Life settles into a new, albeit still completely insane, normal. The successful literature presentation has earned Aiwa a measure of respect, even from Rina and Haruka. They still view her as a primary rival for my affection, but their tactics shift slightly. The open hostility is replaced by a more complex, nuanced form of competition, a high-stakes game of social chess where every compliment is a potential trap and every shared glance is analyzed for hidden meaning.
Aiwa, bolstered by her successful presentation and our deepening friendship (a friendship conducted mostly in hushed tones and secret text messages), seems more comfortable navigating the chaos. Her LUNA-Lite persona appears less frequently, usually only when delivering devastatingly insightful critiques in Cosplay Club or shutting down Kenji's more idiotic schemes. Her shy clinginess towards me remains, but it is now tinged with a quiet confidence, a sense of belonging that makes her hesitant advances even more… effective.
Rina and Haruka respond by escalating their own campaigns. Rina doubles down on the "perfect sister/domestic goddess" routine, while also finding new ways to emphasize our shared history and sibling bond in front of Aiwa. Haruka counters with sophisticated outings and intellectual discussions, positioning herself as the mature, worldly alternative. My life is a constant juggling act between heart-shaped carrots, avant-garde art exhibits, and shyly offered Korean snacks.
One Saturday afternoon, I am actually enjoying a rare moment of blissful, uninterrupted peace. Rina is out at the studio with Miki and Hana, engaged in some top-secret Ectiqa project involving, according to Kenji, "weaponized glitter." Kenji himself is off attending a handshake event for his favorite underground idol group, "Nuclear Poodle Apocalypse." Haruka is, presumably, plotting world domination from her ivory tower, but mercifully, not in my immediate vicinity. I have the apartment entirely to myself. Glorious silence.
I am sprawled on the sofa, deep into the latest volume of 'Galaxy Gladiators' (the manga Aiwa recommended, naturally), contemplating the profound joy of not being actively fought over.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rings. My heart immediately plummets. My brief paradise is shattered. Who could it be? Rina forgetting her keys and expecting me to applaud her latest sequin innovation? Kenji needing emergency funds for limited-edition Nuclear Poodle Apocalypse glow sticks? Haruka deciding today is the perfect day for an impromptu lecture on particle physics?
I drag myself to the door, bracing for impact, already composing my 'go away, I am contemplating the meaninglessness of existence' speech. I peek through the peephole.
It is Aiwa.
My brain short-circuits. Aiwa? Here? Now? Alone? This is unprecedented. This is uncharted territory. This violates at least seventeen unspoken rules of our current, fragile detente.
I open the door, trying desperately to look casual, like unexpected visits from secret cosplay goddesses/childhood maybe-fiancées happen every single Saturday. "Matsuki-san? Hey. What is up? Everything okay?"
She is standing there, looking incredibly nervous, clutching a small, brightly wrapped gift bag like a shield. Her cheeks are flushed a delicate pink. "H-Hinamata-kun," she stammers, avoiding my eyes. "S-sorry to bother you. I promise this is not about the literature project! I was… just in the neighborhood." (A blatant lie, her secret secondary apartment is nowhere near here, and her family's main residence is even further). "And I wanted to… to give you this."
She thrusts the gift bag towards me with trembling hands. "It is just… a thank you. Again. For helping me with the presentation. And… for being my friend. And for… remembering." Her voice drops to a whisper on the last word.
"Oh," I say, surprised and flustered. "You really did not have to do that." I take the bag. It feels soft. "Thanks." This is the second unsolicited gift. My guilt levels spike.
An awkward silence descends, thick enough to choke on. She shuffles her feet. I shift my weight. Neither of us seems to know what to do next.
"So…" I say, trying to fill the void and definitely not thinking about how cute she looks when she is nervous. "Do you want to… come in? For a minute? Since you are… in the neighborhood?" My internal alarm bells are screaming bloody murder, sirens wailing, red lights flashing. Abort! Abort! High risk of Rina/Haruka detection! But my stupid mouth keeps moving, apparently operating independently of my brain's survival instincts.
Her eyes light up with a mixture of terror and shy excitement. "Oh! Are you sure? Is your sister…?"
"She is out," I say quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. "Totally safe. Low risk of sibling-related explosions. For now."
She hesitates for only a second before nodding and slipping past me into the apartment. She looks around the entryway, then into the living room, her eyes wide with a shy, almost invasive curiosity. This is her first time seeing my actual living space properly, without the chaos of our entire group being present. She takes in the messy stack of manga on the coffee table, the game controllers tangled on the floor, the stray piece of shimmering blue fabric peeking out from under a cushion (evidence of Rina's latest project).
"It is… nice," she says softly, though she looks slightly bewildered. "Very… lived-in."
"It is usually cleaner when Rina is in her 'Operation: Perfect Little Sister Who Is Definitely Not Plotting Your Demise' mode," I admit with a sigh.
She giggles, a soft, nervous sound that does strange things to my heart rate. We just stand there in the entryway, the silence stretching again. This is possibly the most awkward, most dangerous, most confusingly pleasant social situation I have ever been in. My brain is oscillating wildly between 'This is nice' and 'RUN FOR YOUR LIFE.'
"Well," I say, rubbing the back of my neck, trying to regain control. "Thanks again for the gift. I should probably let you go before…"
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rings again. My blood runs cold. No. It cannot be. Not again. My luck cannot possibly be this bad.
I look at Aiwa. Her face is pale with panic, her eyes wide with the look of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming Rina-shaped truck. We both know who that probably is. It is too early for Rina to be back according to her schedule. Which means… it has to be Haruka, launching a surprise weekend offensive. Or worse… maybe Rina finished early?
I slowly walk to the door, my legs feeling like lead. I look through the peephole, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Standing on my doorstep, looking coolly impatient and holding a small box tied with an elegant ribbon (probably containing some kind of artisanal, passive-aggressive pastry), is indeed Haruka Ito.
My life is officially a perfectly orchestrated farce designed by a sadistic god of romantic comedy. And I am the punchline.