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Not Following, Just Getting Out

Jirō leaned back against the couch, the flicker of his gaming screen casting a faint glow over his face. The apartment was quieter than usual, the hum of the city outside the only sound filling the stillness. He wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at the screen—long enough for the game's menu music to start looping again. Not that it mattered.

Watanabe had left for the fireworks festival a while ago, probably already enjoying herself. It wasn't like he was missing out on anything. He didn't care about fireworks. He definitely wasn't the type to enjoy those crowds. But then, a thought—unbidden—slipped into his mind: the soft feel of fabric beneath his fingertips, like he was still holding it, not the gaming console, but that. The Yukata she'd asked him to help with. The same one she'd be wearing for another man.

Why did it bother him so much? It was a good thing, wasn't it? Watanabe getting closer to Tenjin—wasn't that the goal? The agreement they'd made from the start of this practical. So why did it feel... wrong?

"No. Stop it, brain," he muttered, as if saying it aloud would make the thoughts disappear.

Jirō forced his attention back down onto the screen in front of him, trying desperately to push any lingering thoughts of Watanabe out of his head and focus on the game in front of him. 'I like Shiori.'

It felt like he had to remind himself of this fact more and more often lately.

It had been two months since this whole mess of a practical started. Two whole months since he and Watanabe had promised to work together for each other's sake, to reach A rank. That had been the goal from the beginning—he'd wanted to be with Shiori, and Watanabe had wanted Tenjin. Simple. Logical.

So why did everything feel so complicated now?

Had his feelings really changed so much in such a short time? Was that even possible?

"Nah, that's crazy," he muttered, shaking his head. But the thought lingered, refusing to go away as easily as he wanted it to. So, he forced his focus back onto the game. Inside that world, he was safe—from his brain, from her, from everything. At least there, he didn't have to think.

At least until a sound rumbled in his stomach.

Jirō paused, his hands slackening on the controller as the noise echoed in the stillness of the apartment. He hadn't eaten since lunch—maybe? He couldn't even remember. Not that it mattered. But the insistent pang in his stomach reminded him that even in his digital escape, reality had a way of creeping back in.

With a sigh, he set the controller down on the table and leaned back further into the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. He debated ignoring it, letting the sensation pass, but the idea of staying in the apartment felt heavier the longer he sat there.

"Convenience store run, I guess," he muttered, more to himself than anything, already pushing off the couch. It wasn't like there was much else to do.

Sliding his shoes on and grabbing his wallet, he told himself it was just a quick errand—nothing more. It wasn't about getting out of the apartment or clearing his head. Just food. That's all it was.

But as he locked the door behind him and stepped out into the cool evening air, he couldn't help but notice how loud the distant sounds of the festival felt against the quiet of the neighborhood.

He whipped his phone out, sending a quick text to Kamo:

"Convenience Store Run?"

Jirō didn't have to wait long before his phone buzzed in his hand. Kamo's reply came as no surprise.

"Convenience store run, you say? Fear not, brave warrior, for I shall join you on this epic quest for sustenance. Lemme grab my gear. Be there in 5."

Jirō let out a short laugh, pocketing his phone. "Weirdo." For the first time all evening, he didn't feel completely alone.

After double-checking the door to Apartment 603—the one he and Watanabe shared for the practical— Jirō pushed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, his gaze drifting up toward the moon. A soft quirk tugged at the corner of his lips as a distant burst of music and sound filled the air.

"Looks like it's starting."

For a moment, he lingered there, letting the cool night air wash over him. The faint echoes of laughter and music from the festival teased the edges of his thoughts, but he quickly turned away, shaking his head. His stomach gave another insistent growl, snapping him back into reality.

"Right. Food," he muttered to himself, pulling his hoodie tighter as he started down the quiet street. The festival sounds faded behind him, replaced by the rhythm of his footsteps and the hum of nearby streetlights.

"Objective achieved!" Kamo said, grinning as he approached Jirō at the bottom of the stairs. "Kamo Sadaharu has completed this quest!"

Jirō rolled his eyes, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets. "It's not a quest. It's a convenience store run."

"Ah, but every adventure starts somewhere!" Kamo declared, dramatically adjusting the strap of an imaginary sword slung over his shoulder. "Two brave warriors, venturing forth under the light of the moon to battle their most fearsome foe—hunger."

Jirō snorted. "You've been watching too much fantasy anime again."

"Hey, inspiration strikes where it strikes," Kamo replied, unfazed, falling into step beside him. "And you're welcome, by the way. I could've ignored your text and stayed home grinding my RPG save."

Jirō glanced at him, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You act like I dragged you out of bed or something."

"Not bed," Kamo said, tapping his temple as if delivering some profound wisdom. "The grind, Jirō. The grind. But it's okay—I'll forgive you if we grab those limited-edition curry chips while we're there."

"Let's just go, okay?" Jirō sighed, starting down the street.

"Man, I'm surprised," Kamo said, falling back into step with him. "I thought you and the gyaru would be festivaling it up about now."

Jirō's steps faltered for a moment before he caught himself, "Not that it matters to you, but she's already there with Tenjin."

"Ah, so the prince himself swoops in to claim the fair maiden." Kamo nodded sagely, as though narrating some grand tale. "You know, if this were an anime, you'd be the childhood friend who never stood a chance."

Jirō shot him a look. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Hey, I'm just saying," Kamo said, grinning. "If you don't want to lose the heroine, you'd better level up soon, my dude."

"She's just my practical partner. Don't make it weird."

Kamo held his hands up defensively, falling back into step beside him. "Alright, my bad, Jirō, my bad. Jeez, you get so defensive sometimes. Have some mercy on those of us whose lives don't look like s-tier ecchi manga."

Jirō grimaced. "Dude. Gross."

"Did you see the new banner?" Kamo asked, changing the subject.

Jirō frowned. "What banner?"

"The Eternal Heaven x Steel Fighters collab!" Kamo's eyes practically glowed as he whipped out his phone. "They waifu-ized Crimson Knight Rouga. Look at her—Rouga-chan, dual swords and all. And don't even get me started on the battle armor. They nailed it."

Jirō raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the screen. "So… they took the guy, gave him long hair, a skirt, and—what is that? Stockings?"

"Thigh-high stockings," Kamo corrected with a dramatic flourish. "For maximum impact. And look at her pose! That's S-tier design right there."

"Sure. If S-tier means shameless," Jirō muttered, shaking his head.

"You just don't understand the art," Kamo said, holding his phone like a sacred relic. "They've even got a new summer beach outfit for Rouga-chan as an alternate pull. Dual swords, but with sandals and a swimsuit? Genius. Absolute genius."

"Genius for milking your wallet, maybe," Jirō said flatly.

"Hey, don't disrespect my gems," Kamo shot back. "I've been saving for this collab ever since they leaked the trailer. First ten-spin, and she'll be mine. Just you wait."

Jirō snorted. "You said that during the last banner. Then you dumped half your savings trying to pull an elf maid."

"That was completely different!" Kamo exclaimed, clutching his phone tighter. "Rouga-chan's a collab unit. Limited edition! You wouldn't get it, man. Waifus are eternal."

Jirō sighed, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. "And you need help."

Then help me," Kamo said, grinning like a man with no shame. "Buy me some gems."

Jirō stopped in his tracks, giving him a deadpan stare. "No."

"Wow. Friendship means nothing to you," Kamo said with mock devastation, throwing an arm over his eyes. "How am I supposed to live like this?"

"Try spending less money on waifus," Jirō muttered, brushing past him.

Kamo hurried to catch up, tucking his phone into his pocket. "Man, my bro Jirō, you're really on edge tonight. More than usual."

"I'm not on edge," Jirō replied quickly, a little too quickly. His hands shoved deeper into his hoodie pockets.

"Uh-huh," Kamo said, dragging out the syllables like he didn't believe a word of it. "You sure it's not, y'know, a certain gyaru messing with your head?"

Jirō's jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "She's not messing with anything. We've got a deal. That's it."

Kamo raised an eyebrow but didn't press further, though a sly grin crept onto his face. "Sure, sure. If you say so. But, for the record, I'd be on edge too if my practical partner looked like that. She's like a rare S roll—one of those units only the blessed get."

Jirō let out a long sigh, quickening his pace. "Can we just get to the store already? I'm starving."

"Can we just get to the store already? I'm starving," Jirō muttered, quickening his pace.

"Alright, alright, keep your hoodie on," Kamo replied, falling into step beside him. "Man, you're really no fun when you're hangry. You're like one of those NPCs who gets all grumpy when their energy bar hits zero."

Jirō sighed. "Stop comparing me to video game characters."

Kamo grinned. "I'm just saying, you'd make a great tsundere rival. All you're missing is the tragic backstory."

"Great. Now I'm a walking cliché."

"Hey, better that than being the forgettable sidekick," Kamo shot back, adjusting his imaginary sword strap again. "You've got main character energy, my dude. You just need the right plot twist to realize it."

Jirō shook his head, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets as they neared the store. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you spend more time living in your games than in the real world."

"Games are where the magic happens," Kamo said with a shrug. "But real life? That's where you can buy snacks. Which brings us… here!" He gestured grandly as they approached the glowing storefront of the convenience store, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft chime. "We now enter the shrine to heal our party's wounds!"

Jirō sighed, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets as he followed inside. "It's a convenience store, not a dungeon checkpoint."

"To you, maybe," Kamo shot back, grabbing a basket. "But to a weary adventurer, it's a sacred haven of chips, energy drinks, and—" He gasped, holding up a limited-edition snack bag as if it were a holy relic. "—curry chips! The gods are truly smiling upon us tonight."

"You need help," Jirō muttered, heading for the freezer section without another glance.

Kamo finally seemed to quiet down as they both collected the items they wanted. The faint hum of the store's fluorescent lights filled the silence, interrupted only by the occasional rustle of packaging as Kamo tossed chips and candy into his basket with alarming efficiency.

Jirō wandered over to the freezer section, his gaze scanning the rows of brightly colored packages. He wasn't really sure what he wanted—something quick, something easy. His stomach growled again, urging him to pick something already.

Sliding open the frosty glass door, he reached for a cup of instant ramen but paused. His eyes landed on a familiar box of ice cream popsicles. Without thinking, he grabbed one and tossed it into his basket, shutting the freezer door with a soft click.

It wasn't until he turned the corner that the thought hit him: Why did I grab those?

He stopped for a second, staring down at the box. They were Watanabe's favorite. She'd picked them out the last time they'd come here together, insisting they were the perfect treat after a hot day. He hadn't even realized he'd reached for them. He'd usually always gone for chocolate, so, why-?

Jirō blinked, his grip tightening slightly on the box as he tried to shake the thought away. It doesn't mean anything. It's just ice cream. But the longer he stared at it, the harder it was to ignore the faint tug in his chest, as if something more was bubbling just beneath the surface. He hurriedly grabbed the box of chocolate flavored ones out also, intervening on his thoughts for the umpteenth time that night.

'Just restocking the freezer for us, that's all.'

At the register, Jirō placed his items on the counter. Kamo, already halfway through tossing his own snacks into a basket, raised an eyebrow when he spotted the ice cream.

"Ice cream? Jirō, you realize real life isn't a game, right?" Kamo said, gesturing dramatically to the box.

"Says you," Jirō replied flatly.

"I'm just saying, man," Kamo continued, shaking his head as if delivering sage advice. "That's not gonna fill you up. You've got, like, negative stamina right now. Go for something with carbs. Maybe one of those egg sandwiches or—" He paused, leaning closer with a sly grin. "Or is this, like, a craving thing? You pregnant or something?"

Jirō sighed, picking up the chocolate popsicle box and inspecting it like it was suddenly fascinating. "It's ice cream, Kamo. It's not that deep."

Kamo laughed, tossing his basket onto the counter beside Jirō's. "You're right, it's not. But man, I'd kill to see you pull out ice cream mid-battle in a game. 'Oh no, my HP's low—better chow down on a popsicle!' Instant meme."

Jirō rolled his eyes and grabbed two curried meat buns from the warmer, adding them to the counter with a bit more emphasis than necessary. "Fine. I'm eating properly. See?"

The buns hit the counter with a soft thud, drawing Kamo's attention. Jirō relaxed slightly as his friend immediately pivoted to commenting on the smell of the curry. Mission accomplished, he thought.

As they left the counter, Kamo held up his bag triumphantly, his voice echoing through the quiet store. "The party has been healed and our adventure log recorded. It's time to continue our adventure!"

Jirō sighed, adjusting his grip on his own bag of purchases. "You're way too into this, you know that?"

"Hey, every good party needs a bard," Kamo shot back, grinning. "And if I have to narrate our epic quest to the convenience store, then so be it. You'll thank me when they make a movie out of this someday."

"Right," Jirō muttered, heading toward the door. "Because a snack run is totally blockbuster material. Can we just go, Kamo? I want to eat and get back to RotoSaga."

Kamo stopped mid-step, staring at Jirō like he'd just confessed to a heinous crime. "You're still playing that fossil?"

"It's a classic," Jirō said defensively, pushing open the door and stepping into the cool night air.

"A classic?" Kamo repeated, catching up with him. "Man, that game's older than my first gaming console. I'm surprised it doesn't come with a hand crank."

"It's called 'nostalgia,' Kamo. You wouldn't get it."

Kamo smirked. "Is this one of your 'Sakurazaka looks like Chloris' things again? Because I'm telling you, the resemblance isn't there, man."

Jirō groaned, quickening his pace. "That was one time, and it's because the art style's similar, okay?"

Kamo raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "The art style's similar? Jirō, it's a sprite."

Jirō rolled his eyes, refusing to dignify that with a response. "Can we just go?"

"Fine, fine," Kamo said, throwing his arm out dramatically as if addressing an invisible audience. "Kamo Sadaharu and his party advance! Onward to victory—or, y'know, home."

Jirō sighed, adjusting the weight of the two bags he was carrying. One bag held the ice cream and the other was packed with the meat buns, both pressing uncomfortably against his fingers. "Please stop narrating. You're making this weird."

Jirō sighed, adjusting the weight of the two bags he was carrying. One bag held the ice cream, the other packed with the meat buns, both pressing uncomfortably against his fingers. "Please stop narrating. You're making this weird."

"That's my job," Kamo replied, grinning. "Every good adventure needs a little flavor."

Jirō shot him a look, still balancing the bags as they walked. "Yeah, well, my bags have all the flavor right now. Can we just get home before the ice cream becomes a puddle?"

Kamo turned his head, tilting his ear toward the faint sounds in the distance. "Man, you can hear the music from the festival all the way out here, huh?"

Jirō glanced toward the direction of the noise, his expression unchanged. "Yeah. It's loud."

"That's all you've got to say?" Kamo asked, smirking. "You're not even a little curious?"

"Not really." Jirō shrugged. "People, noise, crowds? I'm good."

Kamo let out a mock sigh, pressing a hand to his chest. "Man, you're living the most boring NPC life right now."

"NPCs fly under the radar, I'm perfectly fine with that."

Her face again. Why now?

It wasn't just her face. It was her in the yukata. The same one he'd fumbled with earlier, now wrapped perfectly around her frame. He could still picture how her hair looked when she walked out the door, that effortless way she seemed to carry herself. The spotlight was hers tonight. She had this way of captivating an entire room effortlessly.

And that laugh—the way it rolled off her tongue, light and effortless, before hitting him like a bullet train straight to the heart—he couldn't shake it.

"You're hopeless," she'd said, grinning. "Here, I'll pull up a video."

Was he starting to? No. There was no way, right? Gods, he probably sounded all kinds of pathetic right now. He should be picturing these moments, these memories with Shiori, shouldn't he? She was his real crush. And yet, here he was, fixated on Watanabe in a yukata.

'She'd think I'm so gross right now. Get it together, Jirō. Your closeness with Watanabe is strictly for the practical.'

"Eaaarth to Jirō..." Kamo's voice cut through his thoughts like a slap, dragging him back to reality. "You've been zoning out for, like, ten seconds straight. What's going on up there?" He gestured to Jirō's head with a teasing grin. "Thinking about some super rare loot or what?"

Jirō adjusted the bags in his hands, his voice level but quieter than usual. "Wondering which route to take at the final boss."

Kamo fell silent for a moment, his grin faltering slightly. Jirō had never questioned that one before.

As they walked back from the convenience store, the distant hum of the festival filled the air. Jirō adjusted the bags in his hands, the cold from the ice cream seeping through the plastic.

Kamo glanced at him, a playful glint in his eye. "You know, Jirō, this feels like one of those side quests in a game. Fetching supplies before the big event."

Jirō managed a small smile. "Except there's no experience points for this."

"True," Kamo chuckled. "But think of the curry buns as health potions. Essential for the journey ahead."

Jirō nodded, appreciating the analogy. "Let's just get these back before the ice cream melts."

"Agreed. Can't have our precious loot turning into a soggy mess," Kamo replied, adjusting his glasses.

They continued in comfortable silence, the festival's lights flickering in the distance. Another memory flashed in Jirō's mind at the mention of "soggy mess." The night Watanabe's laundry hadn't been ready, so she'd borrowed one of his shirts. The way the milky white popsicle melted on her lips, a single drop rolling—

"AAAARGGH!"

Kamo jumped, nearly dropping his bag. "What the hell, man?!"

"Nothing! Just... stubbed my toe," Jirō blurted out, his face burning as he quickened his pace.

"You're walking on flat pavement!" Kamo called after him, scrambling to catch up. "And who stubs their toe mid-thought? Are you cursed or something?"

"Just shut up, Kamo!" Jirō snapped, his ears glowing red as he stormed ahead.

s"Alright, alright," Kamo muttered, falling back into step. "No need to bite my head off. But seriously, dude, you've been all over the place tonight. What's up with you?"

"Nothing's up," Jirō said flatly, willing his voice to sound calm. "Can we just walk in silence for once?"

"Sure thing, Mr. NPC," Kamo quipped, but he fell quiet as they continued down the street.

For a moment, the faint music from the festival filled the air, mingling with the rhythm of their footsteps. Jirō's gaze kept flickering toward the glow of the lights in the distance, even as he told himself not to. He needed to focus. On anything but that.

Kamo broke the silence first. "Man, it's weird how empty the streets are. Feels like we're in one of those post-apocalypse RPGs, right before the zombies show up."

Jirō snorted despite himself. "You'd be the first one to die."

Kamo gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "How dare you! I'd be the resourceful sidekick who saves the day. You'd be the tragic harem protag with zero chill."

"We're done with this conversation, Kamo."

As they reached the dorm building, Kamo veered off toward the staircase, heading back down to start the journey back to his own dorm two buildings over, "Don't let that NPC life get you down, Jirō," Kamo said, raising a hand in farewell.

"Yeah, yeah, see you." Jirō muttered, shifting the bags in his hands as he headed up the stairs. Kamo's footsteps faded behind him, replaced by the faint hum of the festival music, carrying through the still night air.

Jirō reached the top of the stairs and about halfway along the elevated entrance, he saw the numerals '603' catch the light as he approached. Trying his best to ignore the ever growing feeling in his chest, The soft rhythm of the festival music acting as a backdrop to his melancholy, Jirō fumbled for his keys. He hesitated for a moment, glancing over his shoulder toward the faint glow of the festival in the distance. The music, the laughter—it all felt a little louder now.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came. "People, noise, crowds," he muttered under his breath, unlocking the door. "No thanks."

But as the door clicked shut behind him, the sound of a distant laugh filtered through his mind—light, effortless, like a bullet train straight to the heart.

"Welcome home, Jirō," he said, but he heard someone else's voice speak it at the same time. An echo of someone who was off having the time of their life with someone else tonight.

Why couldn't his heart settle on Shiori like it always had?

Why was following your heart so confusing?

Why couldn't he just get out of his own head?