floor."

"Are you talking about the mold in the bathrooms?"

"No—the occult."

Haru rolled her eyes. "Ah, of course."

"It is my duty to get rid of them."

"And find Ryuji, right?"

"If he turns up along the way, yes. If not… Someone will find him eventually."

"Yusuke! That's cold-hearted."

"Ryuji is not in danger—I trust in his self-preservation. Don't you?"

"Yes, I suppose, but I'm still worried about him."

"Fair." Yusuke stopped when they reached the second floor. Haru rounded the railing to continue going up and Yusuke stayed at the bottom of the steps. "This is where our paths diverge."

"Should I find you before I leave?"

"No—I do not know how long my business will last with these devils."

"Okay, Yusuke-kun," she said, verbally patting him on the head and wishing him well. "You do that." She finished her trek up the stairs, passing by the tame nothingness of the third floor, and reached the roof exit. Cobwebs surrounded the doorknob and the janitor's equipment—mop, bucket, and a ring of keys to the school—were left behind.

Haru took the ring, found the key labeled for the roof, and fit it in the lock. The others rang as she jimmied it left and right, the whole ring swinging until the lock clicked and Haru let go. She pushed the door open to the roof, finding a new reason to appreciate November weather.

It's nice to not be blinded for a few seconds, she thought, remembering many a morning when the darkness of the roof exit (which had no lights) couldn't prepare her for the unclouded sun. Now, Haru's vision wasn't hindered. She scanned the roof for differences, finding none, and turned around to shut the door behind her. After that, it was the usual routine.

The garden was her respite, her way of blocking out all the—

The garden looked different.

There was a block—something unnatural. Not soil, not a stray root, not a left-behind tool.

"Ryuji!"

"Meh meh meh…"

"What are you doing in there?!"

"Getting some…" She didn't expect an answer right away. His head, and his whole body for that matter, was submerged in soil. "Getting some water… And a bit of food." Leaves shaded his form and their own dug-up roots, while so much soil was overturned that Ryuji had unintentionally aerated the bed.

"Oh my god… Ryuji-kun…" She didn't mean anything by speaking. It was more of an out-of-control reaction as she tried to pull him out by the shoulders, craning him back into a kneel. Dirt fell from his face and his war-scarred eyes were shut tight. "What did they do to you…"

"I escaped," he said, letting a half-chewed root drop from his mouth. "Right out the window. But I couldn't handle the fall, so I climbed up here thinking that the door would be unlocked… Nope." Finally, reality seemed to return to his face. It was still pale and dirty, but his eyes were open and meeting Haru's. "Sorry. Had to eat some dirt and veggies to survive."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I was harvesting everything today, anyway."

"One less angry person to worry about then…" Ryuji scratched some dirt out of his hair and began to get up. "How's Ann handling it?"

"So worried that you'll get a painful hug when she sees you."

"Then I have two less people to worry about pissing off…"

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno if I'll ever get that hug from Ann—Ma might kill me first."

"Oh, Ryuji-kun… She'll be happy to have you home."

"Yeah, yeah… I miss anything important?"

Haru thought of everything—trials, secret societies, and microeconomics. "No, nothing you need to know. Ann may tell you anyway."

"Cool, cool. Is there—"

The door to the roof nearly burst from its hinges, revealing Yusuke in the doorway. His white shirt was no longer perfect, now specked with red spots across it. "Haru! Ryuji lays in your garden!"

"I know…" Haru pointed her eyes at Ryuji to lead Yusuke to the revelation.

"Oh… Then I apologize for interrupting." He strolled across the roof and offered a hand to his friend, dropping dirt on the roof when their hands met. "How goes it, friend?"

"We've been better, but nothing a shower and some TLC can't fix. How 'bout you? Is that, uh… Is that blood on your shirt?"

I was wondering when he was going to ask. Yusuke defeated that cult quickly—I hope it wasn't violent, Haru thought to herself as she watched them shake hands and catch up.

"Ketchup." Yusuke wiped a finger on his shirt's stains and sucked the taste off. "The heartiest ketchup in Tokyo."

Ryuji stared at the remnant of the stain. "Uh-huh…"

"But condiments are unimportant—let's get you home, shall we?"

"Yeah, let's do it."

Friday, 11/18

"I have a confession to make."

"Shoot."

"I put the bread in your bag."

"What?!"

"I know, I know—I'm sorry. It was what the—"

"You saved my life!"

"Um… What?"

"That bread kept me alive while I was trapped in the classroom, and it gave me some trade value. Seriously. You have no idea how huge that was for my survival," Ren said, putting his arm around Makoto to let her know he told the truth. It muddied their walk down the crowded Kichijoji street, but a few clumsy steps were worth the warmth. "I thought it was Morgana…"

"Morgana is a cat, nor does he have opposable thumbs."

"He knows things, Makoto. You wouldn't understand."

It was one of many laughs from their nights so far. To celebrate their day off of school and their lives going back to normal, they took the train to Kichijoji to follow through on a longstanding suggestion from Ryuji: date night at Penguin Sniper. Ren knew it was a good place for competitive, mean-spirited sport, but its romantic aura was questionable. If that didn't work out, though, Ren was more than happy to take Makoto's money in pool.

Ren saw the familiar staircase up ahead, so he turned the both of them. Up the stairs they went, unlocking their connection because it was too difficult to coordinate when ascending.

Honestly, I love this place. Pool does weird things to my brain; tickles it in strange ways. The feeling of pocketing a tough shot from across the table is like… Like getting out of a school you've been trapped in for three days.

Inside Penguin Sniper, Ren didn't think much because he paid more attention to Makoto's reactions. It was her first time there—he wanted to know what she thought through her body language. She eyed the darts area, approved it with nodding so slight that nobody was meant to notice but her, and smiled. With her stamp of approval, Ren went to the front to get a pool table.

Soon enough, they had their own area of the room and their own sticks. Ren opted for a heavier cue than usual to test the difference in his game because, as he liked to think, he was starting to become a serious player.

"Go easy on me. I've never played."

Then how do you expect to get better?

"Sorry, Makoto. I've gotta work on my game so I can beat Yusuke. That's my life goal right now."

"What, Yusuke? Is he that good?"

"You have no idea. Gotta see him in person to truly understand. He's a demon on the felt."

Makoto laughed. "You're ridiculous."

"Believe me or not, I still gotta improve so I can beat him, so there's no going easy. Sorry." He broke the triangle up, even pocketed a ball, and circled the table, maintaining his conversation with Makoto along the way. "Problem is, I need to be perfect because Yusuke doesn't miss. Ever."

"That's impossible. He wouldn't be an artist if he was that good at pool."

"I'm telling you, he does not miss. I need to go first, plan seven shots ahead, and win before he can even look at the table. That's the only way to do it," Ren said, knowing it was easier to put into words than to accomplish.

"What if he could miss, though?"

Simultaneously, Ren's shot missed.

She manifested that.

It was a lame suggestion—Makoto was more focused on lining up her shot than offering genuine advice, or so Ren thought. "Makoto, I'll say it again: he does not—"

"But what if you made him miss?" she said, slamming the cue ball across the table just to narrowly miss the object ball. She grimaced but didn't deviate from the conversation.

Perhaps she's more focused on helping me than playing this game… Damn. Now I feel like the asshole for thinking otherwise.

Ren made up for it by giving her the truth of the matter. "He takes pleasure in the suffering of his opponents. The fun isn't from making the shot, it's from the joy fading from my eyes as I realize the game is over before it's begun. He's not worried about missing because it doesn't happen."

"Take him out of his element. You're usually silent when he's shooting, right?"

"I guess…" Ren leaned over the table, now doing what he thought Makoto did: taking a half-assed shot because he was more focused on talking. "Maybe a few muttered 'shits' and 'fucks'." The cue ball glanced off the object ball, knocking it just short of the corner pocket.

"Talk trash to him. Throw him off by saying something ridiculous. You're good at that sort of thing."

"That's what he's doing most of the time… It was downright bullying when he played Ryuji."

"Out-bully him." Makoto circled the table, eyeing up her next shot. Ren stayed on the opposite side of her, continuing their turn-based dance around the felt. "Make him miss with your words."

"I dunno if I can."

"Then practice."

"What?"

"Practice right now. Talk trash to me," Makoto said as she leaned over the table with her cue tucked between her fingers. She adjusted her aim by closing one eye and squinting the other, not hesitating for Ren to get his first practice rep in."

"Uh…" Ren's fingers nervously tapped the edge of the table. "You suck."

Makoto's cue stopped its back and forth, and her eyes left the ball. "Really? I suck? That's all you can think of? Would Yusuke relent for that?"

Jeez, Makoto… I'm doing my best!

"You have… Little baby hands. And because of your infant-fingers, the stick shakes and—"

The crack of the balls interrupted Ren and he watched Makoto's ball of choice roll exactly where she wanted—the side pocket. She smirked as she restarted the dance around the table. "Too slow."

Really, fuckhead? "Baby hands" is your best? Think of all the mom jokes you've dropped on Ryuji, every time you told someone to gargle on your nuts…

Watching Makoto coordinate her next shot wiped Ren's mind of his past vulgarity.

Don't you dare say any of that to Makoto. Not in a million years.

"Makoto, I can't do it."

"Why not?"

"I don't wanna insult you!"

She stood up, giving up the game of pool to look Ren in the eye and plant her cue on the ground like a staff. "I'm an adult, I can handle it."

Handle these nu—

"Sure, you probably can, but I can't handle saying it. There's a mental block."

Makoto shrugged and picked her stick up. "Then good luck beating Yusuke." She went back to the game, leaving him staring at empty space and thinking of nonsense to hurl at her. None of it was worth saying.

She's right about the trash talk. If I could get through Yusuke's defenses and throw his game off, then maybe I have a chance… But I can't practice with Makoto. I just can't. I need someone else to train with.

"What if there was someone else who I could trash talk?"

"Hm…" Makoto missed her next shot but kept her eyes on the pool table. Ren got to work on his comeback. "I don't like the idea of you making fun of any of our friends outside of pool…"

"Neither do I, so it doesn't have to be one of them." That got Makoto's attention—she leaned her stick on the table and crossed her arms. "Remember that kid from the arcade? The one who wouldn't shut up about birthing hips and all that bullshit?"

"Unfortunately…"

"I'll talk to him."

She smiled, waving Ren off and telling him to forget about it. "If you do, leave me out of it."

Their game continued, light banter going back and forth until a drawn-out end. Neither was truly skilled at the game, leading to a repeated back and forth of shooting on the 8-ball until someone made it or scratched. Finally, Ren got the bounce he desired and only the cue ball remained on the felt.

"You didn't say that it would go on for half an hour," Makoto said from his side as they both sat down next to their table.

"Oh, that was only the first game. We will get our money's worth, Makoto, don't you worry."

Playfully, she hit him on the arm. "Be quiet. At least rest before we play again. I don't know if I can handle missing anymore…" It was a draining feeling to miss a carefully planned shot, but when everything went to plan, there was nowhere Ren preferred to be. Still, it took a lot of whiffs and misfires to get to those glorious, triumphant moments. "I need to use the bathroom. Could you watch my bag?"

Ren nodded as Makoto walked off, leaving Ren alone with time to kill. Instead of performing his very simple task of unblinkingly staring at a handbag for two to three minutes, he found entertainment in his phone and the toxic rabbit hole of Shujinstagram.

First headline: "Support the—" No wait, that's an ad. Get this bald fucker off my screen.

He swiped past Masayoshi Shido's campaign ad, hating Shujin just a bit more for allowing ads to trigger when the app opened. He hated it even more after he read the first headline.

"Kobayakawa, you fucking egghead…"

"Excuse me?"

Ren jumped to escape Makoto's speed and impressive hearing but calmed at the sight of her. He turned his phone screen to her to show her the headline. "Did you know about this?"

She mouthed the words as she read along. "'Shujin will be closed until the leadup to final exams…'" Continuing to read, her eyes narrowed and she kept her narration to herself. "Uh-huh… Oh… Oh shit."

Makoto not knowing tells me everything about this decision. Fuck this administration, this principal, and everyone on the faculty that isn't a sex worker. This is bullshit. It's not fair. It's a disgrace to—

"Ren, we should leave… I-I need to work on—"

"It's okay, it's okay… We have a few days."

"No, this is going to be a fucking mess and no one is prepared for this."

"Look, maybe there's more to it. There's no way they'd make a call like this on a whim, especially without more warning, if they weren't fully confident in things going right. Let's read the article, then make that decision, okay?"

Makoto breathed and slowly nodded. "...Okay."

Together, they looked down at Ren's phone and dove into the article—a sloppily written announcement that the Shujin student body would not be attending school at Shujin until early December. Instead, Ren, Makoto, and the rest of GRAVY would head north everyday to join Shujin's artsy sister school for classes.

Fucking Yusuke. Somehow, this is his fault.

Half of Shujin would go to Kosei and half would go to Seven Sisters. It was an emergency plan to avoid the hot, boiling water that tainted the Shujin campus. Sexual assault cases, attempted suicide, students left in other countries, and celebrity assault were not enough to shut down the school, but a plague-ridden week, teachers neglecting their duties, and student deception was.

And it the first day at Kosei was set for Monday.

B-but… How will I subtly hide maid jokes in all my answers and feel hilarious for doing it?!

"You were right. I've gotta get my shit in order." Ren turned off his phone, slid off his stool, and looked at Makoto. "I was barely ready to go back to Shujin, let alone start a new school."

She sighed, covering her eyes with a hand. "This is going to be a nightmare."

"Hey, maybe it'll be fun."

"I won't have time to even go to class. There will be attendance problems, campus misdirection, inter-school mingling… It's too much."

"Then let's do what you said—head out now and plan the first day."

"Right…"

They slotted their cues into the stand on the wall, picked up Ren's card from the front desk, and left Penguin Sniper one hour and seven minutes short of getting their money's worth.

Damn those hourly rates and initial fees.

"Other than that article, I had fun," Makoto said as they walked down Kichijoji. Her face was red not from warmth or an untimely blush—it was light from passing by a takoyaki stand adorned with flashes of red, white, and orange. "I would have won if we played again."

"I'll go back, pay another fee, and start a new game right now if you want to test that theory."

She tugged his sleeve, laughing. "Ren, please… It was short and sweet. We should go again."

When was that ever in question?

"Oh, we will. I'll bring Yusuke with."

"And some fighting words, hopefully. You'll have to get a bit meaner."

Eh… That's the last thing I'm trying to do right now.

Since it was uttered, Ren heard "Asshole," a million times. It was a concept he never struggled with before—he knew he was unlikable to other Shujin students, so why did it suddenly affect him? Why did he hate the memory and want to prove it wrong?

I don't want to believe that everything was me being paranoid. All the times I heard my name, every time I saw them looking at me… They had to be real, right? I can't be that anxious of a person, there's just no way. That's the kind of thing that happens to someone else, never actually to you. Problem is, everyone's just another someone… And I'm one that has to deal with this. Maybe those whispers were real, maybe not—I'm still an asshole.

"Makoto… Do you think I'm an asshole?"

"That's, um… That's an odd question."

And that's a shitty answer—is expecting more an asshole-way to think?

"Yeah, it is. But I'd like to know. To you, to anyone in GRAVY, or just times you've observed me behaving in a dickish way. You know?"

"Well… No. You haven't been that way in a while. I mean, there were times like Hawaii where I think you were too focused on yourself to act normally," she said. Ren thought back to his negligence, his exhaustion, and his escape from the terrifying vision of death. He felt his heart, and the moment, sag with misery. Makoto must've noticed because her voice got stronger and her hand pulled him closer so they could clumsily stagger down the street. "But nothing I can think of since, nothing with me, Ryuji, Ann, Haru, Yusuke, or Futaba. Quite the opposite. Rave reviews from both Niijimas, in fact."

"Such as?"

"I believe Sis said something like, 'Only someone who isn't an asshole could make curry like that.' How's that?"

"Hm… Very believable and it definitely sounds like something Sae would say, but I'll take what I can get…"

"Seriously though, Ren, I wouldn't worry about being an asshole. You're great. Being an asshole is the least of your problems."

"Excuse me?!"

"You know, the calling card…"

"Right, right… Kinda forgot all about that when I got trapped in a classroom."

Saturday, 11/19

"It's a rather selfless idea for a birthday, no?" Haru said when they reached the Sakamoto front door.

On the way to Ryuji's house, Ann thought the same thing. They were going there to make up for her Ryuji-less birthday, and to ease any of the difficulties Ryuji might have faced after returning home. That idea made Ann less concerned about everyone worrying about her—if she, and everyone else, was grateful for Ryuji's return and in his home, they wouldn't devote all their attention to her.

"Yeah, maybe… Honestly, my birthday already happened. I just want him to be alright."

That was a strange thing to say, especially with a present intended for her over her shoulder, but it felt right. Ann had some guesses about what the present was after spending some days with it—she didn't want to think about them, or else she'd be setting herself up for failure.

"Besides the vegetables falling out of his mouth and the dirt all over his skin, he was the same old Ryuji when I spoke to him."

That doesn't cover what he might be thinking, Ann said to herself. So much could've happened in 2-B, so much that I don't know and can't understand. He'll be a little different from the Ryuji I knew, and there's nothing I can do about that—just live and appreciate the fact that he's still here.

Haru knocked on the door.

"Ryuji!" a woman's voice hollered from the other side. "Your guests are here!"

"I'm changing, Ma!"

"Your guests are waiting in the cold for you!"

"I am butt-ass naked, Ma!"

"Ryuji! They will not wait one second long—"

"Alright, alright…" They waited a few seconds longer, still an impressively quick time for someone in the middle of changing, then the door opened to Ryuji fumbling to get his shirt on right. "Hey, Haru… Ann." Locked eyes, then a hug—there were no disagreements about what should be done. "Good to see ya again."

She wanted to denounce the cult, profess her gratitude for his safety, and show her affection to him all in one breath, but that was impossible. He'd have to settle for a deathly tight hug. "Ryuji…" It must've been awkward for Haru to stand idly while Ann and Ryuji pretended to be the only people on Earth, but—

"You must be Ann."

Ann had longed to hear those words. After all of Ryuji's mention of his mother, and how he had to leave their hang-outs early just to make it to dinner with her, Ann needed to meet the most important woman in Ryuji's life. That meeting was the only thing that could free Ryuji from the dangerous hug.

"Yep!" She left Ryuji in the dust, moving past him to eagerly shake his mother's hand. There was a resemblance between the mother and son, but she wasn't what Ann expected. Eri Sakamoto was short, with stress-frayed hair, and with a few extra years of age in her skin. Still, she had Ryuji's eyes and his infallible grin. "That's me. You must be—"

"Eri. If you're tolerating Ryuji, you can skip the formalities."

They closed the door behind them, dimming the brown interior just a bit. Ann felt the present slide off her shoulders. She turned to see Ryuji setting it down before she took a look around the home.

To her immediate left was a couch, coffee table, and TV much like Ren's set up, though with darker colors and a warmer feel. To the right was the kitchen, tighter and more optimized than expected. Directly ahead were the narrow stairs up to the second floor.

"Ann, 'fore everyone else gets here..." When she stopped looking around, it was because Ryuji brought her attention back to the present by offering it to her as the weapon it was. "This is for you. Thanks for keeping it safe."

Finally, Ann could tear the wrapping paper and see what she suspected: a long pool cue, blood red except for its black handle, with her initials inscribed at the base. It was even her preferred weight for a cue. Oh Ryuji... He doesn't know that he's doomed himself to losing every time we play. Ann had been intentionally picking cues with different weights to throw herself off and make it easier on Ryuji's reckless playstyle. She usually won anyway, but now she had a guarantee.

"Aw, Ryuji..." She set the cue against the wall and brought Ryuji into a hug that drew a stifled laugh from Eri.

"You bastard! I'll kill you for what you've done!"

That was the nicest thing said once the WarioHeart tournament began. Once GRAVY arrived and got their food, it was time for games that ended friendships and birthed rivalries. There were no teams, no couples, no bonds in WarioHeart—just the insurmountable feeling of loss when the finish line was in sight, only for an item to ruin it all.

WarioHeart was not for the weak-willed. The best-selling game on the Switch brought out the worst in people, attributed to its grave subject matter. Wario, a plumber too overweight to feature in a game about plumbing, was relegated to a game meant to educate youth about the dangers of heart malfunction.

The core of the game was a race for however many people, including an anxiety-inducing set of items meant to affect the outcome. However, the game's most famous system—its overly-reactive heart monitor—was the true killer. Because each player was forced to drive with the at-risk Wario for the race, their chances of victory were always in danger of a heart attack.

Take a corner too quickly and you die. Flip too many times and Wario goes into cardiac arrest. What a fun game mechanic; hopefully it isn't autobiographical for the boardroom of old men that came up with it.

Thus far, the GRAVY member with the most heart attacks was Yusuke. Naturally talented at too many things, he was meant to fail dramatically at others.

"It is simply not fair! I am not responsible for his obesity, why must I pay the price?!"

"You're just managing your items shittily," Futaba chimed in. She had locked in as soon as it was decided that WarioHeart was the game of choice, though she left enough focus on her surroundings to doll out insults whenever she passed someone or increased their risk for cardiac arrest. For Yusuke, she deepened her voice, stiffened her back, and spoke as if she'd done a few paintings. "A skill issue, perhaps?"

Ryuji's couch did its best to contain GRAVY, but it was far from Ann's l-couch or Ren's adjusted set-up. Ann's place had the space, Ren's apartment had been accustomed to company. Ryuji's home was a new location and comfort was an endeavor.

Ryuji, honorable as he was, gave up the couch spot he was guaranteed because he was the host. Futaba felt no guilt over taking it, Yusuke saw it as the natural order of things to take the middle, and Haru and Ann argued over who got to be gracious. Haru ended up on the couch, with Ann and Ryuji sitting next to each other on the floor.

Ren and Makoto got two chairs moved from the dining table, disadvantaging them with a glaring angle of the TV and pierced shoulder blades. Makoto showed no irritation over it; Ren, always finding the worst in a situation, wished death on his seat.

Oh, to sit on the floor... This chair is fucking my back apart. Honestly, I want to steal it and burn it on my own time, but I couldn't do that to Eri. She's so nice.

Ren and Ann had hosted GRAVY Saturdays, but the true hosts were not present. Junpei and the Takamaki parents had no intent to be around for such a ruckus, yet Eri remained present throughout with a smile on the entire time. Her son's cries of duress and heartache only made her laugh, and his friends inspired her. The food GRAVY brought was unnecessary when Eri brought snacks by every half hour.

I'm more focused on whatever those pork things were than winning this game. I can barely see, Wario dies every five minutes, and I can't handle the soundtrack. Who thought accelerating kick-drum heartbeats was a good idea?

After however many games, there was no clear winner. Even Futaba struggled to consistently overcome Wario's narrowed heart valves. The only thing GRAVY knew, even with all their newfound experience with the game, was betrayal.

"Ryuji! We had a deal!"

Ryuji shrugged, continuing to play the game while Ann got a game-over. "I crossed my fingers."

"I'm your girlfriend."

"Ya play to win the game."

"I do not understand this," Yusuke said. "Are we not playing for fun? For the joy we share in each other's company?"

"No, we're playing for cash." Promptly, Futaba's Wario succumbed after getting hit with a caffeine bomb courtesy of Haru's Wario. Without saying so, she retracted the stakes she set. "Fuck you guys."

I wish the game had stats because seeing Haru's name at the top of the 'Heart Attacks Induced' list would make my day.

Instead, Ren would have to settle for first dibs on whatever plate Ryuji's mom brought next. He and Makoto sat closest to the kitchen, just next to the stairs that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. As if on cue, a plate of some unidentifiable steaming item hovered next to Ren. He trusted Eri's cooking enough to take without asking what it was. Makoto hesitated, perhaps because she had more self-preserving instincts, but both immensely enjoyed whatever it was.

"Ryuji!" his mom said in a tone only achievable by a mother happy to be around her child's friends, "do your little friends want me to order some sushi, too?"

"They're ain't little friends, ma!" said Ryuji, weaving through caffeine grenades and scalpels thrown by his girlfriend. His war heated up his tone.

"You should show me more respect," she teased. She walked toward Ryuji, obscuring the TV from half of GRAVY in the process, to reach down and rub his head. "That Nintendernet subscription is on my card."

"Ma! You're blocking the game!"

Ann did not like WarioHeart, but she tolerated it. Her enjoyment came from the good ol' cliche of getting the band back together. As mean as they were to one another in reaction to what was on screen, every moment was cherished. I'm more of a Super Rash Toes girl. Legend of Xelda is pretty cool too, I just wish they'd ease up on all the boring cutscenes, she thought as she watched Ryuji battle his obstructing mother from the corner of her eye.

"Ma! Please get outta the way, I'm gonna lose!"

"If you prefer games over your mother, perhaps you need to be reminded who pays the bills." She reached over his shoulder and took the controller out of his sweat-slicked hands, prompting an instant game over as Wario slammed into a barrier, flew from his cart, and croaked mid-air from the stress of it. "Come. Help me with the cooking, would you?"

Ryuji groaned, but he didn't protest. The game was free to continue a moment later when both Sakamotos left for the kitchen.

Sitting in Ryuji's house was surreal. Reality felt wrong in every way. Ann's mind still slept under a desk and her nose still scrunched from the stuffy room. Shujin wouldn't be the same, it couldn't be the same, and leaving what happened behind was an impossibility. Plus, she brought all that baggage on her first visit to the Sakamoto house. Seeing where Ryuji lived wasn't as enlightening as she hoped, perhaps because her thoughts lingered on 2-D.

When she died in WarioHeart, she dropped her controller at her side and looked around. Everyone else, bar Yusuke because he sucked ass, was deeply invested in Wario's cardiac health and the standings of the race. In the kitchen, Ryuji and his mom bantered back and forth, their smiles seen but their words blocked by the commotion around Ann.

She didn't want to leave. They deserved a never-ending evening—a delay before they were thrown to a new school without any care for what was witnessed in the lockdown. She hated Shujin before all the bullshit, and now she didn't know what to think. What came after hatred?

Should I be doing something? Protesting? Ugh… Not that it was a bad idea, but it was a dirty word. When she had to get through vote-encouragers, unaware of the fact that she couldn't vote, to get into the subway every day, anything related to politics became annoying.

But that didn't matter. Ann watched the TV as Haru picked up a malicious, hard-fought victory in which she dealt death and destruction as if they were on sale. There were—

"Three, two, one!"

She looked right. Oh come on. Ann thought her birthday was over and done with, but GRAVY just couldn't let it die.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…" Ryuji sang loudest, carrying a candled cake from the kitchen with his mother. She sang as well, though more of her joy came from seeing Ryuji's enthusiasm for doing so. Ann got a similar feeling—that, and the energy of those around her.

They even stopped letting Wario die to sing for her.

Ann withdrew from beneath the couch, sliding her arm out and wiping the dust off it. "I don't think my arms are long enough," she said, shrugging at Ryuji and waving for him to try. They traded places.

Ryuji went flat on his stomach, resting his cheek on the carpet as his arm dove beneath the couch up to the shoulder. His back muscles worked hard as he flailed around under the couch, trying to wipe up the stray piece of cake Futaba somehow lodged in there. She had to have put it down there. There's no way it's an accident, Ann thought, listening to Ryuji grunt in exertion. If he couldn't get it, they would have to move the couch around and risk waking up Eri.

She went to bed early, having to get up before the sun the next morning for work. GRAVY carried on with the festivities, albeit much quieter, for another hour or so until they burnt out. Conversations dried up, WarioHeart insults were reused, and someone mentioned getting home to pass out. Within twenty minutes of light cleaning, the last members of GRAVY were gone.

Except Ann.

"I got it!" Ann helped Ryuji remove his arm from the wedge, unsheathing a crumpled paper towel with cake in its crevices. He dusted his shirt, stood up, and tossed the paper towel in the trash can. "Whew… That does it…" Just like that, he was done again, slumped in between couch cushions from his long day. Socializing wasn't strenuous, but the aftermath was never energetic. Ann had the same feeling, and she only did half the cleaning Ryuji did. She sat next to him on the couch.

"Do you wanna go to Penguin Sniper tomorrow?" she said, smiling as his arm slid around her. "My treat."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"I got plans," he said with a shrug. "Actually, you wanna come with?"

"That depends on the where and when." Not that Ann had other things to do, but if Ryuji had a long run or a cultist killing planned she would have to skip it.

"Akihabara, noon. With Ren and Futaba."

"What on Earth could—"

"Game shopping. We're finding something to play at the same time so we can talk about it and stuff. You're welcome to join."

Ann enjoyed games, though not enough to make it a full hobby. Her taste was limited to games she could play a little bit at a time, games she could pick up after two months of not playing and still understand what was going on. "Do I have to get the game?"

"Nah, you don't. I wouldn't recommend it, either. Futaba's probably gonna pick it, so I'm in for a few weeks of digital Hell."

"Maybe I'll just watch you play it."

"Fine by me."

Sunday, 11/20

"It's a stupid choice to subtitle it 'Lights Die Twice'," Futaba said, dropping the game back on the sale stack and moving on.

Ren, Ryuji, and Ann struggled to keep up with her opinionated browsing. "Why?" For someone looking for a game to play, she seemed to know everything and think something about each item in the store.

"Because you're not gonna die twice. You're gonna die a million times before you stop hesitating."

"Wha…?"

"You wouldn't get it. You're not a die-hard like me."

Futaba knew it to be true, yet Ren was still confused. "Uh…" She figured him to not be the target demographic. Ren was too easily frustrated and too busy to sink his teeth into long, difficult games. "Whatever you say," he said.

Around they went, picking out the games with the coolest box art. Ryuji was easily marketed to—he went to every box with a gun-bearing, bearded, and burly man, always walking away from something large and never looking directly ahead. Ann had no preferences or biases to go off of, looking at pretty much everything in her path because she was not there to buy, which she had made very clear on the subway ride to Akihabara.

Ren was picky. He looked for fancier art on the cover, a bit more effort than the badassery Ryuji fell head over heels for, and for genres he knew he liked. Still, he was predictable.

"First Reality Sixteen? Come on, Ren. You're better than that."

He shrugged, not taking his eyes off the lazy box art. "I've got a bet with myself to play them all…"

"Then you can skip this one. It's nothing like the rest of them."

Futaba was very opinionated on First Reality, so opinionated that anyone not versed in the series would assume she enjoyed none of them. That was simply untrue. Nine is pretty good, so is Tactics, she thought, lamenting the hours she spent on other games.

"Eh." Ren still didn't give her opinion too much credit. "I'll play it anyway. Good or not, it's a new First Reality game. That counts for something, I think."

"Why not try something new? Let's all get a four-X strategy game!" Futaba pointed at a wall display that showed an overly detailed map, a row of numbers lining each corner of the screen, and nothing visually stimulating.

"Uh…" Ren frowned. "My brain doesn't work like that."

"What, can't you read a map?"

"Too many numbers. I do enough math at school, I don't need to get on a video game and do more."

Futaba gave up on Ren's rigid tastes, throwing her hands up and walking away. Despite this, she saw Ren not commit to First Reality—he put it back in the bin. She walked across the store, finding Ann and Ryuji debating the moral implications of shooters.

"All you do is click on peoples' heads. There's nothing interesting about it."

"You can simplify any game and it'll sound shitty." Ryuji grabbed the game from Ann's hands. "In this one, you press a button to start a conversation, get a handout, then put that handout somewhere on your farm. It's boring! It takes no skill."

"All you do is point and click!"

"All you do is wait and click!"

Futaba stuck her nose between them. "I see we're having fun…"

"Oh yes, so much fun…" Ann rolled her eyes and snatched her game of choice back from Ryuji. "Futaba, explain to Ryuji with that complex game design lingo why Moonrain Hills is a better game than Angel Down Zero: Hymns of Revolution."

Futaba choked on a laugh. The only value those games have is the comedy of their titles. Any game with 'zero', any game with a synonym of 'rebellion,' etc... There aren't enough creative game titles these days. Like, Lights Die Twice may not make sense, but it's cool as fuck compared to Bert; Door Zero X: Like a Supreme, she thought as she looked between her two expecting friends. Both wanted Futaba on their side.

"Ann wins this one. You're too easy to market to if you're playing shit like this, Ryuji. Think about it from an art point of view."

"Art-shmart. It's a game! It's for having fun; don't know if you guys have ever heard of that."

"Is it fun when I kick your ass in Rash Toes?"

"Kinda, because at least something is happening. It's not boring old farming, ya know?"

"Fair enough."

Shortly, they were out of the games store with less yen in their wallets and their purchases in a bag that Ren carried, except for the digital code that Ryuji went for. Pussy, Futaba thought as she watched him walk a few feet ahead of her, chatting up Ann.

They found a spot for lunch and sat down outside, only a short thin metal fence keeping the hoard of Akihabara visitors from trampling them. The games that they bought were left under the table, much to Futaba's distress. How am I supposed to open the box and long to play the game if I can't even reach it? she thought, glaring at Ren despite him not looking at her.

"You think we shoulda spent the day getting ready for Kosei?"

"Nah, no way they give us that much to worry about," Ryuji replied from across the table. He and Ann shared a side while Ren and Futaba got the other. "There haven't been any instructions sent out, either."

"How would you know? Not like you ever check your email…"

Ryuji's finger raised as if he had an argument. "That is…" His energy deflated. "...A good point."

"There should be more notice, though," Ren said, getting the conversation back on track. "None of our teachers are transferring, according to Makoto."

"So they just get a few weeks off and we get effed over?"

"Seems like it. Kawakami will still be working."

"Doing what? Not like there's anyone to teach…"

"Oh, you know. Working."

"No, we don't know. That's why we asked."

As the three laughed, Futaba could only fake it. Their conversation about Kosei was something she couldn't engage in. She knew of the school and she knew what it looked like (from her security camera check-ins on Yusuke—he rarely attended class), but couldn't share in their worries, fears, or conspiracies about the institution.

It wasn't a new feeling. Joining her friends for a hangout always included a conversation she had to be left out of—homework, lunch break woes, and classroom embarrassment—and there was no way around it. She had to sit, occasionally fake a chuckle, and think about other things, such as the game she bought under the table.

"I can prolly get away with skipping the first few days, there'll be too many kids to keep track of."

"And that's why they'll place extra emphasis on making sure everyone's there," Ren countered.

Ann snapped her fingers and pointed at Ren to thank him for the reason. "Don't forget that you're not allowed to let your girlfriend solo a new school," she said to Ryuji.

"She soloed the school we actually go to—she'll be fine."

Ann kept up the third-person. "That was before she learned that there were cultists in her boyfriend's class." Futaba stifled a groan.

"Speaking of, how sure are you that Yusuke… Took care of them?"

This was something Futaba could speak to. The night before, at Ann's, Yusuke regaled Futaba with his gory (ketchup) battle with the Order of Paimon. Now, she didn't know how much of it she believed, but her eagerness to engage was greater than her need for the truth.

"Yusuke killed 'em all. Every last one."

"He killed how—"

"Yep. Women and children too."

"Something tells me that you're stretching the truth a bit," Ren said.

Ugh, sarcasm is no fun when he talks like that. It's impossibly monotone, Futaba thought. She did, however, get the desired reaction from Ann and Ryuji.

"What?! They had kids in 2-B?!"

"No no no, hold on." Ryuji held up both hands to bring the conversation to a halt. I didn't see hear innocents—only participants."

Ren rested his head on his hand. "That makes me feel much better about Yusuke killing all of them. Do you think that was his plan? Go to Shujin, eliminate the most impactful group in the Shujin-Kosei power dynamic, then integrate both schools?"

"Nah, that's too evil for him. I think he just wanted to help clean up."

"And steal Shujin's secret intel!" Futaba added, prompting laughs around the table. She had found a comfortable way back into the conversation, yet she didn't solve her problem. As long as she was the odd unschooled one out, she would always be left to listen when the topic turned to school.

That begged the question: when would Futaba do something about it? Going back to school was an inevitability, but it always felt like a distant one. As the months went by, it became less inevitable and more of a time concern. If she didn't act soon, she'd fall behind and that would separate her from her friends even further. What to do, what to do… she thought as her friends uncaringly returned to their Kosei concerts, leaving her in the dust.