The formation of "Team Rui: Threat Assessment Division" does not, unfortunately, lead to a period of calm, strategic planning. Instead, my life transforms into a bizarre, high-stress boot camp where the objective is apparently to turn me into… bait? Prime, irresistible bait for a potentially manipulative cosplay superstar named Ichigo, who may or may not be the cool gamer girl Izumi I met (my brain still refuses to fully process this possibility, choosing denial as a coping mechanism).
Rina and Haruka, despite their mutual suspicion regarding everything else (especially each other), unite with terrifying efficiency on this one goal: preparing the bait (me) for deployment at the Winter Comicon. Their methods, however, differ wildly, reflecting their core philosophies on aesthetics and psychological warfare.
Rina focuses on the… aesthetic appeal, operating under the assumption that Ichigo, like most humans with eyes, can be swayed by a moderately well-dressed individual.
"Onii-chan, we cannot possibly send you into the field looking like that," she declares one morning, eyeing my standard uniform of a slightly-worn hoodie bearing the logo of an obscure indie band and jeans of questionable cleanliness with undisguised horror. "Ichigo is a fashion icon! A literal prince charming stepped out of an RPG! You look like you wrestled a laundry hamper in a dark alley and lost decisively!"
Thus begins the forced makeover montage, a staple of terrible romantic comedies that is now my horrifying reality. Rina drags me on a shopping trip to Shibuya 109 – a place I normally avoid like it emits toxic radiation – that feels less like retail therapy and more like an intense psychological endurance test. She insists I try on skinny jeans ("They accentuate your… leg-shaped legs! It shows you possess basic human anatomy!"), fitted jackets in alarming jewel tones ("It shows you have shoulders! And possibly a spine!"), and even attempts to put some kind of "subtle, texturizing product" in my hair ("Just a little! To give it that effortlessly cool, 'I woke up like this but possess hidden depths and smoldering intensity' look!").
I resist vehemently, arguing that my current aesthetic projects an air of "approachable normalcy" and "low maintenance," which might be exactly what a high-profile star like Ichigo finds refreshing (this is a desperate, losing argument). Our disagreement escalates into a minor scuffle in the middle of a trendy boutique specializing in clothes clearly designed for people much cooler and thinner than me, earning us several disdainful glares from impossibly stylish shop assistants. I manage to escape with only a slightly-less-worn new black hoodie (a tactical victory), a pair of jeans that are only marginally tighter than my old ones, and a deep, abiding sense of violation. Rina declares Phase One a "qualified success," though her disappointed sigh suggests otherwise.
Haruka, on the other hand, dismisses Rina's focus on superficialities. She concentrates on tactical training, believing the key to ensnaring Ichigo lies in psychological manipulation and superior intelligence gathering.
"Being effective bait requires more than just… adequate, non-offensive clothing," she informs me coolly during a mandatory "strategy session" held while I am trying (and failing) to eat dinner peacefully. Rina glares daggers at Haruka for interrupting her designated Rui-time, but Haruka ignores her. "You need technique. Subtlety. The ability to extract information without revealing your own objectives. You must become a weapon of passive intelligence."
She attempts to teach me "advanced interrogation techniques," derived, I suspect, from watching too many spy movies. This mostly involves her instructing me to stare intensely at people while asking slightly creepy, overly personal questions designed to make them uncomfortable and reveal their deepest secrets. "Observe his microexpressions, Rui-kun," she instructs, demonstrating by giving me an unnerving, analytical stare that makes me feel like she is cataloging my internal organs. "A slight upturn of the left corner of the mouth can indicate suppressed amusement or deceit. A micro-twitch in the eyelid might betray deception or simply a lack of sleep. You must become a living lie detector."
My attempts to practice this on Kenji during lunch result only in him bursting into tears and confessing that he "borrowed" my limited-edition giant robot figure again without asking, because he wanted to introduce it to his collection of idol photo cards. It is not exactly useful intelligence regarding international cosplay superstars.
Haruka also tries to teach me "strategic conversation deployment," providing me with a list of pre-scripted conversational gambits. "You need opening lines," she explains, handing me a laminated card. "Subtly steer the topic towards his motivations regarding you. Use leading questions like, 'Ichigo-sama, your sudden interest in handlers is fascinating; what specifically drew you to observe Rui-kun?' Feign shared interests to build rapport – perhaps mention your (alleged) appreciation for avant-garde Tofu sculpting?"
My attempt at feigning a shared interest in advanced wig-styling techniques with Haruka herself results in a confusing twenty-minute lecture on the tensile strength of synthetic versus natural fibers that leaves me more bewildered than before and smelling faintly of hairspray.
Meanwhile, Kenji, embracing his role as "Head of Field Operations (Self-Appointed) and Gadget Master," takes it upon himself to equip me for my "mission." He presents me with a collection of "spy gadgets" he ordered from the shadiest corner of the internet: glasses with a tiny, incredibly obvious, low-resolution camera embedded in the frame ("For capturing visual evidence! The battery lasts almost five minutes!"), a pen that supposedly records audio ("Just do not click it too much, it sounds like a dying cricket"), and a small, buzzing device he claims is a "personal EMP emitter designed to disable nearby surveillance drones and possibly pacemakers" (it looks suspiciously like a cheap novelty pager he won at an arcade). I confiscate the EMP emitter before he can accidentally crash a nearby passenger plane or give Miki a heart attack.
Aiwa, my secret ally, watches all of this unfold with a mixture of amusement and genuine concern. She cannot openly object without revealing her own complex relationship with me and potentially triggering Rina's final form. But she offers subtle counter-advice and warnings via text messages, usually delivered during the brief moments I manage to escape to the restroom.
Aiwa: Rui-kun, maybe just… be yourself? Trying too hard might seem suspicious. Authenticity can be disarming. 😊 Also, Rina-san put another tracker in your backpack. Left pocket this time. Looks like a ridiculously cute cat keychain holding a tiny knife. 🔪
I check my backpack. There is indeed a new, offensively cute cat keychain attached to the zipper, wielding a miniature plastic knife with surprising menace. I sigh heavily and leave it there. At this point, being tracked feels like a fundamental aspect of my existence. Fighting it is futile.
Miki and Hana observe the escalating absurdity with the weary resignation of seasoned war correspondents. Miki focuses on the actual Comicon logistics, ensuring our booths (Ectiqa, Hime-Hime) are properly equipped and staffed, a lone voice of sanity in the storm of pre-bait paranoia. Hana just keeps baking. The apartment is now permanently filled with the scent of stress-cookies, which Kenji consumes at an alarming rate.
The week before Comicon is a blur of failed spy training, passive-aggressive makeover critiques, Kenji testing his spy pen by loudly recording Rina and Haruka arguing about the optimal glitter-to-fabric ratio, and me generally questioning every life choice that led me to this point. I am pretty sure I am less prepared to be irresistible bait and more likely to have a full-blown anxiety attack the moment Ichigo looks in my direction and spontaneously confess all my secrets just to make the pressure stop. Operation Bait Prep is a resounding success… if the goal was to make me wish for the sweet, sweet embrace of the void before the mission even begins.