The walk home from the crepe shop last week had been torture. Pure, silent torture. Every giggle from Makoto, every time Yuna grabbed his arm like she owned him, Ayane felt her stomach twist tighter.
She'd tried at the cafe, really tried to squeeze herself into their weird little world. But she was still on the outside looking in, like she was just a guest starring in their twisted, fascinating reality show while they were the main characters.
When he'd told her about the sleepover and then hit her with that casual "You're not invited, Miss Ayane," it stung her badly.
She was the friend who got sent home while everyone else kept hanging out. The thought of them together on some couch, watching anime, doing whatever naughty things they did when no one else was around... Makoto, Yuna, and now Mika too.
"That should be my place, not them", the thought made her crazy.
Now it was Sunday, and her apartment felt way too quiet. She scrolled through social media, but her classmates' posts seemed fake somehow. Like they were living in a completely different world.
Because for the past few days, her whole universe had shrunk down to one frustrating, fascinating point: Makoto and his growing collection of girls. "Stupid, clueless, fat idiot," she said to her empty room. But she didn't mean it, not really. The fondness in her voice annoyed her more than anything.
"God, I'd been so stupid," Ayane murmured and bit her lips; her thoughts drifted to the first day they met.
For years, she'd been playing it safe. Being the cool friend who liked anime. Always there, always understanding, always available. She'd actually thought he'd notice her eventually. That someday he'd look up from arguing about Gundam and actually see her.
But she hadn't counted on his family being so... intense.
Yuna, his little stepsister, wasn't just a competitor; she was the center of his whole messy, beautiful life. And Mika? Mika knew exactly what she was doing, sliding into their chaos like she'd always belonged there.
While Ayane had been playing it safe, they'd been playing for keeps.
"This doesn't feel like just a crush anymore", she thought. It used to be so simple. Years of quiet affection for the big, clumsy, sweet guy who was the only person at college who really got her.
But watching him with them, seeing how they all pulled at each other, wanted each other... it lit something new inside her. Something that wanted to fight.
"That's it," she said, feeling something cold and determined settle in her chest. "I don't want to be just his weeb friend anymore!"
If she couldn't join their game, she'd start her own game instead.
She knew things about him. After years of friendship, she had information they didn't. She knew every manga he read because he always lent them to her. His whole library of harem stories, ecchi, rom-com, and ridiculous isekai adventures.
She knew the exact look he got when a particularly well-drawn female character showed up in skimpy costumes. She knew he was obsessed with My Dress-Up Darling and 2.5 Dimensional Seduction. Not just the cosplay itself, but the girls wearing the costumes. That was his thing.
She remembered when she'd invited him over for "Netflix and Chill" that one time. The chill part was never happening, obviously, but the way his eyes had immediately dropped to her chest when she answered the door in pajamas made them both blush.
"He was so simple. So perverted. So completely obvious about everything."
And she knew exactly what would get to him.
Her eyes moved to the corner of her room where a dress form stood under a sheet. She'd been working on it for months. Part professional project, part personal fantasy.
The fabric was soft leatherette, and the design was killer. A Yor Forger costume, almost finished. She'd planned to wear it at the next convention, but now? Now, it had a better use; it would become her weapon.
She'd started making it after that rainy day when he'd walked her home. He'd spent forty-five minutes going on and on about Spy x Family. About the character designs, the actions, and everything else.
He'd even slipped up and admitted he'd looked for Anya doujins online... for research, of course. What a sicko!
But that's when she'd figured out his type. Not Anya, but Yor, the cool, beautiful, dangerous woman who was secretly awkward and broken and needed someone to really see her. He didn't just have a cosplayer fetish, he had a Yor fetish.
And she was going to be the most perfect Yor he'd ever laid eyes on.
She pulled off the sheet. The costume was incredible.
Black dress and leather details, complemented by thigh-high stockings. It was a work of art, a shameless thrist trap, designed to destroy him. This would be the "project" she needed his "help" with.
She sat at her desk and grabbed her phone. Her fingers moved fast across the screen, setting the trap.
Ayane: Hey, harem king. Are you still alive after your big weekend?
Ayane: I was just thinking about that project I mentioned. The one that I need your help with.
Ayane: We could work on it today. At my place. After dark.
She stopped, then typed the last part. The part that made it crystal clear this wasn't just a friendly favor.
Ayane hit send. Time for phase two. She slipped into the costume, feeling the cool fabric against her skin. She set up her phone, found the perfect lighting from above, and took a picture.
Not just a selfie. A full-body shot of the whole outfit. A promise of what was waiting. She waited. Then sent the photo.
Ayane: But if you're too busy with your... "girlfriends."
Ayane: Don't worry. I'm sure that I can find someone else to help me with it ;)
She put the phone down. Her heart was racing, hammering against her ribs.
She'd made her move. Now she just had to wait and see if her clueless, perverted harem king would be brave enough, or maybe stupid enough, to take the bait.
With Makoto, it was usually the same thing.