Walking away from the protective (if suffocating, and occasionally electronically tagged) orbit of Rina, Haruka, and Aiwa feels like stepping off a cliff into a very stylish, potentially hostile void. I find Ichigo leaning casually against a ridiculously expensive-looking black town car near the west exit, looking impossibly cool and unruffled, as if he spends every afternoon inviting random handlers to fancy dinners.
"Ah, Sir Rui," he greets me, that charming, slightly enigmatic smile playing on his lips. He opens the car door with a flourish. "You decided to accept my humble invitation. Excellent choice. Prompt, too. I appreciate punctuality."
"Yeah, well," I mumble awkwardly, trying not to trip over my own feet as I slide into the plush leather interior. The car smells like new leather and subtle, expensive cologne. Definitely not the usual scent of Rina's glitter glue or Kenji's forgotten gym socks. "Did not want to keep the… industry waiting." (Translation: My sister threatened me with bodily harm if I was late reporting back).
"Indeed," he says, sliding in beside me with effortless grace. "The wheels of progress – and gossip – turn quickly in our world." The driver pulls smoothly away from the curb, leaving the convention center and my chaotic life behind. For now.
As the car pulls away, I cannot shake the distinct, prickly feeling of being watched. I risk a glance back through the tinted rear window. And sure enough, I see three familiar figures trying (and failing miserably) to blend in with a group of departing attendees near the exit. Rina, Haruka, and Aiwa. They are not even trying to be subtle anymore. They are just standing there, arms crossed, staring daggers at the retreating car like a trio of highly fashionable, deeply suspicious gargoyles. My "spy mission" has apparently acquired a dedicated, highly motivated, and utterly terrifying surveillance team. This is going to be a long, paranoia-fueled night.
The car ride across town is surprisingly… almost normal. Ichigo asks me about my handler duties, my interest in cosplay (which I downplay significantly, not wanting to reveal the full extent of my family's insanity), and my general impressions of the Expo, focusing particularly on LUNA's performance.
"LUNA's technical skill is undeniable," he comments, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. "Her resources are clearly significant. But do you think her performance… connects? Does it have heart?" He is asking me, Rui Hinamata, expert on absolutely nothing, for my critical analysis of his main competitor. This feels like a test.
"Uh," I stammer, trying to remember my earlier conversation with Aiwa. "She is… very perfect? Almost doll-like? Maybe that is the point?" Good save, Rui. Vague and noncommittal.
Ichigo just hums thoughtfully, giving nothing away. He then smoothly changes the subject, asking about my skills. "So, Rui," he says, leaning back against the plush leather seat, his blue eyes (still the contacts, I assume) fixed on me. "Ectiqa. Hime-Hime. LUNA. You seem to be right in the middle of this… fascinating dynamic. What is it like, managing the three biggest stars currently orbiting the cosplay sky?"
"Mostly just trying not to get vaporized by the gravitational pull or caught in the resulting supernova," I admit honestly, because lying seems pointless at this stage.
He laughs, a rich, genuine sound that is surprisingly disarming. "I can only imagine. They are… intense. All three of them. Especially," he adds, a knowing look in his eyes, "when they are anywhere near you. You seem to possess a certain… planetary-level gravitational pull yourself, Rui-kun."
My face heats up instantly. "I have no idea what you are talking about. I am just the handler. Background support."
He just smirks, that infuriatingly charming expression that suggests he knows far more than he is letting on. "Right. Background support."
We arrive at a ridiculously fancy restaurant in Ginza, the kind of place where the air smells like money and the waiters probably judge your soul based on your choice of appetizer. Ichigo is greeted like returning royalty by the maître d'. We are ushered immediately to a private room overlooking a serene Japanese garden. Two other people are already waiting – a sharp-looking woman in a tailored business suit who radiates 'corporate power,' and a relaxed-looking man with expensive designer glasses who looks like he owns several small countries. They are introduced as Ms. Tanaka (no relation to Kenji, thankfully) and Mr. Sato (also no relation to Yamada-sensei, I hope), executives from 'Phoenix Games,' a major game publisher (different from Nexus, thank god). Industry people. The real deal.
Dinner is a surreal, out-of-body experience. The food is incredible, tiny, exquisite works of art that probably cost more than my monthly allowance combined. The conversation is mostly high-level shop talk – upcoming game releases, marketing strategies, the future of the VR-integrated cosplay industry (which is apparently a thing?). Ichigo is brilliant, effortlessly switching between charming personal anecdotes about convention mishaps (carefully curated, I am sure) and sharp, insightful business analysis. He keeps drawing me into the conversation, asking for my opinion on fan engagement strategies, the effectiveness of social media campaigns, and the potential market for handler-themed merchandise (I sincerely hope he is joking about that last one). It feels like I have accidentally wandered into an episode of some high-stakes corporate drama, and I am desperately trying to fake my way through it, nodding intelligently and trying not to spill expensive sauce on my hoodie.
Throughout the meal, my phone buzzes intermittently in my pocket, vibrating against my leg like an angry hornet. I ignore it, knowing it is the Surveillance Squad demanding hourly updates, GPS coordinates, and possibly stool samples.
Rina: STATUS REPORT?! Has he offered you a multi-million yen contract? Has he tried to steal your soul with his piercing blue eyes? Respond immediately!Haruka: Maintain observation. Note conversational topics, body language, and any attempts at subliminal manipulation. Record everything. Especially dessert.Aiwa: Are you okay, Rui-kun? The restaurant looks very… expensive. Do not feel pressured to order the lobster. 🥺 (How does she know where we are?! Did Rina activate the tracker?!) Kenji: HAVE YOU SEEN THE DESSERT MENU?! I SAW PICTURES ONLINE! IS IT GLORIOUS?! IS THERE DRY ICE INVOLVED?! SEND PICS!
I am starting to sweat, despite the perfectly climate-controlled room. How are they tracking me? Did Rina actually activate the lint-ball panic button? Did Haruka bug my shoe? Is Aiwa using LUNA-tech satellite surveillance?!
As the main course arrives (something involving truffle foam, edible flowers, and a single, artfully placed piece of Wagyu beef that looks too beautiful to eat), Ichigo leans in slightly, his charming smile firmly in place. "So, Rui," he says, his voice lower now, creating that unnerving bubble of intimacy again. "That pendant LUNA wears. 'Starlight Paladin,' right? An interesting choice for someone with her futuristic, high-tech aesthetic. Almost… nostalgic."
My blood runs cold. Here we go. He noticed the pendant too? "Uh, yeah," I stammer, trying to appear nonchalant while my insides are twisting into knots. "Obscure show. Probably just a design choice."
"Not that obscure," Ichigo replies smoothly, a strange, almost wistful look flickering in his eyes before it vanishes. "I used to watch it myself. Back in the day. A lot of passion in that old animation." He takes a delicate sip of his ridiculously expensive sparkling water. "Funny how things, and people, come back around when you least expect it."
His comment feels incredibly loaded, pointed, significant, but the meaning is just out of reach, shrouded in his charming ambiguity. Is he hinting that he knows about LUNA's identity? Does he know about my connection to the show? Is this whole dinner just an elaborate, high-class interrogation designed to uncover my secrets?
My paranoia kicks into high gear just as my phone buzzes again, this time with a frantic, all-caps message that vibrates with sheer panic.
Rina: ABORT MISSION! I REPEAT, ABORT! HARUKA HAS DEPLOYED THE DRONE! THE DRONE IS LIVE! SHE IS RECORDING! GET OUT OF THERE!
Drone?! What drone?! I subtly (or probably not-so-subtly) glance towards the large window overlooking the serene garden. And there it is. Hovering just outside, its tiny red recording light blinking ominously, barely visible against the dark foliage, is a small, state-of-the-art quadcopter drone. Aimed directly at us.
My life is officially unmanageable. I am being spied on by a drone. Piloted by my sister's rival. While having dinner with a potentially manipulative cosplay superstar. This cannot possibly get any worse.