The arcade sat between a karaoke bar and a convenience store, neon and cigarette haze spilling into the street. Sam stepped inside, grocery bags in hand, and was hit with the clatter of coins, the flicker of CRT screens, and the dull thump of drums somewhere in the back.
Figures. The last arcade I saw was already retro, and it still looked twenty years ahead of this.
The one in New York—2019, maybe 2020—had card swipes and LCD displays. Kuoh's was all tokens, sticky buttons, and cabinets older than he was.
The crowd sounded like normal kids: laughing, shouting, competing. But Empath cut through. Yuma's smile tugged too hard for his attention. Aoi's smirk bristled with challenge. Minami's chin was high, but her nerves kept circling back toward him.
Sam shifted the bags in his grip. This is what I get for giving them an hour
Yuma dragged him to a cabinet with Tekken 5 across the top. "Just one match."
He set the bags down and picked up the stick. Koneko had forced him into fighters enough times that he wasn't lost. Spacing, timing, patience.
Yuma leaned close, voice dripping commentary every time she landed a hit. He waited, punished. They traded rounds, neither side running away with it. Her smile thinned with each loss.
Beneath it, Sam felt the shift: no hostility, just fixation pulling for his eyes.
"You commentate every game you lose, or just this one?"
Her grin twitched. Sam picked up the bags and moved on.
Aoi was already at a Time Crisis 3 cabinet, gun in hand. "Bet you can't keep up."
He sighed and took the other. First shots wide, clumsy. Aoi's accuracy was sharp, too sharp for casual play.
He adjusted. Shots lined up, rhythm steadied. Still not her equal, but not useless either.
The screen blinked GAME OVER.
"Not bad for a rookie," Aoi said, twirling her gun.
Sam set his back in the cradle. "You did better. Doesn't mean I embarrassed myself."
Her smirk held, but underneath he felt it: the edge of fluster, tangled with curiosity she hadn't planned on.
They stopped at a claw machine blinking with prizes. Minami muttered, "Childish," before dropping a coin in. The claw slipped. Her mouth tightened.
Sam tried next. Fail, fail, then a clean drop on the third. The plush hit the chute.
Minami grabbed it, mask slipping. "…How'd you do that?"
"Angles. Timing. Watch the drift." He motioned her closer, showing the swing of the claw. "Don't chase it. Line it up early."
She leaned in, listening. Her nerves fluttered, but gratitude warmed the edges.
Sam picked up his bags. "Don't say I never taught you anything."
They pushed deeper into the arcade, and the pounding beat of Dance Dance Revolution Extreme shook the floor. Yuma was already on the platform, coin in, smile aimed at him.
She danced for show—spins, flourishes, eyes flicking to him between steps. The score bled down with every miss.
She hopped off, flushed, still watching his face. "Your turn."
Sam stepped up. No flair, no performance. Just steps, sharp and exact. Assassin reflexes turned into perfect timing. The score pushed past hers with room to spare.
Her smile wavered, fixation pressing sharper underneath.
"You dance better. I just step better."
Yuma shoved another coin in, movements bigger this time, trying to drag him back into her orbit.
Engines roared from Initial D Arcade Stage 3. Aoi was already in the seat, smirk ready. "Don't tell me you're scared to try.
Sam dropped into the other seat. Countdown ticked.
First lap: clumsy, scraping rails. Aoi laughed. "You drive like you've never touched a steering wheel."
New York meant cabs, buses, walking. Closest he got was the back seat of a cab.
Second lap: steadier. No crashes.
Third lap: holding form. Not enough. Aoi crossed the line five car lengths ahead.
Sam slid another coin in. "Go ahead, stay smug. Let's see if you can keep it through the next game."
Her smirk stayed, but the flicker underneath gave her away—fluster mixing with curiosity, already bracing to prove it again.
The engines gave way to drums. A bright machine, cartoon faces bouncing across the screen. Minami slowed. "It's… a kid's game."
Sam set the bags down, picked up the sticks, and dropped a coin. Each hit clean, score climbing perfect after perfect.
Minami grabbed the other sticks, scrambled to keep up. She missed often, laughed nervously, cheeks burning.
Sam felt the nerves humming off her, but beneath them something warmer—genuine joy spilling loose.
The last beat landed. Sam set his sticks down. "Not bad for someone who said it was a kid's game."
She puffed her cheeks, trying to look annoyed, but gratitude glowed through clear as day.
They reached the row of photo booths, pastel lights flickering over the curtains.
"Let's take a picture," Yuma said, tugging at his arm.
Aoi rolled her eyes and slipped inside. "Fine, whatever."
Minami lingered, stammering, "D-do we really—" before Yuma pulled her through the curtain.
Sam stayed outside, bags hanging from his hand. "That's a date thing. This isn't a date. I'm here to hang out, not play pretend couple."
Laughter and chatter spilled from the booth. Yuma's voice sweet, Aoi's sarcasm edged softer, Minami squeaking each time the flash went off. He felt the undercurrent—Yuma's fixation digging in, Aoi's sarcasm breaking into real amusement, Minami's embarrassment sparking into quick joy.
They came back out, masks back in place. Yuma smiling too neat, Aoi smirking again, Minami staring at her shoes.
Sam checked his watch. "You better hurry. Forty minutes gone already. Any longer and we won't even have time for food."
They stepped out of the arcade, neon bleeding into daylight. Sam shifted the grocery bags, checked his watch. "Twenty minutes left. Enough time to grab something quick."
Aoi stretched, smirk tugging. "So that means we can squeeze in a guilty pleasure, huh?"
Sam glanced at her, expression flat.
Minami turned red instantly, stammering, "W-wait, that's—" She hid her face, words tumbling into silence.
Yuma slid in with a singsong tone, smile easy. "Now, now, Aoi. Plenty of time for that later. For now, we should find something tasty."
Sam adjusted the bags against his hip, starting down the street. He didn't say anything, but Empath told him enough—Aoi's teasing spark humming bright, Yuma's fixation still tugging, Minami's embarrassment warm and unguarded.
The smell of batter and sauce pulled them toward a food stall where takoyaki sizzled on the grill.
Sam handed over a bill and took the tray in the same motion, grocery bags hooked against his hip. Steam curled off the takoyaki, sauce bubbling hot.
Yuma plucked one on a skewer and held it up to his mouth, grin sharp. "Share with me."
Sam leaned back just enough to avoid it, then reached down and picked up a separate takoyaki. "Nope. I don't share." He bit into it in one go, face unreadable as the heat scorched his tongue.
Aoi smirked, lifting her own skewer. "So you're not the sharing type, huh? Figures." She bit in, watching him like she was reading too much into it.
Sam chewed in silence, ignoring her.
Yuma pouted, but her focus still clung tight, waiting for a slip in his composure.
Minami lifted her skewer, muttering, "I don't mind if he doesn't share… just means more for me." She bit too quickly, yelped, cheeks burning red as she fanned her mouth, embarrassment spilling through every twitch.
Aoi smirked around a smaller bite of her own. "And that's what you get for showing off."
Sam chewed, swallowed, and deadpanned, "That's why you let them cool down." He blew across another ball once, then ate it without flinching.
Minami peeked at him, still red, fanning her mouth as curiosity and embarrassment tangled together.
Yuma grinned wider, covering the fact she'd lost ground. Aoi kept her smirk, still testing him in silence.
Sam wiped his hand on a napkin, glanced over the three of them before checking his watch. "Overall… not a wasted hour. And we've still got some time left."
They left the food stall behind, weaving into the afternoon crowd. The sun still sat high, throwing long shadows across the square. A fountain sprayed cool mist into the air as they drew closer. Sam shifted the grocery bags to his other hand, glanced at his watch. Ten minutes left.
Aoi tilted her head, smirk tugging. "You ever notice you're surrounded by beauties at school?"
Sam shot her a sidelong look. "I'm a third-year transfer. My year was the last one before the academy went co-ed. Outside a few transfers, I'm one of the only guys."
Yuma picked it up without missing a beat. "Speaking of the academy… what do you usually do after class? You never hang out with anybody."
"That's not true. You've seen me with the student council or the ORC at lunch, or during downtime. Even if they treat me like free labor, it's usually just an excuse to hang out. Outside school, though? Chores, training, homework."
"Free labor?" Yuma leaned closer, smile sugar-sweet. "Can we get on that list?"
"I reserve that for my friends."
Aoi smirked wider. "Oh, so we're not friends?"
"You're getting there."
Minami blurted it out before she could stop herself. "Well… I want to be your friend, Sam."
Sam glanced at her, then at the other two. "See? That's what it looks like. That's sincerity."
Minami flushed scarlet and looked away, fumbling with her sleeve. Empath colored it clear—nervous sincerity bright and unguarded. Yuma's smile tightened, irritation spiking sharp. Aoi's curiosity flickered hotter, like she was tucking the moment away.
Minami tried again, voice softer. "Do you usually play games like today? Or was it just… to humor us?"
"Not really. I don't play much outside fighters. And even then, only with friends. Everything else just carries over from training."
"Training, huh?" Aoi cocked her head. "What kind?"
"Martial arts. Self-taught, nothing more to it. If you want to learn anything, the academy's got a kendo club. Probably other clubs too."
Yuma's eyes narrowed. "Isn't one of the student council in the kendo club? Do you hang out with the kendo club, or just the council girls? They do seem close to you."
"They talked to me first. We just ended up friends."
Minami pressed on, still nervous. "And the first-year girl… I think she's part of the ORC. Koneko? You're close with her, right?"
"I'm friends with the other ORC members. That's how we started hanging out. Now she's just a friend."
Yuma's smile sharpened. "And the second-year girl, the new transfer. The Italian, blonde. I think she's in a separate class, but her name's Asia, right?"
Sam adjusted the weight of the bags. "Knew her before she became a student. Don't think too much about it."
Aoi's smirk returned. "And funny how they're all beauties, huh? Or at least attractive."
Sam gave her a sidelong look as they reached the fountain, checking his watch. "That's the hour. See you at school. Or if you spot me, don't be a stranger… or do. I don't mind either way."
He turned and walked off with his groceries.
Empath trailed behind him—Yuma's fixation clinging, irritation softened but still there; Aoi's curiosity sharp, tinged with longing; Minami's sincerity glowing, nerves still fluttering but steadier now.
---
A minute or two after he'd left the fountain, Sam found himself on a quieter street. The crowd noise bled out behind him, leaving only the scuff of his shoes and the rustle of plastic. He kept the grocery bags in one hand, letting them tap against his thigh in time with his steps — steady, like a metronome while his thoughts caught up.
Yuma replayed in his head first — not the smile, the pull underneath it. The hostility he'd felt before had quieted, replaced by something sharper: fixation. Sweet talk wrapped around possession. She didn't want friends. She wanted attention, and she wanted him to give it without question.
Aoi was different. Her jabs, the teasing — they weren't emptiness. There was curiosity there, and something like a small, annoying ache when things didn't go her way. She liked the challenge more than she let on. When he'd pushed back, she'd perked up. That told him everything: she wanted to keep trying, to see where she fit.
Minami stuck with him in a way the other two didn't: raw, nervous, sincere. Her mask slipped more than once. She looked at him like she actually meant it. Sam had to admit to himself he wouldn't mind hearing more of that—if she could get the words out.
He shifted the bags.
"I've had enough of manipulation in one lifetime," he thought, voice flat in his head. "If they want to keep playing this game, then that hour is all they're gonna get."
He kept walking, grocery bags thumping against his thigh, the afternoon still stretching out ahead.
As Sam turned a corner, the mansion stood in sight, sunlight catching on the windows, too polished to feel real. He slowed, staring at it. I really live here now. A mansion.
The thought hit harder than it should have. He remembered New York—his parents' apartment, his own room, everything they needed in reach. Small compared to this place, but it worked. Boot camp was crowded, juvie mostly empty. And now a mansion. He snorted. Even with everyone in it, this place still feels too big.
The door creaked when he pushed it open. Koneko was there, curled up in the common room chair, eyes lifting as soon as she saw him.
"What took you so long?" Her tone was flat, deadpan as always.
"Ran into a few people. Hung out a bit. Took longer than I thought." He set a bag on the table and nudged it toward her. "Your snacks."
Her eyes widened just a fraction before she reached over and took it. No more questions.
From the side hallway, Tiche stepped out, gaze calm but steady. "Will there be any issues?"
Sam shrugged, shifting the bags onto the counter. "Doesn't seem like it. At least for now."
The rustle of plastic filled the room as he unpacked the groceries. His thoughts flickered once more to the fountain, to the hour he'd given away. Then he shoved it aside. Now back to my regularly scheduled weekend.
---
The abandoned church at Kuoh's edge was silent when they returned. Their advanced illusions slipped away as they settled in—Mittelt leaning against a column, Kalawarner folding her arms, Raynare dropping onto a broken pew.
Mittelt smirked, cheeks still faintly red. "That was quite fun. A whole hour wasted on human games—yet, somehow, enjoyable." She gave her princess laugh, sharp but a little too bright.
Kalawarner's tone was steady. "Interesting, though. He actually gave us his time. More than I expected. But seduction won't work on him. He isn't chasing temptation—he's looking for connection."
Raynare pulled a strip of photos from her pocket. Three schoolgirls smiled back, pressed together in a booth. She let a half-smile slip. "It's moving. Slow, but moving. He's guarded, yes… but he gave us the hour. And the devils already circle him. Still, not a wasted day."
Mittelt and Kalawarner exchanged a glance, both faintly surprised at her calm.
Raynare tucked the photo away. "He wanted real. We'll give him flashes of it. Enough to keep him curious. The plan hasn't changed—only the method. If he learns who we are too soon, he'll shut down."
Silence lingered. Mittelt looked down at the plush clutched in her hand. Kalawarner studied Raynare a moment longer before looking away.