To be honest, though this wasn't the first time Takakai had witnessed Gotou Hitori's superhuman physique as a Red Moon player, the sheer cartoonishness of the scene before him still left him marveling.
She's got a real talent for slapstick.
(The mangled metal billboard, however, would strongly disagree.)
Currently, half of Hitori's body was lodged through the billboard, her legs flailing wildly like a fish tossed onto a cutting board—desperate to free herself but only succeeding in looking ridiculous.
Takakai did consider helping…
But as a crimson moon player—no matter how embarrassing her demeanor—Hitori's physicality was objectively superhuman. Even with [Berserk] active, Takakai suspected she could kick him into next week by accident.
There's a better way.
"They heard you, you know."
Takakai's words landed like a bomb.
!?
For a split second, he swore he saw giant punctuation marks materialize beside her.
Then—
CRACK—
The billboard split apart as Hitori—still half-embedded—launched herself down the street at ludicrous speed, vanishing into the distance.
Only then did the voices from the stairwell finally reach street level.
"That sounded like a car crash! But there's nothing here…?"
"...The health tonic billboard's gone. Maybe it was removed?"
"Wait, so a driver hit it, then took the wreckage? Why?!"
"Scrap metal profits? If this is a viable emergency measure, perhaps—"
"NO. Absolutely not. That's literally a crime!"
Two girls emerged—one short with golden hair, the other taller with blue locks—scanning the area in confusion.
Their gazes skipped over Takakai entirely before they retreated downstairs.
Takakai, of course, had no intention of engaging.
But he did take a moment to observe them.
Ikeda Nijika.
Yamada Ryou.
The remaining members of Kessoku Band—alongside Gotou Hitori and the lostKita Ikuyo.
Mini-Profile: Ikeda Nijika
Age: 18+ (but looks 15)
Height: 154cm
Role: Drummer
Nicknames:"Nijika Mama,""Shimokitazawa's Angel"
Traits:
Gentle, empathetic, domestic goddess.
The heart of the band.
(*Takakai's note: Why is the mom friend the drummer? Shouldn't that be the hyper one?)
Mini-Profile: Yamada Ryou
Age: 18+
Height: 163cm
Role: Bassist/Backing Vocals
Traits:
Aloof, selectively social.
Emotionally rich beneath the stoicism.
Chronic money-bleeder (see: weed-eating arc).
(*Takakai's note: Bocchi's slightly less dysfunctional counterpart.)
Two 90+ score beauties. Then again, since crossing into this world, most women I've met are at least 60+ (50 = average). The perks of 2D, I guess?
Takakai subtly appreciated their visuals before reality reasserted itself.
They're civilians. No dragging them into this.
As the girls disappeared into the live house (reportedly run by Nijika's sister), Takakai turned to leave—
—only to freeze.
The [Ripe Mango] cardboard box had reappeared before him—now distinctly crumpled, as if someone had tried to stuff a billboard inside it.
She ran away but came back? And how is this box indestructible?!
The box shook.
Inside, Hitori was fully aware she'd been spotted—now trapped in a one-on-one with a near-stranger.
Run. RUN.*
Her breathing was ragged. Her heart might be failing.
Muscles locked; vision swam.
But I can't.
Takakai's reputation preceded him:
Multiple JK-player "connections."
High likelihood of JK-specific preferences.
And her friends—Nijika and Ryou—were prime targets.
Having seen Ogawa Itsuki's methods and the atrocities committed by broken players, Hitoricouldn't risk it.
So she'd forced herself to return—
—only to find Takakai ignoring them entirely.
And he instantly noticed me. My blessing doesn't work on him. He's terrifying. What do I do what do I do what do I do—
"So—"
Takakai raised a hand.
"T-TODAY'S WEATHER IS LOVELY, ISN'T IT?!"
Hitori's voice boomed out, crisp as a news anchor's.
Takakai: ?
"N-NO NO NO—I MEAN, THE DANCE OF DAWN—NO! THE SUNSET'S BEAUTY—NO! LIFE'S JOURNEY—THE CAT ON THE CORNER—THE NEW GAME—THE ALBUM—I—UH—UHHHH—"
Like a glitching AI, she rapid-fired nonsense—
—as the box moonwalked backward, slammed into a wall, pivoted—
—then carved a path of destruction through:
A traffic light.
A park bench.
Another wall.
A trash can.
A bus stop.
By the time Takakai (who had totally been concerned, not entertained) moved to intervene—
—Hitori lay motionless on the pavement, her upper body still boxed, legs twitching sporadically.
(Note: The billboard segment lodged inside had prevented her from fully collapsing, leaving her propped up at a bizarre angle.)
A soft whimpering emanated from the box.
Takakai crouched beside her.
"…You alive in there?"
A muffled sob was his only reply.
[To Be Continued...]