I don't dream often.
Or— I didn't.
But tonight I'm not even sure it's my dream.
It starts warm. Too warm for a dream. Like stepping into a kitchen where something is always simmering and somebody always has something to prove.
There's a laugh. Loud, bright, absolutely certain it deserves to be heard.
"NYEH HEH HEH!"
I flinch, and the sound hits me in the chest like a friendly punch. The kind you can't get mad at because it's so... ridiculously sincere.
I'm standing in snow that doesn't feel cold. Snow that looks like snow but carries no bite. Everything is blue and white and softly lit, like the world got painted with a marker that only knows "winter."
And there he is.
Tall. Lanky. A silhouette that's wrong in the way dreams are wrong—human-shaped, but not human. A skeleton...? No. Not scary. Not like the horror stories. This one is... heroic.
He throws his arms wide like he's about to announce a parade.
"HUMAN! I, THE GREAT—"
He pauses, squints at something off to the side, then pivots dramatically like the air itself owes him respect.
"—I, THE GREAT PAP—"
My stomach flips.
I don't know that name. I shouldn't know that name.
But the moment he says it, something inside me lurches like a dog straining at a leash.
Brother.
The word doesn't come from my head.
It comes from somewhere under my ribs.
And it's not just a thought. It's a fact. A gravitational law. Like the world makes sense because that loud, ridiculous, confident presence exists in it.
He spins back toward me—toward the "human" he's talking to, except the human isn't me. I'm not in the scene. I'm watching it.
He points a finger accusingly at the space in front of him.
"YOU WILL SOLVE MY PUZZLES! YOU WILL EAT MY SPAGHETTI! YOU WILL—"
He stops and leans in, lowering his voice to a whisper that's still somehow loud.
"—YOU WILL BECOME MY FRIEND!"
There's pride in the way he says it. Like friendship is a medal he's about to pin on someone whether they like it or not.
And I feel it—this impossible, aching affection that doesn't belong to me.
Fond exasperation.
Protective pride.
That weird, stupid warmth you only feel for someone who annoys you every day and still somehow becomes the best part of your day.
It presses behind my eyes, making them sting.
Why am I...?
The skeleton—Pap—throws his arms out again and laughs like the sun just asked him for tips.
"NYEH HEH HEH! YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"
He's so alive.
So loud.
So... good.
My chest tightens. The warmth swells, too big for my body.
And then the dream shifts.
Not like a scene change.
Like a rug being yanked out from under my feet.
The snow suddenly has teeth.
The air goes sharp.
The blue light dims into something colder, flatter, like the sky got tired of pretending.
Papyrus—Papyrus—stands in the same place, still smiling, still confident... but the confidence has a hairline crack in it now. Tiny. Barely there.
He looks down at his hands, then back up.
He doesn't understand.
That's the worst part.
He doesn't understand what's happening, and something inside me screams because I understand too well, even without context.
There's a figure across from him.
Small.
Still.
A human shape holding a blade that looks too simple to be that final.
The figure's face is... blank.
Not rage. Not sadness. Not even satisfaction.
Just... empty intent.
Papyrus takes a step forward anyway.
Because of course he does.
Because he believes.
"WAIT!" he says, voice bright with desperate hope. "HUMAN! I KNOW YOU'RE A GOOD PERSON!"
He laughs awkwardly, like laughter can patch a hole in reality.
"I... I MEAN, YOU'VE BEEN... UM..."
He tries to find examples. Tries to build a case like a kid defending a friend who did something awful.
But the snow around him feels stained by things I can't see.
And still—still—he lifts his chin.
"I STILL BELIEVE IN YOU."
The words hit the dream like a bell.
And the warmth in my chest surges so hard it hurts.
Don't.
The thought is mine this time.
Don't say that. Don't—
The figure moves.
It's not dramatic. It's not cinematic.
It's just... inevitable.
Papyrus's smile falters, not because he's afraid—because he's confused.
He still doesn't understand.
He's still trying to understand.
"I... I STILL—"
The scene... breaks.
Not with gore.
Not with blood.
With absence.
Like someone took a pair of hands and tore a page out of a book while I was reading it.
Papyrus's voice cuts off mid-belief.
The warmth in my chest gets ripped away so violently I feel like I'm going to vomit.
Snow becomes static.
Light becomes noise.
And the last thing I hear—faint, echoing, impossibly gentle for a place like this—is that line again, like a promise thrown into a pit:
"I still believe in you."
Then the dream collapses.
My eyes snap open.
A bright white dot burns into my vision.
Something is holding my eyelid up.
A hand.
Cool fingers.
A penlight.
I freeze in the half-second between sleep and panic, staring at a face far too close to mine.
A girl. Pale. Beautiful in a way that feels... clinical. Like she was designed in a lab for the sole purpose of looking unbothered.
She has my eyelid pulled up like she's inspecting a car headlight.
The penlight shines directly into my soul.
I make a strangled noise that's half scream, half question.
"—WH—?!"
She doesn't flinch.
"Pupil response is normal," she says, monotone.
My body finally catches up to the situation.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" I jerk back, which is hard to do when someone has your face pinned in their personal space.
Her hand releases my eyelid without apology. The sudden freedom makes me blink rapidly like a drowning man reaching air.
"I was confirming whether you are awake," she says, as if that's the kind of thing normal people do with a flashlight and assault.
"I AM AWAKE," I croak. "I'M VERY AWAKE."
She tilts her head. "Acknowledged."
My heart is trying to break out of my ribs.
I push myself upright, only to realize I'm not in my bed.
This room is too clean, too plain, too... not mine. White walls. A medical cot. A faint hum in the background like machinery breathing.
I grab the blanket like it's a weapon.
"Where am I?" I demand. "Who are you? Why are you—why were you—"
"Reine Murasame," she says, and gives a tiny bow that looks like it came from a manual titled How To Be Polite While Being Incredibly Unhelpful.
"Murasame...?" My brain tries to latch onto the name and fails. "Why were you shining a light into my eye, Murasame-san?!"
"It was required," she answers.
"Required by who?!"
She points at something I can't see. Possibly the air.
"By procedure."
I stare at her.
She stares back.
A long, silent beat stretches, and in that silence my brain—still haunted by snow and belief and a voice cut off mid-sentence—reaches for anything normal.
It reaches for the easiest thing.
The obvious thing.
Her face.
Her eyes.
The way her posture is perfectly straight even when she's doing something insane.
And the words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them:
"Ehrm... are you okay? You look tired."
Her eyes blink once.
"Correct," she says.
"...Correct?"
"I am tired."
"How tired?" I ask, because apparently I've decided this is the conversation we're having after waking up to an eyelid inspection.
She thinks for a fraction of a second.
"I have not slept in three days," she says.
I exhale hard. "Okay, that's bad, but it's not—"
She adds, still monotone, "Or thirty years."
My soul leaves my body.
I sit there with my mouth open like a goldfish.
"...Thirty... years."
"Yes."
"That's—" I swallow. "That's not how—"
Reine pulls a small bottle from somewhere—pocket? sleeve? thin air?—and shakes it. The pills rattle like tiny bones.
She tilts her head back and pours a handful into her mouth.
Then another.
Then another.
I watch, horrified, as she swallows them like candy.
"STOP!" I shout. "YOU CAN'T DO THAT!"
She lowers the bottle.
"I can."
"You're going to die!"
She considers that. "Unlikely."
"How—how are you still standing?!"
She looks down at the bottle, then back at me.
"They are weak," she says. "They do not work."
"That's not reassuring!"
"It is factual."
I drag a hand down my face.
Somewhere inside me, something quiet whispers that this is wrong in a way I can't name. Not scary exactly—just... off. Like there's a shadow behind her words that doesn't match her body.
I shake it off. It's probably my sleep-deprived brain trying to find patterns in nonsense.
"Okay," I say, forcing my voice into something resembling calm. "Fine. You're... immune to sleeping pills. That's... great. Now tell me where I am. And who you are"
" My name is Reine Murasame like I said... and I'm the analysis officer of this.. place"
Analysis officer ?
Reine turns smoothly and walks toward the door like she assumes I'll follow.
"Come," she says.
"...Come where?"
"To the bridge."
"The bridge of what?"
She pauses just long enough to look at me as if I'm the strange one.
"You will see."
I glare at her back, then scramble off the cot and follow, because I'm not staying alone in whatever facility this is.
The corridor outside is narrow and bright. The hum is louder here, a steady vibration through the floor. My socks slide slightly on polished metal.
Metal.
The walls are metal.
I stop.
"What is this place?" I ask again, more quietly.
Reine's voice doesn't change. "It is safe."
"That doesn't answer—"
We pass a window.
Not a window to outside. A window to... darkness. Endless, open darkness.
I feel my stomach drop.
I stare, and my reflection stares back—wide eyes, messy hair, a boy wearing confusion like a second shirt.
Darkness beyond the glass.
Not outside.
Not land.
My breath catches.
"Reine," I say, voice thin. "Why is there... nothing... out there?"
She continues walking. "Because we are not on the ground."
My legs go cold.
"...What?"
She stops at a set of heavy doors and presses a panel. The doors slide open with a soft hiss.
Light spills out.
Voices.
Screens.
And the sudden sensation of being watched by people who already know my name.
I step into the bridge.
It looks like the control room of something that should not exist in my life. Consoles. Monitors. Data scrolling. Operators with headsets. A huge main screen showing... maps, numbers, unknown symbols.
And standing near the center—leaning casually like he's in a café instead of a command deck—is a man with white hair and a uniform that looks almost too sharp for his lazy posture.
He notices me immediately.
His grin spreads like he's been waiting for the punchline.
"Oh," he says. "You're awake."
I blink. "Who are you?"
He gestures toward himself with a flourish that is somehow both mocking and polite.
"Vice-captain," he says, as if that explains his entire existence. "And you are..."
He pauses dramatically.
"...the famous Itsuka Shidou."
The way he says my name makes it feel like I should have theme music.
"I'm not famous," I snap.
"Oh, you are to us," he says cheerfully. "We've been talking about you like you're the new season of a show."
The crew around him glances over, then immediately pretends they weren't staring.
I shift my weight, suddenly self-conscious.
"What is this? Where am I? And why are there—" I gesture vaguely at everything. "—so many screens?"
The vice-captain's grin widens.
"Ask her."
He points to the captain's chair at the front.
It's turned away.
A high-backed chair, dark and imposing, facing the main screen like a throne.
I swallow.
For some reason—some instinct I can't explain—I already know who's sitting there.
But my brain refuses to accept it.
The vice-captain steps aside with theatrical flair.
"Captain," he calls. "Our guest is here."
The chair rotates slowly.
And my world tilts off its axis.
Kotori.
My little sister.
Sitting in the captain's chair like she owns the air itself.
Different outfit. Different posture. Different eyes.
She isn't chewing a lollipop. She isn't doing her "I'm cute, praise me" face.
She looks like a commander.
Her gaze locks onto mine, and it's sharp enough to cut.
"Well?" she says, voice crisp. "What are you standing there for, idiot brother?"
My mouth opens and nothing comes out.
"Kotori," I finally manage. "What—what is—"
"What is this?" she mocks, perfectly imitating my tone. "Where am I? Why is my life stupid? Why does my sister look like a tyrant?"
"I didn't say that last one!"
"You were thinking it," she says instantly.
The vice-captain's shoulders bounce like he's holding in laughter.
I stare at Kotori harder, searching for the familiar girl behind this ruthless persona.
She doesn't blink.
"Kotori," I say again, slower. "Why are you here?"
Kotori leans forward slightly.
"Because I'm the captain of this ship," she says, as if that's obvious. "And because your idiot life is now our problem."
"...Ship?" I repeat faintly.
She ignores that.
"Kotori," I try again, because my brain is stuck on a single impossible fact. "What happened yesterday? The spacequake—Origami— and this girl —"
Kotori's expression doesn't soften. If anything, it gets colder.
"Spirits," she says. "That's what happened."
"Spirits?" I echo.
Kotori taps her finger against the armrest like she's counting down my patience.
"Yes, spirits," she says. "Creatures that appear in this world and cause spacequakes just by existing."
I stiffen. "Spacequakes are natural disasters."
Kotori's eyes narrow.
"No," she says flatly. "They're not."
The bridge feels quieter, like everyone leaned in without moving.
Kotori continues, tone clinical now.
"Thirty years ago, the first spacequake struck without warning. A crater. A shockwave. A disaster so large you could see it from history books." Her mouth twists. "Over a hundred and fifty million dead."
My throat tightens.
"I know," I say, automatically. It's not like you can live in this world without knowing.
Kotori's eyes flicker—just a hint—like she's noting that I'm not completely useless.
"Spirits are the source," she says. "They appear, the spacequake happens. They disappear, the damage remains. The AST exists because of them."
My stomach turns.
"So... The girl ..." I murmur.
"Is a spirit," Kotori confirms. "Codename: Princess."
I remember the purple-haired girl on that floating throne. The way she swung that blade-like light at me. The sadness in her eyes when she said she had no name.
My jaw clenches.
Kotori watches me and then, deliberately, pushes.
"And maybe," she says, voice almost casual, "the AST is right."
I blink. "What?"
Kotori leans back, crossing one leg over the other.
"Maybe they're right to kill them," she says. "Maybe spirits are disasters in human form. Maybe the cleanest solution is elimination."
My blood runs hot.
I take a step forward before I realize it.
"That's insane," I snap.
Kotori's eyes gleam slightly. "Is it?"
"Yes," I say, sharper. "You're talking about killing someone like it's taking out trash!"
"Someone?" Kotori repeats. "You mean the thing that tried to cut you in half?"
"She missed," I shoot back—then realize how stupid that sounds.
The vice-captain coughs suspiciously, like he might be choking on laughter.
Kotori's lips twitch, but she keeps pressing.
"She caused a spacequake," Kotori says. "People could have died."
"I don't know that," I argue. "I don't know anything! But I saw her—she wasn't mindless. She wasn't... evil. There has to be another way."
Kotori stares at me.
The crew stares at me.
The air feels electric.
And then, because my life is apparently a tragic comedy written by someone who hates me, my mouth betrays me again.
I swallow, trying to find the right words.
Instead, what comes out is:
"If she's 'Princess,' then my heart just did a royal rumble."
Silence.
Absolute.
Dead.
Silence.
Every person on the bridge turns their head toward me.
Even Reine.
Even the vice-captain freezes mid-smirk.
Kotori's eyes go flat.
I realize what I said one full second after it leaves my mouth.
My soul attempts to evacuate through my ears.
"I—" I cough violently. "That's not— I didn't— I meant—"
The vice-captain raises a finger slowly like he's in class.
"...Did you just make a pun?" he asks, sounding deeply offended by the concept.
Kotori's voice could freeze lava.
"Why," she says, "did you just say that."
My face is on fire.
"I don't know," I hiss. "It just—happened."
Kotori leans forward again, eyes sharp.
"Do you think this is funny?" she asks.
"No!" I blurt.
Reine speaks, monotone as always. "It was a low-quality pun."
I whip my head toward her. "WHY ARE YOU RATING IT?!"
Kotori lifts a hand.
The room quiets instantly.
And then—like the point of a trap finally being revealed—Kotori's expression shifts.
Not warm.
Not kind.
But satisfied.
"Good," she says.
I blink. "Good?"
Kotori settles back into her chair.
"That reaction," she says. "That instinct. That refusal to accept 'kill it' as an answer."
My heart thumps once, hard.
"That," Kotori repeats, "is why Ratatoskr will support you."
I stare. "Ratatoskr...?"
The vice-captain spreads his arms. "Welcome to the club you didn't apply for."
Kotori ignores him.
"Ratatoskr is an organization," she says. "We handle spirits differently than the AST does."
"Handle," I repeat, wary. "How."
Kotori tilts her chin slightly. "By using you."
My stomach drops.
"...Me?"
Reine steps closer, voice unchanged. "Itsuka Shidou is necessary."
"Why?!" I demand.
Kotori's eyes sharpen. "Because you have an ability no one else does."
"And what ability is that?" I ask, already bracing for something insane.
Kotori smiles like she's about to ruin my life.
"You can seal a spirit's power," she says.
I blink. "...Seal?"
Kotori continues, and I swear I can see the punchline forming in the universe.
"By making her fall in love with you."
I stare at her.
Then at the vice-captain, who looks delighted.
Then at Reine, who looks like she's reading a grocery list.
Then back to Kotori.
"...What."
Kotori's smile widens.
"You heard me," she says. "You make the spirit fall in love with you, you seal her powers, and she stops causing spacequakes."
My brain refuses to process it.
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," I say honestly.
Kotori's eyes narrow. "Watch your mouth."
"It's not my mouth's fault your plan sounds like a romance game from hell!"
The vice-captain lifts both hands like he's applauding. "He's got bite."
Kotori doesn't look at him.
She looks at me like I'm a project that keeps breaking tools.
"You were at the epicenter yesterday," she says. "You spoke to Princess."
"I got attacked by Princess," I correct.
"And you lived," Kotori shoots back. "The AST doesn't get that chance. They show up with guns and missiles and call it justice."
I flinch at the memory of Origami dropping from the sky in that white suit. The way missiles compressed against the barrier like reality crumpled.
Kotori watches my face and continues, tone colder again.
"Spirits appear, spacequakes happen. People die. The AST wants to erase the problem. We want to solve it."
"By... dating it," I mutter, still in disbelief.
Kotori smiles thinly. "By sealing it."
"It," I repeat, bitter. "You keep saying 'it.' She's... she looked like a person."
Kotori's eyes sharpen.
There's a small pause.
Then she says, almost pleased, "Exactly."
My stomach twists.
"Ratatoskr will put its full weight behind you," Kotori says. "The Fraxinus will support you. The crew will support you."
"Why?" I ask again, because it doesn't make sense. "Why go this far? Why build—whatever this is—around me?"
Reine answers before Kotori can.
"Because you are special," she says, monotone.
I glare at her.
"That's not an explanation."
"It is the current level of clearance," Reine replies.
I almost choke.
"The—what?!"
Kotori taps the armrest again.
"Enough," she says. "You're going to do this."
"I didn't agree to—"
"You will," she cuts in, voice sharp. "Because if you don't, spirits keep appearing, spacequakes keep happening, and the AST keeps firing missiles in the middle of cities."
I clench my fists.
"And if I do," I say slowly, "I'm supposed to... flirt with a girl who doesn't even have a name... to stop disasters... and everyone here is acting like that's normal."
Kotori smiles without warmth.
"Now you understand."
My head spins.
I gesture at the main screen behind her. "And this place—this ship—this—"
Kotori raises a brow. "You still haven't figured it out?"
I swallow.
"Kotori," I say, voice tight. "Are we... flying."
Kotori looks delighted by my suffering.
"Yes, idiot," she says. "This is the Fraxinus. A flying warship."
My knees threaten to fold.
"...A flying—" I whisper, then snap, "WHY DOES MY LIFE KEEP DOING THIS?!"
The vice-captain laughs openly now.
Kotori leans forward, eyes sharp again.
"Listen," she says. "Princess will appear again. And when she does, you will be there."
"I don't even know how to talk to her," I argue.
Kotori's smile turns wicked.
"Oh," she says. "We'll teach you."
I do not like the way she says that.
Not one bit.
—
The next day, reality pretends it didn't implode.
The sky is normal. The street is normal. My uniform feels the same. My shoes squeak on the school hallway like they always have.
But my brain keeps replaying the dream and the current situation I find myself in
Snow.
Warmth.
Spirits
Sealing them..
What a mess...
I shake it off as I walk into class.
Tonomachi is already there, leaning back in his seat like school is a suggestion.
"Yo," he says. "You look like you got hit by a truck."
I force a smile. "Good morning to you too."
He squints. "Actually... you look worse than 'truck.' You look like 'government conspiracy.'"
I choke. "That's not a thing."
"It is when it happens to you," he says solemnly.
I open my mouth to respond—
—and the classroom door slides open.
A new teacher steps in.
Black hair. Pale skin. Calm eyes.
No expression.
My spine goes cold.
Reine Murasame walks to the front of the classroom like she belongs there.
She picks up the chalk and writes her name in neat, clean strokes.
MURASAME REINE
My soul attempts to escape again.
Tonomachi leans closer. "Whoa," he whispers. "She's pretty."
I don't answer.
I can't.
Reine turns to face the class.
"I am your new Physics teacher," she says, monotone. "Your previous one has been has been reassigned."
My brain repeats one thought on loop:
They put her in my school.
As if my life wasn't already trapped in whatever this is.
Reine's eyes sweep the classroom and land on me.
She pauses.
Then says, still monotone, "Itsuka Shidou. Come with me."
Every head turns.
Tonomachi grabs my sleeve. "DUDE. WHAT DID YOU DO."
"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING," I hiss back, panicking.
Reine waits, unblinking.
I stand up like I'm walking to my execution.
As I follow her into the hallway, that weird, wrong feeling pricks at the back of my mind again.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Just... something.
Like standing too close to a machine that's running.
Reine stops at an empty room—one that should be occupied.
The plaque beside it is blank.
The door opens.
Inside: a desk. A couch. A TV monitor. A game console.
My brain blanks.
Reine gestures. "Enter."
I step inside slowly.
The door shuts behind me.
And then—like the universe is allergic to letting me breathe—Kotori walks in.
She's wearing a visitor badge.
Her hair is the same.
Her face is the same.
Her aura is... not.
She's doing her "little sister" persona now—arms crossed, chin up, looking like she's about to scold me for leaving dishes in the sink.
"Onii-chan," she says sweetly.
I flinch.
"That voice shouldn't feel threatening," I mutter.
Kotori smiles. "Good. It's working."
"Where are we?" I ask, looking around. "Why is there a game console in a staff room?"
Reine answers, monotone. "This room was previously used by a teacher."
Kotori adds cheerfully, "A teacher who mysteriously disappeared."
I stare at her. "Kotori."
She smiles wider. "Kidding."
Reine, without changing tone: "She is not kidding."
I whip my head toward Reine. "WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!"
Kotori claps once. "Okay! Training time!"
"...Training," I repeat, dread crawling up my spine. "Training for what."
Kotori points to the screen.
A colorful anime girl appears. Big eyes. Sparkles. Dialogue boxes.
My brain tries to reject reality again.
Kotori's smile turns predatory.
"To teach you how to talk to girls," she says.
I blink. "I can talk to—"
Kotori cuts me off instantly. "No, you can't."
"I can!" I protest.
Reine speaks, monotone. "Your success rate is statistically low."
"I haven't even tried!"
"You breathe like you're apologizing," Kotori says. "Sit."
I sit because her tone makes my legs obey.
The controller is shoved into my hands.
On-screen, the "choice menu" pops up.
Kotori sits beside me, crossed legs, looking like a tiny tyrant.
Reine stands behind, arms at her sides, penlight nowhere in sight—thank God.
Kotori points. "Pick."
"What is this?" I ask, horrified.
"A galge," Kotori says. "A dating sim. You will learn charm, timing, and how not to die when a girl looks at you."
I stare at the options.
A) Compliment her hair
B) Make a joke
C) Stare silently
I glance at Kotori. "Are these my only options?"
Kotori smiles. "Yes."
I pick A.
The screen shows the girl reacting. Hearts appear. Music plays.
Kotori nods like an analyst watching a missile test. "Okay. Not terrible."
I exhale. "See? I can do this."
Reine speaks. "Do not become complacent."
Kotori's smile returns. "Exactly. Next scenario."
The next girl appears.
New menu.
I pick B.
The girl's face goes blank.
A "bad end" sound plays.
Kotori slaps my forehead. "IDIOT."
"That was a joke!" I protest.
"It was a bad joke," Kotori says. "And you deserve consequences."
The screen flashes:
BAD END: "She thinks you're creepy."
My soul shrivels.
"I hate my life," I mutter.
Kotori leans closer. "Again."
We restart.
I try another option.
This time, I pick something safe.
The girl smiles.
Kotori hums. "Acceptable."
Reine speaks, monotone. "Failure rate remains high."
"I'M TRYING," I snap.
Kotori grins. "Good. Keep trying."
The next scenario begins.
I answer.
I fail.
Kotori insults me.
Reine watches.
Then—after a particularly brutal failure—Reine calmly unbuttons her cardigan.
I freeze.
"...Murasame-sensei?"
Reine removes the cardigan and folds it neatly over a chair.
Kotori doesn't even look surprised.
I stare between them, horrified. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING."
Reine speaks, monotone. "Every time you fail, I will remove an article of clothing. It is intended to prevent you from feeling lonely."
My brain short-circuits.
"That—THAT MAKES IT WORSE!"
Kotori sips from a juice box like she's watching a show. "It's motivational."
"It's traumatizing!"
Reine: "Continue."
I grip the controller like it's a lifeline.
I pick options faster, sweat forming under my collar.
I fail again.
Reine removes her tie and sets it neatly beside the cardigan.
I swallow so hard it hurts.
Kotori leans in, eyes bright. "Onii-chan, you're turning red. Cute."
"I'M GOING TO DIE," I hiss.
Kotori smiles sweetly. "Not before you seal a spirit."
I glare. "You're enjoying this."
Kotori's grin doesn't fade. "Maybe."
We play again.
I succeed twice.
I start to breathe.
Kotori's insults slow down, just a little.
And then—without warning—I catch myself smiling.
Not big.
Not happy.
Just... a small twitch at the corner of my mouth, like my face forgot to suffer for a second.
Kotori's head snaps toward me immediately.
"...Why are you smiling?" she asks.
I freeze.
"I'm not."
"You are," Kotori says flatly.
Reine confirms, monotone. "He is smiling."
I stare at the screen, confused. "I didn't... I wasn't... I just—"
Kotori leans closer, voice lowering. "Did you just have fun."
"No," I say instantly.
Kotori's eyes narrow. "Liar."
I swallow and force my mouth straight again.
"Continue," Reine says.
The next scenario loads.
This one is... different.
On-screen, the "brother" character in the game makes a questionable choice. The music turns ominous. Dialogue flashes about "consequences." A father beating the son up,Police sirens. A courtroom gag and the boy laughing manically in a cell.
Guess choice 2 of bringing his sister into the bed was wrong..
The "bad ending" title appears:
BAD END: "Criminal Consequences."
Kotori points sharply. "See? This is what happens when you act like a creep."
I stare, baffled. "Who made this game."
"Focus," Kotori snaps. "Learn."
The brother character is shown doing something that's clearly meant to be a scandal gag—dragging the girl somewhere she doesn't want to go, the game trying to play it as "romantic" in that awful, outdated way.
My face twists.
"That's... gross," I mutter.
Kotori crosses her arms. "Exactly. Don't do it."
"I wouldn't!"
Kotori leans in, eyes sharp. "You say that now, but you're an idiot, so I don't trust you."
I'm already stressed, embarrassed, exhausted, still half-haunted by snow and warmth and absence.
And my mouth—
My mouth decides to end me.
I blurt, without thinking:
"But you never complained when I did that!"
Silence.
Kotori's eyes go wide.
Not captain persona wide.
Not "mean tyrant" wide.
Just... Kotori wide.
"E—?" she squeaks.
I realize what I said exactly one second too late.
My entire body locks.
I stare at the screen like it will delete my sentence if I stare hard enough.
Kotori's face goes red.
Reine tilts her head slightly, neutral as ever, like she's observing an interesting insect.
Kotori's voice trembles.
"...What," she says slowly, "did you just say."
"I—" I choke. "I meant— I was talking about— the game— the—"
Kotori's blush goes from embarrassed to volcanic.
"You—" she sputters. "YOU—!"
"I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT!" I shout.
Kotori stands up so fast her chair scrapes the floor.
"You absolute—!" she yells, and then—
Her foot connects with my stomach in a perfectly timed, perfectly cruel anime kick.
"Guh—!"
Air leaves my body.
I fold over the controller like a dying shrimp.
Kotori points at me, shaking with fury. "DON'T SAY WEIRD THINGS!"
"I DIDN'T—" I wheeze. "I DIDN'T KNOW I WAS GOING TO SAY IT!"
Kotori's eyes narrow. "You're blaming your mouth again."
"It's a valid suspect!"
Reine speaks, monotone, as if reading a report. "His statement caused an emotional reaction."
"NO KIDDING," I rasp.
Kotori huffs, still red, still furious, and tries to force her "captain" persona back onto her face like she's pulling a mask over a crack.
"Listen," she says sharply. "Training continues. You will learn. You will succeed. And you will seal Princess."
I lie there, clutching my stomach, staring at the ceiling like it has answers.
"My life," I whisper. "My life is a military operation dating sim run by my little sister who has two personalities and a woman who eats sleeping pills like snacks."
Kotori points at the screen again. "Play."
I groan. "Why."
Kotori leans down, voice cold again. "Because if you fail, more people die."
That lands.
Not like a dramatic speech.
Like a stone.
I swallow.
I sit up slowly, still wheezing, and pick the controller back up.
The game loads another cheerful anime girl with sparkling eyes.
My hands shake.
Not from fear of the girl.
From the weight of everything else.
Snow.
Warmth.
A voice saying "I still believe in you."
And then nothing.
I press a button.
A dialogue choice appears.
Kotori watches me like a hawk.
Reine stands behind us, unreadable.
I stare at the screen and, for the first time all day, I don't even know what I'm supposed to be.
A normal student?
A brother?
A weapon?
A... hero?
A dating sim protagonist?
I pick an option.
The girl smiles.
Hearts pop.
Kotori nods like she's approving a weapon calibration.
Reine says nothing.
And I sit there, controller in hand, stomach bruised, brain exhausted, thinking only one thing with absolute clarity:
"I'm... so screwed."