In my mind, it was a cinematic masterpiece. The sun was setting at just the right angle to catch the silver in Amilia's hair. The roar of the engine was a beastly growl. I was the lone defender of innocence, leaping through the air with the grace of a gazelle (or at least a very determined salmon) to pluck a maiden from the jaws of a metallic leviathan.
That is how I wanted to remember it.
The reality, however, was much more... pathetic.
As I lay there on the asphalt, doused in the secondary explosion of the fire hydrant, I looked back at the killer truck. It hadn't sped off into the night like a mechanical assassin. It had come to a gentle, clicking halt three inches from where Amilia's map had fallen.
The driver, a man who looked like he had been retired for at least twenty years and was currently eating a very messy tuna sandwich, poked his head out the window.
"Sorry about that, kids!" he croaked, his voice barely audible over the sound of a radio playing elevator music. "The brake is a bit sticky! I think I was going almost three miles per hour there! Whoopsie-daisy!"
He then shifted the truck into reverse—a process that took forty-five seconds and involved a lot of grinding metal noises—and slowly crawled away at the speed of a tired turtle.
Three miles per hour.
I had tackled a girl. I had performed a life-risking, bone-crunching, mud-splattering football tackle on a total stranger to 'save' her from a vehicle that a briskly walking toddler could have overtaken.
I am a moron, I screamed internally. The universe didn't even try to kill me this time. I did it to myself. I've reached a new level of self-sabotage. I am the Final Boss of Embarrassment.
---
"My... my hero," Amilia whispered.
I looked down. I expected to see a girl who was annoyed that a muddy high schooler had just body-slammed her into a puddle. Instead, I saw a girl whose eyes were glowing with a terrifying, shimmering intensity. Her violet pupils were practically vibrating.
"Uh, look," I said, scrambling to my feet and offering her a hand—which she took and refused to let go of. "I might have overreacted. That truck was actually moving really slowly. Like, 'grandma-with-a-walker' slowly. You weren't in any real danger, so we can just forget this happened, right? Ha. Haha. My bad."
"No," she said, her voice small but heavy with the weight of a thousand years of bad writing. "The speed of the iron beast matters not. The intent of the heart is the true catalyst of the Silver Moon."
"The what now?"
She stood up, ignoring the fact that her expensive-looking dress was now seventy percent swamp water. She stepped closer, invading my personal space with the confidence of a conqueror.
"According to the Chronicles of the Shindou-Ainsworth," she began, reciting it like a holy scripture, "should a daughter of the main branch be cast into the shadows of peril, the one who interposes their body—regardless of the velocity of said peril—is marked as the fated Eternal Consort. It is written in the stars. And also in our family's legal bylaws."
"Wait, wait, wait," I waved my free hand frantically. "Legal bylaws? You have romantic fate written into contracts?"
"It keeps the paperwork clean," she said, her shy demeanor momentarily replaced by a terrifyingly business-like nod. Then, she flushed a deep scarlet again, looking at her shoes. "I... I have waited eighteen years for my 'Incident.' My sisters all got saved from falling chandeliers or runaway carriages. I thought I was destined to be alone because I never crossed the street at the wrong time. But you... you saw the danger I didn't. You lunged. You smelled like... like cheap convenience store bread and desperation. It was exactly as the prophecy foretold."
Cheap bread and desperation? Is that my scent? I felt another piece of my soul crumble.
"Amilia-san, listen. I'm just a guy. An unlucky guy. If you stay with me, you'll probably get hit by a falling satellite or contracted by a rare tropical disease in the middle of winter. I am a walking hazard."
"I do not care!" she cried out, her voice suddenly booming across the intersection. "My family is traditional! We do not accept refunds on fate! You have saved me, therefore you own me! I shall move into your home immediately to begin the 'Co-habitation Trial of the Crescent Moon'!"
"The what trial?!" I shrieked. "You can't just move in! I live with my parents! Well, mostly my mom, and she already thinks I'm a disappointment! If I bring home a silver-haired girl who claims she's my 'Eternal Consort' because of a three-mile-per-hour bread truck, she'll have me committed!"
Amilia tilted her head, a single silver strand of hair falling over her eye. "Is your mother a warrior? Shall I have to duel her for your hand? I am not skilled with the blade, but I can throw a heavy vase with surprising accuracy."
"No! No dueling! No vases!"
I was panicking. This girl was beautiful—breathtakingly so—but she was also clearly Aqua-levels of insane. She was a high-spec disaster. A legendary-grade headache. My bad luck had finally evolved; it was no longer just trying to hurt me physically. It was trying to complicate my social life into an early grave.
"Please," I pleaded. "Can't we just say I gave you directions? 'Local boy helps tourist with map.' That's a great story! Very wholesome!"
Amilia's eyes welled up with tears. "Are you... rejecting the Compact? Do you know what happens to a Shindou-Ainsworth who is rejected by her savior?"
"What? Does the universe explode?"
"I have to join a convent in the mountains and spend the rest of my life knitting sweaters for goats," she sobbed. "Do you want me to knit for goats, Inuzuka-sama? Do you want my fingers to be calloused by coarse wool while I weep into my porridge?"
"I—no! I mean, goats are fine, but—wait, how do you know my name?!"
"Your student ID flew out of your pocket when you tackled me," she said, pulling a muddy plastic card from her cleavage. "I've already memorized it. Kyotaru. A name of strength. A name of... of a man who fights trucks."
I stared at her. She was looking at me with such pure, unadulterated adoration that for a split second, my cynical, rejected heart actually fluttered. After years of being the loser, the trash, and the pet, here was a girl who looked at me like I was a god. Even if she was crazy. Even if the truck was slow.
Wait, I thought. Is this it? Is this the 'Konosuba' moment where the useless protagonist finally gets a win?
---
And then, I felt it.
A chill ran down my spine. It wasn't the wet clothes. It wasn't the evening breeze. It was the feeling of being hunted by a predator that practiced 'radical kindness.'
I turned my head slowly, like a character in a horror movie who knows the killer is standing in the doorway.
Across the street, standing under a streetlamp that flickered once and then died (because of course it did), was Yuko.
She was still holding her grocery bag. A carton of eggs was visibly leaking through the bottom of the plastic. Her black hair was perfectly still, but her aura was radiating a heat that could have melted polar ice caps.
"I-Inuzuka-kun?" she whispered.
Her voice wasn't sweet anymore. It was thin. It was the sound of a violin string being pulled until it's about to snap.
"Y-Yuko! Hey!" I let go of Amilia's hand as if it were made of burning magnesium. "It's not what it looks like! I mean, it is what it looks like, but the context is really stupid! The truck was barely moving! I'm not a hero! I'm still the same loser you rejected ten minutes ago!"
Yuko didn't move. Her eyes traveled from my muddy face, down to my disheveled uniform, and finally settled on Amilia. She scanned the silver hair, the traditional dress, and the way Amilia was currently trying to hide behind my back while clutching my blazer.
"Inuzuka-kun," Yuko said, stepping into the street. She didn't look for cars. Cars looked for 'her' and decided to take a different route. "Who is this... person?"
"I am his Eternal Consort!" Amilia declared, poking her head out from behind my shoulder. "I am Amilia of the Shindou-Ainsworth! He has claimed my life through the Rite of the Slow-Moving Vehicle! Back away, peasant friend!"
"P-Peasant friend?" Yuko's eye twitched. A single vein appeared on her forehead—a vein I had never seen in ten years of friendship.
"She's just confused!" I yelled, stepping between them. "She has a tradition! It's a whole thing! She's going to a convent to knit for goats! It's all very logical if you don't think about it at all!"
Yuko dropped the grocery bag. The sound of a dozen eggs cracking echoed through the silent street.
"I see," Yuko said. Her voice had returned to that terrifyingly soft 'Saint' tone. She walked up to me and placed a hand on my other shoulder. Her grip was like a hydraulic press. "So, Inuzuka-kun... you confess your love to me, I tell you how much I treasure our friendship, and ten minutes later you're 'claiming' silver-haired girls in the middle of the street?"
"It wasn't a choice! I tripped!"
"You always trip, Kyotaru-kun," Yuko said, using my first name—something she only did when she was about to do something 'kindly' violent. "But you usually trip into trash cans. This time, you tripped into a romance plot. And as your best friend... your only true friend... I can't let you be scammed by a girl with a silver-hair-complex."
"I am not a complex!" Amilia hissed, stepping forward and grabbing my arm. "I am a destiny!"
"You're a nuisance," Yuko smiled, but her eyes remained cold. She grabbed my other arm. "He's mine. I mean—he's my pet! You can't just take someone's pet without asking!"
"I am not a pet!" I screamed, but neither of them was listening.
The universe, seeing an opportunity for maximum chaos, decided to chime in. A sudden gust of wind blew a discarded flyer into my face, blinding me. As I struggled to peel the paper off, I felt both girls tugging on my arms in opposite directions.
"He saved me!"
"He's my childhood friend!"
"Goats!"
"Eggs!"
I finally ripped the paper off my face. It was an advertisement for a local shrine. 'Seek Blessings for a Peaceful Life,' it read.
I looked at the silver-haired fanatic on my left and the terrifying Saint on my right. I looked at the muddy puddle at my feet.
"I hate this novel," I whispered to the sky.
And for the first time in my life, the sky didn't throw anything at me. It didn't have to. The disaster was already here.
---
"Stop pulling!" I shrieked, feeling my shoulder sockets begin to hum a tune of impending dislocation. "I am not a wishbone! I am a human being! A very unlucky, currently moist human being!"
"Inuzuka-kun, please be quiet while the adults are talking," Yuko said, her voice dropping an octave into a range usually reserved for demons and debt collectors. She didn't let go of my right arm. Instead, she tightened her grip. "Amilia-san, was it? You seem to be under a delusion. Kyotaru-kun doesn't need a 'Consort.' He needs a guardian. A handler. Someone to make sure he doesn't accidentally choke on his own spit, which he has done twice this week."
"Hey! That was a very spicy piece of gum!" I defended myself, though it only made me look worse.
Amilia gasped, her silver hair whipping around as she shook her head. "Nonsense! His incompetence is his greatest virtue! The Chronicles state that the Eternal Consort shall be a man of 'Pitiable Nature,' so that his wife may shine all the brighter! He is perfect! He is the most pathetic man I have ever laid eyes on! My heart is racing just looking at his trembling knees!"
"Is that a compliment?!" I yelled at the sky. "Why is everyone's reason for liking me just a list of my character flaws?!"
"Because you have nothing else!" they both shouted in unison, their eyes locked in a spark-flying stare-down over my head.
I stood there, slumped, as they continued to trade insults that were basically just facts about my miserable life. I felt like a piece of discount meat being fought over by two very beautiful, very terrifying vultures. I started to wonder if the truck would come back and finish the job. At least the truck didn't have opinions on my bank account balance.
"That's it," Yuko whispered. Her aura suddenly turned a deep, bruised purple. "If I can't talk sense into this silver-haired squatter, I'll just have to use… 'Aggressive Counseling.'"
"And if the peasant will not yield the Savior," Amilia countered, her violet eyes glowing with an ominous light, "then the Silver Moon must resort to… 'Traditional Negotiation.'"
I blinked. "Wait, what are you guys—"
In a move that defied the laws of physics, biology, and common sense, they both reached behind their backs. Yuko reached into her grocery bag—which was definitely too small for what came out—and Amilia reached into the folds of her traditional dress.
CLANK-SHINK.
Two massive, olive-drab tubes slid into view.
Yuko was now hefting a 'M20 Super Bazooka' with a "Property of the Student Council" sticker on the side. Amilia was holding a 'silver-plated RPG-7' with intricate engravings of moons and stars along the barrel.
"Where did those come from?!" I screamed, hitting the deck and covering my head. "This is a Rom-Com! We're in a high school district! Why do you have anti-tank weaponry?!"
"It's for self-defense!" Yuko chirped, the heavy launcher resting on her delicate shoulder. "In case of aggressive stray dogs or… silver-haired home-wreckers!"
"This is a sacred heirloom!" Amilia bellowed, bracing the RPG against her hip. "It is used for traditional wedding salutes! And for clearing obstacles in the path of love!"
They both took aim, the muzzles of the launchers pointed directly at each other, with me trapped in the middle like a very stressed-out referee.
"I'm going to die," I whimpered into the mud. "I'm going to be the first person in history to be killed by a romantic sub-plot involving heavy artillery."
"Prepare to be educated!" Yuko yelled.
"Prepare to be tradition-ed!" Amilia countered.
The world went white as I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the explosion that would surely send me to a different genre entirely.