Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You are [full name], an ordinary person living an ordinary life. By 'ordinary', of course, we mean spending days rotting in your room, endlessly scrolling through social media, and occasionally flirting with AI versions of fictional men. Life is simple, life is fine.

Or, it was. Because apparently, the universe decided you were in need of… a 'special experience.'

In hindsight, should you have clicked that link from that 'Totally Not a Scam' with all sorts of neon blinkies and gif decors account? Probably not. But it was too late; the trap was set. A screen pops up with flashing lights, seizure-inducing sparkles, and a web of stars and galaxies expanding in front of your eyes. "You’ve been chosen for an exclusive experience!” it read. Well, it wasn’t lying.

Next thing you know, you’re face-planted on the front steps of a massive house. You open one eye and nearly go blind from the level of saturation around you. It’s like YouTube Kids Shorts had a run-in with anime. And you’re definitely in an anime—cartoonish lines, colorful skies, and a strangely familiar background. But… which anime? Please not Attack on Titan, you silently pray.

You drag yourself up, confused, until you hear a voice: "Oi, Eren!”

Your stomach does a flip. Face turns paper white. But when you turn, it’s just some NPC-looking guy named Sakata greeting his friend. Phew. You groan in relief, muttering, "Whew… small victory,” and get a few suspicious stares from the neighbors.

"Okay, [name], think. Either you’re in a really lucid dream, or... you’re dead?”

As you’re working through the mind-melting logistics, your eyes drift to the front door. Your name is printed there in fancy letters. Beneath it, the glistening button of a cartoonishly large doorbell that chimes like something out of a 90s game show. Congratulations! You’ve just won...

The door opens, and—wait. There are two suitcases sitting next to you now. Where did those come from? You hesitate, slowly unzipping them, half-expecting snakes to pop out. Inside the first is... cold, hard cash. Your jaw drops. Is this what people mean when they say 'start-up funding' ?

The second suitcase is loaded with documents. Your new ID? A what seems like a school uniform. Enrollment papers for… 'PK Academy'? PK Academy? You scratch your head. "Narrator, are you kidding me right now?”

"Oh, this is very real,” a voice chuckles in your ear, startling you so badly that you yelp. It’s the narrator. Apparently, it’s sticking around to narrate your every move now. "And before you get too excited—no, you’re not the main character.”

You scowl. Well, guess it wouldn’t be that easy.

Out of a thin air, a cat pops up next to you. Black like the dead of the night with piercing emerald eyes. How unsurprising.

It meows and cuddles up to your legs, making you instantly melt with a relieved sigh. At least you're not alone in this.

With no other option, you take a deep breath and stagger into the house, cat in tow, suitcases clinking with cash. The furniture is sparse and odd—there’s a couch made of… is that sandpaper? And the walls are covered in pop art featuring out-of-context phrases like 'We Stan!' and 'Yass Queen!'

You start exploring this overly extravagant house with mismatched decor that looks like it was designed by someone who took 'randomize' a little too literally. The couch is wrapped in what definitely feels like sandpaper, but the chair next to it is plush pink velvet. And the walls? Decorated with so many motivational posters you’re sure you’re inside a self-help guru’s fever dream.

"Home sweet… something,” you mutter. You make your way to the kitchen, hoping for some normalcy. One look at the empty fridge, and your hopes plummet. You open it again just in case something’s magically appeared. Nope. Just the sad emptiness of broken dreams and a suspicious echo.

"Great, a mansion with no food. Who designed this setup—Sims players?”

Suddenly, the narrator chimes in again. "If you’re done monologuing, might I remind you that you’re here for a reason?”

You roll your eyes. "Oh, right, sorry, mysterious disembodied voice. Care to tell me what that reason is?”

A chuckle echoes around you. "Let’s just say, you’re here to warm up a cold heart.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. "So… therapy?”

The voice laughs even harder this time. "Think less therapy, more… rom-com. All you need to know is that someone around here has a heart colder than a freezer at midnight, and it’s your job to… thaw it.”

You groan. "How am I supposed to figure out who this ice block is?”

"Oh, that’s the fun part. You have to figure it out on your own. But here’s a hint: you’ll be seeing them at school.”

"Fantastic,” you sigh, dragging the suitcases up the stairs with the cat following at your heels. "First a mansion, now school. Really living the fantasy life here.”

You find what seems like a bedroom—though 'seems like' is being generous. The bed has five layers of mismatched blankets, none of which reach the end, and the walls are painted with scenes from some abstract jungle with tigers and neon pink birds.

You stand in the doorway, absolutely bewildered and slightly startled by the jungle sounds playing in the background. The cat meows approvingly.

"Looks like it’s you and me, buddy,” you say, giving it a scratch behind the ears.

You collapse onto the bed, letting out a long sigh. This all feels unreal, and yet, the bed is uncomfortably real. The springs creak like an old door every time you move. As you stare at the ceiling, one question gnaws at you: Who is the 'cold-hearted' one?

Throwing the absurd amount of blankets onto the floor, you manage to get comfortable under one with a cheetah pattern and slowly drift off to a slumber, the cat softly snoozing on top of your stomach.

————————

Day two in this 'alternate universe' (or some cosmic joke of a reality) begins with you marching out the door, determined to tackle the daunting task of groceries. You’re optimistic for about five seconds… until you realize the streets all look the same. Like, suspiciously the same. Every corner, every store, every mailbox seems to be part of some cruel loop designed by sadistic architects.

After circling the block five times, you finally admit defeat. Your ego bruised, you swallow your pride and approach a sweet-looking lady for directions. With a radiant smile, she provides flawless directions that leave you questioning why no one back home ever offered anything more helpful than, "Yeah, it’s… somewhere.”

The woman not only gives directions but offers to guide you to the market herself. Naturally, you agree, partly because you’ll literally never find it alone. Within minutes, you’re strolling down a bustling street filled with every kind of produce imaginable. You grab a bunch of random ingredients, though you’re only half sure how they’ll come together. Vegetables, meat, instant noodles, some grapes, bananas… all the essentials, right?

As you meet up with the woman again, you offer to carry her bags. She practically swoons, pulling a handkerchief out of thin air, and gushes, "What a sweet young lady! I wish my son were as thoughtful.” you awkwardly laugh, wondering what kind of gremlin she has at home.

Then, plot twist: she lives directly across from you. Because, of course, she does. You’re this close to kicking yourself for all the energy you spent worrying about getting lost on the way back. She gives you a warm wave and you wave back, thinking, Well, that’s…convenient?

Entering your house, you’re greeted by the soul-piercing meow of Cat, who seems moments away from forming a riot. You toss him a can of food, grateful it was on sale (the mystery of how your money seems to flow freely in this world remains unsolved). You spend the rest of your Saturday wandering your oversized mansion, which is beginning to feel like a set in some drama. After a dip in your personal backyard pool (because why not?), you snack on some instant noodles while giving your 98" TV a test run. Netflix is, unsurprisingly, pre-loaded and even prepaid. Lucky you.

Amid exploring the countless empty rooms, you’re struck by a stroke of genius: why not give Cat his own room? Maybe then he’ll keep his dramatic meows to himself at 3 a.m. You resolve to transform the guest bedroom into Cat’s palace, even if he currently answers to nothing other than 'Cat.' 

You are too lazy to give the poor feline a name. 

Boredom still lingers, and you realize there’s a critical issue. No phone. No computer. You stuff some yen into your pocket and retrace your steps (sort of) to the market. Miraculously, you find an electronics shop, despite having forgotten where it was. You pick up a phone and laptop, throw in some headphones, and try to remember the way home. Miraculously, you make it back before dark. Score.

The setup of your new gadgets is relatively quick, and you call it a night, fully aware that Monday—the first day of school—is looming. You’d skip if it weren’t explicitly mentioned in the 'manual' you found in your suitcase. Apparently, the mysterious forces that plopped you here also expect you to 'blend in.'

Sunday is, in a word, uneventful. You spend hours on Netflix, binge-watching 'Love Island Deutschland' (the drama is just too good), and you only remember to eat when Mrs. Saiki, your neighbor, shows up with a tin of biscuits. You laugh with her politely, nodding at her tales and dodging her questions about your parents and you moving here all by yourself. You pass these by saying that your parents are always on a business travels. She also shares that her son is your age, and you manage a fake laugh as she daydreams aloud about setting you up with him. Must be a real catch, you think sarcastically, picturing an overweight otaku holed up in his room.

After she leaves, you munch on a few biscuits and toss one to Cat, who surprisingly devours it. The day ends with an unsettling feeling—maybe nerves for the first day? You take a long, blissfully warm shower without a second thought for water bills and lay out your crisp, intimidating uniform.

Tomorrow’s the big day. School in another universe.  No big deal… probably.

Chapter Text

Mondays.

Whoever invented Mondays must’ve had a loose screw. You’re convinced that, if Mondays had a different name, people might hate them a little less… at least until Tuesday, anyway. But statistically (in your own expert opinion), it’s the most hated day of the week.

Enough jokes, now it's time to suffer. You drag yourself through the standard morning rituals—grumbling in the bathroom, slapping on a fresh school uniform, and shoveling down cereal with Cat. You’re not even sure where this school is, so while munching on your breakfast, you pull up a map and set the navigation to… PK Academy? What’s with the name?

With a final farewell pat to Cat (you might not survive this), you throw the empty bowl in the sink, head outside, and make for the route on your phone. You must look like a lost tourist, or worse, one of those NPCs on autopilot—just following commands like 'turn left in 300 meters' as other students pass you, all wearing the same uniform. Dignity? Never heard of it. You decide to turn off the GPS and improvise.

Then you spot her. A girl with… okay, you’re already over the wild hair colors, but why is she glowing? Blindingly. She’s like a human flashlight, and people seem to adore her. Every other student she passes either squeals, faints, or just stares like they’re at a celebrity sighting. You pretend not to notice, though it's hard when you hear her muttering about how today is the day she’ll make 'some guy' fall for her. Yeah, you're staying away from her.

PK Academy finally looms into view. Before you can slip away, she notices you.

"Oh, are you new here? I’ve never seen you around!” she flashes a smile so bright you nearly need sunglasses. It’s like staring at the sun—bad idea, don’t try that.

"Yeah.” the one-word reply doesn’t faze her. Instead, she introduces herself as Teruhashi Kokomi, too brightly for comfort. You barely hold back a wince as she grabs your arm, and now you’re being guided into the school by the human solar flare herself. Eventually, she demands your name, and you mumble it out. She cocks her head with an innocent "Oh, how exotic!” and smiles even more brightly.

I’m gonna need a cigarette and a bottle of vodka after this, you think.

Managing to slip away, you claim to need the teacher's office and end up wandering the endless hallways. Finally, a guy in a red tracksuit—presumably a teacher—finds you. He’s in the middle of shouting at a green-haired kid for 'faking illnesses,' but stops to ask, "You the new transfer student?”

You nod, and after a brief orientation and paper-signing session, he takes you to your new classroom. Second-year. Somehow, you've been placed in the wrong grade, but you don’t question it. You’ve run out of energy to question anything.

Once inside, the whole class quiets and stares. You feel like a zoo exhibit as you scribble your name on the board, followed by the barrage of questions about your 'country of origin.' America is the answer. Cue eagle screeches.

You tried your hardest to dodge the requests about saying something in English which were strange or either completely insane and ten minutes of "So, do you eat beans everyday?” later, you were assigned a seat infront of the most bland looking guy you ever seen, besides his bright pink hair.

As you glance around, you spot her—the sunbeam herself, Teruhashi—waving at you. You ignore her and continue sizing up your classmates, briefly making an eye contact with the magenta-haired guy with suspicious accessories. Is it even allowed?

"What did I get myself into?” you sigh to yourself, opening up your school bag to get out your textbooks. Oops, a tragedy. You hadn't bought them yet.

"What a careless mistake...” the narrator grumbles in the background and you have one hundred urges to throw the green haired dude next to you (who keeps poking at his nose) into the camera point of view. His face just annoys you.

You only bring out a single sheet of paper, which is by the way one of the forms you had signed back at the teacher's office and turn it around, getting yourself a blank paper to doodle on.

The teacher begins the first lecture, but without your own textbooks, you’re paired with… Teruhashi. Great. She scoots over, and you immediately feel the weight of the entire class’s glare. You’re barely five minutes into school, and the drama has started.

Few rude remarks here, few positive there, like: "Wow, Teruhashi is just so thoughtful!” make you question your own upbringing. If it weren't for the narrator chuckling in the sparse distance, you'd be pretty calm, considering your predicament.

But now you just have one hundred urges to use the stunning yet over the top kind of pretty girl as a bleach. That, until she turns to you after you concentrate really hard on one of the stupid math problems you're pretty sure wouldn't even need for practical life, flashing yet another smile, making the glow around her expand, almost wiping you from the frame.

"How is our school for you so far?”

You squint your eyes. "Too... Extraordinary.”

You had hard time trying to describe the vibes you were getting about this whole place a one. She quietly chuckles an begins to point out various students who seem somehow important to the cast.

"That right there, is Hairo. Our class's student representative.” you look over to the window seat row and you regretted even glancing that way.

The moment your eyes laid onto the guy, you're sure your eyebrow hair got burned off by the fire he was somehow emminating as he passionately scribbled answers into his notebook.

"True school spirit right there.” you comment before turning your attention to another person.

"That's Kaidou-kun. He's... Well, something!” her words don't assure you as the said person clenches his fist, mumbling something under his nose with a serious expression.

"Next we have Nendou-kun!” her smile brightens and your just drops.

"Good golly...” you mumble, bewildered by his hairdo and buttchin.

She continues to introduce more people, like Takahashi, the snot chaser. She describes him as somebody forgettable and not important to the cast which sits with you right.

After what feels like an eternity, the bell finally rings. You bolt up, making a run for the bathroom, but Teruhashi’s already at your side, offering to give you a tour. Before you can decline, a crowd has formed around her like moths to a flame. She insists on dragging you along, wasting your bathroom break on a tour of 'important places' (a.k.a., every inch of the school).

You can only nod along to her words as the guys with coats which read: 'Teruhashi Fan Club' roll a red carpet under her feet wherever she drags you, making you trip here and there.

"And here we have— oh, [name]-chan, what is wrong?” she turns around to see you in a distress. You then tell her that nature's calling and quickly round the corner, escaping from her sight, almost bumping into somebody.

When you finally escape to the bathroom, you contemplate the merits of self-flushing to end this day early. But before you can act on that, the bell rings again, and you’re forced to run back to class. When you get there, someone’s left a crumpled note on your desk: "Stay far from our Teruhashi, you normie!” Lovely.

You roll your eyes and catch the pitying look from Magenta Accessories Guy. Great. Now he thinks you’re pathetic, too. You turn to the window, zoning out for most of the next period as the teacher drones on about something you already know.

Now that you think about it, Teruhashi didn't mention this pink guy when introducing all of your classmates. Probably just as forgettable as Takashi or what was his name again.

The next class — Japanese, kill me now.

You're surprised that your brain automatically translates whatever you read or hear, but you  struggle with writing.

Finally, lunch break. You haven’t packed anything, so you grab an egg salad sandwich from the cafeteria, finding a quiet spot by a staircase to savor it in peace. Watching the basketball game in the gym, you notice a classmate with red hair playing like it’s the Olympics. Every few seconds, he’s looking over at you. You casually slink away before he gets any ideas.

The rest of the day is uneventful, to say the least. You manage to escape the school before Teruhashi can take ahold of you and you skip your way into the town to buy all needed textbooks and school necessities. You went quite overboard with the shopping spree and bought lot of stuff you're pretty sure you won't even need. But who would ignore the beautiful fish pencil case that can be turned inside out and serve as an anatomy tool of sorts?

You get home, feed famished Cat, take a shower, eat some instant food which makes you sprint for the toilet right after and after watching an episode of Barbie's Dream House, you head to bed.

Day two comes, and your desk is practically wallpapered in hate notes. Ignoring them all, you decide to take a walk around the courtyard, reading the insults and laughing a bit too loudly as you toss them over your shoulder. Little do you know, someone’s following behind, picking up the mess and tossing it into the nearest trash can.

"Oh please, as if I care about anyone but myself here.” you roll your eyes, littering the last insult onto the ground behind you.

Just as you think you’re finally free, you find another note on your desk. "Don’t give up.” Huh. A secret ally?

Wednesday rolls around with no hate notes, and for the first time, you cheer yourself on. "Won them over.” you whisper. The moment is short-lived when the class clown, Nendo, borrows a pencil and then invites you for ramen after school. Never one to turn down free food, you agree, and he brings along his buddy, Kaido, a self-proclaimed Dark Reunion fighter with bandaged hands. The three of you hit it off, and by the time you’re slurping down ramen, they’ve both spilled enough juicy gossip to fill a novel.

They also fill you in on about 'Saiki', Nendou's one and only 'pal'.

Your week ends with a full mental catalog of the class: Teruhashi, the idol; Hairo, the human battery; Takahashi, the forgettable; Nendo, the loud one; Kaido, the conspiracy theorist; and Saiki, who may or may not be judging you from afar.

On the way home, you spot someone familiar—a pink-haired guy across the street, definitely not someone you can forget.

"Saiki?!"

Chapter Text

You slap your hands over your mouth in horror, the echo of Saiki’s name bouncing off the quiet street. Great. Just…perfect. Saiki’s head swivels in your direction, eyes fixed on you with that completely blank stare that somehow says a lot—none of it good. His look is basically asking, "Do I know you?”

Panic sets in. You open your mouth to explain, but words have decided to take a vacation. "Uh… I, uh…” You’re scrambling, but all you can think to say is: "How do you do?”

How do you do? Really? You’re at a total loss for words and that’s what your brain pulls out? What is this, the Victorian era? Maybe you should throw in a good morrow, fine sir while you’re at it.

Saiki just stares, unmoved, as if he’s evaluating how much of his day he just wasted acknowledging your existence. He gives you a microscopic nod, turns, and heads inside. And you? You’re still standing on the sidewalk, contemplating your life choices. Maybe you should just crawl under a rock now and stay there.

Finally, you snap out of it and stagger into your own house, slam the door shut, and slump against it, giving a frustrated kick in the air. "How do you do?! I mean, come on!” your cat, bless its soul, just sits there, watching your meltdown with a judgmental squint that could rival Saiki’s.

Then, a horrifyingly hilarious realization dawns on you: Saiki lives across from me. Saiki, the boy who apparently won’t help his mom with groceries, is now your literal neighbor. If there’s a god of cosmic jokes, they’re having the time of their life right now.

As you flop onto your bed that night, you convince yourself he’ll forget by morning. Or at the very least, block it out to preserve his sanity.

———

The next morning, you step outside with a bounce in your step, feeling fully over the whole “how do you do” fiasco. No harm done! That’s when you spot Saiki, already on his way to school, giving you a look that’s half “don’t talk to me” and half “why are you even here?”

After a moment of silence, he opens his mouth and your morning grin falls. "How do you do?”

Rage boiling within you, you hold back the urge to cross the street and punch him and simply say, "You wanna pick a fight?” deadpan. 

Your rage intensifies as he plainly shrugs and responds. "It’s a polite greeting. Try it sometime.”

This fella here, you think with a scoff. "Be a little original.”

Trying to save face, you shoot him a scowl. He doesn’t even blink, just gives you the world’s tiniest sigh and starts walking. Naturally, you follow. Hey, you still haven’t figured out the way to school, okay? Following him is pure survival.

He doesn’t respond, but you sense his absolute annoyance as he pretends you don’t exist. Perfect. Exactly the energy you want to start the day with.

You’re halfway to school when you spot Teruhashi waiting by the entrance, practically glowing like she just stepped off a stage. She waves, smile blinding, and you say a quick prayer to every god you can think of that she’s not looking at you.

Of course, the universe hates you, so she rushes over. "Oh! [name]! And… Saiki?!” her voice falters when she realizes you and Saiki arrived at the same time. Her blue eyes flick between the two of you, her gaze zeroing in on every suspicious detail.

You force a sheepish grin. "Oh, yeah, I still don’t know my way around, so I… happened to see someone in our uniform and, you know, followed him. No big deal.”

Her eyes widen in horror, as if you just confessed to high treason. "Oh my goodness! Don’t do that! What if you get kidnapped?”

Why would I get kidnapped, You think with a bead of sweat running down your cheek, but you quickly compose yourself.

You nod, putting on your most serious face. "Yep. Absolutely. Could’ve been snatched up right here in broad daylight. Lucky I had my trusty… guide.” You tilt your head towards Saiki, who’s standing there in full “please leave me alone” mode.

Teruhashi’s eyes are still sparkling, but now with a subtle hint of rivalry. "Oh, is that so~?” she says, her voice dripping with sweetness as she shifts her attention back to Saiki. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing—this girl thinks you’re competition? You, the human disaster? Bless her.

But hey, you’re not about to interfere. You’ll let her have her moment.

As you stroll into school, you can't help but sigh to yourself. Whatever this school year brings, at least one thing is for sure: it’s never going to be boring.

Alright, let’s try this again. I'm Saiki Kusuo, and yes, I have psychic superpowers. I know. Big deal. You’d think life would be easy with all the skills at my disposal—mind-reading, telekinesis, teleportation, the works. But recently, things haven’t exactly been going as planned. It all started last Friday, when some new girl moved in across the street and completely threw me off my game.

It was supposed to be a calm night. I was waiting for my detective show to start (which I already knew the whole plot of, but oh well), already tuned in, ready for a few moments of peace. And then, out of nowhere, I hear this yell from the street so loud it actually startles me. Yes, I, Saiki Kusuo, got startled. Which never happens. I mean, I can see through walls. I can read minds. There is zero reason I should be surprised by anything. Ever. But here we are.

Curious, I peek out the window, and there she is—this girl, sitting on the sidewalk outside the abandoned house for sale across the street. I figure, okay, let’s just read her mind and figure out what the heck’s going on. Simple, right? Wrong. What I got instead was… something else entirely. It was like listening to every radio station in the world at once. Ancient theme songs, weird songs, bad jokes—I didn’t know whether to be impressed or horrified. If I wanted a headache, I’d just hang out with Nendo.

It’s not just the mind-reading either. My x-ray vision, which normally I can’t turn off if I tried, didn’t work on her. Normally, people show up as the usual mix of bones and muscles, but she just… didn’t. She just looked like a regular human, which, let’s be real, is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.

So, now she’s in my orbit, sitting near me in class, catching Teruhashi’s attention, who’s now simultaneously intrigued and offended. Teruhashi’s convinced she’s stealing her spotlight, and I just want to figure out why this girl is a walking kryptonite to my powers. My powers are what make me me, so naturally, I’m... invested. From a purely research-oriented standpoint, of course.

The thing is, her thoughts are impossible to read 99% of the time. Every time I try to tap in, it’s like hearing a blender filled with old sitcom soundtracks, random foreign phrases, and garbled static. Great, I think, my life isn’t weird enough. Now I’ve got this enigma blaring every wrong frequency known to man. And she somehow attracts Nendo and Kaido to her like she’s some kind of human magnet for the clueless. Which, as long as it keeps them off my case, I’m fine with, but still.

Then, one day, I see her eating an egg salad sandwich as she wanders the school. For a split second, I catch her thinking, "I want to go home.” Finally, I think, progress. But right as I focus in, the signal cuts out, and suddenly, her brain is back to playing static. Fantastic.

My curiosity gets the best of me, so after school, I decide to follow her from a safe distance. Stealth mode, naturally. I watch her get lost three times in five minutes, circle the same block twice, and then head straight into… a tobacco shop? She walks out with a pack of cigarettes like she’s picking up milk. Seriously? Does this girl even know what she’s doing?

But no way am I letting her just walk away like that, so I try using telekinesis to toss the pack in the trash. Except my powers, yet again, don’t work on her. So I’m just standing there, watching as she shoves the cigarettes in her bag and heads toward the park like she’s some middle-aged guy at the end of a hard day.

She plops herself on a bench, scans the area like she can sense someone’s watching her, and whips out a Capri Sun from who knows where. What is she, five? Maybe I’m overthinking this. Maybe she’s just… weird?

She finishes the drink at an astonishingly fast pace and heaves a sigh, staring off into the distance with a look of a well fed dog.

"That pink haired dude... Ain't he a weirdo.“ she says quite loudly, shaking her head.

At this point, I’m done. I don’t know what kind of alternate universe she’s from, but whatever it is, it’s clearly where logic goes to die. I turn around and teleport close to home, officially fed up. Because if I have to spend one more second trying to make sense of this girl, I’m going to need a permanent vacation from my own psychic powers.

As I walk the familiar street, already at my front gate, I hear my name being called, so naturally, I turn around and see [name] with her hands over her mouth, eyes wide open as if she just met a celebrity. Good grief, what now? I think, the whole day's events catching up to me.

She visibly tenses and searches for words. I only nod as she sputters out a weird greeting of “how do you do” and I enter my house.

So, the next day, I’m hoping she’ll forget whatever weird vendetta she had against me back at the park and just leave me alone. But naturally, fate decides otherwise.

I’m barely out the door when my mom, who apparently has nothing better to do, insists that I go over and introduce myself to the “nice girl next door.” And by “insist,” I mean she practically shoves me out the front gate. Apparently, she saw us “talking” yesterday and has concluded we must be best friends. Yeah, that tracks.

Fine. I walk out and say, "How do you do?”—not exactly the most original words I could pull off at the crack of dawn.

She blinks at me, clearly unimpressed. "You wanna pick a fight?” she replies, deadpan, visibly annoyed.

For the record, I don’t want to pick a fight. But I’m not backing down either, so I say, "It’s a polite greeting. Try it sometime.”

She just rolls her eyes and mutters, "Be a little original.” Alright, that’s it, I’m done. The conversation has officially gone on for longer than necessary. I turn and start walking to school, thinking today will turn out better than yesterday.

Except, of course, it doesn't. Because I can sense her right behind me, trailing me like some overly curious shadow. And as if my morning couldn’t get worse, Teruhashi shows up. Her thoughts are a chaotic mess of jealousy and melodrama, as usual.

'What the hell? Why is she walking to school with Saiki?! It can’t be… are the two of them… close?'

No, Teruhashi. Not in a million years. [name] quickly covers, telling Teruhashi that she just happened to be following me because she “didn’t know the way to school.” Which is probably the worst excuse I’ve ever heard, but Teruhashi buys it, because she’s, well… Teruhashi.

"Uh-huh, suuuuure!” Teruhashi says, pasting on her brightest fake smile as she practically drapes herself over the girl. I sigh and head to my seat, but the two of them aren’t far behind, Teruhashi chatting away, and my new “neighbor” clearly tuning out her every word.

Once I sit down, I figure it’s a good time to take stock of the situation. Here’s what I know about this girl so far:

[Name]:
–Age: unknown. Why would a seventeen year old be allowed to buy cigarettes?
–Nationality: claims to be American, though I have my doubts.
–Moved in Friday.
–Lives alone.

Only other resident in her house appears to be a cat with a nonstop commentary on how its food is subpar and its living conditions are, quote, “a five-star prison.”

In short, I’m still in the dark. Not that it matters, right? I have no reason to care. It’s not like I’m interested in her, or whatever Teruhashi thinks. It’s just… every time I try to figure her out, I get nowhere. And that bothers me. The more I observe her, the less sense she makes. It’s almost like she was designed specifically to mess with me.

So, naturally, I do what any curious (and exasperated) psychic would do: I decide to follow her home. Again.

I slip into invisibility, keeping a safe distance as she makes her way down the street. She’s a train wreck in real time. She manages to get lost, again, even though it’s a straight path. At one point, she stops to stare at a butterfly for a full minute. I’m starting to wonder if this girl was raised by raccoons.

Then, something strange happens. She pauses, glancing around, like she knows I’m there. No, she can’t. It’s not possible. I duck behind a tree, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she reaches into her bag, pulls out that same crumpled pack of cigarettes, and starts muttering to herself. She’s saying something about how it’s her “lifelong dream to become a mob boss.”

I watch as she smirks, takes out one cigarette and lights it and stashes the pack back into her bag. She heads toward a nearby playground, where she sits on a swing, looking like she’s planning a hostile takeover. The setting sun is casting this dramatic glow over her, like she’s the protagonist of some absurd crime novel. It would almost be cinematic… if it weren’t so completely ridiculous.

Finally, I’m done. I’ve had it. She can keep her weird, chaotic brain and her poorly-thought-out life choices. I teleport home, collapsing onto my bed. That’s it, I think, I’m not wasting another second on her.

But, of course, the universe has other plans. Because just as I close my eyes, I get this overwhelming feeling that I’m in way too deep to pull out now.

Chapter Text

Sunday morning rolls around, and as you’re settling in with a cup of instant ramen and a mildly interesting TV show about Shogun something... You can't remember, when a loud knock disrupts your peace. You open the door to find… Mr. Saiki, standing on your doorstep, grinning ear-to-ear like he’s just found a winning lottery ticket.

"Oh, [name]! Great! I was just about to head out with Kusuo to the electronics store,” he says, clasping his hands together. "And I thought, wouldn’t it be nice if you came along?”

You blink, taken off-guard. "Uh, why?”

"Oh, you know,” he waves a hand as if that explains everything,
"good for bonding! Besides, Kusuo here doesn’t go out with many people his age.”

From over Mr. Saiki’s shoulder, you see the said boy standing a few steps behind, wearing an expression that could only be described as done. He’s got his arms crossed and is staring at his dad with the intensity of someone whose patience has been tested one too many times.

"Come on, Kusuo!” Mr. Saiki calls, glancing back with a wink.
"This is a great chance to make friends.”

Saiki closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly bracing himself. When he opens them again, he’s looking right at you with a kind of silent plea, like he's expecting you to decline his dad's offer. But he's way off the line there.

You could use some time to get your hang around with the city.

"I guess… I could come along?” you offer, mostly out of self interest.

"Perfect!” Mr. Saiki claps his hands together, visibly thrilled.
"Let’s go!”

________

At the electronics store, Mr. Saiki is like a kid in a candy store, darting from one gadget to another. "Look at this, Kusuo! 4K resolution! And [name], have you ever seen such a beautiful screen?” he’s so excited that he doesn’t even notice the way his son keeps subtly inching further from him, as if hoping he’ll just forget he’s there.

He had one thousand and one urges to just tip over the TV on display and leave him suffer under the weight of it.

As Mr. Saiki gets deeply invested in testing every camera and TV on display, you and Kusuo hang back, awkwardly browsing the shelves. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, visibly resigned.

"This could come into the bathroom...“ you pat down the strange looking device, not being sure of its purpose but your serious face was unignorable.

'Why would you need a microwave in the bathroom?' Kusuo thought as your eyes lit up.

"Oh, it's a microwave!“ putting your fist in the palm of your hand, you finally realized and his deadpan expression only enhanced. He's not sure if you're actually bright or stupid.

"You didn’t have to come.” he says flatly, clearly trying to let you off the hook.

"Hey, it’s not every day I get invited on a bonding trip to an electronics store.” you reply, attempting to keep a straight face.

Saiki looks at you like he’s not sure whether to roll his eyes or be slightly impressed. Instead, he just mutters, "Bonding. Right.”

Just then, Mr. Saiki’s voice booms from across the store. "Oh! [name], Kusuo! They have virtual reality headsets!”

Saiki’s shoulders visibly tense. "We’re leaving.”

"Leaving? Already?” you ask, shrugging. "I thought we were bonding.”

"I’d rather eat natto with Nendou than try ‘bonding’ here.” he replies.

"Who's Nendou?“ cue the most clueless face you could ever muster up.

You HAVE to be stupid.

As the two of you attempt a quick exit, Mr. Saiki, somehow noticing, pops up out of nowhere like a cheerful horror movie villain. "Ah, ah! Not so fast! I’ve signed you two up for a VR demo!”

Saiki closes his eyes, sighing deeply. "I see. Goodbye.”

Before either of you can protest further, the store employee hands you each a VR headset, and you reluctantly put it on. Immediately, you’re in a pixelated, bright-green world that seems to involve something ridiculous like… fishing with dragons? Or are those just dragon-shaped fish? You honestly have no idea what you’re supposed to be doing.

As you glance around, you notice a figure awkwardly maneuvering his VR character nearby.

"Saiki?” you ask, trying not to laugh.

"What.” His voice sounds strained.

"This is kind of fun, right?” you say, swinging your digital fishing pole wildly and, admittedly, having no idea what’s going on. You almost hit the poor store clerk with the joystick, which he dodged. Out of experience.

Silence.

"Oh look,” you say. "You caught a fish!”

" That’s a rock.”

After an agonizing five minutes, Mr. Saiki finally ushers you out of the VR world with a satisfied grin, as if he’s just achieved peak parenting. Kusuo, on the other hand, is already halfway out the door.

Back on the street, he turns to you, deadpan. "Please tell me you don’t actually enjoy this.”

" Enjoy what? VR fishing or your dad’s idea of quality bonding time?”

Saiki stares ahead. "Both.”

You shrug, trying not to laugh. "Hey, at least it’s… memorable.”

He lets out a resigned sigh, looking as if he’s mentally crossing “VR fishing with [name] and my dad” off an invisible list of unnecessary experiences.

As you both start walking home, he glances at you, seeing your content expression.

He sighs, thinking that this trip will probably happen again in the future.

And with that, you head home—somehow feeling like you survived a battlefield together, even if that battlefield was your neighbor’s awkward dad dragging you to a VR demo.

Chapter Text

The final bell echoed through the hallways of PK Academy, signaling freedom at last. You stretched, yawning as you gathered your things in an almost comic display of disorganization—one pen flew off your desk, your notebook hit the floor, and somehow your shoe came untied in the process. Saiki, standing at the door with his usual blank stare, was internally wondering how someone could be this much of a mess without trying.

She’s only been here for two weeks, he thought, watching as you fumbled your way out of the classroom. And somehow, she’s already managed to forget her lunch three times, walk into a wall twice, and nearly set off the fire alarm “just to see what would happen.” He followed you out the door, determined to figure out why you were unreadable and chaotic at the same time—a true mystery.

As you walked down the street together, you hadn’t even noticed he was there until he coughed quietly. You spun around, doing a double-take. "Saiki? You’re walking home with me?” You squinted at him suspiciously. "Is this… like, your way of admitting you want to be friends? Did the VR bonding work? Because I’m cool with that. Just, you know, warn me next time, man.”

He blinked, face impassive. "We live across from each other,” he said flatly, hoping you’d leave it at that. However, you ignored him, continuing on with your blabbery.

"Wait, is this what friendship looks like? Or are you, like, assigned to me? Did you lose a bet?”

He blinked at you, his expression deadpan as always. You continued anyway.

"Oh, actually, do you have an older brother? Or maybe a dog you’re trying to avoid going home to?”

He stared straight ahead and shook his head, resisting the urge to sigh. But he was quite startled just how easily you could read him without even trying. Let’s see…She’s clearly a talker. Maybe I can distract her long enough for her to accidentally think about why she’s here.

You shrugged, though you seemed a bit too pleased with his response. "Oh, right, yeah, it would be weird if you did, I guess…” You paused.

What does that even mean? Kusuo thought to himself.

"But then, maybe you’re secretly my guardian angel or something. Here to keep me from accidentally wandering into traffic.” you smirked, clearly convinced this was a very original theory. It happens to you quite a lot. Miraculously, you hadn't suffered any big injuries, yet.

Saiki internally sighed. Somehow, he doubted that anyone, even the most benevolent angel, could handle that kind of responsibility. He continued walking beside you, occasionally glancing over as you narrated every random thought that popped into your head.

"I think it would be so cool if they made a version of Mario Kart but with, like, real cars. You know? Except maybe safer… like, no actual banana peels on the road, obviously. That’d be littering.”

He raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, knowing that if he didn’t respond, you’d keep talking regardless. Sure enough, you barreled forward. But he managed to cut trough your monologue about chimpanzees wanting to take over the world by raising a question.

"Why did you come to PK Academy?” he asked, tone flat.

You shrugged. "I dunno, honestly. I just showed up here and figured I might as well enroll.” You were hardly paying attention to the answer yourself, glancing down an alleyway with exaggerated interest. "But what’s your story, dude? You’re like this mysterious guy who, I dunno, eats too much fiber or something. You probably never go to the beach, unless your mom makes you, right?”

"...Yes.” Saiki was beginning to wonder if you were an expert at talking without thinking anything at all. He was also beginning to get creeped out by your accuracy about him.

You nodded with exaggerated seriousness. "Yeah, I pegged you for mommy's boy.” you paused, taking out your phone. "Wanna see my high score on Fruit Ninja?”

How does that bring anything into the conversation?

Before he could answer, you were already swiping wildly at the screen, giving a dramatic battle cry as you sliced your way through virtual fruits. Saiki glanced down at the screen, mildly impressed. You weren’t even that good at it. This game might explain the weird and brutal cracks in your phone and why your fingers were bandaged messily.

"Right, so what’s your deal?” you continued, putting your phone away, though he hadn’t asked to see it in the first place. "Any big hobbies? Secret dark past? Mysterious third cousin with a vendetta?”

He was unfazed. "No.”

"Lame,” you scoffed, shaking your head. "You should try being more interesting. It’s what I do.”

A small sigh escaped him. You tilted your head and gave him a scrutinizing look, pausing mid-step. "Saiki, you look like someone who has exactly three pairs of pants. Am I right?”

He nearly tripped.

"See, I’m usually right about these things, as you already know,” you shrugged, proud of your deduction skills. "I’m like a mind reader or something.”

The irony was almost painful.

He took the given moment of peace to look trough your mind only to be met with a dialogue from Shrek and had to tune out before it'd get too profane.

Suddenly, you stopped short, letting out an excited gasp as you pointed across the street. “Is that… a claw machine? With plushies?”

He followed your gaze. Unfortunately, yes, there it was: a bright, overly cheerful claw machine blinking at the corner store, beckoning you to throw away money on rigged toy games. Before he could stop you, you dashed over, already determined to conquer it.

"Do you, uh… have any cash?” you asked him, flashing him a grin that, frankly, was a bit too hopeful. It so happens that you forgot your wallet at home today.

He reluctantly pulled out a few coins and handed them over. However, he had to stop and think, Why did I just do that?

"Oh, wow, my new best friend.” You grabbed the coins and slammed them into the machine’s slot, grinning as you maneuvered the claw with the skill and determination of someone who had no intention of giving up.

The claw slowly descended, grasping a purple, fluffy cat-unicorn plushie before dropping it right back down at the last second. You groaned dramatically.

"Curse you, Claw Gods! You’ve crossed me for the last time!” You threw your arms up, dramatically collapsing onto the machine. "Saiki, you try. Maybe you’re, like, claw-psychic or something.”

He was scared to say no, honestly. He could imagine the spine-chilling look you'd give him if he were to reject your demand. He raised an eyebrow at how glued you were to the machine, mumbling chants and mysterious whispers and obliged, smoothly grabbing the controls. In a single attempt, the claw effortlessly snatched up the plushie and dropped it into the prize chute. He only won, because he used his powers. It'd take an ordinary person such as yourself—such as anybody else at least 261 times before successfully fishing out the desired prize.

You gawked, practically clapping as he handed it over. "Alright, I’m impressed. You and me, we’re unstoppable.”

He shrugged, watching you hug the plushie a he handed it to you.

"Anyway, do you have any pets?” you asked suddenly, looking at him with wide eyes, as if this was the most important question ever. "Because I’ve always thought pet rocks were, like, super underrated. You don’t have to feed them, they never run away, and they don’t mind if you’re a little weird. Which, let’s be honest, is ideal.”

Saiki’s face remained completely unreadable, though internally he was beginning to think that if he were a pet, he’d prefer being stuck in a tank over having to walk next to you. "No pets,” he replied, monotone.

"Yeah, I get that,” you said with a nod as if he’d just revealed some profound truth. "It’s, like, the responsibility of it, right? All those tiny claws and teeth.” You shuddered dramatically. "What a nightmare.”

"I have a cat, by the way,” yeah, he knows all too well. He just adores being woken up by constant screaming about your choice of decoration at three in the morning. "Sometimes, he's a piece of work. He goes by Cat.” he had to raise an eyebrow, an image of your average day with your pet piecing together like a puzzle. Poor cat.

You were still talking as you both reached a corner store, where you suddenly darted inside without warning. Saiki reluctantly followed, hands in his pockets, keeping a safe distance as you raided the snack aisle with the zeal of a child in a candy shop.

"Ooh, ooh, look at these!” you said, holding up a random pack of candy. "They’re supposed to be sour enough to make your face pucker for ten minutes straight. Wanna try?”

He did not, but before he could politely decline, you were already at the counter, buying two packs. With money he had to sacrifice again. Just why the hell was he doing this for some nuisance?

"Here,” you said, shoving one of the brightly colored bags into his hands. "Think of it as, like, a ‘thanks for tolerating me’ gift.”

How exactly is it a gift, if I bought it? He thought.

Saiki stared at the bag of candy with a sense of impending doom. But, against his better judgment, he opened it and popped one in his mouth, only to be greeted by a taste so sour that it could’ve powered a small electric current. He resisted the urge to grimace, while you chewed on one happily, clearly unaffected.

"Oh, come on, that can’t be too bad for you. You’ve got a poker face of steel,” you said, smirking. "Not even a twitch? Impressive.”

Silently, Saiki debated his life choices as he resumed his walking, ignoring your questions as you fell into step beside him. The rest of the way home was just as chaotic: you stopping to try and “read” his aura (failing miserably), pointing out random cracks in the sidewalk with exaggerated theories about “hidden clues,” and at one point, deciding you could hear Saiki’s thoughts if you closed your eyes and focused hard enough. He watched in mild amusement as you tried—and failed—to somehow will yourself into his brain.

As you neared your houses, you suddenly stopped, holding up your hand like you were about to make some grand proclamation. "Saiki, I’ve decided I’m going to teach you to… well, loosen up. You’re way too serious, dude.”

He blinked at you, unamused. "No thanks.”

You continued as if he hadn’t spoken. "It’s gonna be awesome, just you wait! First lesson: people-watching. It’s this, like, super ancient art form.” You squatted behind a mailbox, gesturing for him to join you. "Come on, it’s not suspicious if we look casual about it.”

He stared at you, deadpan. "We’re standing in front of our own houses.”

You shrugged. "That’s the genius part. No one will suspect a thing!”

With a reluctant sigh, he crouched next to you, feeling more ridiculous than he’d ever admit. You started narrating the lives of random passersby, inventing increasingly absurd backstories for each one.

"That lady over there? Oh yeah, definitely a secret agent. Probably just got back from a mission in Brazil. You can tell by the way she’s walking.”

Saiki glanced at the harmless-looking woman carrying groceries, his patience officially thinning.

"Ooh, and that guy?” you continued, pointing at a middle-aged man in a business suit. "He’s a time traveler. Trapped in this time of age, desperately trying to blend in while he waits for his time machine parts to arrive from the future.”

Saiki couldn’t stop himself from sighing this time. You were truly lost in your own world.

Finally, after about five more minutes of ridiculous commentary, you stretched and stood up, yawning dramatically. "Welp, that was fun. Guess we should head home.” You turned to him, flashing a grin. "Thanks for walking with me, Saiki. I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

He raised an eyebrow, still thoroughly unconvinced. But as he watched you skip towards your front door, he couldn’t help but think that, in all his years of reading people’s minds, he’d never met anyone quite like you—someone who was, somehow, even more of a mystery the longer he observed.

And with that, he quietly turned and headed inside, mentally preparing himself for whatever nonsense awaited him the next day.

As you closed your door behind you, you were greeted by soul-piercing screech of Cat who was clearly angry about you taking your time coming home from school.

"Yes, yes, I know!“ you exhaled, balleting your way into the kitchen as the feline danced and cried under your feet. If he could talk, all he would do, would be crying about not being well fed.

You quickly prepared him his dinner and made yours—cup noodles, while waiting for the bathtub to fill up.

You ended your day with a content sigh, feeling refreshed, yet confused about your tsundere neighbor.

"Could he be...?” you mumbled, staring into the mural on your ceiling before shaking your head with the scoff. "Of course not.“ with the final chuckle and yawn, you drifted off to sleep, the impending threat of your mission lingering in the back of your mind.

Chapter Text

It’s a rare moment in Saiki Kusuo’s life when he’s not sure if his psychic powers are somehow malfunctioning, or if the person in front of him is just… that unusual.

So, naturally, he’s bewildered when you invite him over to your house because, as you put it, “cleaning alone is way too boring, and everyone else is ‘busy’ today.”

Translation: you asked everyone else, and they all bailed.

Of course, he almost refused. But the slightest thought of this turning into an entire friendship arc if he didn’t just go along with it now? Not worth the risk. And besides, there’s always the mystery of why he can’t read your mind, anyway. Scientific curiosity—yep, that’s the excuse he’s sticking with.

When he steps into your living room, however, all of his logic goes out the window.

"Make yourself at home!” you say with a big grin, tossing your shoes haphazardly by the door and kicking a small mountain of stuff under the couch as if that’s how “cleaning” works. Saiki looks around, feeling his eye twitch.

First observation: your decorating style is, let’s say, “unconventional.” He can't take his eyes off the plush pink velvet armchair sat next to the sofa which looks like it's wrapped in sandpaper.

There’s a color scheme, if “every color that exists” can be called a scheme. Neon posters cover the walls, including one with a motivational slogan that just says, 'Be brave enough to be bad at things.' Next to it is a shelf overflowing with knick-knacks that range from questionable souvenirs (is that a miniature Viking helmet?) to something he’s fairly certain is a potato carved into the shape of a cat.

There’s a coffee table in the middle of the room covered in… stuff. Books, unidentifiable gadgets, a single plastic flower, which is for some reason wilted, and what looks like a pile of rubber bands tangled into the shape of a banana or probably a gun.

It’s not just “cluttered.” It’s almost a piece of modern art.

"Sorry for the mess!” you say cheerfully, though you don’t seem remotely apologetic. "I’m still figuring out things, you know?”

Right.

To his immense relief, you don’t expect him to say anything. Instead, you launch into cleaning mode—or rather, your version of cleaning mode, which appears to involve picking up random items, looking at them thoughtfully, and then either putting them down in a slightly different spot or adding them to the growing mountain of “things I’ll organize later.”

Saiki stands there, watching as you rearrange a stack of glow-in-the-dark stickers, sighing thoughtfully like you’re moving priceless artifacts in a museum. He notices as your freeloader cat just passes by you, gives him a judgemental look and makes itself comfortable on a pile of colorful, strangely shaped pillows in the corner of the living room.

"So, Saiki,” you say, holding up a broken snow globe. "This might be cursed. Should I keep it?”

Saiki doesn’t respond because he’s not sure what response would even make sense in this situation. You take his silence as a yes.

You keep going, rattling on about the items you’re “reorganizing.”
"Oh! This is a good one,” You hold up a rock that’s been painted in rainbow colors, glued with googly eyes. "I call him Rocky the Rock. He’s my emotional support stone.”

Saiki raises an eyebrow. He’d call Rocky the reason to leave immediately, but he’s apparently committed to the full experience now. He watches as you carefully set Rocky next to an empty fishbowl labeled Fred the Fish.

"Where’s the fish?” he asks, despite himself.

"Oh, he left. He’s somewhere better now,” you say solemnly.
"Somewhere down the gutter.” cue flushing sounds

Somehow, Saiki feels a twinge of sympathy for Fred.

After an hour or so of “cleaning,” the room is… not actually any cleaner, but things have been rearranged in ways that only make sense in the context of your unique organizational strategy. You stand back, hands on your hips, proudly surveying the room, all sweaty.

"Thanks for the help, Saiki,” you say with a huge grin, even though he hasn’t actually done anything.

He sighs, as if he did anything helpful than standing around and watching you be an uncoordinated mess. "No problem.”

After somehow “finishing” with the living room (which, from Saiki’s perspective, now looks like an even stranger version of the modern art gallery it started as), you announce that it’s time to move on to the bedroom.

"Hope you’re ready,” you say, giving him a mischievous look that somehow sets off a mild sense of foreboding in Saiki.

Ready for what? It’s just a bedroom. He can handle this. He’s already seen all kinds of questionable decor today. What could be worse?

You lead the way upstairs then down the hall and open the door which has for some reason a traffic sign on it.

Saiki is immediately hit with sensory overload.

It’s not the usual bedroom setup at all. For one, the walls are covered—covered—in wallpaper that resembles a jungle scene. Not a realistic one, though. The wallpaper features tigers, lurking amidst ferns, looking intense and fierce, as if they’re about to spring to life. Neon pink birds are scattered throughout the foliage, looking both cartoonish and weirdly out of place, like they accidentally wandered in from a 1980s rave.

To top it all off, there’s a fuzzy, lime-green rug smack in the middle of the floor. It doesn’t match anything else in the room but looks like it was intentionally put there to be the centerpiece of whatever “style” is happening here.

"So, what do you think?” you ask, grinning like you’ve just unveiled a masterpiece. Saiki tries to come up with a response, something that doesn’t sound like "What have you done to this poor room?”

"You… went with a theme,” he says flatly, trying to keep his voice neutral. You nod enthusiastically.

"I was going for, you know, that wild, tropical oasis kind of vibe. A place of adventure, but also relaxation.” well, actually whatever strange force got you here designed it, but you contributed to the... rest.

Saiki raises an eyebrow. Adventure and relaxation. Sure.

"Let’s get started,” you say, diving in headfirst. You fling open the closet doors, revealing a shelf packed with things that make absolutely no sense next to each other. There’s an inflatable flamingo, some string lights shaped like bananas, a half-built model of the Eiffel Tower, and a box labeled 'Weird But Cute Rocks.'

You pluck the banana lights off the shelf. "These will add some ambiance, right?” You plug them in, and immediately, the entire room is bathed in a yellowish glow that clashes horribly with wildlife on the walls.

Saiki’s eye twitches. He’s pretty sure even Nendo would have limits here.

"Alright,” you continue, already distracted by something else. You pull out a pair of sunglasses from a drawer and put them on, posing dramatically in front of a small vanity mirror. "These are for when the jungle’s, like, too bright and I need to chill.”

Saiki glances around. Bright? The room is dark, besides the banana lights.

Without waiting for a response, you take off the sunglasses and toss them onto a pile of colorful socks, which somehow look like they were arranged with the express purpose of being as mismatched as possible. Meanwhile, you dig under the bed and pull out a massive, ancient-looking book with a cracked spine.

"Ah, yes. The Great Tome of Totally Useless Knowledge,” you say proudly, blowing a layer of dust off the cover. The title reads, Everything You Didn’t Need to Know About Everything. You crack it open to a random page, reading aloud, "Did you know, Saiki, that there’s a species of frog that can’t jump?”

He stares. Why does this book even exist?

"Fascinating,” he mutters, wondering how much longer this “cleaning” process is going to take. He’d assumed that “helping you clean” would mean picking up clothes or tidying up, but apparently, it actually means witnessing a full, unfiltered tour of your inner psyche.

You set the book down on a shelf next to a small plant with a label reading DO NOT WATER; BAD IDEA. Saiki’s not even sure he wants to know what that’s about.

"Oh, look at this!” you exclaim, pointing at a stuffed tiger tucked into the bed covers like it’s sleeping. "This is Stripes. He’s like, my jungle spirit guide or something.” you pat Stripes on the head, as if this explanation makes complete sense. "Sometimes, when I’m cleaning, I like to talk to him about deep stuff. You know, the mysteries of life.”

Saiki’s brain is already a mystery-fest without adding whatever this is.

Meanwhile, you go back to the closet and pull out an absurdly large, bright yellow beanbag chair. It looks out of place against the tropical wallpaper, which is saying something, considering everything else in the room. You plop it down next to the bed and give Saiki a satisfied look.

"There. Now we’re really in the jungle zone.” you flop onto the beanbag, making yourself look impossibly comfortable, while Saiki stands there, wondering if he should just use teleportation to get out of here and spare himself whatever is going to happen next.

After a few minutes, you finally sit up, looking at him with that curious gleam in your eye that makes him immediately wary. "You know, Saiki, the jungle isn’t just about looks. It’s about vibe. Are you feeling the vibe?”

He thinks about it. Vibe? He feels… confusion, maybe a little regret. But there’s also a strange feeling of reluctant amusement. He’s never seen anyone else’s “interior decoration” quite like this.

"I feel all sorts of things,” he says, managing to keep his voice deadpan. Murderous intent is topping the chart right now.

"Awesome,” you say, beaming. And he can tell, with absolute certainty, that you have no idea how completely baffling your decorating style is.

He just sighs, resigning himself to a few more hours of “helping” as you pull out a basket full of feathers and start sticking them to the walls, because, as you say, "What’s a jungle without some feathers?”

This is either going to be the longest day of his life… or the weirdest. Or both.

During the process of sticking the feathers on all surfaces imaginable, you just lay down on your bed, staring off onto the ceiling.

Saiki takes the moment of peace to infiltrate your mind for any useful thought that might actually help him with his research on your being, but he has to give up upon hearing a tiger roar and eagle screech bass-boosted playing in your head on loop, which startles him.

He'd almost forgot he was in your room, if it weren't for your ordinary looking bed, which somehow has a stash of mismatching blankets neatly stacked by the headboard.

Also what's with the alarm clock? Why is it the exact replica of the SpongeBob Squarepants one?

Kill me now, he thinks.

You stand up from your bed, suddenly full of energy, as if you’ve been recharged by the jungle spirit. Saiki watches you warily, trying to figure out if you’re about to do something even more mind-boggling than turning your room into a zoo exhibit of every wildlife imaginable.

"Since you’ve helped me this far,” you announce dramatically, gesturing wildly to your room like it’s an art, ready to be showcased, "I think I should reward you with something. Something truly special.”

Saiki raises an eyebrow. He’s already regretting his decision to stay. "I'm worried.”

You blink at him innocently, like you’re not about to drop a bombshell. "Coffee jelly! It’s my favorite thing to make when I need a distraction. It’s a mix of coffee and jelly… but it’s also kind of like, dessert and a drink. It’s multi-purpose, like me!” you say the last part in a southern accent.

Saiki’s eyes narrow. You want to make him coffee jelly? He's never the one to turn down the mouth watering dessert, but with you in charge of the preparations... He's very worried. He can already see the house up in flames.

For some reason, it just sits with him that you'd be the type of person to put out an oil on fire with water.

He’s trying to think of how he can politely avoid this while still looking like he didn’t run screaming from the room. He doesn't have the mental energy for your coffee jelly right now. Especially not after mentally surviving the 'whatever mental help you might need' that is your room.

But you’re already on your way to the kitchen, completely oblivious to the fact that Saiki’s brain is trying to shut down from all the sensory overload. You grab ingredients with the grace of a toddler hyped on sugar, tossing random items into a bowl like you’re preparing for a food apocalypse. You have no plan, no real recipe—just going on with the flow. And Saiki knows from experience that when you’re going with the flow, things are about to get strange, yet play right into your alley.

Saiki doesn’t follow you immediately. Instead, he stands there, looking at the strange plastic decorations you've hung around the room. A few rubber chickens, a couple of fake vines for aesthetic and a picture frame that seems to hold nothing at all. He’s starting to wonder if he’s in some sort of alternate dimension where the laws of interior decoration don’t apply. Maybe that’s why his powers don’t work around you. It’s like the whole space is outside his normal understanding of reality.

Eventually, he sighs and follows you into the kitchen, because if he doesn't, you’ll probably just drag him in because, of course he needs to be there when you're destroying your kitchen.

You’re already in full swing. The counter is covered in coffee, gelatin, a random selection of syrups, and... are those marshmallows? They're not even part of the recipe, so why are they there? Who knows.

You turn to him with a wild grin. "Okay, step one: stir this gelatin powder into hot water. Don’t ask why, just do it.”

Saiki stares at you, deadpan. "This is the reward?”

"Oh, totally! It’s all about the process,” you say, as if the process is some deep philosophical concept you’re currently imparting to him. "It’s like, making a potion, you know? A little bit of a magic, imagination and shampoo.”

Saiki suppresses a groan. "I’m more of a ‘shampoo-free’ kind of guy.”

"Too bad! We’re in the shampoo zone now,” you cheerfully reply, shoving the bowl of gelatin powder into his hands like it’s a life-or-death mission. "You can’t escape now. You’re part of the process now!”

He reluctantly begins stirring, trying not to overthink what you’re saying. Coffee jelly, he thinks. Coffee jelly with a side of a shampoo. He’s done some weird things in his life, but this might take the cake. The only thing more chaotic than this situation is the fact that his brain still can’t fully understand why you’re so unpredictable.

A peep into your mind and he's baffled. A joke about chipmunks he obviously missed the punchline to, then just AK-47 sound effect on loop mixed with an obnoxious whistling commercial tune, followed by series of 'la-la-la's'.

He's officially seen it all now.

While he's stirring and contemplating just vanishing into the thin air, he looks over to you.

You’re already busy with the next step, adding way too much coffee syrup to the mix. It’s as if you’ve never heard of moderation, and that’s the understatement of the century. Saiki watches as you proceed to dump in handfuls of marshmallows, like you're building a cavity fortress instead of making a dessert.

"You're sure you don’t need a recipe?” he asks, watching in horror as you pile everything together with utter abandon. Thankfully, you decided that shampoo might not be the best ingredient and tossed it into the sink, saying 'it will put itself back later.'

Yeah, right.

"Recipes are for ilitterate people, Saiki!” you say with a laugh, waving your hands dramatically like you’re casting a spell. He's not sure how that makes sense, but disagreeing with you is one thing he worries. "You just have to trust the process. Like those
YouTube makeover videos!”

Saiki can’t even comprehend how someone could approach cooking like this, but then again, you’re you. He really shouldn’t be surprised after all he's witnessed so far. The fact that you’re somehow still in the realm of edible cooking is honestly a miracle itself.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you pour the gelatin into bowls—each one looking more questionable than the last. Is that a measuring cup? Whatever. You pick up one of the bowls, inspect it with the seriousness of a judge at a cooking competition, and hand it to him with the utmost confidence.

"There! Perfect. Try it,” you say, practically glowing with pride, as if you’ve just created the next culinary masterpiece.

Saiki looks down at the bowl. It’s... well, it’s definitely something. It looks like the gelatin isn’t quite settled yet, but there’s no turning back now. You’re watching him like a hawk, waiting for his reaction. He can already feel the weight of your expectations.

He picks up the spoon, carefully scooping a bit of the jelly into his mouth, bracing for the worst.

...It’s surprisingly... not terrible? It’s sweet. It’s coffee-flavored, at least. And there’s a weird marshmallow aftertaste, but it’s actually kind of... comforting?

"Not bad,” Saiki admits, his deadpan expression barely cracking. "I didn’t think you could make something edible.”

You immediately brighten up. "See? I told you. It’s all about the process!” You beam at him, as if you've just won a gold medal in an obscure sport. "And now you’ve officially tasted the madness. What do you think, huh? Am I a genius or what?”

Saiki can’t help but sigh internally. He’s still not sure what exactly just happened, but... it wasn’t a complete disaster. Which, considering the way you’ve approached every step of this, might just be the greatest achievement of your life.

"Yeah, sure,” he says flatly, handing the spoon back to you. "A genius. Whatever you say.”

You cheer and happily finish off the rest of the bowls, clearly satisfied with your work. And Saiki, well... he’s just glad that this cleaning day has come to a close. For now, at least.

Chapter Text

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon, the kind of day you’d normally spend lying on your couch, eating chips, and contemplating the life choices that led to your current predicament. Today, however, you were alone. Completely, utterly, painfully alone. 

The house was quiet. Too quiet. It was the kind of silence that makes you hyper-aware of your own existence, like you’re the last person alive in a zombie apocalypse, except the only thing undead in your vicinity was your motivation. 

You paced the living room, glancing at the clock. No Saiki. No Nendo. No Kaidou. Not even Hairo who had helped you with the groceries the other day. Nobody to distract you. Nothing to do. 

Your strange, over-cluttered house echoed with the sound of your pacing. You were bored. Monumentally bored. And then, like a lightning bolt out of nowhere, you remembered: 

You had a mission. 

"Oh, right!” you exclaimed, slapping your forehead. "I was supposed to do something here! What was it again? Crack someone’s cold, dead heart? Who even writes this stuff?”

With no one to witness your revelation (except maybe the smug black cat you were sure was hiding somewhere), you decided it was time to dig out the manual. It had been stuffed into a drawer since Day One, ignored in favor of snacks and figuring out the anime universe you’d stumbled into. 

You rushed to the messy desk in the corner and started digging through the pile of random anime knick-knacks you’d somehow accumulated since landing in this world. Somewhere under the keychain of a vaguely familiar Naruto character and a questionable body pillow of Zoro (don’t ask), you found it. 

You plopped onto your living room floor, pulling the slightly glowing book out of the drawer. On the cover, in bold, unnecessarily dramatic letters, it read: 

"Mission Manual for Interdimensional Heart Warmers (Beginner’s Edition)"

Flipping it open, you were immediately greeted by a voice. 

"Ah, finally decided to read it , have we?”

You froze, glancing around the room. "Who said that?”

"Are you joking? It hasn't even been ten chapters since we last spoke and you already forgot about me? Looks like you're settling in well.”

You squinted at the book and then scoffed, realization hitting you. "Well, look who decided to speak up after five chapters!” you groaned. "I thought you were supposed to narrate every single action I take here?”

The narrator chuckled, it's voice ominously echoing in your ears. "Your poor sorry life isn't my only priority. Besides, while I was here, I decided to survey the area a bit. Truly a sight to behold.”

Your eye twitched. "So you were on a vacation while I was blending in with the cast?”

"Correct!” Yeah, that figures.

"But I was doing it plainly out of my own curiosity. What if you stumbled upon a crater of radioactive liquid and I wasn't there to help you out?”

You perked up. "There's a crater filled with radioactive water?”

"No,” heh, of course there's not. "But there's an active volcano.”

Your face went pale. "... What?”

"Relax! This is a rom-com!”

Somehow, that doesn't put you at ease. "Right.“

"Now, are we going to address the fact that it’s been weeks since you got here, and you’ve done nothing about your mission?” the voice jumped from one ear to the other and you sweat-dropped.

Silence.

"Truly an idiot at work.”

You pouted. "I’ve been busy! Adjusting to this world is hard, you know. You try suddenly living in an anime with strange people and walking plot devices!” 

The narrator sighed dramatically. "Yes, yes. Poor you, stuck in a world where everything revolves around slapstick comedy and over-the-top reactions. Truly tragic. Now, can we get to the mission?”

"Fine,” you grumbled, flipping to the first page. The text was unnecessarily flashy, with sparkling borders and Comic Sans font. 

【Mission: Thaw the cold heart of a certain individual and bring warmth to their soul.】

You groaned, flashbacks from your first day here storming into your mind. "This is so vague! A 'certain individual'? Who? Can’t you just tell me?”

"I could,” the narrator said smugly, "but where’s the fun in that? Besides, you’re supposed to figure it out. That’s why it’s a mission and not a lazy Sunday chore. I am here just for the commentary.”

You appeared in two chapters so far... You rolled your eyes and scanned the rest of the page. It had bullet points. 

You had to squint at the over usage of comical and elegant fonts. "Seriously? That’s it? No hints?”

"Well,” the narrator drawled, "you have encountered a few candidates, haven’t you? Why don’t you use your sparkling intellect and make a guess?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. "Okay, let’s see. There’s Saiki—he’s totally aloof. But he doesn’t seem cold, just... perpetually done with life. Then there’s Kaido, but he’s way too... Maybe... Takahashi?”

The narrator snorted. "Takahashi? The guy so bland even the animators forgot to give him distinguishing features besides his hair? That Takahashi?”

"Hey! Don’t knock him. He’s mysterious! Maybe he’s hiding some tragic backstory,” you argued. 

The narrator’s laughter echoed through the room. "Sure, and maybe he’s also a secret prince from a long-lost kingdom. Let’s not kid ourselves, [name].”

You glared at the book. "If you’re so smart, why don’t you tell me?” 

"Because I’m here to narrate , not hand you answers on a silver platter. Honestly, if you’d spent half as much time investigating as you have eating snacks and turning this place into a modern art squat house, you’d probably be done by now.”

"Okay, fine!” you huffed, slamming the book shut. "I’ll start investigating. But if it is Takahashi, you owe me an apology.”

"Deal,” the narrator said, clearly amused. "But let’s not hold our breath on that one.”

Determined now, you stood up and marched toward the door. Somewhere out there, someone with a frozen heart was waiting for you to thaw it. And whether it was Saiki, Takahashi, or someone else entirely, you were going to crack the case—eventually. 

Probably. 

But first, snacks. 

You had a long journey ahead of you, and no one solves mysteries on an empty stomach. 

Yeah, you totally got distracted that day and just went around the town, buying unnecessary stuff and food you're sure you won't even need or eat, but since you have the money, why not enjoy the luxury of spending without worrying about the price at all?

You went home, feeling content that day. You even finally managed to make an empty guestroom into Cat's own personal palace for which he was immensely thankful and stayed holled up there for the rest of the day while you just watched the TV, eating chips.

"The mission...” you muttered, crunching on a chip for dramatic emphasis.

"Can wait!” and so, you ended your day without any progress at all.

The next morning, you stuffed the mission manual into your backpack and marched to school with newfound determination. If you were going to find the person whose heart needed thawing, you needed the narrator’s “help.” And by help, you meant its constant barrage of sarcasm and unsolicited opinions. 

"Do you really think lugging the manual around is going to solve your problems?” the narrator grumbled as you walked. "You look like a kid carrying a cheat sheet to a test they didn’t study for.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the stares from passersby as you muttered under your breath. "I need it and you to guide me, remember? What if I walk past the person and miss my chance?” 

"Trust me, you’re not going to miss them. If they’re in your class, they’re probably one of the louder weirdos.” 

"That doesn’t narrow it down!” you hissed. 

Arriving at school, you slipped into your seat, scanning the room with the intensity of a detective in a crime drama. Your classmates, oblivious to your internal turmoil, went about their morning routines. 

"Alright, let’s start with Saiki,” you whispered, leaning slightly toward him. He sat stoically in his seat, expression unreadable as usual. 

"Ah, yes, the human brick wall,” the narrator chimed. "Go ahead, warm that icy demeanor with your... whatever it is you do.” 

You frowned. "He’s probably not it. He doesn’t even talk to anyone. How am I supposed to ‘thaw his heart’ if I don’t even know if he has one?” 

The narrator chuckled. "You’ll need more than warm intentions. Maybe a flamethrower.” 

Your gaze drifted to Hairo. "What about him?” 

"Absolutely not,” the narrator said firmly. "If anything, you’d need to freeze that guy’s heart to make him tolerable.” 

"True,” you admitted. 

Next, you considered Kaidou, who was passionately explaining something about the “Dark Reunion” to anyone who would listen. 

"Him?” 

"Do you really want to be the person responsible for amplifying that level of delusion?” the narrator asked. 

You sighed. "Good point.”

Teruhashi sparkled in the corner, as radiant and intimidating as ever. You didn’t even bother asking about her. Plus, you're pretty sure this isn't LGBTQ+ type of rom-com.

"Smart move,” the narrator said approvingly. "Her heart’s already plenty warm. Too warm, really. Like a supernova. Also rotten to the core.” yeah, you could tell.

"What about Kuboyasu? He's been here for a while and didn't debut in any chapter yet.” the narrator hummed, glancing over to the purple haired kid who solemnly sat in his chair, looking quite lonely.

"That guy is a delinquent at heart. Doubt he'd be interested in romance.”

You groaned and slapped your cheeks, trying to find new determination to keep this charade going. "Well, there's Toritsuka in the class next door, but the last time I spoke to him, he asked me what is the color of my underwear...”

The narrator paused, before speaking. "... And what did you tell him?”

"That I am not wearing any.”

"You're really an idiot.”

Finally, your eyes landed on Takahashi. He sat quietly at his desk, staring into the middle distance like an NPC waiting for their trigger event. 

"Okay,” you whispered. "What about him?” 

The narrator’s laughter echoed in your head. "Still clinging to the Takahashi theory, huh? Alright, knock yourself out.” 

You hesitated, then approached Takahashi with what you hoped was a friendly smile. "Hey, Takahashi, right? How’s it going?” 

He blinked at you, looking mildly surprised that someone was addressing him. "Uh, fine, I guess.” 

"Great!” you said, trying to sound casual. "So, uh, do you ever feel... cold? Like, emotionally?” 

He stared at you like you’d just asked him if he was secretly a lizard person. "What?” 

"Nothing! Never mind!” you said quickly, retreating to your seat as the narrator howled with laughter. 

"Smooth. Really subtle. I’m sure he didn’t think that was weird at all.” 

"Shut up,” you muttered, sinking into your chair. 

Saiki watched and listened to the whole... Strange interaction between you and Takahashi with bewilderment. So you had finally lost it, he thought to himself, watching you slump yourself onto the desk, defeated and muttering something under your nose.

He quickly peeked inside your mind only to be met with what sounded like slowed down and reverbed version of 'Macarena' and gave up on figuring out whatever possed you today.

The rest of the day was a blur of failed attempts and awkward interactions. You tried to subtly gauge everyone’s emotional temperature, but the narrator’s running commentary made it nearly impossible to focus. 

"Yumehara’s heart doesn’t need thawing; it’s already melted into a puddle of desperation.” 

"Mera? Unless you’re planning to thaw her passion for food, I’d steer clear.”

By the time the final bell rang, you were no closer to your goal. 

"Face it,” the narrator said smugly as you trudged home. "You have no idea what you’re doing.” 

"I’m just getting started,” you retorted. 

"Sure you are. Keep telling yourself that.” 

You gritted your teeth, determined to prove it wrong. Tomorrow was a new day, and you weren’t going to give up. 

Even if it meant enduring more of the narrator’s snarky remarks. 

The next day, you made what you considered a bold move. After spending hours deliberating, you approached Takahashi during lunch break and invited him on a date. To your surprise, and slight dismay, he accepted with a shrug. 

"It’s not like I have anything better to do,” he said. 

You took that as a yes. 

As you walked back to your seat, your confidence wavered. The narrator, as usual, did not hesitate to chime in. 

"You’re really doing this. You’re actually going on a date with Takahashi,” it said, incredulous. "This is a new low, even for you.” 

"He might be the one!” you whispered fiercely, clutching your bento box. 

"The one what? The one person in this school who’s more boring than math class?”

You ignored it and focused on planning. 

Across the room, Saiki Kusuo watched this exchange with growing concern. He had been trying to figure out your motives for days, but inviting Takahashi on a date? That was a new level of incomprehensible. 

Why Takahashi? Saiki thought, as he subtly turned up his telepathic senses to try reading your mind—only to be hit with the usual nonsense and chaotic noise. 

There was no logical explanation. Nobody invited Takahashi to anything. Not group projects, not birthday parties, and certainly not dates. Saiki didn’t care about what most people did, but for some reason, your decision to associate with Takahashi made him deeply uneasy. 

Saturday afternoon rolled around, and you arrived at the café where you’d agreed to meet Takahashi. You dressed up slightly—nothing too fancy—but enough to show you’d put in some effort. Casual white summer dress with small floral prints and short white heels. The narrator had been relentless all morning. 

"This is a disaster waiting to happen,” it said. "I can’t wait.” 

"Shut up. I’m trying to focus,” you muttered. 

"Oh, he will be delighted to see this, I am sure...” the narrator evily snickered, seemingly enjoying the happening. You had no idea what it meant. You doubt Takahashi would be considerate enough to compliment your appearance.

Saiki was already there, seated in the corner of the café, sipping a coffee jelly. He had no intention of intervening—just observing. He needed to know what was going through your head.  Why did you dress up to a study session with Takahashi? He can't believe you actually invited the bonehead to a date. He just can't.

It goes against all morals.

Even you must have some kind of dignity.

But he had to admit, you looked alright. Usually, you don't care about your appearance. He already seen you at what he assumes is 'your worst'.

The narrator chuckled in your ear and you had to click your tongue. "...way too deep now, aren't you?”

You ignored it and scanned the menu, cursing the green-haired enigma for making you wait from ordering the 'Giga-Maxi-Ultra-Large-Strawberry-Bomb' parfait, which you're pretty sure would give you cavities the second you'd take a single bite.

Takahashi arrived five minutes late, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. He mumbled a quick “hey” and sat down, glancing at the menu with minimal enthusiasm. 

"So,” you began, trying to kick things off. "What do you like to do in your free time?” 

Takahashi shrugged. "Nothing much. Just chill, I guess.” 

"Chill as in, like, hang out with friends? Or chill as in sit alone in your room staring at the ceiling?” 

"Both, I guess,” he replied, already looking bored. 

Saiki pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated on your behalf. Is this really your idea of a date?

You, however, refused to let the awkwardness faze you. "Cool, cool. So, what’s your favorite movie?” 

"I don’t know. I guess... whatever’s on.” 

The narrator’s voice cut in like a heckler at a comedy show.
"Riveting. Truly, a man of depth and passion.” 

You sighed, struggling to keep the conversation alive. Takahashi wasn’t making it easy. 

"Have you ever thought about traveling? Seeing the world?” you tried. 

"Not really. Too much effort,” he replied, stirring his iced coffee with a straw. 

Saiki stared at Takahashi in disbelief. Even Nendo had more personality than this guy. He began to suspect your brain had been swapped with Kaidou’s during one of his “Dark Reunion” battles. 

After what felt like an eternity, you decided to switch gears.  "Okay, Takahashi, real talk. Do you ever feel... I don’t know, cold? Emotionally, I mean.” 

Takahashi blinked at you. "This again... What's your deal?” 

"Nothing! Just... You know, like, do you ever feel like you’re just... frozen inside? Like there’s an ice cube where your heart should be?” 

Saiki almost choked on his coffee jelly. What kind of question is that?

"Uh, no? I’m fine, I guess,” Takahashi replied, looking vaguely alarmed. "Is this a prank? Are you alright?” 

"I’m great!” you said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just curious. No reason.” 

Saiki resisted the urge to sigh out loud. He couldn’t believe he was wasting his Saturday watching this train wreck. 

After the “date,” you walked Takahashi to the bus stop. 

"Thanks for coming out,” you said, trying to sound upbeat despite the lackluster experience. 

"Sure,” he said. "See you at school, I guess.” 

As soon as he was out of sight, you groaned, slumping against a nearby lamppost. 

"Well, that was a bust,” you muttered. 

"No kidding,” the narrator said. "Let’s recap: you spent two hours trying to get emotional depth out of a human plank of wood. Shocking results: there were none.” 

"Maybe he’s not the one,” you admitted. 

"Ya think?” 

From his vantage point, Saiki finally decided he’d had enough. If this was your idea of a successful date, he wanted no part of it.  And to top it all off, you were now hugging a street lamp.

I don’t know what [name] is doing, but it’s clearly not working, he thought as he teleported back home. 

Meanwhile, you trudged back to your house, wondering if you’d ever crack the mystery of your mission—or if you’d just end up with a lot of awkward memories and a narrator that wouldn’t stop mocking you.

The next day, you sat cross-legged on your living room floor, surrounded by a chaotic pile of notes, doodles, peanuts and conspiracy-level diagrams pinned to corkboards. Strings of yarn connected various classmates' pictures (don't ask where you got those), leading to a large question mark labeled "The Cold One?" in the center. 

The narrator had been unusually quiet for the first ten minutes, which was honestly a relief. But as you leaned in closer to study the board, scribbling "Possible signs of emotional frostbite" next to Kuboyasu's picture, the silence shattered. 

"Wow,” it began, dripping with sarcasm. "It’s like watching a budget detective movie, except the detective has no leads, no suspects, and no clue what they’re doing.” 

"Shut it,” you snapped, adjusting a piece of yarn connecting Saiki’s photo to a crudely drawn snowflake. "This is serious business. Someone in this universe has a heart colder than a freezer, and I’m going to find them.” 

"Oh sure. Because nothing screams competence like spending three hours yesterday interrogating Takahashi, the human embodiment of toast. Did you learn anything, Sherlock?” 

Your hand froze over the board. "...He’s a simple guy, okay? Maybe too simple to be the cold-hearted one. It’s probably someone else.” 

The narrator cackled. "Probably?! You’re just figuring that out now? You’ve eliminated exactly one person from your list. At this rate, we’ll solve the case by the next leap year.” 

You glared at the ceiling. "You’re not helping. Why don’t you give me a hint or something?” 

"Hints are for people who don’t spend all morning making flowcharts to determine if Kaidou is emotionally unavailable because of a dark past or because he’s just a drama queen.” 

You paused, glancing at the section of the board dedicated to Kaidou. His picture was circled with question marks, and under it, you’d written “Possibly traumatized by his parents. Ask if he’s okay.” 

"...It’s valid to ask,” you muttered defensively. 

The narrator wheezed in amusement. "You think this is about trauma? Oh, sweet summer child. This isn’t that kind of anime.” 

"Okay, fine!” you huffed, flopping onto your back in frustration. "Maybe it’s not Kaidou or Takahashi or even Saiki. But someone here has a cold heart, and I’m supposed to thaw it. Why else would they drop me into this weird universe and give me that ridiculous mission manual?” 

"Do you want me to tell you the truth, or do you want me to keep making fun of you?” the narrator asked. 

"I hate you,” you replied flatly. 

"Fair enough.”

You sat up again, staring at the board, which had now become an abstract representation of your confusion. A small voice in the back of your mind whispered that maybe you were going about this the wrong way, but you quickly silenced it. 

"Okay, let’s rethink this logically,” you said, grabbing a notebook. "If I rule out the boring people, that leaves the eccentric ones. But who’s too eccentric? Nendo? No way. Saiki? Maybe, but he’s just... quiet. Teruhashi? She’s not cold—she’s terrifying. Hairo? No, he’s basically a human heater.” 

"Don’t forget your own name,” the narrator chimed in. "You might be the cold one, considering how much you emotionally scar people just by talking to them.” 

"Har har,” you deadpanned, flipping a page in your notebook. 

By noon, the coffee table was a disaster zone of crumpled paper, discarded theories, and a single, unopened bag of potato chips. You stared at your handiwork with a mix of pride and despair. 

"Maybe I need to observe people more,” you said to yourself. "What if I just follow everyone around for a week and take notes?” 

"Oh yes, that’s not creepy at all,” the narrator snorted. "Why don’t you buy a trench coat and start calling yourself ‘Detective Obvious’ while you’re at it?” 

You groaned and leaned back, rubbing your temples. "Fine, fine. I’ll... I’ll give it more time. Maybe the answer will reveal itself eventually.” 

"Now you’re thinking like someone who’s actually watched an anime before.” 

You ignored the jab and grabbed the bag of chips, tearing it open with more aggression than necessary. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were missing something important—some tiny, obvious detail that would make everything click. 

"Hey, narrator,” you said, your mouth full of chips. 

"Yeah?” 

“What if you're the cold-hearted one?” 

The silence that followed was deafening. 

Then, after a long pause: "...Okay, you're really stupid.” 

You hurled the empty chip bag at the ceiling in exasperation. I'm done...

Chapter Text

Fishing: a pastime of peace, quiet, and patience. A tranquil escape from the hustle and bustle of daily life. Unless, of course, you were involved. Then it became less about serene waters and more about imminent chaos.

It all started with a phone call.

"Oh, Kuu-chan!” his mother had said far too cheerfully, which immediately made Saiki suspicious. "[name] wants to go fishing, and she doesn’t want to go alone! Isn’t that sweet? You should go with her!”

And just like that, he found himself standing on a rickety pier, clutching a fishing rod he never wanted, watching you with an expression that barely masked his inner turmoil. 

You, on the other hand, looked like you had just discovered the meaning of life. A bucket hat perched crookedly on your head, oversized sunglasses slid halfway down your nose, and your outfit—a chaotic mix of mismatched patterns—looked less like a fishing getup and more like you were attending a very questionable music festival.

"Alright, Saiki, here’s the plan,” you began, pacing back and forth like some kind of general.

Oh no, he immediately thought, high on his guard as you paused, looking directly at him. "We catch a fish. Then we eat the fish. Then we become the rulers of the sea. Thoughts?”

"None that I want to share,” Saiki replied flatly, adjusting his rod. His psychic powers could have told him exactly where the fish were, but where was the point in that? Not that he cared about catching anything; he was here for one reason only—to figure out why he couldn’t read your thoughts.

An ongoing struggle he faced. And he wasn't anywhere close to figuring you out at all. All he knew about you, was, that you have some weird taste in decorations, you were likely raised by raccoons and that you can buy alcohol and nicotine products even though you're supposedly a teenager.

We're you a spy sent to spy on him? Did someone find out that he has psychic powers?

Well, that theory is absurd. He had to hold back the urge to have a gigantic wave wash you away as you stared ahead at the lake, the early morning sun casting a glow over your dramatic face.

You peered over at him. "What’s with the face? You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

He would rather be anywhere else. Literally anywhere. A dentist’s chair, detention, even one of Toritsuka's magazine rating nights. Yet here he was, because his mom had guilt-tripped him, and because you somehow radiated a force of nature he couldn’t quite ignore.

"Relax! We are experienced! Remember the VR fishing at the electronics store?“

Ah. A memory he wished to wipe from his mind.

With a dramatic flourish, you cast your line into the water. The hook landed with a weak plop about three feet from the pier. "Aha! And now we wait.”

"Uh-huh,” Saiki muttered, already calculating how long he’d have to endure this.

Minutes passed. You stood stock still, holding the rod with the seriousness of someone defusing a bomb. Saiki glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. How does she stay so focused on such pointless activities? He tried once again to read your thoughts, but as usual, all he got was a sound effect of plastic wrappers being opened and cheese grater aggressively smashed against an aluminum bowl. That's what it sounded like, at least.

He continued to watch you for five or so minutes, ignoring the way you began mumbling something to yourself quietly, then laughed aloud , startling him.

Suddenly, you gasped loudly, nearly dropping your rod. "I think I got something!” 

Saiki looked at your line. It wasn’t moving. At all.

You reeled it in with all the enthusiasm of someone who’d just discovered buried treasure. "Oh, wait. Never mind. It’s seaweed.” You squinted at the soggy clump on the hook. "Do you think it’s edible?”

"No.”

"Aw, you didn’t even let me finish. What if it’s a delicacy somewhere? Like… seaweed sashimi or something?”

"It’s not.”

"Well, someone’s no fun,” you huffed, tossing the seaweed back into the water. As always... you thought to yourself with an eye roll.

You cast your line again, this time with a little more force. It soared… directly into the branches of a tree on the shore. "Oops.”

Saiki sighed deeply, stepping in to untangle it while you chattered on. "Y’know, I always thought fishing would be boring, but this is actually kind of thrilling! It’s like gambling, but with fish.”

"I can’t believe I’m wasting my time like this,” Saiki muttered under his breath as he freed the line.

"Oh, come on, Saiki! Live a little!” you said, tugging the rod back from him. "Besides, I’m doing this for research.”

He raised an eyebrow. "Research?”

"Yup. For my mission!” you replied cryptically, staring at the water.

Saiki blinked. Her mission? This was new. He leaned in ever so slightly, hoping you’d elaborate, but you didn’t. Instead, you gave the rod an aggressive yank and yelled 'HA' in a tone deeper than he could ever manage.

"I GOT SOMETHING!” you shrieked, the rod bending sharply.

This time, it was moving. A lot. Saiki could tell immediately it was too big for your beginner setup, but before he could warn you, the line snapped with a loud snap. You stumbled backward, landing ungracefully on your butt.

"Curses!” you hissed dramatically, shaking your fist at the water. "You may have escaped this time, sea beast, but I will return!”

"Right,” Saiki deadpanned, offering you a hand up.

As you dusted yourself off, you turned to him with a bright grin. "This was fun, huh?”

Saiki stared at you, unsure how to respond. Objectively, this had been one of the most ridiculous experiences of his life, but he couldn’t deny there was something oddly entertaining about watching you.

"Well,” you said, slinging your rod over your shoulder like a warrior heading to battle, "the fish may have won today, but mark my words, Saiki—we’ll be back. Stronger. Smarter. Hungrier.”

He sighed. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

As you marched off toward the bus stop, humming a triumphant tune, Saiki followed, quietly contemplating how someone as unpredictable and chaotic as you could stump even his psychic powers.

You were back at it again, as relentless as a fisherman chasing Moby Dick. Bright and early the next day, you dragged Saiki out of his peaceful morning routine with a simple text message:

  °. 〔Fishing, round two. Be there or be a landlubber 🌊🎣〕 

And somehow, despite every fiber of his being screaming at him to ignore you, Saiki found himself standing on the pier again, wondering what he had done to deserve this. His telepathic abilities couldn’t explain why he couldn’t read your mind, but they did confirm that every fish within a ten-mile radius was likely smarter than you when it came to fishing tactics. 

"Today’s the day,” you announced with unearned confidence, hands on your hips like a sea captain surveying their crew. The early breeze was ruffling your hair, sun hitting your face trough the canopy of the high trees surrounding the river-bank. Your outfit was even more ridiculous this time—a life vest over a floral-patterned jumpsuit, sunglasses shaped like hearts, and a floppy bucket hat with pins that said things like “Gone Fishin’” and “Hooked on Life.” 

Saiki stared at you, then at the rod you were gripping like a weapon. "Why are we doing this again?”

"Because, Saiki,” you said, dramatically pointing to the horizon, "the ocean called me last night. In a dream. It said, ‘[name], come back and prove your worth.’ So here I am. Destiny waits for no one.”

He sighed deeply. Destiny, or your own boredom?

As you cast your line with a flourish—this time thankfully avoiding the tree—you turned to him and grinned. "Don’t worry. Today’s going to be legendary.” 

Thirty minutes in, it was clear this was not going to be legendary. Your line was completely still, and the only thing you’d managed to catch was a stray plastic bag. 

"Hey, look,” you said, holding up the soggy bag. "Eco-warrior points!” 

Saiki pinched the bridge of his nose. "That’s not how this works.” 

But your enthusiasm didn’t waver. You threw the bag into a nearby trash can and cast your line again, this time mumbling something about the “third time being the charm.” Saiki, meanwhile, sat in a camping chair you brought along for “relaxation”, watching the chaos unfold with his usual detached expression. 

He had decided to come today not because he particularly wanted to, but because your bizarre determination to fish seemed connected to that vague “mission” you mentioned yesterday. If there was any chance he could get closer to solving the mystery of why he couldn’t read your thoughts, it was worth enduring another fishing disaster. 

The problem was that you weren’t giving him much to work with. Your internal monologue, if he could hear it, was probably as chaotic as your outward behavior. 

"Okay, strategy time,” you said, pulling out a notebook. Yes, you had actually brought a notebook labeled Fishing Plans: Operation Sea King. Flipping through the pages, you pointed at a hastily drawn diagram of a fish. "The goal is simple: we attract the fish with this bait and—” 

Before you could finish, the rod in your hand suddenly jerked. 

"OH MY GOD,” you screamed, nearly dropping it. "I GOT ONE!” 

To Saiki’s surprise, the rod was bending significantly, and the line was taut. This wasn’t another piece of trash. You’d actually hooked something. 

"Don’t just stand there!” you yelled, struggling to keep hold of the rod. "Help me!” 

Saiki sighed but stepped forward, grabbing the rod with you. Together, you began to reel it in, the tension in the line making it clear that whatever was on the other end was big. 

"This is it,” you gasped, eyes wide with excitement. "This is my Moby Dick moment!” 

“It’s a fish,” Saiki deadpanned, though even he was slightly curious now.

After what felt like an eternity of tugging, the line finally surfaced, and both of you stared in shock at what you’d caught. 

It wasn’t a fish. 

It was… a shoe. A giant, ancient-looking boot, covered in seaweed and barnacles. 

"Are you kidding me?” you exclaimed, staring at the boot as if it had personally wronged you. 

Saiki, however, couldn’t help but find the situation mildly amusing. Of course, you’d manage to catch something so ridiculous. This was straight out of a 2000's cartoon.

You dropped the rod and held up the boot like it was a trophy. "Well, it’s not a fish, but it’s still a catch! What do you think, Saiki? Could I sell this on eBay as ‘vintage ocean chic’?” 

"I think we should go home,” he replied flatly, turning to leave. 

But you weren’t done yet. Tossing the boot aside, you grabbed your rod again and cast the line with renewed determination. "No way. I’m not leaving until I catch something alive.” 

Two hours later, the sun was high in the sky, and you were still empty-handed. Saiki had long since resigned himself to his fate, sitting on the pier with his arms crossed while you paced back and forth, muttering to yourself. 

"This is personal now,” you said, glaring at the water. "The fish are mocking me, I can feel it.” 

“Maybe they’re avoiding you on purpose,” Saiki said. 

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him. "You think they know something I don’t?” 

"I think this is a waste of time.” 

“Spoken like someone who’s never experienced the thrill of victory!” you retorted, pointing dramatically at the water. "Mark my words, Saiki. I’ll catch something today if it’s the last thing I do.” 

As if on cue, your line suddenly jerked again. 

For a moment, both of you stared at it in disbelief. 

"THIS IS IT!” you screamed, grabbing the rod with both hands. "SAIKI, HELP ME!” 

Reluctantly, he stood and helped you reel it in. This time, the struggle was even greater, and the anticipation was palpable. The tension was so great, it could be sliced.

When the line finally surfaced, you gasped. 

It was a fish. A real, live fish. Small, but undeniably a fish. 

You held it up triumphantly, grinning from ear to ear. "I DID IT! I AM THE MASTER OF THE SEA!” 

Saiki said nothing, but for once, he found himself almost impressed. For a while, he watched you do some sort of a 'victory dance' which resulted in almost dropping the fish back into the water, then you quickly snapped few pictures of you holding the fish.

As you carefully placed the fish in a bucket, you turned to him with a satisfied smile. "See, Saiki? I told you today would be legendary.” 

Legendary wasn’t the word he’d use, but he supposed it wasn’t the worst way to spend a morning. 

Still, as you began packing up your gear, chattering excitedly about your next fishing adventure, Saiki couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission of yours—whatever it was—was going to be far more complicated than catching a fish.

By the time you both returned to your house, fish bucket in hand, Saiki was beginning to question every decision that had led him to this point. The entire walk back, you carried the bucket like it was a prized artifact, cooing at the fish as if it were a baby. 

You'd had decided that you'd put the lonely and empty fish bowl in your living room and give life to the new and greater pet, which, hopefully, you'll take a better care of.

“Fred the Fish, huh?” you mused aloud, staring at the little guy swimming in circles. "You’ve got some big fins to fill, buddy. The last Fred was a legend.” 

Saiki glanced at you, his face as impassive as ever. "What exactly happened to the last Fred?” he remembers the tale of the last one being flushed down the gutter, surely it had a twist. This was you, after all.

You sighed dramatically, the kind of sigh that suggested deep emotional trauma. "Fred the First met an untimely demise. Long story short, I thought he’d like to experience life beyond the bowl, so I let him swim in the sink. I didn’t realize the drain was open…” 

Right, of course. Poor Fred.

Saiki blinked. "Why do I even ask?” 

"Oh, but Cat absolutely loved Fred. He'd stare at him with this look of adoration all the time, you know...“ you cooed and Saiki's eyes narrowed.

I'm pretty sure Cat was just hungry.

Once inside, you made a beeline for the living room, where the empty fishbowl sat proudly on a cluttered shelf. The label “Fred the Fish” was stuck to the front in glittery gold letters, as though this were some sort of prestigious memorial. 

"Home sweet home, Fred the Second!” you chirped, carefully pouring the fish and its water into the bowl. "You’re gonna love it here. The amenities are top-notch, and the food service is impeccable.” 

Saiki stood silently in the doorway, observing the chaos of your living room. Why were the walls painted a whole another color than he remembers? It looked like a tornado had swept through a thrift store and left behind only the weirdest items—ceramic frogs, a lava lamp that was somehow both pink and neon green, and the sandpaper couch covered in mismatched throw blankets. 

"Why is your house so…” Saiki struggled for the right word, though “chaotic” seemed too mild. 

"Feng shui,” you said matter-of-factly, not looking up from the fishbowl. "I like to keep things interesting. Saiki, you should try it. I bet you’d be less grumpy if you had a beanbag shaped like a donut.” 

He ignored the comment. "So, what now? Is Fred just going to sit there until he meets the same fate as the first one?” before your Cat manages to eat him, that is.

Speaking of Cat, he's there. Loafing around on the pile of Christmas themed socks, judging his way into Saiki's soul. He read his thoughts and was met with so much hate and judgment that he decided he was rather done with everything surrounding you.

You gasped, clutching your chest as if he’d insulted your entire lineage. "How dare you? Fred the Second is destined for greatness. I’m thinking of teaching him tricks—maybe even entering him in a fish pageant.” 

"I’m leaving,” Saiki said flatly, turning toward the door. 

"Wait!” you called, stopping him in his tracks. "You can’t just go after all the trouble you went through today! At least stay for dinner.” 

Saiki paused, considering his options. On one hand, staying meant more of your unpredictable antics. On the other hand, going home would likely lead to his mom guilt-tripping him about how he should’ve stayed to be polite. 

"Fine,” he muttered, stepping back inside. 

In the kitchen, you were a whirlwind of energy, rummaging through cabinets and pulling out random ingredients. Saiki leaned against the counter, silently watching as you debated out loud between spaghetti and something you referred to as “experimental casserole.” 

"I think spaghetti’s the safer bet,” you finally decided, grabbing a box of noodles. "Unless you’re feeling adventurous, Saiki. Are you adventurous?” 

"No.” 

"Spaghetti it is!” 

As you cooked, you continued to chatter about everything and nothing. Topics ranged from your theories about fish psychology (“Do you think Fred dreams of the ocean?”) to random observations about life (“Why are spaghetti noodles called spaghetti and not ‘long macaronis?’”). 

Saiki mostly stayed silent, occasionally nodding or grunting in response. He wasn’t sure if you were genuinely trying to make conversation or if you just liked hearing yourself talk. Probably both. 

Eventually, dinner was ready, and the two of you sat at the small dining table. The spaghetti wasn’t bad—surprisingly edible, considering how chaotic your cooking process had been. He was glad you left the shampoo theory behind.

"This is nice, isn’t it?” you said, twirling some noodles around your fork. "Just two friends, sharing a meal, bonding over a fish.” 

Saiki stared at you, wondering if you genuinely believed this counted as “bonding.” 

After dinner, you insisted on showing him the fishbowl again, pointing out how you’d arranged the decorations inside to give Fred a “theme park experience.” Saiki couldn’t help but notice that the bowl was already way too small for the fish to swim comfortably, but he decided against saying anything. 

"Thanks for sticking around today, Saiki,” you said as you walked him to the door. "Thanks to you, a new life begins.”

And ends soon, he mentally comments.

"I hadn't helped at all.” he says, raising an eyebrow. 

You grinned, unbothered. "Well, I appreciate it. You’re a good sport.” 

As he stepped outside, you waved and called after him, "Come back soon! Fred wants to see you again!” 

Saiki sighed but didn’t respond, walking across the street with his usual calm expression. Still, as much as he hated to admit it, today hadn’t been the worst day of his life. 

It had been weird, exhausting, and utterly nonsensical. But with you, that was par for the course. And somehow, against all odds, it was almost… entertaining.

Friends, huh?

Chapter Text

One particular Friday after school, you showed up unannounced at the Saiki household. You stood at the front door, balancing a suspiciously large bag that seemed to be wriggling slightly. Without waiting for anyone to answer, you rang the doorbell twice, knocked three times, and shouted, "Special delivery for the world’s most apathetic high schooler!” 

The door swung open to reveal Saiki, already exuding the energy of someone regretting every decision that led to this moment. He stared at you, then at the bag, then back at you. 

"What’s in the bag?” he asked flatly, fully prepared to regret the answer. 

"Snacks. And, uh…” You glanced at the bag as it shifted ominously. "A… surprise.”

He stared at you in silence, deciding whether it was worth his time to argue. "No animals in the house.” 

"Who said anything about animals?” you replied innocently, pushing past him into the house. 

He followed, already regretting not slamming the door in your face. "What are you doing here?” 

"Hangin’ out,” you said cheerfully, dropping the bag on the living room floor. It let out a muffled squeak, but you ignored it. "Your mom said it was cool. Where is she, by the way?” 

"Townhall meeting,” he said, watching the bag suspiciously. 

"Perfect! That means no one’s here to judge my life choices,” you said, plopping onto the couch and kicking your feet up on the coffee table. 

"I’m judging them,” Saiki deadpanned. 

You spent the next fifteen minutes rummaging through your bag, pulling out an alarming assortment of items. Saiki, sitting in his usual armchair, watched silently as you laid everything out on the floor. 

A pack of glitter pens. Three bags of chips. A miniature cactus. A harmonica. And finally, a jar of something that looked like marmalade but smelled like it could dissolve metal. 

"What is all this?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer. 

"Supplies,” you said matter-of-factly, holding up the cactus. "This is Bruce. He’s my emotional support plant.” 

Saiki stared at you, then at Bruce, then back at you. "Why are you like this?” 

"Great question,” you said, as if genuinely considering it. "Anyway, what’s the vibe today? You wanna play cards? Watch a movie? Go on a quest to find the meaning of life?” 

"None of those,” Saiki replied, but he knew better than to think you’d actually listen. He just wants one day free of your nonsense. Can't he make an actual progress on his research without you making it impossibly difficult?

At some point, you disappeared into the kitchen. Saiki didn’t bother asking why; he just waited for the inevitable chaos. Sure enough, five minutes later, you called out, "Hey, do you have a blowtorch?” 

"No.” 

"How about a flamethrower?” 

"Why would I have a flamethrower?” 

You poked your head around the corner, holding a whisk and a suspiciously full bowl. "Because you seem like the type of guy who secretly has cool gadgets.” 

Saiki stared at you, completely done. "What are you doing?” 

"Making soufflé?” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

"Why?” 

"Because I can,” you said with a shrug, disappearing back into the kitchen. 

Eventually, you returned with a plate of something that vaguely resembled food. "Ta-da! I call it [name]’s Mystery Delight!” 

Saiki eyed the plate. It looked like a science experiment gone wrong. "I’m not eating that.” 

"Rude,” you said, sitting down and taking a bite yourself. "Mmm, tastes like… potential food poisoning.” 

"That’s reassuring,” he said dryly, pushing the plate away. 

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of your usual nonsense. You tried to teach Saiki how to juggle (he refused), attempted to draw a mustache on Bruce the cactus (Saiki confiscated the glitter pens), and at one point started narrating your life like a movie trailer. 

"In a world where boredom reigns supreme, one girl dares to challenge the monotony…” 

"Stop,” Saiki said, but you continued anyway. 

"With her trusty sidekick—" You gestured dramatically to Saiki. "—the mysterious boy with a dark past and an obsession with coffee jelly, she embarks on a journey to—” 

"You’re insufferable,” he muttered. 

You shrugged. "And yet you haven’t kicked me out.” 

He didn’t have a response to that. Why does he have to babysit you? How have you not died yet? Spending few minutes with you is like being a single teacher in a kindergarten full of curious toddlers exposed to laundry detergents, metal forks and circuits.

Somehow, he managed to divert your attention to the TV by putting on world's most boring cooking show he never heard of, but you likely did as you kept referencing every single inside joke and tried your way at interpreting the overused dramatic sound effects played whenever the editors felt like putting it in.

He took the moment of stillness to read your thoughts. He almost fell out of his chair.

He could hear your voice, loud and clear. Like back then when you just debuted in his hell of a school.

I want to go home.

You want to go home? You seem pretty content in his living room right now. The pile of opened candy wrappers and crumbs says otherwise than your thoughts.

So he began brainstorming. Where is home? Back in “America” where you're supposedly from? He can't battle that theory, your English is very good and there doesn't seem to be a hint of an English or Australian accent. You often speak in southern accent, though. But he's pretty sure you do that just to get the kick out of him.

He's getting nowhere.

Saiki sighs and just watches you laugh and make a mess of his home's living space like you own the place. He'll let it be, for today, at least.

When Mrs. Saiki returned home later that evening, she found you sprawled on the couch, Saiki looking more exhausted than usual, and Bruce the cactus wearing a tiny paper hat. 

"Oh, [name], it’s so nice to see you again!” she said brightly. "Did you two have fun?” 

You grinned. "Always do, Mrs. Saiki.” 

Saiki didn’t say a word. He just stared at the ceiling, wondering how he had ended up with you in his life and why he couldn’t seem to get rid of you.

"Oh, you two should have a sleepover!” Kurumi exclaimed, her voice filled with far too much enthusiasm for something so profoundly unnecessary. She clasped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. To her, this was a brilliant bonding opportunity. To Saiki, it was the equivalent of being told to babysit a hurricane. 

Kusuo froze. He hadn’t thought it was possible for his mom to come up with an idea worse than her constant attempts to meddle in his nonexistent love life, but she’d outdone herself. A sleepover. With you.

"That’s a great idea!” you chimed in without hesitation, already imagining all the ways you could turn this into the most chaotic night of Saiki’s life. You didn’t even bother to ask if Saiki was okay with it. The idea alone was too good to pass up. 

"I don’t think that’s necessary,” the esper said flatly, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand regrets. He turned his attention to his mom, silently willing her to drop the subject. 

"Nonsense, Kusuo!” Kurumi waved him off with a smile as if he’d just told her he didn’t need air to breathe. "You two are such good friends! It’ll be fun!” 

Saiki sighed. That was her go-to argument for anything involving you. That they were “such good friends.” He didn’t have the energy to explain for the hundredth time that your definition of friendship involved terrorizing him at every opportunity. 

"I think it’s a wonderful idea!” Mr. Saiki chimed in from the kitchen, not even looking up from his magazine. Of course, he’d side with mom. Saiki’s parents were a united front when it came to torturing their son with forced social interaction. 

You grinned, already making yourself at home as you slid into one of the dining chairs and propped your chin in your hands. "I’d love to stay for dinner too, Mrs. Saiki!” 

“Oh, you’re such a sweetie!” Kurumi beamed, oblivious to the silent agony radiating off her son. 

Dinner was its own brand of chaos. Despite Kurumi’s culinary skills, you somehow managed to knock over your glass of water, spill rice onto the ceiling (a feat so grand even Saiki couldn't comprehend), and start a very animated discussion about whether or not dinosaurs could beat aliens in a fight. 

Mr. Saiki, naturally, thought you were hilarious. Kurumi found you delightful. Kusuo, meanwhile, wondered if it was possible to dissolve his antennae into his skull and escape unnoticed. 

When dinner finally ended, Mrs. Saiki ushered you and Kusuo upstairs to his room with a cheerful, "Have fun, you two! And don’t stay up too late!” 

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you and Saiki alone in his pristine, eerily organized room. 

"Wow,” you said, turning in a slow circle as you took in your surroundings. "Your room is so… neat. Like, scary neat. Do you iron your socks or something?” 

"No,” Saiki replied curtly, already regretting everything about this situation. 

You wandered over to his desk, poking at a perfectly aligned stack of manga. "Seriously, this is serial-killer level neatness. Should I be worried?” 

"No.” 

"Not exactly reassuring, but okay,” you said, moving on to his bookshelf. Your eyes landed on a nondescript box tucked onto the bottom shelf. 

"What’s in here?” 

"Don’t touch that.” 

You opened it anyway. 

"Aw, baby photos!” you exclaimed, holding up a picture of toddler Saiki with his pink hair sticking out at odd angles. "You were so cute! What happened?” 

He sighed, debating whether it was worth using his telekinesis to snatch the box out of your hands. "Put that back.” 

"Oh my God, you look exactly the same! Same deadpan expression and everything!” you laughed, flipping through the photos while Saiki resigned himself to his fate. 

By the time midnight rolled around, you showed no signs of slowing down. First, you made a quick run to your house to grab yourself your pajamas and a change of clothes for tomorrow. Saiki had instantly locked the door behind you, but you somehow found your way in, which scared him immensely. You’d also rearranged Saiki’s desk (“It needed more pizzazz,” you’d insisted), tried and failed to teach him shadow puppets, wanted to play charades but was coldly rejected, and were now sprawled on his floor, doodling in a notebook you’d found in one of his drawers. 

It was as blank as him.

"What are you drawing?” Saiki asked, not because he cared, but because the silence was almost worse than your usual chaos. 

"Plans for a secret base,” you replied, holding up a page filled with oddly specific blueprints. "It’s gonna have a slide that goes straight into a pool of jellybeans. Cool, right?” 

"No.” 

"You’re no fun.” you stuck your tongue out at him before flipping to a fresh page. "Okay, new idea. What if—” 

“Go to sleep.” 

You gasped. "Telling a guest to sleep? Rude!” 

"You’re not a guest. You’re an invader.” 

Eventually, exhaustion won out, and you fell asleep on Saiki’s floor, your snores surprisingly quiet for someone so chaotic. Saiki stared at you for a moment, debating whether to leave you there or carry you downstairs to the couch. 

In the end, he draped a blanket over you and returned to his bed, sighing as he lay back. 

"Why can’t I read your thoughts?” he muttered to himself, staring at the ceiling. "What makes you so different?” 

He didn’t have an answer. But as frustrating as it was, he couldn’t deny that your unpredictability was… oddly entertaining. 

Not that he’d ever admit that out loud.

It was the middle of the night when you bolted upright, your blanket flying off like a bad horror movie cliché. Saiki had been peacefully asleep—or as peaceful as he could be knowing you were in his house—when he felt the distinct disturbance of your presence. 

"Kusuo!” you whisper-yelled, your voice tinged with urgency. 

Saiki cracked an eye open, his psychic senses immediately on high alert. The sudden usage of his first name couldn't mean anything good. If you’d somehow managed to set the house on fire, he was going to— "Wake up! It’s an emergency!” 

"What?” he asked flatly, not even bothering to sit up. 

"I need to pee,” you whispered dramatically. 

Silence.

"And?” 

"And I can’t go alone!” you hissed, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Saiki stared at you, his deadpan expression more eloquent than any words he could have mustered. He was too tired for your ridiculousness. "... Why?” 

"Because!” you said, clutching the blanket to your chest like it was a shield against some unseen terror. "What if the Dragger is in there?” 

He blinked, utterly unimpressed. "The what?” 

" The Dragger ! You know, the urban legend! She's got like, these creepy dolls tied to her and she tries to pull poeple inside a lake or something! What if one’s hiding in your bathroom right now?” 

Saiki’s mind briefly entertained the image of what you just described. He doesn't believe in urban legends. Mainly because they're not real. And if they are, they are made up from poeple who believe them and actually fear the. He immediately regretted it. 

"That’s ridiculous,” he said, pulling the blanket over his head in an attempt to ignore you. 

"It’s not ridiculous!” you protested, yanking the blanket back off him, leaving him to stare up at the ceiling as you just went on. Kill me now. "Do you know how many times I’ve seen her in my nightmares? Once is too many!” 

"I’m not walking you to the bathroom,” he muttered. 

You gasped, as if he’d just denied you basic human rights. "What kind of host are you?! She could be inside the toilet, waiting for me to go relief myself! What if I get attacked?! ” 

"By a toilet.” 

" By a toilet !”

Saiki sighed, realizing that you weren’t going to leave him alone. It was either deal with this now or endure your rambling about haunted plumbing for the rest of the night. Begrudgingly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. 

The journey to the bathroom was short, but you made it feel like a trek through a haunted forest. You clung to Saiki’s sleeve like your life depended on it, your eyes darting around the hallway as though expecting a porcelain predator to leap out at any moment. 

"Do you hear that?” you whispered, pausing in your steps. 

"No.”

"I swear I heard something!” 

"It’s your imagination.” 

"Or it’s the Dragger,” you countered, gripping his sleeve tighter, your teeth clicking in fear. 

"It’s not.” 

"But what if it is?” 

"It’s not,” he repeated, his voice as monotone as ever. 

When you finally reached the bathroom, you hesitated at the door, peering inside like a soldier scouting enemy territory. 

"You should check it first,” you said, stepping back and gesturing for him to go in. 

"I’m not checking the bathroom.” 

"Come on, just a quick sweep! Look under the sink!” 

Saiki pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering why he hadn’t just teleported you to the bathroom and been done with it. "There’s nothing in there.” 

"Fine, but if I scream, you’d better come running,” you warned before cautiously stepping inside. 

A minute later, you emerged unscathed, looking smug. "See? That wasn’t so bad!” 

Saiki stared at you, exhausted. "You made me get up for this.” 

"So what? You were almost like a knight!” you declared, patting his shoulder like he’d just accomplished something monumental. 

As the two of you walked back to his room, you glanced over at him. "You’re a pretty good bodyguard, you know. Maybe you should make it a side hustle.” 

"No.” 

"You don’t even have to fight the toilets! Just escort people to safety!” 

"No.” 

"Think about it: Kusuo, Paranormal Toilet Hunter!” 

Saiki didn’t dignify that with a response. 

Fortunately, you made it back to his room in one piece, though as he settled in his bed, ready to continue his slumber, you were wide awake, asking him if he could read you a fairytale.

"Are you serious?“

"Okay, goodnight.“ you said, turning your back to him and he sighed.

When you finally fell back asleep, Kusuo laid awake, staring at the ceiling and questioning every decision that had led to this moment. 

He still couldn’t read your thoughts. But honestly? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was going on in your head. 

If your obsession with haunted toilets was anything to go by, it was probably better left a mystery.

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains of Kusuo’s bedroom, casting a warm glow on what should have been a peaceful morning. Instead, the pinknette opened his eyes to find himself on the floor, staring at the underside of his desk. 

It took him exactly half a second to process his current situation. 

One, he was on the floor. 

Two, you were in his bed, sprawled out like a starfish and snoring very loudly.

Three, he had no recollection of how this switch had occurred. 

For a brief moment, he debated whether or not to question it. Then he remembered who he was dealing with. 

Of course this happened. 

You stirred, letting out a sleepy groan as you stretched your arms over your head. One of your legs dangled precariously off the bed, and Saiki watched as you yawned like a lazy cat waking from a nap. 

"Morning, Kusuo!” you greeted cheerfully, your voice chipper despite the ungodly hour. Using his first name again... What's gotten into you?

He stared at you. "What are you doing in my bed?” 

You blinked at him as if the question were absurd. "Sleeping, obviously.” 

"I was sleeping there last night,” he said flatly, gesturing at the bed. 

"Well, now you’re on the floor,” you replied, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. "Looks like you downgraded.” 

Saiki pinched the bridge of his nose. "How did this even happen?” 

"I have no idea,” you admitted, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. "Maybe you sleepwalked?” 

"I don’t sleepwalk.” 

"Maybe I sleepwalked?” 

"That sounds more likely,” he muttered under his breath. 

You grinned, clearly not bothered by the oddity of the situation. "Well, at least you didn’t end up outside or something. Could’ve been worse!” 

Saiki sighed, deciding not to pursue the matter further. With you, it was better to let things slide before they spiraled into even more chaos. 

As you made your way downstairs, still in your mismatched pajamas that somehow involved a shirt with a cartoon egg and striped pants, you found breakfast already waiting. Saiki’s parents had left a note on the counter: 

     【Good morning, Kuu-chan and [name]! We’re off to the store. There’s food in the fridge. Be good! ~Mom <3】

You held the note up for Saiki to see. "Your mom is so cute. She even put a heart! My mom just sends me texts like, ‘Don’t burn the house down.’” back in your universe, at least.

Saiki ignored you and sat down at the table. 

"What’s for breakfast?” you asked, peeking into the fridge. 

"There’s toast,” he replied, hoping you’d go for something simple. 

Instead, you pulled out a carton of eggs and a block of cheese.
"Let’s make omelets!” 

Saiki watched in silent horror as you attempted to cook. He'd already seen you cook like, what, three times? All of the attempts somehow ended up looking horrible, yet edible. Besides the soufflé you attempted yesterday.

To your credit, you seemed confident in what you were doing. Too confident. You cracked eggs into a bowl with the finesse of a sledgehammer and whisked them so vigorously that some splattered onto the counter, some onto the floor and some onto Saiki's cheek. 

"Cooking is an art, Kusuo,” you declared, sprinkling an unreasonable amount of salt into the mixture. 

"It’s a basic survival skill,” he corrected. 

"And I’m surviving artistically,” you shot back, dumping in more salt. 

Saiki debated whether to intervene, but before he could, you poured the mixture into a frying pan. The sizzling sound was almost comforting until you grabbed the block of cheese and started grating it directly into the pan. 

"That's too much cheese.” 

"Don’t question the process,” you interrupted, dramatically flipping the omelet with a spatula. 

The result was… edible, but just barely. You placed the misshapen omelet on a plate and slid it in front of Saiki with a flourish. The... Food, question mark, emitted this sort of... pathetic and dead aura. He's plenty sure that if hell could be a food, this would be it.

"You know what they say in France! Voilá!” you said, beaming. 

You mean Bon appétit, Saiki thought with an eye roll.

He poked at it with his chopsticks, unsure if it was safe to eat. The omelet stared back at him, metaphorically speaking. 

"Don’t worry, it’s good!” you assured him, already taking a bite of your own creation. 

Saiki sighed and took a small bite. To his surprise, it wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t good, either, but it was passable. 

"See? You know I'm a culinary genius,” you said, grinning proudly. 

"That’s one way to describe it,” he muttered. Even Nendo knows his way around the kitchen better than you and that's a lot to say.

After breakfast, you lounged on the couch, flipping through the channels on the TV. Saiki sat across the room, silently sipping his morning coffee and wondering how much longer he’d have to endure your company. 

"So,” you began, breaking the silence, "what’s the plan for today?” 

Survive, he thought.

"I don’t have one,” he replied. 

"Great! That means we can hang out all day!” 

He sighed, already regretting his life choices. 

As you rambled on about potential activities—including but not limited to karaoke, bird-watching, and possibly hunting for Bigfoot—Saiki couldn’t help but wonder if there was some cosmic reason he couldn’t read your thoughts. 

Maybe the universe was protecting him. 

Or maybe it was just punishing him.

Either way, he had to admit, this was his ever first sleep over.

Chapter Text

The classroom was practically vibrating with excitement. Desks screeched against the floor as students dragged them into poorly thought-out clusters. Papers fluttered through the air like confetti at a very underfunded parade. Yumehara was already snapping selfies, captioning them things like, "Can't wait for Okinawa! #SunsetVibes #BestTripEver."

And then there was you. 

Rocking back and forth in your chair like a kid who just got handed an unlimited slushie voucher, grinning as if the universe itself had handed you a pineapple-scented invitation to paradise. 

"Okinawa,” you breathed out dreamily, clutching the edges of your desk. "Do you think they have pineapple fields there?” 

Saiki, the poor soul forced to sit behind you, didn’t respond. Not out of politeness (as if), but because he was currently using his psychic powers to stop your chair from tipping over backward. Again. You fell, like, twelve minutes ago, sending both you and Saiki's desk tumbling to the floor.

"Wow,” you muttered, crossing your arms when his silence stretched a little too long for comfort. "Someone’s really excited for this trip.” 

Saiki said nothing, but if you squinted just right, you could almost see the cartoon storm cloud forming over his head. 

At the front of the room, Hairo was in full “I’m going to lead this class to greatness” mode. Clipboard clutched like a holy relic, chest puffed out, voice booming as he addressed the teacher. 

"It seems Mera won’t be able to go,” Hairo announced, and the room collectively gasped like he’d just told them the school was canceling lunch. 

Yumehara, in particular, let out a wail so dramatic it could’ve earned her a standing ovation in a community theater production. "Noooo! Mera was going to be in our group! What are we gonna do?!” 

You frowned, tilting your head. "Wait, why can’t she go?” 

Hairo sighed, the weight of the world—or at least the weight of reorganizing group arrangements—on his shoulders. "Apparently, they didn’t fish enough tuna.” 

"Tuna?” You blinked. "Like... from the sea?” 

"Yes, [name],” Hairo said, visibly restraining himself from adding, where else would tuna come from?

Before you could interrogate the logistics of this tuna tragedy, Teruhashi leaned in with some lengthy explanation about family businesses or whatever. You tuned her out immediately. Not out of malice, but because you’d already figured out that Teruhashi hated you, and honestly? Same. 

Why wouldn’t she? You—walking chaos with no remarkable features—were inexplicably always near Saiki. To her, that was basically treason. 

But you didn’t care. You had pineapples to think about. 
 

The moment Hairo declared Mera couldn’t go, the classroom descended into a madhouse. People scrambled to redo their groups, shouting over each other like traders at a stock exchange. 

"Let’s just draw straws!” you suggested, propping your feet up on your desk and observing the chaos like a queen surveying her kingdom. 

"This isn’t a game!” Hairo snapped, clipboard trembling as he tried to restore order. 

Kuboyasu groaned from across the room, muttering, "This is ridiculous.” 

You mimicked his words in a sing-song voice, earning yourself an eye-roll so massive it might’ve sprained something. 

Somehow, by divine intervention or sheer dumb luck, you ended up in Saiki’s group. Along with Yumehara, Teruhashi, Kuboyasu and for a reason nobody knows—Takahashi.

The look Saiki shot you when the final groups were announced could’ve frozen the sun. 

"Looks like we’re spending the trip together,” you said cheerfully, ignoring the death glare burning a hole in the back of your head.

But that wasn't entirely over.

Many students began to argue that Mera not being able to go only complicated things and honestly—you were mad too. No Kaido to tease, no Nendo to entertain you. So you had stepped up your game.

"Not to flex or anything—” you began and Saiki's frown only deepened. "But I could pay for Mera.” you offered and everyone, for the first time ever when it came to you—cheered.

You weren't exactly despised, but you weren't liked either.

But you couldn't care less about it. You're here until you complete your mission which is still (not) your first priority.

The narrator's voice echoed in your head and you rolled your eyes. "How generous of you,” it said. "Doesn't help that you're two percent away from being bullied.”

The chaos eventually wound up down and everyone was in high spirits again, save for dissatisfied Teruhashi fan boys who were already setting up a somber campfire session in the corner of the room, muttering on and about that they should just not go. Just because they didn't end up with the solar flare herself? Lame.

As the day wound down, you started mentally preparing for the trip. And by mentally preparing, you meant daydreaming about jet skis and pineapple plantations while humming the theme song to a cartoon which has very annoying lyrics that features three almost identical names continued by nonstop whistling.

"You do realize jet skis aren’t on the itinerary, right?” Kuboyasu said, breaking your reverie. 

You waved him off. "It’s called improvising, Kuboyasu. Ever heard of it?” 

Saiki, who had been silently monitoring your internal musical session (which was even more strange than usual), briefly considered faking an injury to skip the trip.

But no. His parents would see through it in a heartbeat. Instead, he resigned himself to his fate. 

Because if there was one thing Saiki knew for sure, it was this: 

With you in the mix, this trip was doomed. 

The day of the trip arrived with all the subtlety of a marching band. The bus to the airport was packed with students chatting loudly, snapping selfies, and somehow managing to spill chips despite the fact that the bus wasn’t even moving yet. 

You were, of course, at the center of the commotion, holding court like a celebrity on a world tour. 

"We’re going to Okinawa, people!” you yelled, standing on your seat. "Pineapples! Beaches! Jet-Ski!” Kuboyasu pinched the bridge of his nose. There. Won't. Be. Jet. Ski.

"Sit down, [name]!” Hairo barked from the front, clipboard in hand, his veins already threatening to burst from the sheer effort of maintaining order. 

You plopped back into your seat with a grin, leaning toward Saiki, who was staring at the window with the intensity of someone trying to astral project out of his current situation. 

"Hey, do you think they’ll let us surf?” you asked. 

Saiki didn’t respond, but you could practically hear his mental No.

However, the high spirits from before didn't last longer than five minutes. For whatever reason the deities above had, they just had to set up a hurricane over Japan and have your flight canceled.

Upon hearing Mr. Matsuzaki say that the trip will be canceled as well, instead of postponed, you dramatically fell to your knees, your luggage rolling off into the background. "My Jet-Ski...” you gripped your fists.

The whole group of students fell into dismay. Kaido, who was confidently rattling about how pointless this trip would be was silently sobbing to himself, Kuboyasu was as usually displaying his unbothered face, but there was a hint of disappointment evident in his eyes.

Nendo was flashing himself and Yumehara ate all her snacks while Hairo kept yelling "Don't give up, Sun" at the sky.

Saiki sighed. Good grief.

"Well, Kusuo. It seems that—” as you paused your soap opera performance and turned to Saiki, wanting to ask him to go buy you a snack in the airport food bar, he was nowhere to be found. After a brief while of you aimlessly wandering the airport, he returned, walking out of the bathrooms.

"We're you peeing? Only losers don't hold their bladder until they get home.”

You're an idiot, he thought.

Like a miracle, the sky cleared up and the trip was continued before the teachers could usher anyone back home and you cheered loud enough for your neighborhood to hear.

This will be epic.

By some miracle (or curse, depending on who you asked), you were seated next to Saiki on the plane. 

"This is going to be awesome,” you declared as you buckled your seatbelt. 

Saiki closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, clearly hoping the flight would pass quickly. Unfortunately for him, you had other plans. 

"Do you think they serve pineapple juice on this flight?” 

"Do you think the beach will have those little crabs that run sideways?” 

"Do you think—” 

"Stop” Saiki finally interrupted, his voice calm but tinged with psychic exhaustion. "I think you should shut up.” 

You grinned. "Aw, thanks! That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

Before Saiki could respond, Nendo leaned over from the row behind you, chomping loudly on a bag of peanuts. "Hey, pal! Wanna trade seats with me? I got the middle seat, and it’s kinda cramped, y’know?” 

"No,” Saiki said immediately, not even bothering to open his eyes. 

"I’ll trade seats with you, Nendo!” you offered, much to Saiki’s horror. 

But before Nendo could agree, the flight attendant announced takeoff, and you were forced to stay in your assigned seat. Saiki sighed in relief, only for that relief to vanish five seconds later when you started narrating the entire takeoff experience like you were hosting a nature documentary. 

Once the plane was in the air, things only got worse. 

Yumehara and Teruhashi, seated over the aisle, were huddled together, whispering loudly about their plans to accidentally bump into Saiki's group during the trip. Kuboyasu was glaring at the in-flight magazine like it had personally offended him. Kaidou was nervously clutching the armrests, muttering something about turbulence being caused by “dark forces.” 

He was sick just before, because he couldn't find his medicine. You helped him search his belongings multiple times, but somehow, it was in his bag all along.

Strange... You thought, but that thought didn't last long as you got distracted by a very interesting shaped cloud and flew over to the window, landing in Saiki's lap, making him internally want to set you on fire.

Apparently Takahashi got sick as well and if you counted correctly, Saiki went to take a leak every five minutes for two times already.

Strange. But you brushed the thought off. Probably prostate problems.

The plane was a buzz with excitement.

And you? You were trying to see how many pretzels you could fit in your mouth at once. 

"Stop that,” Saiki muttered as you attempted to shove a fourth pretzel in. 

"Why? Afraid I’ll choke and ruin the vibe?” 

"Exactly.” 

You swallowed the pretzels with a dramatic flourish, then leaned closer to Saiki, your expression suddenly serious. "So, if you were a pineapple, what kind of pineapple would you be?” 

Saiki stared at you, unblinking. "I’m starting to think this trip was a mistake.” 

"Too late now!” you chirped, leaning back in your seat. 

The Okinawa trip had been miraculously smooth sailing after the “small incident” on the plane—aka, the moment Saiki had to telekinetically stop the whole aircraft from plummeting mid-air while you choked on a bag of peanuts and didn’t even notice. Since then? Flawless. You found yourself sitting next to the esper on the bus, though, which was probably punishment enough for him.

You’d considered sitting with Kaido or Nendo, or even poor Aren, but Kuboyasu was next to Kaido, while Nendo took up two seats by himself. You stared at Kaido with the intensity of someone who had just been abandoned by their last remaining brain cell, while Nendou simply waved at you like he didn’t just ruin your seating plans. Rude.

Of course, you and Saiki immediately got into a "heated debate" over the window seat, though to Saiki, it was just you screeching about “needing to see the view for inspiration” while he internally counted down the seconds until his next headache.

And as if that wasn't enough, Kaido started going off in a weird, half-hearted Okinawan accent about “the sights of Okinawa’s mystical energy,” while Nendo was loudly counting every pothole they hit. Saiki was gripping his temples by the first minute.

Meanwhile, you were unusually quiet, casually scrolling on your phone and sneaking a drag from a cola-flavored vape. When the teacher, suspicious of the mysterious smoke cloud near the back, asked what was going on, you blamed it on your “faulty power bank overheating,” which she completely bought. Saiki looked over, unimpressed, and you simply mimicked his face back at him before returning to double-tapping anime edits and humming the lyrics to songs entirely inappropriate for a school trip.

Soon, Yumehara leaned over, gushing about her new swimsuit and how excited she was to hit the beach. You couldn’t hold back a massive eye-roll when she asked about your choice of swim-wear. "It’s normal, okay?” you muttered, exasperated, causing her and Teruhashi to exchange glances. When she pressed, asking if it was a regular bikini, you shot back sarcastically, "No, it’s a space suit. What do you think?”

This earned an uproar of laughter—Saiki even let the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Nendo, however, took you literally. "Whoa, a real astronaut outfit! Can’t wait to see that!”

Before you knew it, everyone was listening to your random stories, laughing at your wildly exaggerated life events (even Mr. Matsuzaki was chuckling—a major “DILF goal” achieved). Seizing the opportunity, Saiki peeked into your mind, hoping for a break from the usual AK-47 sound effects and rap lyrics. To his surprise, he actually heard coherent thoughts—but unfortunately, they were still total nonsense.

You finished one story with an exaggerated; "And that’s how I discovered what slick was!” while elbowing Saiki in the temple as you laughed. He silently groaned, rubbing his head, all while you ignored him to regale the others with yet another tall tale. Even Teruhashi, still prattling on about her swimsuit, couldn’t capture his attention while you stole the show.

Kaido’s genuine enthusiasm only encouraged you further, and you prepared to launch into yet another story when the teacher announced the bus stop. You grumbled, hoisting your backpack from under the seat, nudging Saiki to hurry up. When he took too long, you shamelessly climbed over him, nearly toppling into the aisle.

Saiki sighed. "Idiot…”

Outside, as the group gathered, you immediately veered off, loudly proclaiming that you desperately needed a bathroom. Moments later, Saiki found a flustered Kaido and a snickering Nendo, who were glancing toward some bushes where you emerged, nonchalantly fixing your uniform.

"Ah, so breezy today, don’t you think?” you commented, walking past him. He sighed, mentally begging for this trip to end quickly.

The hike to the beach was short, but you couldn’t resist snapping photos of everything, marveling like you’d just arrived on another planet. Naturally, you cornered Aren, Nendo and Kaido for a picture by a random statue that Kaido then began talking to. Saiki kept his distance, exhausted from having to save everyone on the plane, only to have you practically shove a camera in his face.

"Hey, Kusuo, penny for your thoughts?” you asked, blinding him with a flash. You showed him the blurry photo of him scowling and laughed like a maniac, catching the attention of Takahashi, who you then yelled at for absolutely no reason.

"What did I do?” he shouted back.

"Nothing! Just… practicing for later if something goes wrong.” you shrugged, skipping back to your friends. Saiki silently cursed, wondering why he felt responsible for your utter lack of self-control. Ever since stepping off the plane, he couldn't shake off feeling of unease. Like, something horrible is going to happen. But he shook it off as exhaustion from all the over usage of his powers today.

You then decided you were too tired to walk and demanded Saiki give you a piggyback ride. When he refused, you smacked his shoulder, calling him a “useless unicorn” until he relented just to shut you up. As he carried you, you gleefully exclaimed, "Onward, my noble steed!” making him instantly regret his decision.

When you finally dismounted, you criticized his “poor carrying form” and suggested he get on all fours next time. In response, he almost dropped you right there.

Eventually, he managed to lose you in the crowd, teleported back home for a power nap, and hoped you’d stay out of trouble. Meanwhile, you realized you’d lost the group and began circling like a confused NPC, humming a tune while considering your options. Shouting “PK Academy!” loudly probably made you look like a very passionate school cheerleader, but no one offered help.

Just when all hope seemed lost, you heard a familiar voice—Takahashi’s. Your savior… or, well, not really. "Oh, Takahashi,” you sighed, clearly disappointed. But he led you back to the group, where the teacher scolded you for being “irresponsible for an almost-adult.” You shrugged, muttering that it would’ve been better to be scolded by Mr. Matsuzaki, and promptly invented a story about chasing a stray kitten, which the teacher reluctantly accepted.

Meanwhile, Cat was being cared for by Saiki’s dad, who was thrilled at the chance to pet-sit, albeit very confused by the stacks of cash you handed him as “cat-sitting money.” Fred the Second was being fed as well and is happily enjoying his new life!

Back in town, you found Teruhashi eyeing Saiki. Hiding behind a fruit stall, you watched her approach, but accidentally knocked over a basket of oranges, causing Saiki to facepalm as you dashed over, casually slinging an arm around him.

To everyone’s horror (Saiki’s most of all), you shouted, "Let’s all explore the town together!” Yumehara immediately clung to Kaido, while Nendo suggested ramen, and Kaido insisted on window-shopping. Aren was unusually quiet.

To top it off, you pulled out your black card with a grin. "Don’t worry, gang, mommy’s got this!”

Saiki nearly gagged as you called yourself “mommy” and waved your card around like you were a wealthy game show host. As you led the group, Saiki trailed along, bags piling up in his arms because, of course, he was your designated pack mule.

At one point, you and Saiki ended up alone in the tackiest section of the store, where you grabbed a ridiculous horned hat and posed in the mirror. "I am… the Magical Goat Warrior!”

"...You’re insane,” Saiki muttered.

"Pfft, you’re just jealous!” you threw the hat behind you with a dramatic flair and waltzed over to some absurdly glittery clothing racks, Saiki begrudgingly following—because at this rate, he didn’t have a choice.

The gnawing feeling he had was getting worse.

Chapter Text

Okinawa's quaint streets were a bizarre mix of charm and chaos, much like your life lately. After the town shenanigans and a bout of "accidental diarrhea" (a phrase you never thought you'd live to utter), you found yourself tagging along with Kuboyasu, Kaido, Nendo, and Saiki, exploring what the town had to offer. Well, "exploring" might be a generous term. It was more like aimlessly wandering until something weird caught your attention, which, in this case, was an ominously dark shop with a faded sign that probably read “Ye Olde Curse Emporium” if you squinted hard enough. 

Your eyes trailed away from the store to the street upon hearing a strange chiming sound. There, was a black cat, running across the road, narrowly missing being hit by a car. You shook your head and returned your attention back to the store ahead.

It stood out immediately, its shadowed entrance flanked by faded lanterns and a sign so worn it was practically illegible. If there was ever a place that screamed "You’ll definitely regret entering here," it was this one. Naturally, you waltzed right in, brushing past the fake cobwebs draped over the doorway like you were born to cause trouble. The inside of the shop was even worse: shelves packed with mismatched trinkets, jars filled with indeterminate substances, and a general vibe of “this is where curses come to die.”  

"Now this is awesome,” you declared, striding confidently through a tangle of another set fake cobwebs. You didn’t even flinch as the synthetic strands clung to your hair. 

"What's awesome about fake junk?” Kuboyasu grumbled, arms crossed as he reluctantly followed. He reached out to pick up a particularly grotesque ceramic statue, his nose wrinkling in disdain. 

Sliding into the scene like a chaotic sitcom character, you grinned and plucked the statue from his hands before he could smash it. "Oh, I’m buying this,” you declared with the confidence of someone who had no idea what they were doing. "This baby’s going straight into Takahashi’s room. He’ll wake up, see this thing staring at him, and ascend straight into the afterlife out of sheer terror.”

"Ascend? More like descend,” Kaido muttered ominously, already clutching the back of Nendo’s shirt like it was a life preserver. His wide eyes locked onto the statue. "Could it be... the cursed artifact of the Dark Reunion!?”

"I wouldn’t mess with that one,” an old man croaked, his voice tinged with fear as he approached your group. "That statue is cursed. It’s been here since the Heian era. No one dares take it.”

"Oh, give me a break,” Kuboyasu growled, backing away from the statue like it might sprout legs and chase him. "This is obviously a scam to scare the tourists.” 

The shopkeeper’s face grew more serious, his eyes dull and lifeless as he stared straight at you. "Believe me or don’t, but I’ve seen things. That statue is no fake.” 

You exchanged a glance with Kuboyasu, whose rebellious aura was clearly shaken. The delinquent stepped back, muttering cuss words of discomfort. But instead of stepping back, you stepped forward, placing yen on the counter. "Sold.” 

Even Saiki’s usually unshakable poker face seemed to falter for a second as he glanced between you and the statue. It wasn’t fake. It wasn’t his problem, but it definitely wasn’t fake. Spirits and ghosts were real, even if curses were debatable. And this statue? It had a vibe that made him uncomfortable, which was saying something for a guy who regularly dealt with supernatural nonsense. He debated whether to warn you, but then again, he figured you’d learn your lesson soon enough. And this statue? Definitely had some weird vibes. This might be the cause of his impending headache.

Kaido, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with terror, clutching Nendo’s arm like it was a life raft. "You're really sick in the head,” he hissed, his voice high-pitched with panic. 

You stuffed the statue into your bag, rolling your eyes. "Relax. It’s fake.” 

Saiki disagreed internally.

"You've really done it,” Kuboyasu mumbled dramatically, his voice trembling as you shouldered the bag. 

"Done what?” you shot back with a raised eyebrow. "Bought the perfect conversation starter for my living room?" 

Aren didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the shopkeeper, who watched you leave with a mix of pity and horror. You ignored them all, happily trailing after the group as they filed out of the shop. 

Saiki lingered for a second longer, glancing at the shelf where the statue had once sat. It didn’t make sense, he told himself. Nothing ever did when it came to you. But for the first time in a long time, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this was going to be a bigger problem than anyone expected.

The walk back to the meeting point was uneventful at first, the group bantering as usual. Kuboyasu grumbled about the waste of money that “stupid, creepy statue” had been, Kaido alternated between nervous glances at your bag and whispering about Dark Reunion conspiracies, and Nendo laughed at absolutely nothing, his booming guffaws filling the narrow streets. Saiki trudged along behind, exuding the energy of someone being dragged to their own execution. 

But you? You walked with a spring in your step, the newly acquired statue peeking out from your bag like some sort of macabre trophy. You felt victorious, though over what, you weren’t entirely sure. Maybe the shopkeeper’s ominous warnings had fed into your rebellious streak. Maybe the uneasy looks from your classmates were just too entertaining to pass up. Or maybe—just maybe—you didn’t really believe anything bad would happen. 

You were wrong. 

The first sign came when your shoelaces untied themselves. Now, you weren’t the kind of person who believed in omens. A black cat crossing your path was just a cat going about its day. Breaking a mirror was simply an excuse to buy a new one. And yet, as you bent down to tie your laces, an inexplicable chill swept over you, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. 

"Just the wind,” you muttered under your breath. 

The second sign was the cat. It wasn’t just any cat—it was the same black one that had crossed the road earlier, before you entered the shop. Only this time, it sat in the middle of the street, its piercing yellow eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that felt almost... knowing. For a moment, the world seemed to quiet around you, the chatter of your classmates fading into the background. The cat didn’t move, didn’t blink. 

"Creepy little thing,” you whispered, shaking your head as you hurried to catch up with the group. 

The third sign came shortly after. A sharp pain bloomed in your temple, sudden and unexplainable. You stumbled slightly, clutching your head as the world tilted on its axis. The voices around you became distorted, like a poorly tuned radio. For a moment, you could have sworn you heard something—a whisper, faint and fleeting, just at the edge of comprehension. 

"...minE…” 

You froze. 

"What was that?” you murmured aloud, glancing around. Nobody seemed to notice your pause, too caught up in their own conversations. Even Saiki, usually hyperaware of everything, didn’t look back. 

Shaking it off, you forced yourself to keep walking, but the uneasy feeling only grew. The weight of the statue in your bag felt heavier somehow, like it was pulling you down, anchoring you to something unseen. You didn’t believe in curses. You didn’t. But the whispers at the back of your mind, the static-like hum that seemed to follow you, were beginning to test that conviction. 

It wasn’t until you reached an intersection that you realized how far you’d fallen behind. The rest of the group was already at the meeting point in the distance, chatting with the returning classmates. You hesitated at the edge of the sidewalk, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. 

Something was wrong. 

The narrator’s voice, which had been unusually quiet since the shop, finally spoke up. But this time, it wasn’t sarcastic or mocking. It was serious. Grave. 

"Do you feel it yet?” 

"Feel what?” you whispered, your eyes darting around. 

"The curse.” 

You scoffed, though it lacked your usual bravado. "Don’t start with me. It’s not real.” 

"Isn’t it?” the voice challenged. "You’ve felt it already. The shoelaces. The cat. The pain. You’re being marked. It’s no coincidence.” 

Your breath hitched. "That’s ridiculous. This isn’t a horror story. This is—” 

"A comedy, yes. But even comedies have their moments of truth, don’t they?” 

The voice was different now, quieter, as if it were trying to coax you into admitting something you didn’t want to face. The weight in your bag grew heavier still, and for the first time, you genuinely considered tossing the statue into the nearest trash bin. 

But you didn’t. Instead, you picked up your pace.

The others were a good twenty paces ahead now, their chatter and laughter a faint hum against the background of the bustling Okinawan streets. You deliberately trailed behind, your steps slower than necessary, head tilted back as you squinted at the late afternoon sun peeking through the palm trees. 

"You really can’t be bothered to keep up, can you?” the narrator piped up, its voice cutting through the soft drone of your surroundings. 

You smirked, shoving your hands into your pockets. "Oh, I’m sorry, was this a race? I must’ve missed the starting pistol.” 

"You know what I mean. You’ve been dragging your feet all day.” 

"Maybe I just like to take in the scenery. Ever think of that, genius?” 

The narrator sighed, the kind of long-suffering sound reserved for someone who’d had to deal with you for far too long. "You’re stalling.” 

You rolled your eyes. "Stalling for what?” 

"For what’s coming. You know it as well as I do.” 

You frowned at that, the teasing retort dying on your lips. A silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the distant calls of your classmates and the occasional honk of a car. 

"What are you even talking about?” you finally muttered, your voice quieter now. 

"The cracks are showing, [name],” the narrator said, its tone uncharacteristically serious. "You’ve overstayed your welcome here.” 

You stopped walking. A slight breeze ruffled your hair, carrying the scent of saltwater and fried street food. The weight of the statue in your bag seemed heavier, like it was dragging you down into the asphalt. 

"What are you saying?” you asked, your tone sharper than intended. "I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” 

"Is it?” The voice was softer now, almost sympathetic. "You weren’t supposed to stay this long. This world isn’t built for you. You’re starting to unravel it.” 

"That’s ridiculous,” you snapped, shaking your head. "I’ve done nothing but blend in. If anything, this world’s better with me in it. Plus, you never said anything about a time limit!” 

"I hadn't expected that the mission would take you this long!” the voice barked, but then sighed. "Blend in? More like, cause trouble wherever you go?”

You rolled your eyes again, groaning. "Everything is under my control. I'm making progress.”

The narrator chuckled dryly. "Sure, tell yourself that. But you’ve noticed it, haven’t you? The way things feel... off. The way time doesn’t quite move the same here. You’re holding the seams of this world hostage, [name]. And sooner or later, it’s going to snap back.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but something stopped you. 

A flicker of something behind your eyelids. A memory. 

It wasn’t the vibrant streets of Okinawa or the ridiculous antics of your classmates. It was... home. Your real home. 

A cramped apartment with peeling wallpaper and a perpetually dripping kitchen faucet. The hum of a secondhand fridge that always ran too loud. The faint scent of coffee grounds and laundry detergent. 

You swallowed hard, the image fading as quickly as it came. 

"You’re remembering,” the narrator said quietly. "Aren’t you?” 

You shook your head violently, trying to dispel the sudden tightness in your chest. "So what if I am? It doesn’t mean anything. I’m happy here. I have friends, freedom, unlimited money—” 

"—and no roots,” the narrator interrupted. "No future. This isn’t your life, [name]. It’s a distraction. A detour. And the longer you stay, the harder it’s going to be to go back.” 

"I don’t care!” you yelled, startling a few passersby who glanced your way with raised eyebrows. You lowered your voice, your hands trembling as you gripped the strap of your bag. "I don’t care. I don’t want to go back.” 

The narrator sighed again, softer this time. "You’re scared.” 

"Of course I’m scared,” you whispered, your voice breaking. "What do I even have to go back to? A crappy apartment and a life with no direction? Here, I can be anyone. Do anything. I’m... I’m finally alive.” 

"And yet,” the voice countered, "you keep looking over your shoulder. You keep thinking about what you left behind. About who you left behind.” 

You clenched your jaw, blinking rapidly as another flash of your old life invaded your mind. Sitting on the floor of your apartment, your back against the wall, staring at your phone as if it held the answers to the universe. The unanswered texts. The ghosted calls. The heavy, oppressive silence that had followed you everywhere. 

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you angrily wiped it away. "I’m not going back,” you muttered, more to yourself than to the narrator. "I don’t belong there.” 

The narrator didn’t respond immediately, letting your words hang in the air. When it finally spoke, its tone was softer than you’d ever heard it. 

"Maybe not. But you don’t belong here, either. And deep down, you know it. The plot has been broken.” 

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. The narrator kept adding fuel to the fire. "For example, Kuboyasu. He wasn't supposed to debut this soon into the plot. On top of that, didn't you notice that you've been here for three months already, yet it's still spring?”

You gritted your teeth. You ignored the narrator still going on and about and deeply thought about what it said before. No roots... Stalling the plot...

You weren't given any time limit here! It's not your problem to deal with. It's the forces who miraculously dropped you here. But one thing, you're certain about is, that you will find the way to stay. And finally live your life to the fullest.

You looked up at the group ahead, their laughter ringing out like a lifeline in the distance. You took a shaky breath and started walking again, each step feeling heavier than t
he last. 

And though you wouldn’t admit it—not to the narrator, not to anyone—you couldn’t shake the feeling that your time here was running out.

Instead, you joined the group, plastering on a smile that felt foreign on your face. Saiki glanced at you briefly, his brows furrowing. He saw something—he always did. But if he knew, he didn’t say. 

As the teachers conducted a headcount and the students prepared to head back to the hotel, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching you. Not the cat, not your classmates, but something else. Something tied to the grotesque figure in your bag. 

And for the first time since arriving in this world, you felt a pang of regret.

Chapter Text

The narrator didn’t bother with subtlety anymore. 

"You know, [name],” it began as you trudged behind the group toward the hotel, "you’re walking the plank, and there’s a shark-infested ocean waiting for you at the end.” 

You snorted, kicking at a loose pebble on the path. "Dramatic much? What’s next? You’re going to tell me the cursed statue in my bag is plotting to murder me?” 

"Plotting, no. Facilitating your inevitable demise? Definitely.” 

"Facilitating? Big word for a disembodied voice. Did you swallow a thesaurus while I wasn’t looking?” 

The narrator sighed heavily, like a teacher forced to explain the quadratic formula for the tenth time in one day. "I’m trying to warn you, but you’re too stubborn to listen. Typical.” 

"Typical?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. "What’s that supposed to mean?” 

"Oh, nothing,” it said innocently. "Just that every protagonist who laughs in the face of a cursed object ends up as a cautionary tale.” 

You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace as the lights of the hotel came into view. "It’s not cursed, okay? Just a creepy statue with a great story. That’s all.” 

"You’re walking into your doom, and I’m not even going to say ‘I told you so’ when it happens,” the narrator muttered, but you ignored it, brushing past the hotel lobby’s automatic doors with the kind of confidence only someone in denial could muster. 

You finally made it to your shared hotel room with Teruhashi, Yumehara, and Mera. Without a care in the world, you hurled your bag into the corner like a basketball. It landed with a *thud* against the wall, and the narrator immediately lost its mind. 

"Are you insane?! Just who in their right mind operates with cursed objects like this?!” it screeched, practically spitting indignation into your ear. 

You groaned, shooting a glance at the girls to make sure they weren’t paying attention to your one-sided argument. Fortunately, they were busy chattering about their plans for after dinner. Something about playing Uno with the boys. 

Uno? Well, now you were interested. "I wanna play Uno too,” you declared to the room, mostly aiming at Teruhashi and Yumehara, since Mera was already halfway out the door, probably dreaming about setting a new personal best for dinner consumption. 

The narrator groaned, unimpressed. "Oh, sure, that’s what you should focus on right now. Uno. Not the fact that you’re essentially a walking cursed time bomb. No big deal. Just Uno!” 

You ignored it, brushing off its panic like lint from your sleeve as you started shrugging off your uniform blazer. The narrator’s complaints reached a crescendo before cutting off mid-rant, as though it had just seen a ghost—or, in this case, a particularly ominous marking. 

You frowned. "What, did the statue come alive and start tap-dancing?” you thought sarcastically, smirking at your own joke. But then Teruhashi’s voice interrupted your internal comedy routine. 

"[name]-chan, you have a tattoo?” she asked, her tone sweet but surprised. 

Tattoo? You blinked, confused. Sure, you’d had a couple back in your own world, but they’d conveniently vanished the moment you crash-landed into this universe. 

"I don—” you were about to deny, but then your eyes caught sight of the mirror on the wall. 

Oh. There it was. 

Smack dab in the middle of your chest, between your breasts, was a strange marking. A bold, circular seal that practically screamed “something’s very, very wrong.”

"Well, there's no going back anymore,” the narrator finally managed, its usual snark momentarily replaced with flat dread. 

Your fingers traced the outline of the mark, curiosity overriding caution. You weren’t sure whether to panic or be impressed. The design was pretty sick, actually. Minimalist, bold, vaguely menacing—right up your alley. 

"Now that’s dope,” you muttered to yourself, smirking. 

Teruhashi let out a small oh of understanding, completely missing the vibe of the situation. Yumehara, however, zeroed in on a different aspect of the situation. 

"[name]-chan!” she wailed dramatically. "How come you’re so cool and your chest is so big?!” 

You smugly smirked, shrugging. "You gotta be born a winner,”

The narrator snapped out of its brief stupor. "LIAR! YOU’RE CURSED! ADMIT IT!”

But you weren’t about to let it ruin your moment. Like hell you were cursed. This was probably just some dumb prank. Toritsuka or someone must have drawn it on you while you were napping on the plane. Even if that theory was creepy and hard to chew down.

"It’s, uh, it looks nice!” Teruhashi offered, her polite smile stretched a little thin. 

"Yeah,” you said confidently, doubling down on your obliviousness. You nodded again for good measure, fully ignoring the metaphorical warning sirens blaring in your mind. 

Yumehara squinted at the mark as though trying to place it.
"Hmm… But it looks familiar. I think I saw something like it in a history book once,” she mused, tilting her head. 

"Oh yeah,” you deadpanned, pulling on your gym clothes with a smirk. "Probably from the Heian era or something.” 

The narrator was practically frothing at the mouth, but you couldn’t have cared less. The girls, meanwhile, sweatdropped collectively, watching you brush off something that was clearly not normal. 

Yumehara perked up again after a moment of silence, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "But seriously, what does it mean?” 

You shrugged nonchalantly. "Dunno. Found it in a magazine or something.” 

The narrator was about five seconds away from a full mental breakdown. "LIAR! LIIIIIAAARRR!”  

But hey, at least your gym clothes were comfy, and dinner was waiting. The cursed object in your bag might have been pulsing with ominous energy, but Uno was calling your name. Priorities, right? 
 

The dining hall was alive with the chaotic hum of students devouring their meals like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. You grabbed a tray, loading it up with curry rice and a side of miso soup, before plopping down at a table with your usual suspects. 

"Finally,” Kuboyasu grumbled, shoveling rice into his mouth like it was his last meal. "I’m starving.” 

"I bet that cursed statue in her bag is eating her brain,” Kaido whispered dramatically, leaning closer to Nendou for protection. 

You snorted, waving him off. "Relax, nobody's cursed and everything is fine. I am totally fine and there's definitely not a tattoo on my chest.” everyone raised an eyebrow, but shrugged it off and continued eating. You began telling a tale, getting some rice and curry onto the table, classmate's back and Kuboyasu's sleeve. He growled and wiped it off.

Saiki sat across from you, deadpan as ever, his psychic senses screaming like a siren every time his gaze flickered toward you. But instead of addressing the issue directly, he kept eating, pretending this was just another Tuesday in his bizarre, psychic-adjacent life. He tried to read your mind this time. Maybe he could find a reason why you bought the statue. But, he couldn't hear anything at all. Usually, he hears noises, sounds—something. But this time, he couldn't hear anything. As if something was blocking him from doing so.

Then it happened. 

One minute you were laughing at Kaido’s wild theories about evil organizations infiltrating high schools, and the next, you felt something warm trickle down your upper lip. 

"Hey...” Kuboyasu said, pointing at you with his chopsticks. "You good?” 

"What?” you asked, licking your lips instinctively, only to taste the unmistakable tang of iron. "Oh, fuck.” 

You reached up, touching your nose, and sure enough—blood. A steady stream of it. 

"Oh my God, she’s cursed!” Kaido shrieked, practically diving under the table. 

"It’s just a nosebleed!” you snapped, tilting your head back and pinching your nose. "Totally normal. Maybe the dry air or something.” 

"It’s Okinawa,” Kuboyasu said flatly. "The humidity is 70%.” 

"Shut up,” you muttered, your voice muffled by the napkin you pressed against your face. 

The narrator decided this was the perfect moment to chime in.
"Hmm, a strange tattoo, a sudden nosebleed. Strange, isn’t it? Almost like something—oh, I don’t know—cursed might be behind it.” 

"Not. Cursed .” 

"Cursed?! I knew the tattoo looked strange!” Yumehara grasped at her hair, setting others into panic.

Kuboyasu's head snapped from her to you, then to Yumehara again. "Hah?” he growled. "What tattoo?”

Teruhashi stepped in, clutching at her heart with a worrisome expression. "She has this weird seal marking on her chest...” you groaned, using another napkin as the blood continued to gush like from an open wound.

The purple-haired male scoffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're really stupid,” he nagged, making you scowl.

"For the last time—I am not cursed! It must've been Toritsuka, or someone playing pranks on the plane when I fell a sleep!”

Saiki frowned. Doubt he'd be able to do that with me next to you.

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I’ll be back,” he said, monotone as ever, and walked off before anyone could question him. If he knew one person who could provide him some information regarding spirits and such... It'd be him. Though he hates to admit it.
 
Saiki didn’t waste time finding Toritsuka, who was loitering near the vending machines, probably hoping some unsuspecting girl would strike up a conversation. 

"What do you want, Saiki-san?” Toritsuka asked, popping open a can of melon soda. "Can’t you see I’m busy?” 

Saiki raised an eyebrow, his expression screaming Really? "There’s a cursed object I need you to look at.” 

The soda can froze halfway to Toritsuka’s lips. "A... cursed object?” 

"Yes.” 

"And you’re telling me?” Toritsuka’s voice rose an octave, his eyes darting around nervously. "What about you, huh? Why can’t you handle this yourself?” 

"Because it’s not my problem. Yet,” Saiki replied. "You’re the ghost guy. Figure it out.” 

Toritsuka groaned, setting his soda down. "Fine, tell me about it.” 

Saiki described the statue in question: wooden, but looking ceramic, creepy, and apparently connected to a Heian-era spirit. The more details he gave, the paler Toritsuka became. By the end of the explanation, the self-proclaimed exorcist was visibly shaking. 

"Are you insane?!” Toritsuka hissed. "Why didn’t you burn it the second you saw it?” 

"Because it’s not mine.” 

"Then whose is it?” 

Saiki didn’t even hesitate. "Guess.” 

Toritsuka’s face twisted in a mix of exasperation and horror. "Of course it’s hers. Of course she’d pick up a cursed object for funsies.” He ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself.
"This is bad. Really bad.” 

"Explain,” Saiki demanded. 

Toritsuka sighed, his shoulders slumping. "That statue isn’t just cursed—it’s a conduit for a spirit. A guardian from the Heian era, they call it? That’s not just a title. That thing was bound to protect its domain at all costs. And anyone who tries to take it away? Well...” 

Saiki raised an eyebrow. "Well?” 

"They become part of its collection.” 

"Collection?” 

Toritsuka nodded grimly. "Yeah. Rumor has it that the spirit traps its victims’ souls, adding them to its own power. The statue is just bait—an anchor. It lures people in, makes them think it’s harmless, and then it... you know... eats them.” 

Saiki blinked, unimpressed. "Eats them?” 

"Spiritually! It’s not like it’s going to sprout teeth and chomp someone’s head off.” Toritsuka threw up his hands. "Point is, she needs to get rid of it. Like, yesterday.” 

Saiki sighed, rubbing his temples. This was shaping up to be even more annoying than he anticipated. 

"Good luck convincing her,” he muttered. 

Toritsuka shuddered. "If she doesn’t listen, she’s doomed. And if you don’t help her, we’re all doomed.” 

Saiki walked away, heading back to the dining hall. It was going to be a long night.

His return to the dining hall was met with a scene straight out of a sitcom—if the sitcom had been directed by someone who’d recently discovered horror movies. 

Kuboyasu was pacing around like an angry dad who just found out his kid flunked math. Kaido was crying into a napkin, mumbling about curses and eternal doom. Nendo was attempting CPR on [name]—badly—while everyone else shouted conflicting advice over the clamor. And there, slumped over the table like a tragic noodle, was [name], her face pale, her nose still dripping blood like a broken faucet. 

"Don't die on me, shrimp!" Nendo yelled dramatically, pounding his fist on the table. "You still owe me ramen!" 

"She’s not dying, you idiot,” Kuboyasu snapped, but his voice wavered, betraying his concern. 

"THE CURSE HAS TAKEN HER!” Kaidou shrieked, waving his arms as though summoning an ancient spell. "I KNEW I SHOULD'VE STOPPED HER!” 

Yet you didn't. Saiki pinched the bridge of his nose, the weight of everyone’s stupidity threatening to crush him entirely. He briefly considered letting natural selection take its course, but then he glanced at [name]’s limp form. 

With a resigned sigh, he walked over to the chaos, ignoring the panicked cries of his classmates. "Move.” 

"But Saiki-kun,” Teruhashi, who was been looking awfully worried, yet kind of pleased innerly, began, "she’s—” 

"Move,” he repeated, his voice carrying just enough authority to silence the room. Even Kaidou stopped wailing long enough to watch him. 

Saiki stared down at [name], her head resting on the table, her face pale and streaked with blood. For the first time, he felt something unsettling: helplessness. His powers couldn’t fix this. Not directly, anyway. The cursed object wasn’t something he could just erase from existence without consequences. He’d never been more annoyed in his life. 

Somewhere else, entirely removed from the chaos, you blinked. 

Or, at least, you thought you blinked. It was hard to tell, given the oppressive whiteness that surrounded you. It was endless—no walls, no floor, no ceiling. Just white. 

"What the hell?” you muttered, turning in circles. "Am I... dead?” 

"No,” a feminine, yet deep voice echoed, its tone calm but dripping with something darker. 

You froze, your heart hammering. "Who’s there?” 

"Why, I’m hurt,” the voice drawled, oozing amusement. "You carry me everywhere, yet you don’t even recognize me. Typical.” 

Your stomach dropped. "The... statue?” 

"Hmm, more like the curse trapped within. But correct, nonetheless.” 

The air grew heavy, the whiteness almost blinding. You felt a chill crawl up your spine, but you shook your head stubbornly. "Great. I’m hallucinating. Just need to wake up and—” 

"This isn’t a hallucination,” the voice interrupted, sharp as a blade. "This is... My domain. A space between the world of the living and the world of the forgotten.” 

"Yeah, no. This is just my brain being dramatic.” 

The voice laughed, low and sinister. "You really are something, aren’t you? Even now, on the brink of ruin, you refuse to see what’s in front of you.” 

"Ruin?” you echoed, crossing your arms. "Listen, buddy, I bought you fair and square. If you’re trying to get me to return you, you’re going to have to try harder.” 

"Oh, I don’t want to be returned,” it said, the amusement in its tone deepening. "I want to keep you.” 

The words sent a shiver through you, but you masked it with defiance. "Yeah, good luck with that. I’m not exactly the ‘keep-able’ type.” 

The whiteness began to shift, taking on faint, ghostly shapes. Faces. Hundreds of them. All staring at you. 

You took a step back, your bravado from before cracking. "What... what is this?” 

"Do you like them?” the voice asked, almost lovingly. "They were like you. Foolish. Arrogant. Believing they could own what cannot be owned.” 

The faces moved closer, their eyes hollow, their mouths whispering incomprehensible words. 

"Okay, cool visual effects, but I’m over this,” you snapped, trying to sound braver than you felt. "Just send me back.” 

"Back?” The voice chuckled darkly. "Oh, my dear, you don’t understand. There is no going back. Not for you.” 

The faces swirled around you now, their whispers growing louder, more frantic. Your chest tightened, her hands shaking. 

"No,” she muttered, shaking her head. "This isn’t real. It’s not—” 

"It’s as real as the blood dripping from your nose,” the voice said, cold and sharp. "Your body is failing, piece by piece. Soon, you’ll be one of them.” 

The faces froze, their empty eyes boring into yours. You could feel their despair, their anger. It was suffocating. 

But then, something inside you snapped. 

"No,” you said, your voice stronger. "I’m not like them.” 

The voice paused, the oppressive whiteness seeming to recoil slightly. "Oh?” 

"I don’t care what kind of spooky, Heian-era crap you are,” you continued, confidence returning. "You’re not going to ‘collect’ me or whatever. I’ve got a mission, and I’m not leaving until it’s done.” 

The voice was silent for a moment before it laughed again, low and mocking. "We’ll see, darling. We’ll see.” 

The whiteness began to fade, the faces dissolving into mist. 

"Remember,” the voice whispered as everything went dark. "Your time is running out.” 

You gasped, jerking upright at the table, startling everyone around you. 

"Shrimp!” Nendo exclaimed, tears streaming down his face. "You’re alive!” 

"Yeah, no thanks to your CPR,” Kuboyasu muttered. 

You blinked, trying to shake off the lingering cold from whatever that was. "I’m fine,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. 

Saiki watched you closely, his expression unreadable. But even he couldn’t ignore the faint glow emanating from your bag. 

The cursed object wasn’t done with you yet. 

Chapter Text

By the time your nosebleed finally stopped, the dining hall had settled into an uneasy quiet. The chaos subsided, your classmates resumed eating (albeit with more side-eyes in your direction), and you decided to brush off the whole thing like it was just another Tuesday. You shrugged at Saiki’s questioning stare and mumbled something about “low blood sugar” before shoving another onigiri into your mouth. 

Saiki, naturally, wasn’t buying it. But he had bigger problems to deal with. Namely, the cursed object sitting in your bag like a ticking time bomb. 

After dinner, you rejoined Teruhashi, Yumehara, and Mera, who were gossiping about the latest idol drama as you all shuffled back to your hotel room. You let them do most of the talking, nodding along as Yumehara reenacted an overly dramatic scene between two fictional lovers. The Uno session with the boys was canceled, because, apparently, Saiki couldn't care less, Aren was bad at the game, Kaido was too flustered to have girls in his room and Nendo kept shouting “Bruno” instead of “Uno” even if he still had full deck.

Once inside the room, you flopped onto your futon, utterly exhausted. You didn’t even care that Teruhashi had claimed the best spot by the window or that Mera was somehow already eating the snacks she'd bought an hour ago. All you wanted was sleep. 

"Good night, everyone,” you mumbled, rolling onto your side and pulling the blanket over your head. 

But as you adjusted your arm beneath the covers, you noticed something odd. A faint, intricate mark, like a tattoo, was etched into your skin just above your wrist. You squinted at it in the dim light, tracing the swirling patterns with your finger. It wasn’t there before. Another one? Yet, you weren't going to admit you were cursed. Not even after the talk with the curse itself.

"Must’ve scratched myself or something,” you muttered, brushing it off. "Totally normal.” 

You ignored the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine and closed your eyes. 

Meanwhile, in a far less relaxing part of the hotel, Saiki and Toritsuka sat cross-legged on the floor of Toritsuka's room. His other roommates were scattered in different parts of the hotel, enjoying games and snacks. The self-proclaimed spirit medium was pale, his usual bravado replaced with genuine fear. 

"You’re serious? This statue?” Toritsuka whispered, clutching a can of hot tea with trembling hands. 

Saiki nodded, his expression as neutral as ever, though inwardly, he was rapidly losing patience. He had managed to slip out of his room during the Uno game and retrieve the statue. Toritsuka’s room reeked of incense and bad decisions, and the guy kept fidgeting like he’d just seen a ghost. Which, knowing Toritsuka, wasn’t entirely unlikely. 

Toritsuka leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I knew it... That’s the Hogosha's Wrath.” 

Saiki stared at him, unimpressed. 

"Okay, okay, let me re-explain!” Toritsuka said, setting his cup down and gesturing wildly. "The Hogosha's Wrath isn’t just a curse—it’s a binding spirit, created during the Heian era to punish those who disturbed the sacred land it once protected. The people of that time believed it housed the soul of a betrayed guardian, someone who was wrongfully accused and had their most precious thing taken away from them. They say the spirit swore vengeance, and its rage seeped into the object, cursing anyone who dared to possess it.” 

Saiki raised an eyebrow. That sounded dramatic, even for Toritsuka. 

"I’m serious, man!” Toritsuka insisted. "The curse manifests differently for each person, but it always ends the same way: the victim either relinquishes the object willingly, or—” 

"Or what?” Saiki prompted, though he already had a sinking feeling about the answer. 

"Or they disappear,” Toritsuka said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Their body gives out. Their soul gets absorbed by the Hogosha. And poof—they’re gone. Like, erased-from-existence gone.” 

Saiki frowned. This was worse than he thought. He glanced at the cursed statue resting on the desk, its eerie aura palpable even to him. 

"We have to get rid of it,” Toritsuka continued, his voice rising with panic. "But the Hogosha’s Wrath doesn’t just go away. It needs something in return—a sacrifice. And no, before you ask, I’m not volunteering!” 

Saiki sighed. Of course, it had to be complicated. 

"Well, what does it want?” Saiki asked. 

"That’s the thing—it’s different every time,” Toritsuka admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sometimes it’s a personal belonging, sometimes a memory. Sometimes it’s... worse.” 

"Define ‘worse,’” Saiki said, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. 

Toritsuka swallowed hard. "It could demand something intangible. A connection. A part of their soul. Or... their life.” 

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. 

Saiki pinched the bridge of his nose, already exhausted from the mere thought of dealing with this. He didn’t have time for cursed objects, life-or-death stakes, or Toritsuka’s theatrics. But as much as he didn’t want to admit it, this wasn’t something he could ignore. 

[name]’s life—or at least her existence—was at risk. And for reasons he refused to examine too closely, he wasn’t going to let that happen. 

Toritsuka broke the silence, his voice shaky but resolute. "We need to act fast, Saiki-san. If the curse spreads too far, there might not be anything left to save.” 

Saiki nodded, his expression hardening. He had no idea how he was going to fix this, but one thing was clear: he wasn’t about to let some ancient ghost ruin his otherwise peaceful high school trip. 

The cursed object, glowing faintly in the corner, seemed to hum with malicious anticipation, as though it already knew how this was going to end. 

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, with the sort of chirping birds and cloudless skies that promised an Instagram-worthy day. You dragged yourself out of bed feeling... off. Like someone had set up a rave in your brain and forgot to invite your common sense. 

Still, you slapped on a smile and joined the others as they prepared for the day's itinerary: a visit to the famous Okinawa pineapple fields. Because nothing says "educational school trip" like watching fruit grow. 

On the bus ride there, the class buzzed with excitement. Teruhashi was leading a discussion about her favorite pineapple recipes (because of course she had those), while Nendo loudly wondered if pineapples could grow on cows. 

You sat near the back, all alone, staring out the window. Your reflection blinked back at you, and for a moment, you swore it smirked. You rubbed your eyes. Just sleep deprivation, obviously. Definitely not a curse slowly eating away at your soul. 

The pineapple fields were as picturesque as the brochures promised. Rows upon rows of spiky green plants stretched into the horizon, each crowned with a plump, golden fruit. Hairo immediately launched into a lecture about agricultural efficiency, much to everyone's dismay. 

Normally, you'd have jumped in with some sarcastic quip or started an impromptu pineapple hat fashion contest. Today, though, you stood at the edge of the group, uncharacteristically quiet. 

"[name], are you okay?” Yumehara asked, placing a concerned hand on your shoulder. 

"Yeah, totally fine,” you replied, your voice unusually monotone. 

Saiki, standing a few paces away, narrowed his eyes. Something was definitely wrong. Your energy, usually a chaotic cocktail of cheer and sarcasm, was... muted. Almost like you weren’t entirely you. This was bad. The curse was spreading at a high speed and already impacting your psyche.

"Okay, what gives?” you muttered under your breath as the group moved on to the next section of the tour. 

"What gives? You're asking me?” the narrator’s voice returned, dripping with exasperation. "You're the one carrying a cursed object like it's a trendy accessory.”

"It's not cursed,” you hissed, keeping your voice low. 

"Yes, and I'm a perfectly unbiased observer,” the narrator snarked. "Listen, you may not want to admit it, but that statue is—”

"Fake. It's fake, it's harmless, and I’m fine,” you interrupted, your tone firm but unconvincing. 

The narrator sighed. "Fine. Denial is a perfectly valid coping mechanism. Just don’t come crying to me when your body gets hijacked entirely.” 

"You're being so dramatic." 

"And you're being an idiot,” the narrator shot back. "As I said before... You’ve overstayed your welcome here, [name]. This world wasn’t built to hold you for this long. Add a curse on top of that, and you’re basically waving a neon 'End Is Nigh' sign over your head.” 

You faltered for a moment, an involuntary shiver running down your spine. But you quickly shook it off. "I'm fine,” you insisted, louder this time. "I’m not going anywhere.” 
 
Saiki, trailing behind the group, was deep in thought. He’d spent half the night researching curses (read: telepathically absorbing books in the hotel library) and coming up with absolutely nothing useful. 

The only clue he had was Toritsuka’s dramatic backstory about the statue. If the curse really was the Hogosha’s Wrath, then the only way to lift it was to negotiate with the spirit directly. Which, of course, was easier said than done. 

Normally, he could just telepathically connect to someone or something and get the answers he needed. But the statue's curse was like an impenetrable wall, blocking him out entirely. He couldn’t sense its thoughts, its energy, or its intentions. 

Which left him with one option: he needed to get you to talk to it. 

As the tour guide led the group to a shaded picnic area, you felt the first wave of nausea hit. Your vision blurred, the vibrant greens and yellows of the pineapple field bleeding into each other. 

"Hey, are you sure you’re okay, [name]-chan?” Teruhashi asked, her voice tinged with genuine concern. 

"Peachy,” you replied, forcing a smile. But even as you said it, you felt something shift inside you. Like an invisible hand was gripping your chest, pulling at your very core. 

Saiki, watching from a distance, saw the moment your smile faltered. He clenched his jaw. Whatever was happening to you, it was accelerating. 

The mark on your arm—still faint but growing darker by the hour—seemed to pulse, almost as if it were alive. You scratched at it absentmindedly, trying to ignore the creeping dread in the back of your mind.   

As the group gathered for lunch, Saiki slipped away to find Toritsuka. If he was going to fix this, he needed more information—and fast. 

Toritsuka, of course, was less than helpful. 

"Talk to the curse? Are you insane?!” Toritsuka exclaimed, waving his arms dramatically. "Do you know what happens when you try to communicate with something like that? Best case scenario, it ignores you. Worst case, it drags you into its world and—” 

"Then how do I stop it?” Saiki interrupted, his voice calm but firm. 

Toritsuka hesitated. "You’d need to create a direct connection. But the only way to do that is for [name] to let the curse take over completely. And by then, it might be too late.” 

Saiki frowned. That wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. But as he glanced back toward the picnic area, where you sat staring blankly at your untouched plate, he knew he didn’t have much time. 

The curse was winning, and if he didn’t act soon, there might not be anything left of you to save. 

The ocean sparkled like a living jewel under the midday sun, waves lazily lapping at the white sand as students scattered to claim the best spots. Emerald Beach was picture-perfect, the kind of place you'd expect in a travel magazine or a coming-of-age summer movie. Everyone was in high spirits, chatting about swimsuits, snacks, and how unfair it was that they only had two hours here. 

Naturally, most of the attention gravitated toward Teruhashi. She stepped out of the changing booth wearing a pastel bikini that somehow managed to look more radiant than the sun itself. Her classmates gasped in collective awe. "Teruhashi-san, you’re so cute!” the girls squealed and fan boys gathered, gushing about her beauty.

Teruhashi gave her signature modest smile. "Oh, stop, you’re embarrassing me. I’m just wearing what I had lying around.” 

You, on the other hand, emerged a moment later in a plain black bikini that had seen better days. It wasn’t much, but hey, it did the job. Though, your tattoos were even more visible now. It somehow, made you look mature. Your physique added to the fuel of the male classmates who seemed completely shocked by what they just seen.

They'd had never expected that the annoying and loud girl with horrible personality could be able to make look even an average black and worn out bikini this good.

Your usual group of suspects stood aside. Saiki worn his casual deadpan expression, not entirely living the moment. He had more important things to worry about than Kaido who was two seconds away from fainting or Teruhashi who was fuming that her spotlight was taken away from her, making her receive less “oh's” than expected.

Kuboyasu rolled his eyes, though, there was a hint of shakiness evident in his voice. "It's just a swimsuit.“

Nendo blinked, looking around. "Where's the space suit?”

You adjusted the straps and stepped onto the sand, fully prepared to spend the next two hours avoiding sunburn and dunking your friends in the water. But then, out of nowhere, one of your classmates—a guy whose name you barely remembered—approached you, his face as red as a lobster. 

"H-Hey, [name],” he stammered, scratching the back of his head.
"Uh, just wanted to say you look, uh… really great!” 

You raised an eyebrow, unsure how to respond. "Uh, thanks?” 

It was supposed to end there. A brief, awkward moment you’d laugh about later.

But then it happened.   

Your hand moved before your brain even registered what was happening. One second, you were standing there, mildly confused. The next, your fist was colliding with the poor guy’s face. 

The sound was sharp and sickening, drawing gasps from everyone nearby. The boy stumbled back, clutching his nose, which was already starting to bleed. 

"Oh my god, [name]!” Yumehara shrieked, running over. "What the heck was that?!” 

You stared down at your hand, horrified. "I… I didn’t mean to…” 

But deep down, you knew. That wasn’t you.

Hairo came running towards the commotion and the crowd that formed around you and the classmate you just hit. "What's happening here?!”

A random guy from your class, holding onto his friend shouted. "Dunno, man! He went to compliment her and she just straight up punched him!”

Your lower lip trembled as you found it hard to speak. "I...!” you took a step back.

"Is that true, [name]?” Hairo furrowed his brows, assisting the victim, looking at you like you just ruined his opportunity for a Grand Slam.

"I didn't want to—”

A sudden, sharp pain shot through your head, making you stagger. You clutched your temples as a warm, wet sensation trickled down the sides of your face. 

"[name]! You’re bleeding!” Teruhashi cried, pointing to your ears. 

You touched your fingers to them, and sure enough, they came away stained red. Your heart raced as the whispers began again, faint but unmistakable, like the cursed object was laughing at your misery. 

"It’s fine,” you muttered, trying to brush it off. "I’m fine.” Kaido began to wail about his usual nonsense of the world burning down, making your frustration only skyrocket.

"No, you’re not!” Yumehara insisted, grabbing your arm. "You need to see the nurse!” 

"I said I’m fine!” you snapped, louder than you intended, your voice sounding different than usual, glitching mid-sentence. Your classmates flinched at your tone, and you immediately regretted it. 

Saiki, who had been standing a few meters away with his usual indifferent expression, felt his stomach twist. This is bad. The curse wasn’t just affecting you physically—it was seeping into your mind, warping your behavior. And if the bleeding was any indication, it was only going to get worse.

The commotion drew the attention of the teachers, who rushed over to assess the situation. You were quickly escorted to a shaded area, where they handed you a towel and a bottle of water. 

"Just sit here and rest,” one of them said, clearly frazzled. 

"Yeah, sure,” you mumbled, staring blankly at the ocean. The whispers were growing louder now, a cacophony of unintelligible voices echoing in your head. 

Meanwhile, Saiki hung back, observing. He needed to figure out how to communicate with the cursed object—and fast. If the curse was already making you bleed and lash out, it wouldn’t be long before it did something far worse. 

As you sat there, clutching the towel like a lifeline, the narrator decided to chime in. "You know, I hate to say I told you so—actually, no, I don’t. I told you so.” 

"Oh, shut up,” you muttered under your breath. 

"Punching a guy unprovoked? Bleeding from your ears? Totally normal behavior, right?” 

"I didn’t mean to punch him!” 

"Sure, keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, the curse is over here doing donuts in your psyche, and you’re just letting it.”

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms. "It’s not a curse. I’m just tired. Or dehydrated. Or—” 

"Denial is a river in Egypt,” the narrator interrupted. "Or in your case, a beachfront in Okinawa.” 

You didn’t respond, partly because you couldn’t think of a good comeback and partly because the whispers were growing louder again. This time, though, they weren’t just meaningless noise. They were saying your name. 

Whispering it. Chanting it. Demanding your attention. 
 
Saiki watched as you pressed the towel to your ears, your expression shifting between confusion and fear. Eyes widened, lower lip trembling as you kept muttering to yourself. He knew he couldn’t wait any longer. If he didn’t figure out a way to confront the curse soon, it might consume you entirely. 

His mind raced, replaying everything Toritsuka had said. The only way to communicate with the curse was to let it take over completely. But letting that happen was a gamble, one that could cost you your life—or worse. 

Still, Saiki wasn’t about to let the curse win. He might not have cared much for your antics, but even he had to admit that the world would be a lot duller without you in it. 

With a deep sigh, he turned and began formulating a plan. One way or another, he was going to save you—even if it meant facing the curse head-on. 

Chapter Text

Saiki had never been one for rushing into situations without a plan. However, with the way things were going with you, there was no time for a carefully thought-out strategy. The curse was growing stronger by the second, and even he couldn’t ignore the cold chill creeping into the air around you. You weren’t yourself anymore—not fully. The way you had punched that guy earlier, the way your ears were bleeding, the glazed expression that had settled over your face—it was obvious. You were slipping further and further away from the person he knew.

Saiki glanced at Toritsuka, his eyes narrowing. "I need you to look at [name]. Observe her. See if you can figure out how much time we have before it completely takes over.” 

Toritsuka, who had been nervously pacing a few feet behind, froze at the command. "Uh, we? When did this become my problem? Also, do you really expect me to know everything?! Ask her, if you're so worried about it!” He gestured towards you, his face wrinkling with concern. 

Saiki didn’t want to explain everything in detail. There was no time for that. Instead, he simply gave a sharp nod. "Just do it. You’re the one who said you knew things about curses,” 

Toritsuka muttered something under his breath, but reluctantly obeyed, stepping toward you.

You hadn’t noticed them coming. Or at least, that’s what it seemed like. Your mind felt like it was drifting in and out of consciousness. Every time you blinked, it felt like a small eternity passed. The world around you seemed to fade into a mist of white, the voices of your classmates distant and muffled. 

But you didn’t care. 

In that moment, nothing mattered. The nausea, the exhaustion, the blood—it was all secondary to the pull you felt inside, like something inside you was stretching, breaking, reshaping. You felt like you were on the edge of something. On top of that, your mind kept repeating the words of the narrator from the day before.

Your time here is running out, you're unraveling this world, you don't belong here, you're not supposed to be here... All this makes it harder for you to focus on what's going on around you. You want to swim. Enjoy your time on the beach. Make fun of Kaido and tease Saiki. You want to have fun.

Only in this world, you truly felt what it's like to belong somewhere. You won't go back to your world. You will stay here and you already had decided.

Yet, your mind still keeps replaying the same scene over and over again. Your back pressed against the mold-stained wall of your crappy apartment, your hand clutching a phone, watching as you missed yet another phone call from your mother.

You don't miss it at all.

"Hey, [name]?” Toritsuka’s voice broke through the fog in your mind. You didn’t respond. 

He took a few cautious steps forward, his eyes scanning you with growing unease. Your pupils were dilated. Your body was unnaturally still, your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The change was so subtle, but Toritsuka had heard about enough curses to know that something was seriously wrong. 

"Hey, uh… Saiki-san,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I think we’re running out of time. Whatever’s happening to her, it’s not slowing down.” 

Saiki had been watching from a few paces behind, his hands crossed over his chest as he observed the situation. He didn’t flinch. He never did. But even he couldn’t ignore the gut feeling gnawing at him. You were slipping away faster than he wanted to admit. The longer he stood there, the more he could feel the curse tightening its grip on you, making you a mere shadow of the person you had been. 

Watching you go from the chaos infested hurricane to this hollow shell made it difficult for him to look at you. It wasn't you.

He stepped closer to Toritsuka, his gaze fixed on you. "How much time?” 

Toritsuka swallowed. "A few hours, at best. Maybe less.” 

Saiki didn’t react, but inside, a cold panic clawed at him. He couldn’t let this happen. Not to you. 

You barely registered their presence as they came closer. Toritsuka’s voice was just noise, but there was a note of urgency in it that you couldn’t ignore. A flicker of awareness crawled to the forefront of your consciousness, and you blinked slowly. 

The moment your eyes locked onto Toritsuka, he froze. 

It wasn’t that you were looking at him. No, your eyes were blank—empty. The glassy sheen in your irises only made it worse. The dullness had consumed you. There was no spark of life left in them. No recognition. Just… nothing. 

It felt like you weren’t even there anymore. Your body was present, but the person you used to be—your thoughts, your feelings, everything that made you you—was fading, slipping into the abyss. 

"[name]?” Toritsuka repeated, his voice shaky. He stepped forward again, his hand hesitating near your arm. 

But you didn’t move. You didn’t even blink. 

Saiki stood behind Toritsuka, his mind racing with options. It was rare for him to feel genuinely helpless, but as he looked at you, he couldn’t ignore the sharp pang of concern that twisted in his gut. He had to do something, but he knew it wasn’t something he could do alone. 

He’d need more than just Toritsuka’s knowledge of curses. He needed to get close to the curse. He needed to figure out how to sever its connection to you. If not… 

"Damn it,” Saiki muttered, shaking his head. There was no time for second-guessing. He was going to have to put his faith in someone who didn’t even believe in the supernatural. 

"Toritsuka.” 

Toritsuka turned to face him with a distressed groan, eyes wide with uncertainty. "What is it now?”

"We’re going to need a plan. A real one. Now.” 

The time was ticking down, and neither Saiki nor Toritsuka had the luxury of hesitation anymore. There was no telling how long your body could resist the curse’s hold. No telling if the next wave of influence would be the one that sealed your fate. And in the midst of all this, the terrifying thought lingered: What happens if she completely loses herself to it?

Toritsuka’s face paled as he took in the sight of you, motionless and lifeless before him. The once vibrant spark in your eyes had faded, replaced by a hollow void, and he could see the marks on your skin—dark, creeping symbols that were expanding with every passing second. Blood, thick and red, began to pool beneath your opened eyelids, trailing down your face like a crimson tear that would never stop. 

"Fuck,” Toritsuka muttered, his voice heavy with dread. "Now that's terrifying...” his words hung in the air like a death sentence, the weight of them sinking in for both him and Saiki. Whatever was happening to you was like nothing he had ever encountered before. And as much as he hated to admit it, the truth was staring him right in the face: You were slipping away. 

Saiki stood in silence, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He refused to show it, but a sinking feeling gnawed at his stomach. There was no denying it anymore. The curse was taking hold of you, piece by piece. And it was working faster than any of them had anticipated. He should’ve known the situation had gotten worse. Should’ve known that the creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach was telling him the truth. It was all too late. 

You didn’t even twitch. No labored breath. No response when Toritsuka spoke to you, his voice growing more desperate by the second. You were completely still. 

"Come on, [name]!” Toritsuka yelled, his voice cracking as he reached for your arm, shaking you. "Snap out of it! This isn’t you! Hey!” 

But nothing happened. You didn’t move. The silence that followed was suffocating. 

And then it hit. The blood, no longer limited to just your eyes, began to drip from your ears. Your mouth. A slow trickle of it, staining the corners of your lips, your neck, and finally, pooling on the ground beneath you. There was no sound of a breath escaping your body, no heartbeat to reassure anyone that you were still alive. It was as if you had become a shell, a hollow vessel of the person you used to be. 

"She's... not breathing,” Toritsuka whispered in horror, his voice barely a rasp as he stepped back, eyes wide and unblinking. 

Saiki’s mind raced, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing could change what was happening. His powers—his psychic abilities—couldn’t fix this. They never had been able to deal with curses like this. Even the voices in his head couldn’t offer any answers. There were no solutions to this kind of thing, not without taking drastic measures. 

"Fuck,” Saiki muttered under his breath, his gaze locked on you. He wasn't one to cuss, but this was annoying him. Bothering him way more than he'd like to admit. Not only did you ruin an almost peaceful and uneventful trip, but you were also about to vanish from existence. Choose what's better. He refused to look away, as if doing so might make everything worse. The curse was eroding you, stealing everything that made you the person you were. The once cheerful, sarcastic, chaotic, mysterious and annoying girl that somehow turned his life upside down. And for once, Saiki felt completely powerless. 

What could he even do if he were to face the curse? If it were to take over your body, he'd have to hurt you to beat it. He doesn't want that.

The narrator, too, felt the panic rise within its own voice, but even the endless entity couldn't find the right words to help. You weren’t responding to anything. Not the sarcastic banter, not the desperate pleading. It was as if you had slipped entirely out of this reality, and there was no way to pull you back. 

"Come on,” the narrator pleaded silently, wishing desperately that there was something—anything—that could snap you out of it. "You can’t give up now. This isn’t the end. I know I said some bad things to you, but I didn't mean them! I actually enjoy your company and stupid ideas, so don't go and give up on me and him now!”

But your blank stare didn’t waver. The marks on your skin expanded further, curling into twisted shapes that looked like they were meant to swallow you whole. They had already spread up your arms, creeping over your neck, wrapping around your chest as though the curse was claiming every inch of you. 

"Please,” Toritsuka begged, as if somehow his voice could reach you, his hand trembling as he reached for your shoulder again, only for it to fall limp at his side. "Come on, don’t do this. You can’t... You can’t just...” his words dissolved into useless fragments. He had no idea how to help. 

There was no response. 

"Saiki-san,” Toritsuka choked out, his voice cracking with desperation. "I—this is it, isn’t it? She’s gone. There’s no saving her now. We should leave, before the curse manifests, and—” 

The esper gritted his teeth. Leave?

He shot Toritsuka a deathful look. One that the pervert never witnessed before. "M-maybe we should stay...” Toritsuka nervously gulped, getting terrified from both ends. Pick what's scarier—an angry physic or a girl, which is actively being overwritten by a curse which might strike soon an destroy all of humanity.

Saiki didn’t respond, his face unreadable. But his mind—his mind was shouting at him to find an answer, anything to stop this from happening. He couldn’t bear to watch you like this. He had to do something. 

But what could he do? 

The air felt thick, almost suffocating as they all stood in the silence of the moment. Time seemed to slow, like the whole world was holding its breath. No one spoke. No one moved. The curse had taken root, and there was no turning back. 

And then, just when the last thread of hope seemed to unravel, you—you—did something unexpected. 

A breath. 

A deep, shaky inhale. 

It was the faintest movement, barely noticeable, but it was enough to send a wave of shock through the group. Toritsuka froze, his eyes darting to your chest. 

Saiki stood still for a moment, his mind processing the faint sign of life he had just witnessed. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The curse hadn’t won just yet. 

"What the hell...?” Toritsuka muttered, his gaze flicking back to Saiki, his voice full of disbelief. "She’s... still alive?”

Saiki didn’t answer. His focus was entirely on you. It wasn’t over. Not yet. 

But even as the slightest glimmer of hope sparked, Saiki couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Something wasn’t right. The curse had left its mark. And whether or not you would ever be the same after this... well, that was something neither of them could say for sure.

In the blank void of yoir consciousness, you stood there again. The world around you was nothing but white—white walls, white floor, white sky. There was no ground beneath your feet, no horizon, no real direction to walk. Just an endless stretch of nothing. And in that nothingness, a voice. The curse. That same voice, smooth and cold, that had whispered to you before. But now it was louder, more insistent. 

"You still don’t get it, do you?” the voice mocked, low and tinged with amusement. "You can’t escape it. You’re part of this now. You’re mine.”

You felt your knees buckle as the weight of the words crashed over you. You had cracked. 

Your breath hitched as tears welled up in your eyes, the salty droplets trickling down your cheeks, barely noticed as they fell to the ground. You tried to wipe them away, but they came in waves, a flood of emotion you hadn’t realized you had been holding back. 

"I— I didn’t want this,” you whispered, voice broken and fragile. "I didn’t want to be pulled into this world. I didn’t want some stupid mission... or to just mess around like I’m in some game.” Her voice faltered as she choked on her words. "I didn’t want to be a part of this, any of this.”

The curse chuckled softly, like it was indulging her in some way, allowing her to have her moment. It was patient. Always patient. 

"But you do want something, don’t you?” it whispered, its voice slithering into her mind, twisting her thoughts. "You don’t want to go back home either, do you? It’s too boring there. Nothing to keep you entertained, nothing to make you feel alive." 

The words struck like a lightning bolt, and for a moment, she froze. Her heart pounded in her chest as the truth hit her. 

You do want to stay. You don’t want to leave. You don’t want to face your real world. It was dull, predictable, cold. You are alive here. She are alive with all of them, with all the chaos and ridiculousness, with the stupid drama and weird mission. It is a world where you can laugh, where you can be yourself, even if you have no idea who "yourself" even is anymore. 

"I— I don’t want to go back...” you whispered, voice cracking. The walls of your consciousness seemed to close in around you, suffocating you. "But I don’t want to stay, either...” you finally admitted, faces of your family flashing trough your mind.

The curse’s voice grew louder, more insistent. "Then stay.” it wrapped around you like a suffocating blanket, pushing you deeper into the white void. "You’ll never get what you want. You will never go back. Not anymore.”

Tears fell faster now, your breath coming in gasps. You could feel your will, your sense of self, slipping away like sand through your fingers. The more you resisted, the tighter the curse’s grip became. You couldn’t win. You couldn’t fight it. 

"You’re mine now,” the curse repeated, its voice now almost a growl. "You belong to this world.”

You fell to her knees, hands gripping your chest, feeling the darkness, the weight, slowly crush the life out of you. You couldn’t fight it anymore. You weren't even sure you wanted to. 

And then, just as quickly as the storm of emotions had begun, it all stopped. There was silence, and for a moment, you thought you might be free. But when you opened your eyes, you were back—back in your body.

Only, you weren't the same. 

Everything was different. 

Your eyes fluttered open, the familiar sights of the beach, the sand, and the sound of your classmates surrounding you, felt... distant. Your body felt heavier, like you weren't quite in control of it. You looked down at your hands, your fingers trembling as if they didn’t belong to you. The world around you spun, slowly coming into focus, but everything felt out of reach. 

The people around you—your friends, classmates—they were all blurs. You tried to call out, but your voice felt strange, foreign. Your tongue felt thick in your mouth, like you were struggling to remember how to speak. You felt... lost. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so detached from everything. 

And that’s when you realized. 

You couldn’t remember. 

You couldn’t remember herself. 

Your name—your own name—was slipping through your mind like water. It was like you were forgetting everything, bit by bit. Faces, places, moments—all blurring together into nothingness. 

And in the middle of it all, a voice, like a distant echo. The narrator. 

"Oh, come on!” it said with a touch of sarcastic annoyance, as if this was just another one of its antics. "You’re seriously going to do this now? What happened to being the one who cracked jokes and laughed it off? You can’t just lose your sense of humor over something like this.” 

But the voice didn’t reach you. 

You don't recognize it. 

You didn’t even recognize yourself. 

The panic slowly started to crawl up your spine. You turned your head to the side, trying to find something, anything, that felt familiar. But there was nothing. The faces of your friends, even Takahashi—they were all strangers to you now. You could barely remember who they were, let alone why they were standing around you, their eyes wide with confusion and concern. 

"[name]... are you there?” Toritsuka asked softly, but his voice was as hollow as the others, distant, like it was coming from another world. 

You couldn’t respond. You couldn’t even remember what to say. 

You breath caught in your throat. Who am I? you thought, the question echoing louder than the rest of the noise around you. 

But the voice, the curse, didn’t leave you. It was still there, lurking in the back of your mind, pulling you deeper into its hold. You can't run. She can't escape it. It was like you had already forgotten how to. 

"You’re mine now, remember?” the curse whispered again, its voice seeping into you consciousness like poison. It's laughter echoed in the back of your mind as you stared off into the distance.

And it was then that you realized, with chilling clarity, that you were losing yourself—and there was no one left who could save you.

Or at least, you thought.

Because there was one determined psychic who wasn't ready to give up on you just yet.

Chapter Text

You sit there, the noise of the chaos around you buzzing in your ears, but you can’t quite grasp it. The world feels too loud, too fast, and yet... you feel detached. It’s like you're watching everything unfold from the inside of a bubble, your eyes wide and unblinking, your body stiff as if it’s no longer your own. But at the same time, there’s this strange sense of stillness. A sort of... calm.

Your mind keeps replaying countless memories, a mix of your old world and this universe, yet, they're all foreign, blending together into something that never happened.

Saiki and Toritsuka stood off to the side, arguing about how to fix this situation. Somebody could possibly wind up dead.

Teruhashi, Mera, and Yumehara are huddled around you, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern. They keep talking to you, but all you can hear is static. Their voices are muffled, distant, like you’re trying to listen through a wall. You want to say something—anything—but the words are trapped somewhere far away, out of reach. 

"Hey, [name], are you—” Mera starts, but her voice fades, like a whisper on the wind. You try to look at her, to acknowledge her, but... you can’t. 

Your gaze shifts from face to face, your eyes glazed and empty. They’re all just... people. Strangers, even though you know them. You should know them. You should be able to recognize them. But right now? Nothing. 

You don't even remember who you are. 

The curse is playing with you. It's wants you to give up your will to live by erasing your memories.

Kaido, Nendo, and Kuboyasu make their way over, stumbling over each other as they approach the growing circle around you. You can see them, their movements exaggerated, and for a moment you almost expect them to fall over, because it’s hard to take anything seriously right now. In your own head, everything feels like it’s been painted over with this thick, hazy layer of fog, and they're all just moving in slow motion, like background noise in a movie you’re not quite part of. 

Kaido’s the first one to speak up, loudly, as usual. "There's so much blood... We need to call an ambulance!” his voice cracks on the last word, and even though it should sound concerned, it just sounds ridiculous.  

You just sit there, not responding, not even moving. 

It’s hard to take anyone seriously when you can’t remember what you had for breakfast five minutes ago, let alone who these people are and why they’re looking at you like that. 

"Is... Is she really cursed?” Teruhashi mutters, her hand reaching out as if to touch you, but then hesitating. "She... she’s not—she’s not saying anything...”

Saiki, standing off to the side, gives the situation the most unhelpful look ever. His eyes are narrowed slightly, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s probably wondering why he even bothered showing up to this cluster of confusion and chaos. He doesn’t say a word, though—just stands there, arms crossed, staring at you like you’re some unidentifiable object that might explode at any second.

Toritsuka’s next to him, looking like he's about to lose his mind. "This... this isn’t good, man! She might lash out at any moment, they have to leave! What do we do?!”  

But no one is getting any answers. Least of all you. 

And that’s the part that’s slowly creeping up on you. The realization that, despite everything around you, you’re not here anymore. At least, not in the way you used to be. 

Kuboyasu stands behind the group, just observing. He doesn’t seem as panicked as the others—probably because, well, when you’ve spent most of your life trying not to get murdered by the people you’ve pissed off, this level of drama is just another day. 

But, still, even he can’t hide the concern that creeps into his voice as he mutters, "She played with fire and got burnt.” 

"Yeah, no kidding,” Kaido snaps, but the unease in his voice betrays the bravado. "She's just... staring. Like a damn zombie.”

You feel like you're sinking deeper into yourself, a kind of mental fog growing heavier by the second, as if you're slowly being swallowed by the ground. Their words are like background noise, and their worried stares don’t even seem to land on you, despite them being right in front of you. 

All you can do is stare. At them. At everything. With a blank, hollow expression. 

It's not like you want to stand here like this. It's not like you can just turn it off. Whatever this is... it feels so foreign. 

But it’s not you. 

"She’s not responding. What should we do?” Yumehara finally asks, her voice dripping with concern, but there's an undertone of helplessness there too. 

Saiki doesn’t answer. He just watches. And for a second, you swear you can see the faintest flicker of unease in his usual, stoic expression. But it’s gone just as quickly as it came, and he turns away slightly, not meeting anyone’s eyes. 

He knows something. You can feel it. 

But there’s no time to focus on that. Not when your body isn’t even yours anymore. 

The whole group huddles together, the conversation turning into a low murmur of indecision, but it doesn’t matter. You’re not even really listening. 

You wish you could talk. You wish you could say something, anything to break the silence. But the more you try, the further you feel yourself slipping away, as if you’re fading into the background of your own life. 

They’re all looking at you now. You can feel their stares, their worried expressions, but it’s not you they’re looking at. They’re looking at the shell of you that’s left behind. And you can’t bring yourself to care. 

At this point, you’ve already checked out.

But... You're still holding onto the last thread of hope within you. You can see a faint flicker of light. Instinctively, you reach out to grasp it.

Everything snaps back into place with a sudden jolt, like a storm of memories flooding through you in the span of a second. Your eyes flicker, and for a brief moment, it feels like you’re actually seeing everything clearly again—everyone—the familiar faces you’ve come to know in this world. The chaos of the school trip. The snarky comments. The weirdness of it all. And... wait, was that your nosebleed? You... don’t remember the details, but— 

Before you can finish sorting through your now-thrashing thoughts, it all suddenly hits you like a ton of bricks. You remember who you are, you remember what’s been going on, but there’s a certain... lingering confusion about why everyone’s looking at you so intensely.

You blink, your eyes clearing as your surroundings become sharper, your body finally regaining a sense of awareness.

Wait. Everyone’s staring at you. A quick glance at your arms confirms—no, the marks aren't completely gone, but at least you're not floating into oblivion just yet. 

"Uh, what’s with all the drama?” you ask, breaking the heavy silence that’s surrounded you like an uncomfortable fog. "Are we doing a surprise roast session or something? Did I miss the memo?” you raise an eyebrow, your usual chaotic self slipping back into place with a nonchalant shrug.

You don’t even remember what happened just a few minutes ago—or was it hours? Your mind still feels a little scrambled, like a game of “catch up” with reality, but at least you’re mostly back to your normal, sarcastic self. 

Nendo’s jaw drops. Kaido blinks a few times, clearly in disbelief. And even Kuboyasu, who's usually stoic as hell, can’t help but look at you like you're the most confusing enigma he’s ever encountered.

Saiki, however, stands a few feet away, giving you one of his typical unbothered stares, but there’s a faint flicker of confusion behind it. He rubs his temple, as if trying to make sense of this latest... incident.

"Wait, what? Are you... fine now?” Aren asks, clearly a little thrown off by the sudden shift. He’s not sure whether to sigh in relief or dread.

You cross your arms with a bored expression, giving him a playful grin. "What, you think I’m gonna stay all moody and existential just because of some nosebleed nonsense? I’m way too cool for that. It's nothing but an exhaustion response. Not a curse.”

It’s a lie, of course. The curse still lingers somewhere deep within, clawing at the edges of your consciousness. But right now? You’re just too fed up with it to let it bother you. 

Kaido finally snaps out of his daze. "So, you’re just... fine? After all of that?”

You nod dramatically. "Oh, totally fine. Just a little hiccup in my otherwise fabulous life, ya know? It’s nothing a quick nap and some ignoring the obvious danger can’t fix.” you give a little wink at the group, and Toritsuka nearly falls over from the sheer audacity.

"You were literally bleeding from your eyes!” the narrator snapped. 

"She’s—” Kaido starts, voice faltering. "But, you were—”

"Bleeding from my eyes? Well, fuck me sideways, that's dope as hell,” you finish for him with an exaggerated eye roll. "But, honestly, what’s a school trip without a little weirdness?”

"You're getting too comfortable,” the narrator groans.

The group stands there in stunned silence for a moment. Your vulgarity wasn't helping the confusing situation at all. It’s almost comical, how everyone is still processing your sudden return to normal. But it’s Saiki who’s the first to break it. He steps forward, narrowing his eyes at you.

"You don’t remember... anything?” he sounds... uncertain, which is a rare tone for him.

You blink at him, confused. "Uh, no? Did I miss something? I remember that time I ate three bowls of chazuke in one sitting last night, but everything after that is kind of a blur. So... did I become some kind of evil zombie or something?”

Kaido, clearly not used to hearing you be this flip about your own weird behavior, stares at you like you’ve just told him you’re secretly a space alien. "Are you... sure you're okay?” he asks, voice high-pitched and nervous.

You chuckle at the sheer absurdity. "Okay, okay, I’ll admit, I’m feeling slightly off, but that’s just my natural charm. Can we get back to the important stuff, like why you guys are acting like you’ve seen a ghost?”

The tension in the air doesn’t quite lift, but you can see the confusion growing in their expressions. The group is still unsure whether to laugh it off or get really worried. 

Except for Saiki. 

Saiki, who’s looking at you like he’s just been handed an unsolvable puzzle. His expression is unreadable, but the lines around his eyes betray the slightest hint of concern. "You really don’t remember, do you?” he mutters to himself. 

You blink up at him. "Remember what?”

And that's when you realize—he’s not just staring at you because you're being weird (although, let’s be honest, you are). He’s staring at you like he’s waiting for something to go terribly wrong.

You don’t remember what happened either, but for some reason, it seems like he does. And the fact that he’s not doing his usual thing of totally ignoring you tells you one thing—whatever went down, it’s way worse than you thought. 

But hey, for now, you're just gonna keep playing the part. You’re not entirely sure what’s going on, but as long as everyone’s still here... 

It’s fine. Right? 

Right.

As Toritsuka begins to reenact the scene of you punching a random classmate of yours, then bleeding out of your ears, eyes and nose, you nod along, feeling like it's just another casual day.

Saiki cannot stay still for much longer. He grabs you by your hand, pulls you up—even trough your confused protests and Teruhashi's inner jealousy—he begins dragging you somewhere, along with Toritsuka, who nervously trails behind. Mind you, you were still in your swimsuit only. Blood was still smeared on your cheeks and other parts of your body and the black markings were much more visible now.

Saiki used his powers to make others see you as a normal, high school student and not a character starring in a horror drama that takes place on the beach for some reason. He only hoped the illusion he placed into passerby's heads was working. But since Toritsuka wasn't perversly snickering to himself anymore, it had worked.

"Where are we going? I wanted to swim.” you groaned, letting yourself be dragged along like a waving flag by Saiki, who's grip on your hand was tighter than you'd like to admit. It hurt a little.

Toritsuka chirped in. "Saiki-san, where—” before he could finish, the esper answered. "The shop where she bought the thing. The owner might have some answers.”

The sun hung low over the streets, painting the town in hues of burnt orange and shadow as you trailed behind Saiki and Toritsuka. It wasn’t exactly your idea of fun, spending the evening on a wild goose chase for some shop owner who clearly had nothing better to do than vanish into the void. But here you were, wrapped up in what Saiki referred to (in his patented monotone) as “a necessary precaution” and what you called “dragging me around like a cursed meat shield.”

You didn’t mind the company, though. Watching Toritsuka stumble over his own feet every time a random passerby glanced your way was oddly entertaining. Saiki, of course, marched ahead with the kind of silent determination that suggested he’d rather be doing literally anything else. He’d thrown you a look earlier—one that said don’t make this worse than it already is—but honestly, the temptation was too strong. You’d already made three comments about how this felt like the setup to a bad horror movie. Saiki hadn’t dignified you with a response.

As you approached the shop, dread prickled the back of your neck. Not because of the curse (you were ignoring that as hard as possible), but because you already knew what was coming. 

And there it was: a crudely written sign slapped on the door that read, Closed Forever! The exclamation point, written in shaky marker, felt like it was mocking you. 

Toritsuka groaned, clutching his head like this was somehow your fault. "Great. Just great! The one guy who could’ve helped us is gone! What are we supposed to do now?” 

"Cry about it,” you offered helpfully, pointing to the sign. "But, you know, quietly. We don’t want to disturb the forever closure.” 

Saiki gave you a pointed look, clearly unimpressed, and then turned back to the door. His eyes scanned the area, his brow furrowed slightly as if he were trying to sense something. 

Before any of you could contemplate breaking into the place (Toritsuka had already suggested it, naturally), a strange presence washed over the street. The air grew colder, heavy with a tension you could feel in your bones. You shivered, not because you were scared (no way, not you), but because it was objectively creepy.

From the shadow of a nearby alley, a figure emerged. An older man, draped in traditional robes that screamed I’m a priest, but cooler than you, stepped into view. His sharp eyes swept over your little group before locking onto you. You, specifically. 

"Uh, can we help you?” you asked, tilting your head in confusion. 

The priest ignored your question entirely. Instead, his gaze narrowed, and he took a deliberate step closer. "The energy radiating from you…” His voice was deep and measured, like he was trying to be dramatic. "It reeks of a powerful curse.” 

Toritsuka gasped, grabbing your arm as if you’d suddenly start spewing pea soup. "See! I told you this was bad! Even this random priest can feel it!” 

"Cool,” you deadpanned, prying Toritsuka’s hand off you. "Now we have confirmation from the street priest. Does that make him the Cursed Energy Police?” 

The priest ignored your sarcasm, his expression unyielding as he studied you. "This is no laughing matter. The energy surrounding you is ancient. Malevolent. It clings to your very soul.” 

You blinked at him, unbothered. "Yeah, well, it’s not paying rent, so I’d like it to leave.” 

Saiki sighed audibly. "Can you take this seriously for five minutes?” 

"I am serious,” you shot back, crossing your arms. "This guy just walked out of an alley looking like he wandered off the set of a historical drama, and now he’s lecturing me about my soul. If that’s not worth some sass, I don’t know what is.” 

The priest turned to Saiki, ignoring your antics entirely, which was probably a smart move. "The curse she carries is dangerous. If left unchecked, it will consume her completely.” 

"Yeah, we know,” Saiki replied, monotone as ever. "What we don’t know is how to stop it.” 

The priest stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You’ll need someone who understands the nature of the curse. Someone skilled in the art of purification. This is not something that can be solved with brute force or... sarcasm.” 

You rolled your eyes with a snort. "Rude.” 

Toritsuka, ever the opportunist, pointed to himself. "Well, I’m a psychic! I could—” 

"No,” Saiki and the priest said in unison. 

The priest stepped forward again, this time reaching out a hand. You tensed instinctively, but he didn’t touch you. Instead, he hovered his palm near your arm, where the faint marks of the curse were still visible. His face darkened. 

"This is worse than I thought,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Then, looking at Saiki, he added, "The curse isn’t just feeding on her. It’s evolving. Growing stronger with every passing moment.” 

"That’s... great,” you muttered, feeling more annoyed than anything else. "So, what do we do? Have a seance? Burn some sage? Call an exorcist hotline?” 

The priest ignored you again, which was starting to feel like a personal vendetta. "You need to find the source of this curse. The object that binds it. Only then can you sever its connection to her soul.” 

Saiki nodded, already forming a plan in his head. "The statue,” he said simply. 

The priest raised an eyebrow. "A statue, you say?” 

Toritsuka shuddered. "Yeah, it’s this super creepy thing she bought for no reason from that shop. It's called Hogosha's Wrath.” 

"I had a reason,” you interjected. "It’s called pranking Takahashi. Also, cool ass title.” 

The priest ignored you (again—what is his problem?) and fixed his gaze on Saiki. "Find the statue. Quickly. If it isn’t destroyed soon, she won’t survive.” 

The weight of his words hung in the air like a dark cloud. Saiki glanced at you, his usually impassive expression showing the slightest hint of urgency. Toritsuka fidgeted nervously, while you just... stood there, arms crossed, pretending you weren’t completely freaked out. 

"Cool,” you said after a long pause. "So... no pressure or anything.” 

Saiki didn’t bother responding. He turned on his heel and started walking, his mind already racing with the next steps. Toritsuka scrambled to follow, muttering something about how he definitely wasn’t cut out for this. 

You stayed behind for a moment, glancing at the priest. He gave you a solemn nod, like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe he did. 

For the first time, you felt a tiny pang of unease. Not because of the curse—no, you were still stubbornly ignoring that—but because something about this whole situation felt... final. Like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t quite see. 

You shook it off quickly and jogged to catch up with Saiki and Toritsuka. You weren’t going to let some creepy priest or ancient curse ruin your school trip. 

Not yet, anyway.

Chapter Text

The tension in the air was unbearable as you, Saiki, and Toritsuka trudged back to the hotel to retrieve the statue. The streets felt narrower, darker, like the world itself was conspiring to smother you. You tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest, focusing instead on keeping up with Saiki's annoyingly brisk pace. 

"This statue better be worth all this trouble,” you muttered, wiping at your nose absentmindedly. Your hand came back red. 

"You're bleeding again,” Toritsuka said, his voice tinged with alarm. He hovered beside you like a worried parent, offering you a crumpled tissue. "That’s not normal. At all.”

"Gee, you think?” you shot back, but even your sarcasm felt half-hearted. The blood was coming faster now, dripping down your chin. 

Saiki gave you a sidelong glance, his expression unreadable but his pace quickening. "Hurry up. We don’t have time.”

You didn’t argue. By the time you reached the hotel, your head was swimming, and Toritsuka practically had to carry you inside. The statue sat innocently in your bag, as if it wasn’t the root of all your problems. Saiki didn’t hesitate. He grabbed it, his usual impassivity betrayed by the stiffness in his movements. 

"Back to the priest,” he said simply, and the three of you were off again. 

The priest was waiting for you outside the shrine, his expression grim as Saiki handed him the statue. He didn’t speak, only motioned for you all to follow. The shrine loomed ahead, its ancient wood creaking as if groaning under the weight of the curse. The air felt heavier here, oppressive, like it was trying to squeeze the life out of you. 

"We’ll prepare for the exorcism,” the priest said, his voice low and steady. "But the curse will fight back. You must remain strong.”  

You opened your mouth to quip something about how you were always strong, but the words never came. 

Because that’s when it started. 

It began as a sharp, searing pain in your chest, like someone had driven an ice pick straight through you. You doubled over, clutching at your ribs, but the pain only spread. Your limbs felt foreign, as if they weren’t yours anymore. 

And then your fingers began to move. 

Not by your will—no, you were screaming, trying to stop it—but the curse had taken hold. Your hands twisted unnaturally, your fingers bending back until you heard the sickening crack of bones snapping. 

"Oh my god,” Toritsuka whispered, his face pale as he stumbled backward. 

"Stay back,” the priest ordered, his voice sharp. 

You couldn’t even look at them. You were too busy fighting for control of your own body, but it was like wrestling with a tidal wave. Your arms jerked violently, slamming into the ground with enough force to bruise, then twist at impossible angles. 

You hollered in pain.

"Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop,” you begged, tears streaming down your face as your own body betrayed you. Blood seeped from your nose, your ears, your mouth and your eyes, blinding your vision. The marks on your skin glowed angrily, spreading like wildfire across your body. 

Saiki stood frozen, his normally calm demeanor cracking just slightly. He looked at the priest. "Can you stop it?”

The priest didn’t answer immediately. His hands moved rapidly, drawing sigils in the air as he chanted under his breath. "The curse is resisting. It’s stronger than I anticipated.”  

"Helpful,” Saiki muttered, his voice laced with uncharacteristic irritation. He had to bite back the urge to destroy the statue—or do anything, which you rid you of the pain.

Your body convulsed violently, your head snapping back as the curse forced your jaw open, laughter spilling out that wasn’t yours. It was cold, hollow, mocking. 

"It’s in control,” the priest warned. "But she’s still conscious. I can feel her fighting it.”

Saiki's gaze flicked to you, his jaw tightening. You could see it—just for a moment—the frustration, the helplessness. 

And then, through the pain, through the chaos, you heard the narrator’s voice. 

"Well, this is bad.”

You wanted to laugh, to tell the voice to shut up, to scream at it to help you, but you couldn’t. The curse had taken over entirely now, leaving you trapped in your own mind, a prisoner in your own body. 

But you weren’t gone. Not yet. 

You clung to that thought desperately, even as the curse continued to twist and break you, your vision blurring from the sheer pain. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you swore you could hear Saiki’s voice, low and steady, a beacon in the storm. 

"We don’t have much time,” the priest said, his tone urgent now. "If we don’t perform the exorcism soon, she’ll be lost forever.”

Saiki stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Then start it.”

And for the first time, you felt a sliver of hope. Because if anyone could pull you out of this nightmare, it was him.

The shrine pulsed with an otherworldly energy, the air thick with malice as the priest began the exorcism. You couldn’t feel anything. You weren’t there. Not really. Your body, now entirely under the curse's control, stood unnaturally still at the center of the shrine, glowing symbols etched into your skin like a living warning. Your breathing had stopped entirely, replaced by the faint sound of something guttural and unholy stirring within you. 

Saiki and Toritsuka stood at the edge of the room, tense and alert, as the priest chanted incantations under his breath. Holy symbols lit up around you in golden light, casting long shadows against the shrine's wooden beams. 

For a brief moment, it looked like it might work. The symbols on your skin flickered and dimmed, and your body jerked, as though the curse itself were retreating. Toritsuka gasped in relief, clutching his chest like he was about to faint. 

And then, everything exploded. 

A surge of black energy erupted from your body, sending the priest flying across the room. He hit the shrine wall with a sickening thud and crumpled to the ground, motionless. The golden light shattered like fragile glass, leaving the room dim and cold, the oppressive weight of the curse settling over everyone like a shroud. 

Toritsuka screamed. "We’re screwed! Saiki-san, we’re so screwed!”

"Shut up,” Saiki snapped, his voice sharper than usual. His psychic aura flared slightly, the faintest shimmer of pink surrounding him. 

Your body began to move, but it wasn’t you. The curse had taken full control now, your limbs jerking like a marionette on strings. Your head tilted unnaturally to the side, your blank eyes sweeping the room until they landed on Saiki and Toritsuka. 

And then you smiled. 

It wasn’t your smile. It was cruel, predatory, and utterly devoid of humanity. 

"Die.” the voice that came from your mouth was a distorted echo, layered and inhuman. 

Toritsuka screamed again, louder this time. "SAIKI-SAN, WHY DID IT JUST SAY 'DIE'?!” 

"Because it’s about to kill us,” Saiki deadpanned, already stepping between you and the panicking medium. 

Your body lunged, faster than it should’ve been able to move. Saiki barely had time to react, catching your wrist mid-swing as your cursed fist came hurtling toward him. The impact sent a shockwave through the room, the floor beneath Saiki’s feet splintering from the force. 

Toritsuka yelped, diving behind the altar for cover. "SAIKI-SAN, DO SOMETHING! SHE’S GONNA RIP US APART!” 

Saiki gritted his teeth. He hated using his powers in front of others, but this wasn’t exactly the time for subtlety. His psychic aura flared, a pink barrier enveloping you and holding you in place. Your body writhed against it, the curse’s strength pushing back harder than Saiki anticipated. 

He frowned. This was bad. 

"You think this will stop me?” the curse sneered, using your mouth to speak. Your voice twisted into something unrecognizable, every word dripping with venom. "She’s mine. And you’re just a brat playing god.” 

Saiki didn’t respond. He focused all his energy on maintaining the barrier, even as cracks began to form in its shimmering surface. 

Toritsuka peeked out from his hiding spot, his face pale and drenched in sweat. "Saiki, we need to run. NOW.” 

"Can you shut up already?” Saiki muttered, his voice tight with concentration. He could feel the curse’s power growing, its malicious intent pressing against his psyche like nails digging into his brain. 

Your body jerked violently within the barrier, slamming against it with enough force to send shockwaves through the room. Blood dripped from your mouth and eyes, staining the shrine floor as the curse pushed you closer and closer to your breaking point. 

Saiki glanced at the unconscious priest, frustration flickering in his usually calm expression. Of course, the so-called professional was already out cold. Typical. 

"Saiki!” Toritsuka’s voice was a high-pitched squeak now. "We’re running out of time! It’s going to—” 

The barrier shattered. 

The force of the explosion sent Saiki and Toritsuka sprawling to the ground, debris flying in every direction. When Saiki looked up, you were standing in the center of the room, your body contorted unnaturally, your eyes glowing with an eerie crimson light. The curse had fully manifested now, its aura suffocating, its thirst for destruction palpable. 

Toritsuka scrambled to his feet, clutching at Saiki’s arm. "What do we do? What do we do?! This is way out of my league!” 

Saiki didn’t answer. He stood slowly, his expression unreadable as he faced you—or rather, the thing that had taken over you. His psychic aura flared once more, brighter and stronger than before, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of determination in his usually impassive eyes. 

He wasn’t going to let this curse win. Not while you were still in there, somewhere, fighting to hold on.

Even the narrator was helpless now. "Idiot, snap out of it!” it nagged. "Don't let it control you! You can fight it—”

Inside your consciousness, the void stretched endlessly, vast and suffocating. You stood alone, trembling, trying to muster every ounce of strength left to fight the curse clawing at your soul. Its presence was oppressive, a weight that pressed down on your very existence. Yet, despite the fear and exhaustion, you refused to surrender. Not yet. Not like this.

"You’re persistent,” the curse sneered, its voice slithering through the void like venom. It materialized before you, a dark, shifting figure with faint traces of humanity—a ghost of what it once was. "But you can’t fight me forever. You’re already breaking.”

You clenched your fists, glaring at the shadow. "Shut up. I’m not letting you win. You’re nothing but a parasite.”

The curse tilted its head, an unsettling mimicry of curiosity. "A parasite? Is that what you think I am?” Its voice was calm, but beneath it simmered something raw, something bitter. "Do you even know what I am? Do you care?”

You hesitated, swallowing hard. You didn’t want to care. You didn’t want to know. But some part of you, perhaps the part that always sought to understand even the worst of things, couldn’t stop yourself. "Fine. Not like it matters, but tell me. What are you?”

The figure shifted, its darkness thinning like peeling paint, revealing something fragile underneath. "I wasn’t always this... thing,” it murmured, its voice quieter now, almost mournful. "I was human once. A long, long time ago.”

The void around you shifted, dissolving into a memory. At first, it was blurry, like an old photograph, but it quickly sharpened. You stood in the middle of a village, the air filled with the sounds of life. Children laughed as they played, merchants bartered loudly, and the smell of freshly baked bread lingered in the breeze. The curse stood beside you, now in the form of a young woman with long, dark hair and tired, kind eyes.

"This was my home,” she said softly, her voice heavy with nostalgia. "Back in the Heian era.”

You watched as the woman moved through the village, greeting children, helping an elderly woman with a basket, and bowing politely to passing villagers. For a moment, it seemed peaceful. Happy, even. But happiness, as you were quickly learning, was often fleeting.

Dark clouds rolled in, and the scene changed. The once-bustling village grew silent, the lively chatter replaced by hushed whispers. Faces once filled with joy now showed fear. People hurried to lock their doors, mothers pulled children close, and an oppressive dread settled over the village.

"They came in the night,” the curse whispered, its voice trembling. "Bandits. They took everything—our food, our livestock, our homes. And when we had nothing left to give…”

The scene erupted into chaos. Flames consumed the village, screams pierced the air, and the ground was littered with bodies. You watched, helpless, as the young woman clutched a small child—her brother—close to her chest, her eyes wide with terror.

"They killed everyone,” she continued, her voice breaking. "My parents. My friends. I thought if I could just hide, if I could just protect him... but they found us.”

You felt your stomach twist as the memory played out. Bandits dragged the woman and her son from their hiding place, their laughter cruel and merciless. She screamed, begged, fought. But they didn’t care. 

"They took him from me,” she choked, her voice barely audible. "They threw him into the river. He was only five. He couldn’t even swim. I couldn’t save him.”

You watched as she collapsed by the riverbank, her cries echoing through the void. The water swallowed the boy’s small body, his face disappearing beneath the surface. The woman’s wails tore through you, her anguish a knife to your chest.

"I prayed,” she said, her tone hollow. "I prayed to the gods, to the spirits, to anyone who would listen. I begged them to bring him back, to punish those who had done this. But no one answered. No one ever answered.”

Her voice grew darker, bitterness replacing the raw grief. "So I made my own answer. I carved that statue with my own hands, pouring every ounce of my pain and hatred into it. I cursed it with my dying breath, vowing that anyone who touched it would suffer as I had suffered.”

The memory blurred, smearing like ink in water. You were back in the void now, and the curse stood before you, its human form melting away, replaced once more by shadow.

"Do you understand now?” it hissed. "I wasn’t born a monster. I was made into one. And now, so will you.”

Your chest tightened, pity and dread warring within you. "But you didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice shaking. "You didn’t have to become this.”

The curse laughed, bitter and hollow. "And what would you have done? Watched your family die? Lost everything you loved? And then just… moved on?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. What could you possibly say to that?

The curse stepped closer, its presence suffocating. "Don’t pity me,” it growled. "You don’t understand. You can’t understand. All you have to do... is give up. Stop fighting. Let it end.”

Tears streamed down your face, your body trembling as you stood your ground. "No,” you whispered, your voice breaking but resolute. "I’m not giving up. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

The curse’s form twisted violently, its anger and sorrow palpable. "Then you’ll suffer,” it spat. "Just like I did.”

The void began to collapse, darkness closing in on all sides. You braced yourself, refusing to let go, even as the weight of the curse threatened to crush you.

Chapter Text

✩｡:*•. ───── ❁ 【 ㅇㅅㅇ 】 ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

——📼——

The exorcism shrine was no longer recognizable. Once serene and steeped in sacred energy, it had become a battlefield drenched in chaos. The curse had fully taken over your body, warping it into something monstrous. Your form was barely human—limbs elongated unnaturally, skin veined with dark, pulsing streaks of corruption. Eyes that once brimmed with mischief and life now burned with an unholy crimson glow. The curse had stripped you away completely, leaving behind a vessel of destruction.

Saiki stood at the epicenter of the chaos, his normally calm demeanor cracking under the sheer intensity of the situation. Around him, the shrine was falling apart—stone statues shattered under the pressure of an unnatural force, and the air was thick with oppressive energy that even his psychic barriers could barely keep at bay.

Toritsuka was crouched behind an overturned offering table, trembling like a leaf. "Saiki!” he screamed over the deafening roar of energy bursts emanating from your possessed form. "What the hell are we supposed to do?! This is—this is way above my pay grade! She’s gone, man! GONE!”

Saiki didn’t answer. His attention was solely on you—or rather, what the curse had turned you into. The creature let out a guttural growl, lunging forward with lightning speed. Saiki barely had time to raise a psychic barrier before the force of the attack sent him skidding backward, his shoes digging trenches into the ground.

This wasn’t just some low-level ghost or poltergeist. This was ancient, relentless, and fueled by centuries of rage. Worse, it was using your body as its weapon, which meant Saiki couldn’t just go all out. He had to be precise. Controlled. But the creature wasn’t making it easy. 

It swung its grotesque arm—no, claw—down at him, the sheer power of the strike cracking the ground where he stood. Saiki teleported out of the way, reappearing a few meters behind it. He raised a hand, summoning a blast of psychic energy aimed to paralyze. The energy collided with the creature, making it stagger, but only for a moment. It turned to face him, its expression twisting into something that might have been a mockery of a grin.

The voice that came out of it wasn’t yours. It was deeper, layered with something guttural and ancient. "You’re strong, brat,” it sneered. "But not strong enough. She’s mine now.”

Saiki’s jaw tightened. "You’re using her. Let her go.”

The curse laughed—a hollow, echoing sound that made the ground beneath them tremble. "Why would I? Her willpower is delicious. Her spirit fights so fiercely, even now. Why would I give up such a rare, delectable soul?” 

The creature lunged again, its speed almost too much for Saiki to track. He teleported out of its reach again, but the curse was adapting, predicting his moves. It spun mid-air, striking him with a tendril-like limb that sent him crashing into a stone pillar. The impact rattled him, but he quickly regained his footing, raising another barrier just in time to deflect the next attack.

Toritsuka peeked out from his hiding spot, his face pale. "Saiki, do something already! I don’t think my heart can take this!”

"Then stop watching,” Saiki shot back, his voice calm but strained. He focused his energy again, sending out another psychic wave that forced the creature back. It roared in anger, the sound reverberating through the shrine like a thunderclap.

The battle raged on, each exchange growing more intense. Saiki tried everything—freezing the creature in place, telekinetically binding it, even attempting to reach your consciousness with his mind. But the curse was relentless, shrugging off his attacks with terrifying ease. It was clear that the centuries it had spent festering in rage had made it nearly invincible.

And yet, Saiki didn’t give up. Because somewhere, buried beneath that monstrous form, was you. The chaotic, stubborn, infuriating girl who somehow managed to upend his life in ways he never thought possible. 

He dodged another attack, sending a blast of psychic force that finally knocked the creature off balance. It snarled, stumbling back, and for a fleeting moment, Saiki saw something in its eyes. A flicker. A flash of recognition. Was that... you?

"[name]!” he called out, his voice desperate, cutting through the chaos.

The creature froze, just for a second. Its form flickered, the grotesque corruption giving way to something softer, something human. But then it let out an earth-shaking roar, the corruption returning tenfold. It lunged at Saiki with a ferocity that left no room for restraint. Saiki raised his hands, preparing to unleash a blast strong enough to subdue it, even if it risked hurting you. 

But deep inside, you were fighting too. Fighting with everything you had. And Saiki could only hope that it would be enough.

The void around you twisted and distorted, wrapping you in a suffocating darkness. You could feel the curse’s claws in your mind, prying, dragging up memories you’d buried deep. Memories you’d worked so hard to forget. They weren’t kind or fleeting. They were cruel, relentless, and sharp. 

"You think you’re strong?” the curse hissed, its voice echoing like a thousand whispers. "Let me remind you just how powerless you’ve always been.”

And just like that, the darkness cracked open, spilling you into the past. 

You were back in high school—your old world, your old life. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an unforgiving glare on the cracked wooden tiles of the classroom floor. You sat in your usual seat: the far corner by the window. Not because it was peaceful or poetic, but because no one else wanted it. 

A group of classmates gathered at the opposite end of the room, their voices hushed but their snickers loud enough to carry. You didn’t need to hear what they were saying to know you were the subject of their jokes. 

"Hey, [name],” one of them called out, their tone dripping with fake sweetness. You ignored them, keeping your eyes on your notebook. 

"Oh, come on. Don’t be rude,” they continued, their footsteps growing louder as they approached. "We just want to talk.” 

A hand slammed down on your desk, making you jump. You glanced up, heart pounding. There she was: the ringleader, her eyes gleaming with malice. 

"You know,” she began, her voice syrupy and cruel, "it’s rude to ignore people. Didn’t your parents teach you manners? Oh, wait. They probably don’t care about you either.” 

Laughter erupted around you, sharp and biting. You tried to tune it out, but her next words cut deeper. 

"Seriously, who even likes you? You’re so weird. Always sitting here alone, writing your little stories or whatever. No wonder nobody wants to be around you.” 

Before you could respond, someone snatched your notebook from the desk. You lunged for it, but they held it just out of reach, flipping through the pages. 

"Aw, look at this!” they cooed mockingly. "Are these... poems? That’s so sad. Do you cry while you write these?” 

The notebook sailed across the room, landing in a puddle of spilled soda. You felt your chest tighten, but you swallowed the lump in your throat, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry. 

"You’re pathetic,” someone muttered as they walked away, the others following with laughter that echoed in your ears. 

You're pathetic.

The memory shifted, dragging you to the next scene. 

You stood outside in the biting cold, your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth. You’d been so excited when they invited you to the party. You thought maybe—just maybe—things were changing. Maybe you were finally going to be included. 

But now you knew better. 

The party was over, and everyone had left hours ago. Everyone except you. 

Your so-called friends had taken your phone and your wallet, leaving you stranded in the middle of nowhere. You’d asked for a ride home, and they’d laughed, promising they’d "be right back." But they never came back. 

You waited for what felt like hours, pacing the empty street, your breath visible in the freezing air. When you finally found a gas station, you used the little money you had left in your pocket to call your parents. 

They didn’t answer. 

You ended up walking home, your feet blistered and your body numb from the cold. By the time you got there, it was nearly morning. Your parents didn’t ask where you’d been or why your face was streaked with tears. 

You were at school again, hiding in the bathroom stall. It had become your sanctuary, the one place you could go to escape the constant ridicule. But even here, you weren’t safe. 

A loud bang on the stall door made you flinch. 

"Hey, loser,” a voice called. "Come out and play.” 

You stayed silent, praying they’d give up. But they didn’t. 

The door rattled violently, and you could hear them laughing on the other side. 

"Come on, don’t be shy,” another voice chimed in. "We just wanna talk.” 

They started throwing things over the stall—wet paper towels, a half-eaten sandwich, a bottle of soda that splashed onto the floor and soaked your shoes. 

"God, you’re such a freak,” one of them muttered before the sound of their footsteps faded. 

You waited a few minutes before stepping out, your hands trembling. You looked at yourself in the mirror, at the tear-streaked face staring back at you. 

"Why me?” you whispered to no one. 

The curse’s voice answered, mocking and cold. "Because you’re weak. Because you’re different. Because you’ll never belong.” 

The scene shifted to your house. You were sitting at the dinner table, staring at the untouched plate of food in front of you. Your parents were arguing again, their voices like nails on a chalkboard. 

"She’s so ungrateful,” your mother snapped. "All she does is sit in her room all day. She doesn’t even try to make friends.” 

Your father sighed, his tone exasperated. "Maybe if she wasn’t so strange, people would actually like her.” 

Their words stabbed at you, sharper than any knife. You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but no sound came out. What was the point? They never listened anyway. 

The memory darkened, and suddenly you were in your room. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air heavy and suffocating. You sat on the edge of your bed, a small blade in your trembling hand. 

The scars on your arms were faint but visible, each one a testament to a moment when the pain became too much to bear. 

"Go ahead,” the curse whispered, its voice almost soothing.
"You’ve done it before. Why stop now?” 

You clenched your fists, tears streaming down your face. "Shut up,” you choked out. 

"Why?” the curse sneered. "You know I’m right. No one cares about you. They never did. They never will.” 

The memories stopped, and you were back in the void. The curse stood before you, its form dark and menacing. 

"Do you see now?” it hissed. "You’ve always been alone. You’ve always been worthless. Stop fighting and let me take over. It’s the only thing you’re good for.” 

Your knees buckled, the weight of it all crushing you. You wanted to give up, to let the darkness swallow you whole. 

But then, faint and fragile, a memory surfaced—a real one. 

You thought of the people you’d met in this strange new world. Nendo’s oblivious kindness. Kaido’s ridiculous heroism. Kuboyasu’s quiet loyalty. Saiki’s silent but constant presence. 

They weren’t perfect, but they were there. They cared. 

"No,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. "I’m not giving up. Not for you. Not for anyone.” 

The curse snarled, its form flickering. "You’re lying to yourself. You’re weak.” 

"Maybe,” you said, standing tall despite the tears streaming down your face. "But I’m still here. And that’s enough.”

In the cozy chaos of the hotel lounge, Kaido, Nendo, Kuboyasu, Teruhashi, Yumehara, Mera, and Hairo sat in a loose circle, their faces painted with varying shades of concern. The hum of conversation from other students was background noise at best; their focus was locked entirely on one shared, burning question:

"Where the hell are Saiki and [name]?”

"I don’t like this,” Teruhashi said, her perfect hands clasped in her lap. Even in worry, she somehow glowed. "Saiki-kun is probably handling everything perfectly, but... I don’t know. Something about [name]... I just have this bad feeling.”

"You always have bad feelings about her,” Yumehara said, frowning. "Not that I blame you. She’s obnoxious. Always stealing the spotlight and saying weird things.”

"Yeah, and the way she just doesn't care about anything!” Kuboyasu growled, crossing his arms tightly. "It's infuriating! She’s always walking into danger or saying something insane, like, ‘Oh, it’s totally normal to put cursed statues in people’s rooms.’ Who does that?!"”

"She doesn’t even try to fit in,” Hairo chimed in, his tone uncharacteristically irritated. "I mean, how is she supposed to be a productive member of the class if she’s always goofing off or coming up with harebrained schemes? She undermines the spirit of teamwork!”

"And she eats too much,” Mera muttered, her voice unusually sharp. "Every time there’s food, she’s either hogging it or making some sarcastic comment about how ‘someone’s gotta put Mera’s buffet to shame.’ It’s so annoying!” She pouted but looked more conflicted than angry.

Kaido, who had been silent up until now, massaged his temples with a dramatic sigh. "You’re all forgetting the most important part: she’s dangerous. I bet she’s secretly working for Dark Reunion. No—she’s probably their leader. It all makes sense now! Why else would she be able to get so close to us? She’s probably using us to—”

"Shun,” Kuboyasu interrupted, rubbing his temples. "You’re losing it again.”

"Am not!”

"You totally are.”

Even Nendo, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, chimed in. "She’s pretty loud, huh? Like, every time she talks, I feel like my head’s gonna explode. But then she says something funny, and I kinda miss it when she stops talking.”

Teruhashi sighed. "She’s obnoxious, irresponsible, and completely unpredictable...” She paused, her brows furrowing as her voice softened. "But... she’s also kind of charming in her own way.”

"Yeah,” Yumehara admitted reluctantly. "Like, she’s the only one who’s ever called me out on my delusions and still stuck around afterward. Most people just... leave.”

"She makes everything more exciting,” Mera added. "Even if she’s annoying. Like, who else would bring cursed objects on a school trip?”

"Or punch a guy on the beach for saying something dumb,” Kuboyasu said with a small smirk.

"Or inspire us to work harder, even when she doesn’t mean to,” Hairo admitted, his voice grudging but sincere.

"Or...” Kaido hesitated, glancing around before muttering, "Make me feel like I’m not completely alone in my... uh, struggles. You know, with them.”

Nendo grinned wide. "She’s like one of those TV heroes, huh? Always making a mess but pulling through in the end. She’s a good egg.”

They all fell silent for a moment, the weight of their collective affection for you settling over them. For all your flaws—and there were plenty—you’d wormed your way into their lives in a way none of them could deny.

Somewhere in the crumbling shrine, in the thick of battle and despair, their words reached you. Not in the way Saiki might send thoughts telepathically, but in a way that settled deep in your heart. Their voices, their memories, their laughter and complaints—everything about them came flooding back. 

You were on your knees in the white expanse of your consciousness, the curse looming over you like a specter of doom. It whispered insidiously, feeding on your doubts and despair. "Do you see it now?” it hissed, its voice dripping with malice. "No one truly cares for you. You’ve always been an annoyance, a burden. Why fight for a world that doesn’t want you?”

But then their voices broke through. 

Kaido, stammering about conspiracies but trusting you more than he’d ever admit. Teruhashi, begrudgingly complimenting your charm. Nendo’s simple yet genuine acknowledgment of your presence. Hairo’s reluctant admiration. Even Kuboyasu’s exasperated affection. They all echoed in your mind, louder and louder, drowning out the curse’s poison.

"Why fight?” you said, your voice trembling but growing stronger. "Because I’m not just fighting for myself. I’m fighting for them. For my friends, who put up with my chaos. For the people who actually see me, even when I’m a mess. And for myself... because I deserve to be more than your puppet.”

The curse recoiled, its dark form flickering like a candle in the wind. You pushed yourself to your feet, your hands clenched into fists. 

"You might have power,” you said, stepping forward, your voice resolute. "But you don’t have me.” 

The curse let out a furious, inhuman scream, but you didn’t waver. You reached out, grasping the threads of light and laughter that tied you to the people waiting for you. The people who cared. And you pulled yourself back into the fight.

The air in the shrine felt heavy, suffocating, as if every molecule carried the weight of impending doom. Saiki, hair glowing faintly from the sheer amount of psychic energy he was on the verge of releasing, stood at the center of it all, calm but deadly. The curse-possessed [name]—or rather, the unrecognizable monster her body had become—was poised for a killing blow. Its grotesque limbs twitched, its movements an unsettling blend of jerky and predatory. 

Toritsuka, standing a safe distance away like the absolute coward he was, screamed, "Saiki! DO SOMETHING! IT’S GOING TO RIP YOU APART!”  

"Shut up, Toritsuka,” Saiki muttered, his voice flat but tinged with exhaustion. He knew. Of course, he knew. He’d calculated every possible outcome and none of them looked good. If he unleashed his full power, the shrine would likely be obliterated, along with half the town. If he didn’t? Well, let’s just say Toritsuka’s ghostly roommates would have a lot more company soon. 

The curse lunged. Saiki’s aura flared, ready to obliterate the creature before it could reach him. And then— it stopped.

The creature shrieked, a sound so unholy it made even the bravest heart want to crawl under the nearest table. It clawed at its head, writhing as if it were burning from the inside out. Saiki’s eyes narrowed. 

"Wait...” Toritsuka stammered, peeking out from behind a toppled vase. "Why is it—? What’s happening?” 

The answer came in the form of a weak, ragged breath from the ground. Saiki’s gaze flicked downward, his heart skipping a beat. 

It was you.

You were back. Your body—broken, battered, and bleeding—was unmistakably yours again. The curse’s control had faltered, and it was all thanks to your unrelenting will. But saying you didn’t look great would be the understatement of the century. Most of your limbs hung at odd, concerning angles. Blood trickled from your mouth and ears, pooling beneath you in a way that screamed, "Get me to a hospital. Like, yesterday.” 

The curse howled again, its monstrous form flickering like static on a bad TV. It was losing its grip, but it wasn’t gone yet.

And then, miraculously, the priest stirred. 

Toritsuka gasped. "The priest! He’s awake! He can finish the exorcism!” He ran over to the man, shaking him as if his life depended on it—which, for once, it probably did. 

The old man groaned, rubbing his head. "What... what happened?” 

"No time!” Toritsuka yelped. "Just do the thing! The chanting! The banishing! Whatever it is you do, do it now!” 

The priest blinked, his gaze landing on the cursed creature and then on you, crumpled and barely breathing. His expression hardened, and he began chanting. The shrine trembled as the air filled with the hum of sacred energy. 

The curse screamed, its form distorting as it was dragged, inch by inch, out of your body. It clawed at the air, desperate to stay tethered to its host, but the priest’s chanting grew louder, stronger. With one final, earsplitting screech, the curse was ripped away and banished, its dark energy dissipating like smoke in the wind. 

The shrine fell silent, save for the sound of your shallow, labored breathing. 

Saiki let out a quiet sigh of relief, the glow of his psychic energy fading. He glanced at Toritsuka, who was, predictably, collapsed on the ground in a heap of uselessness. "You didn’t even help,” Saiki deadpanned. 

"I—I helped wake up the priest!” Toritsuka protested weakly. 

"You shook him like a maraca. That doesn’t count.” 

The priest, kneeling beside you now, checked your pulse and winced. "She’s alive... barely.” 

Saiki crouched next to you, his expression unreadable but his hands gentle as he adjusted your position to prevent further injury. Your face was pale, your body broken, but there was a faint flicker of determination in your half-closed eyes. 

Toritsuka stumbled over, clutching his chest dramatically. "So... it’s over, right? The curse is gone?” 

Saiki didn’t answer. Instead, he looked down at you, his usually unflappable demeanor cracking ever so slightly. You’d fought harder than anyone could’ve expected, and now you were paying the price. 

The priest stood, his face grim. "The curse is gone, but the damage... well, that’s up to her now.” 

Toritsuka’s face fell. "Wait, what does that mean? Is she gonna be okay?!” 

Saiki glanced at Toritsuka, his voice calm but firm. "She’ll survive. I’ll make sure of it.” 

And for the first time that day, Toritsuka didn’t argue. Instead, he quietly nodded, his usual theatrics replaced with something that might have been respect

Toritsuka, already sweating buckets, adjusted your limp body in his arms, looking like a man carrying a bag of cement uphill. "Saiki, I’m telling you, we need an ambulance! Her limbs are like, jelly, man. This is bad—like, really bad! I don’t want to be haunted by her ghost if she—” 

"Shut up,” Saiki groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "There’s no ambulance for this. I’ll handle it.” he isn't entirely sure, if his healing powers work on you, since most of his psychic abilities don't.

Toritsuka stopped mid-ramble, staring at Saiki with wide eyes. "Wait, you can heal people? Since when? Why didn’t you do that earlier?! You just let me carry her around like some medieval squire while she’s oozing blood?” 

Saiki ignored him, leaning down and placing a hand over your chest. A faint, warm glow enveloped your battered body as bones knit themselves back together and internal injuries began to heal. Your complexion regained a little color, though your shirt was still beyond saving. 

Toritsuka, for once, fell silent, though the look of betrayal on his face was almost palpable. 

Just as Saiki was finishing up, you stirred, blinking blearily. Your voice was faint but clear as you croaked, "Tell the Jet-Ski... I'll be back." 

Toritsuka froze. "Uh... what?” 

"And the cursed statue… tell it I won,” you added weakly, a delirious little laugh escaping your lips. 

Saiki sighed, standing back up. "She’s fine.” 

With that, you slipped back into unconsciousness, leaving Toritsuka looking as though his brain had short-circuited. "Saiki-san, what the hell does that even mean?! Are we sure the curse is gone?!” 

Saiki shot him a flat look. "Just carry her back. She’ll sleep it off.” 

And as Toritsuka resumed his trek—grumbling about back pain, curses, and how none of this was in his job description—you finally looked at peace. Saiki shoved his hands in his pockets, walking ahead as the chaos dwindled behind him. 

Well, at least that was over now. Sort of.

The walk back to the hotel was as chaotic as you’d expect for two high school boys lugging an unconscious girl through town. Toritsuka, carrying your limp body like a poorly packed suitcase, groaned with every step. "Saiki, she’s heavier than she looks! I think my spine’s permanently compressed. Is it too late to file for work-related injuries?”

"Stop complaining. You’re the one who insisted on carrying her,” Saiki replied, his voice as dry as the pineapple fields you’d all trudged through earlier that day. 

"Yeah, well, I thought you’d chip in! You know, teleport us back or something!” 

"I’m not wasting energy on that,” Saiki said flatly. 

Toritsuka muttered something about "thankless psychics" and "unpaid overtime" as they finally reached the hotel. The moment they stepped into the lobby, chaos erupted. 

"Oh my god, you guys are back!” Yumehara shrieked, rushing over dramatically as though she were in a soap opera. 

"[name]!” Teruhashi called, looking more radiant than usual—though she kept a dainty distance from your bloodstained clothing. 

"Is she dead?!” Kaido gasped, clutching his head in horror. 

"She better not be!” Nendo added, looking genuinely concerned. "She still owes me a meat bun!” 

"She’s not dead,” Saiki said, stepping to the side and letting Toritsuka collapse onto the nearest couch, still holding you. "Just unconscious.” 

Kuboyasu raised an eyebrow. "And covered in blood. What exactly happened out there?” 

"It’s a long story,” Toritsuka wheezed, too winded to elaborate. 

The group surrounded you, poking and prodding at your lifeless form like curious zoo visitors. "She looks peaceful,” Hairo commented. 

"She looks gross,” Mera corrected. 

"She looks like she’s about to haunt us all,” Kaido muttered, still clinging to his delusions. 

Saiki sighed, rubbing his temples. "She's fine. Go to bed.”

And with that, the Okinawa trip came to an end. After some really daunting explaining to the teachers, it was time for the flight back.

The next morning, you were nowhere to be found. Word spread that you’d been taken to a shrine under the care of the monks Toritsuka freeloaded off of. Your classmates, naturally, assumed this was all part of some noble recovery plan, though Saiki knew better. 

While you were tucked away in a tatami room, blissfully unaware of reality, the school held an impromptu assembly to honor Saiki and Toritsuka for their “heroic actions.” 

"This is ridiculous,” Saiki muttered as he stood awkwardly on stage. 

"This is amazing!” Toritsuka beamed, waving at the crowd as though he were the protagonist of a shonen anime. "Thank you, thank you! It was nothing, really—just a little self-sacrifice for a dear friend.” 

Saiki shot him a look that could curdle milk. 

The principal handed them shiny, oversized certificates of bravery, complete with gold stickers. "These two young men exemplify the spirit of PK Academy!” he declared. 

The audience erupted in applause, though Saiki could hear the whispers of disbelief. 

"Did Toritsuka really help? I thought he just screamed the whole time,” Kuboyasu muttered. 

"I’m pretty sure Saiki did all the work,” Teruhashi said, though she clapped politely. 

"I heard [Name] saved herself,” Kaido whispered, adding his own dramatic flair. 

Meanwhile, Toritsuka was soaking up the attention like a sponge. Students swarmed him in the hallway, asking for autographs and selfies. He even started embellishing the story. "Yeah, it was a close call! The curse almost got us all, but I stood my ground like a true hero. Saiki was crying, but I told him to pull it together—” 

Saiki walked away before he could vaporize Toritsuka on the spot. 

Back at the shrine, you were still unconscious, your body recovering from the trauma of housing a murderous curse. The monks were diligently taking care of you, though one of them was starting to question why they were running a hospital for freeloading high schoolers.

"She better wake up soon,” one monk muttered. "This is the third time Toritsuka’s brought a woman to the shrine.” 

Another monk sighed, glancing at you. "At least this one isn’t yelling about spirits.” 

Little did they know, the moment you woke up, the chaos would start all over again. But for now, you rested, blissfully unaware of Toritsuka’s newfound popularity and Saiki’s silent suffering.

Chapter Text

It had been three days since the battle, and Saiki found himself at the shrine where Toritsuka lived. After school, of course. He wasn’t going to waste time skipping class for this. Not because he didn’t care, but because the teacher would inevitably find some way to make him regret it. Besides, if Toritsuka was as useless as he usually was, skipping class would be for nothing. 

He had been notified by Toritsuka that during your rest, the tattoos suddenly reappeared, only to dissappear in the second. He had to come check up on you, even if he didn't want to.

The air at the shrine was calm, peaceful even—a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded during the battle. Birds chirped in the distance, monks quietly tended to their duties, and Toritsuka was inside screaming over his latest porn magazine. The usual. 

Saiki sighed, stepping through the threshold. Toritsuka had been left in charge of taking care of you while you remained unconscious, which was about as good an idea as asking a goldfish to babysit a toddler. But there weren’t many other options, unless you wanted to leave the fate of your recovery to Nendo or Kaido.  

"Yo, Saiki-san,” Toritsuka greeted him as soon as he entered, his tone too casual for someone who was allegedly taking care of an injured friend. "Glad you’re here. Maybe you can help me decide if yellow bikini is better—” 

Saiki walked past him without a word, heading straight for your room. 

Toritsuka followed, flailing his arms. "Okay, okay, don’t ignore me! Geez. Fine, we’ll talk about her curse or whatever. But, like, can’t it wait? She’s still breathing. Probably.”

Saiki shot him a sharp glare over his shoulder. 

"Right, right,” Toritsuka stammered, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Serious business. Got it.”

They entered your room, where you lay on a futon, still and silent. Your face was pale, your breathing shallow, and the occasional flicker of cursed energy still clung to you like a shadow. Saiki frowned. He hated seeing you like this. Not because it made him emotional or anything, but because it meant more work for him. 

The Okinawan priest was really useless, if you still battled with the curse. What if you wake up again and decide to destroy half the town? He won't let that happen.

Toritsuka crouched beside you, poking your cheek lightly. "Still out, huh? Guess she’s weaker than she looks. If it were me, I’d have woken up by now.”

Saiki didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he placed a hand on your forehead, his psychic senses scanning for any trace of the cursed energy still inside you. It was faint but persistent, like a stubborn stain that refused to come out no matter how many times you washed the shirt. 

"So, what’s the plan, genius?” Toritsuka asked, leaning back on his heels. "Exorcism round two? Maybe I could call some of my spirit buddies to help—”

Saiki gave him another look that could turn even the most confident man into a puddle of regret. 

"Okay, okay, no spirit buddies,” Toritsuka muttered. "Jeez, you’re so touchy.” the spirit medium tsked, but then smugly smirked. "Oh, I see~” he muttered to himself and the pink-haired psychic just frowned in pure hatred.  

Saiki considered his options. The curse wasn’t as strong as before, but it wasn’t gone, either. If left unchecked, it could regain strength and start causing trouble again. Unfortunately, erasing it entirely wasn’t as simple as waving his hand and wishing it away. 

Toritsuka cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "You know, I’ve been thinking—”

"Don’t,” Saiki interrupted telepathically. 

"Ha ha, funny,” Toritsuka deadpanned. "But seriously, what if we tried, like, a purification ritual? You know, the kind where we light candles, chant some ancient mumbo jumbo, and maybe sacrifice a chicken or something?”

Saiki stared at him, unimpressed. 

"Fine, no chickens,” Toritsuka muttered, crossing his arms. "But we gotta do something. She’s my friend too, you know.”

Saiki raised an eyebrow. Friend? The only time Toritsuka ever called someone his "friend" was when he thought it might score him some karma points. Or boobs.

Still, Toritsuka had a point. They needed to act before the curse grew stronger. Saiki scanned your energy again, searching for weak points in the curse’s hold. It was intricate, tangled like a web, but not impenetrable. 

Toritsuka watched him work, his curiosity getting the better of him. "So, what’s the deal? Can you, like, zap it out of her or something?”

Saiki shook his head. If it were that simple, he would have done it already. The curse was deeply embedded in your energy, and removing it without causing harm required precision. Toritsuka’s idea of "zapping" was about as helpful as his idea of a balanced diet. 

"Alright, so we can’t zap it,” Toritsuka said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "What about... I don’t know, drowning it in holy water? I’ve got a stash in the back. Or—wait—what if we trick it into leaving her body? Like, offer it a better host?” 

Saiki pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"Relax, I’m joking!” Toritsuka added quickly. "Mostly.”

After a moment of silence, Toritsuka sighed, his usual bravado slipping. "Look, man, I know I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed or whatever. But I really do want to help her.”

Saiki glanced at him, surprised by the rare moment of sincerity. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him from vaporizing Toritsuka on the spot. 

After another long pause, Saiki telepathically communicated his plan. "I’ll create a barrier around her to contain the curse. It’ll give us more time to find a solution. But we’ll need to act quickly.”

"Got it,” Toritsuka said, nodding earnestly. Then, after a beat, he added, "So... does this mean I’m a hero now? Should I start drafting my acceptance speech?”

Saiki ignored him and focused on creating the barrier. A faint, shimmering aura surrounded your body, locking the remaining cursed energy in place. It wasn’t a permanent fix, but it would hold for now. 

As Saiki stood up, Toritsuka grinned. "You know, we make a pretty good team. Maybe we should go into the exorcism business together. Saiki and Toritsuka: Curse Busters Extraordinaire. What do you think?”

Saiki didn’t answer. He was already heading for the door, mentally preparing for the next round of chaos this cursed statue was undoubtedly going to bring. 

Behind him, Toritsuka called out, "Hey, at least let me take credit when she wakes up! It’s only fair!”

Saiki kept walking, his expression as stoic as ever. If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that dealing with curses was far less exhausting than dealing with Toritsuka.

Saiki was mid-thought, mentally preparing for the delicate work of removing the rest of the curse, when you suddenly sat bolt upright. It was so abrupt that even Toritsuka, who had been inspecting the barrier made by Kusuo troughroughly, jumped back with a yelp.

"BATHROOM!” you screeched, scrambling to your feet like someone who’d just remembered the concept of bodily functions after a three-day nap. You messily threw the futon aside and ran trough the barrier around you as if it even weren't there in the first place.

Saiki froze, his outstretched hand still glowing faintly with psychic energy. He stared at you, unblinking, as you barreled past him and Toritsuka, nearly knocking over an incense burner in the process. Bathroom was so important to you right now, that you didn't even notice Saiki glowing in pink glowing light. He lowered his hand, staring into his palm.

So not even barrier works on you...

"Hey, hey, careful!” Toritsuka called after you, his voice a mix of concern and disbelief. "You just woke up! Don’t you want to, I don’t know, talk to us first?!”

Your voice echoed faintly from down the hall. "NOT UNTIL I FIND A TOILET!”

Saiki sighed, letting his hand drop to his side. Of course, this was how you’d wake up—zero gratitude, maximum chaos. 

After a few minutes (and the sound of a toilet flushing), you reappeared in the room, looking much livelier than you had any right to be after nearly dying. 

"Ah, much better,” you said, stretching your arms over your head. Then, noticing Saiki’s blank stare and Toritsuka’s open-mouthed shock, you grinned. "Miss me?”

"You’re... alive?” Toritsuka asked, as if he hadn’t just seen you sprint down the hallway moments ago. 

"Well, yeah,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, it was touch and go there for a while, but I had a little... chat with the curse.”

Saiki’s eyebrow twitched. A chat? That wasn’t how curses worked. Not unless you had some kind of supernatural diplomacy skills, which you absolutely did not. 

"What do you mean, a ‘chat’?” Toritsuka asked, his voice tinged with panic. "Please tell me you didn’t make some kind of deal! Deals with curses never end well. I saw that in a movie once—” 

"Relax, drama queen,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes. "It wasn’t like that. The curse and I... we came to an understanding.”

Saiki and Toritsuka exchanged a glance. This was going to be stupid. 

"So, here’s the deal,” you began, sitting cross-legged on the floor like you were about to tell a campfire story. "Turns out the curse wasn’t totally evil, just, like, super bitter about her tragic backstory. I told her she couldn’t keep ruining my life just because hers sucked, and after a lot of yelling—and maybe a little crying—we agreed that she could stick around. As long as she doesn’t try to possess me or murder anyone.”

"You... let her stay?” Toritsuka sputtered, his voice rising to a near-shriek. "Are you insane?!”

"Probably,” you admitted with a shrug. "But hear me out: she realized that turning evil isn’t going to solve her problems. Accepting her horrible fate and letting go of all that anger will help her move on eventually. So, I’m basically a curse therapist now.”

And you're pretty sure that this was the cold heart who needed thawing in this world! You're still little skeptical, but confident in your abilities of being a therapist!

Saiki stared at you, his expression unreadable but his aura radiating pure exasperation. Of all the ridiculous outcomes he’d considered, this was not on the list. 

"Look, it’s a win-win,” you continued, grinning. "She gets a shot at redemption or whatever, and I don’t have to worry about random exorcisms. Plus, she’s pretty cool when she’s not trying to kill me. Kind of like a moody roommate.”

Toritsuka buried his face in his hands. "This is a disaster. You’ve just invited trouble into your life permanently.”

"Permanently?” you echoed, frowning. "Nah, she’s just crashing until she’s ready to cross over. We’re practically besties now.”

Saiki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe he’d wasted time worrying about you, only for you to wake up and willingly keep the curse around. Still, as frustrating as you were, at least you were alive. 

Toritsuka groaned. "Well, don’t come crying to me when she starts causing problems again. I wash my hands of this whole thing.”

"You didn’t do anything in the first place,” you shot back, smirking. "But thanks for babysitting me while I was out.”

Saiki turned to leave. This was officially no longer his problem. You were fine—for now—and any future chaos would be entirely your fault. 

As he walked out of the shrine, Toritsuka called after him. "Hey, wait! Don’t leave me alone with her and her cursed roommate!”

Saiki didn’t look back. You and your "roommate" could handle it. Probably.

As Saiki stepped out of the shrine, relishing the fresh air and the thought of finally leaving your chaos behind, he heard hurried footsteps behind him. Before he could react, you barreled into him, jumping onto his back like a hyperactive koala. 

"KUSUOOO!” you yelled, clinging to him with surprising force for someone who had recently been on death’s door. 

He froze, stiff as a board, his mind racing. How were you even moving right now? He knew he’d healed you, but you weren’t supposed to be bouncing around like this already. 

"Listen, I need to tell you something important,” you said dramatically, your voice trembling as if you were about to confess your deepest, darkest secret. 

Saiki sighed internally. Here it comes. 

You leaned in closer, your grip tightening. "Please take care of Cat and Fred the Second, while I’m recovering. They need someone responsible, and Toritsuka is… well, Toritsuka. I don't trust him to be alone in my home.”

Saiki blinked, taken aback by the sheer absurdity of your request. 

"You’re the only one I can trust with this, Kusuo,” you continued, your voice soft but sincere. The way you said it, the way your eyes glistened with genuine emotion—it almost felt like something straight out of a cheesy romance manga. 

For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to slow down. Relief and gratitude radiated from you, and Saiki felt an unfamiliar pang of… something. 

But then, as if the universe couldn’t let the moment last, you suddenly gasped, leaping off him like you’d been electrocuted. 

"WAIT A MINUTE,” you shouted, flailing your arms. "I’M COMPLETELY FINE!” 

Saiki’s eye twitched. Of course, you’d finally noticed. 

Toritsuka came sprinting out of the shrine, panting like he’d run a marathon. "Uh, yeah! About that!” he said, eyes darting nervously between you and Saiki. "It’s a miracle! The priest in Okinawa must’ve, uh, healed you remotely!”

You turned to him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "The priest in Okinawa? The one who got knocked out mid-exorcism?”

Toritsuka laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.
"Yeah! That one! Turns out he’s, uh, super powerful! Like, next-level divine intervention or something.”

Saiki watched in silent disdain as Toritsuka dug himself deeper into his ridiculous lie. 

You tilted your head, squinting at him suspiciously. For a moment, Saiki thought you might actually call him out on it. But then, your expression softened, and you shrugged. 

"Wow,” you said, genuinely impressed. "Guess I owe that guy a thank-you letter or something. But seriously, Kusuo—thank you.” 

Saiki’s eyes widened ever so slightly. 

You smiled at him, a genuine, heartfelt smile that was so out of character for you that it almost made him nervous. "For, you know… everything. You didn’t have to stick around, but you did. That means a lot.”

Toritsuka gagged loudly in the background, ruining the moment entirely. "Ugh, can you two not have a heartfelt moment right now? It’s making me nauseous.”

You whipped around, narrowing your eyes at him. "Oh, shut up, you useless hack! If anything, Kusuo deserves all the credit! You probably just stood there panicking the whole time.”

Toritsuka looked genuinely offended. "I’ll have you know I was instrumental in your survival! Without me, who knows what could’ve happened!”

"Without you, I’d probably have gotten better faster,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms. 

Saiki decided it was time to leave before the argument escalated. He turned to walk away, but you grabbed his sleeve, stopping him. 

"Hey, don’t forget about Fred the Second,” you said, grinning. "He likes his food at 7 a.m. sharp, or he’ll sulk for hours.” 

Saiki sighed. Maybe he should’ve let the curse win. 

Chapter Text

The day had come. After a few days of rest and what could generously be called “recovery” (though most of it involved you binge-eating snacks and forcing Toritsuka to fetch your water), you were finally heading back to school. The shrine had been cozy enough, if you ignored Toritsuka’s constant whining, but being cooped up had made you stir-crazy.

Upon your return home, you were surprised to see both Cat and Fred still alive. Fortunately enough, Mr. Saiki had been taking care of them well. But the mess you made while packing... Yeah let's worry about that later.

Now, standing at the gates of PK Academy, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nervousness. Your chaotic experience in Okinawa had been… memorable, to say the least. Surely, your classmates would be holding some grudges for you single-handedly turning a fun beach trip into an episode of Supernatural: Japanese Edition.

"You’re overthinking it,” the narrator chimed in, sarcasm dripping from every word. "It’s not like you unleashed a deadly curse that nearly got everyone killed or anything. Oh, wait."

"Shut up,” you muttered under your breath, earning a weird look from a passing first-year.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the school doors and made your way to class. The moment you stepped inside, all eyes turned to you. For a split second, the room fell eerily silent, and you braced yourself for a wave of judgment.

But then—

"[name]-chan!” Yumehara cried, practically flinging herself at you. "You’re okay!”

Before you could react, Mera joined in, clapping your back with enough force to knock the wind out of you. "Welcome back! I missed having someone to steal food from!”

Even Hairo was grinning, his booming voice echoing through the classroom. "Good to see you back in one piece, [name]! We were all worried about you!”

Kaido struck a dramatic pose, pointing at you like he was revealing a hidden truth. "I knew you’d survive! After all, I–The Jet Black Wings was there to--!”

Kuboyasu, less theatrical, gave you a nod. "Glad you’re okay.”

Teruhashi, radiant as ever, approached with her usual angelic smile. "[name]-chan, you gave us such a scare! But I knew you’d pull through!”

Even Nendo shuffled over, grinning ear to ear. "Yo, shrimp! You’re tough as nails, huh? Let’s grab some ramen later to celebrate!”

You blinked, completely taken aback. No accusations, no guilt-tripping, no snide remarks about how you ruined the trip. Just… genuine happiness that you were okay.

"Well, this is unexpected,” the narrator remarked, though you could hear the faintest hint of relief in its tone. "No pitchforks? No angry mobs? Are we sure this is still the same class?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a little awkwardly but mostly with relief. "Wow, guys… thanks. I thought you’d all be mad at me for, you know, the whole ‘almost dying and dragging a curse into our lives’ thing.”

"Mad at you?” Yumehara shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "Don’t be silly! We were so worried! When we heard how you were clinging to Toritsuka in fear, we felt so worried!”

That idiot.

"We even planned to visit you,” Mera added, "but Toritsuka said you needed rest. I bet he was just being lazy, though.”

"True,” Kuboyasu muttered under his breath, earning a few chuckles.

"Besides,” Teruhashi said, clasping your hands, "you’ve been through so much. No one’s blaming you for anything.”

The warmth in the room was almost overwhelming, and for a moment, you felt your throat tighten. You glanced down, hoping no one noticed the slight shimmer in your eyes.

"Ugh, don’t get all emotional now,” the narrator groaned. "This is supposed to be a funny story, not a tearjerker. Get a grip.”

You cleared your throat, shaking off the sentimentality. "Well, I guess I am pretty amazing for surviving all that, huh? Maybe I should start charging for my presence.”

That earned a collective groan from your friends, but their laughter followed quickly after.

Kaido was the first to jump in. "Don’t get cocky, [name]! You’re lucky the Dark Reunion decided to spare you!”

"Sure, Kaido,” you said, patting his shoulder. "Keep telling yourself that.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of reunions, laughter, and maybe a few too many retellings of the Okinawa incident. By lunchtime, the nerves you’d felt earlier were completely gone.

As you sat with your friends, joking and stuffing your face like nothing had happened, the narrator piped up again. "You know, for all your faults—and there are many—this could’ve gone a lot worse. No one died, the curse is gone, and somehow, your classmates still like you. Well, not that much, but effort counts. Miracles do happen, I guess.”

You smirked, popping a piece of fried chicken into your mouth. "Yeah, yeah. Just admit you missed me.”

"I’ll do no such thing,” the narrator huffed.

But you could tell. It totally did.

"Hm? Who were you talking to?" Teruhashi tilted her head, all perfect hair and suspicious sparkle.

You waved her off like a queen dismissing an unpaid jester.

"Just to myself. You know. Classic me." You leaned back in your chair with all the elegance of a potato falling off a shelf. "By the way… where’s the star of the show?"

Your eyes scanned the cafeteria for a flash of pink hair. Nothing. Not even the faint sigh of despair that usually accompanied his presence.

That day, you went home feeling suspiciously content. No more curses living rent-free in your body—Toritsuka’s monk friends had done the whole chanting-and-incense thing, and apparently that worked and the curse finally left your body and moved on. Sure, you missed out on a full-blown revenge arc, but maybe it was for the best. Still… imagine if you had gotten superpowers. The chaos you could unleash. The milk you could curdle just by looking at it. The—

You stopped dead in the middle of the street, one hand gripping your bag strap, the other clenched in dramatic inner-monologue fashion. If that whole narrator thing from earlier was true, about you messing up this world’s time line, you probably should hurry up and finish your mission.

…But also… you were having a lot of fun. People liked you here. You had friends. Some of them even tolerated you voluntarily.

Then your brain decided to sabotage you with an Okinawa flashback (not yours, but the curses) for some reason, you remember bits you went trough there, nothing too crazy, everything else is still quite hazy—Saiki’s face mid-battle, when the curse had you in its grip. Some weird emotion flickered there. Concern? Panic? Gas? Who knew.

You shoved the thought away like an incriminating tab on your browser. Nope. Not catching feelings. Absolutely not. He’s your buddy. Reluctant buddy who probably has you muted in real life, but still. If it weren’t for him, you’d have been dead six times over.

You reached your house, glanced across the street at Saiki’s place, and realized you hadn’t seen him all day. The man could blend into a crowd like a beige sock on beige carpet.

Inside, you kicked your shoes onto the pile labeled future-you’s problem, then opened the fridge to reveal an alarming amount of expired yogurt and one singular egg. You closed it. Your stomach growled.

Your cat weaved around your legs, meowing like a tiny, furry life coach. "Should I go visit him?" you asked.
The cat flopped over dramatically, purring like a villain giving permission.

So you did.

Quick shower, fed both Cat and Fred, put on world’s most unmatchable outfit (socks that didn’t know each other, a shirt that might have been a tablecloth in a past life), and you marched across the street.

You knocked in your signature pattern: Knock-knock—pause—knock-knock-knock—weird shuffle dance—one final knock.

Voices inside. Footsteps. A door flung open.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Saiki!" you beamed. "I was wondering if maybe I could join for dinner? I know this is a rude request but I’m tragically grocery-less until tomorrow and--"

Mrs. Saiki’s eyes sparkled like she’d just been handed a live comedy show for free.

"Oh, of course! Come in, dear!"

Mrs. Saiki welcomed you inside with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for long-lost relatives or particularly entertaining stray animals. You stepped over the threshold with the energy of someone who had already decided this was their second home and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Kusuo was already at the table, mid-meal, chopsticks paused in that dead-eyed moment of regret people get when they realize their evening just took a turn. You offered him a grin that was far too chipper for the lighting in the room, then sat yourself next to him without waiting to be told.

Dinner was a polite enough affair, at least on the surface. Mrs. Saiki made polite conversation, Mr. Saiki rambled about municipal planning conspiracies, and you nodded along like you were absorbing government secrets. Kusuo didn’t say much — actually, he didn’t say anything — but you filled the silence with remarks about  very made up rewrite of what actually went down in Okinawa. At one point, you spilled soy sauce on the tablecloth and pretended it was an abstract art piece. Nobody stopped you. By dessert, you’d decided this was the best free meal you’d had in months.

While you were still catching up with the Saiki's, Kusuo was already in his room, tired of your nonsense since day one.

After the table was cleared and laughed on and about with Mrs. Saiki, you somehow migrated upstairs before anyone could ask where you were going. You didn’t knock. Knocking implied you believed in barriers, and you didn’t.

You dropped yourself onto the floor like you owned the place, picking up a small knick-knack from his desk and turning it over in your hands with the vague menace of someone who might drop it just to see what happens.

"Sorry for the delay,” you said finally. "Your mom was showing me more of your baby photos. You were very round.”

And you weren't invited. He thought.

He looked at you from his seat at the desk, expression perfectly blank, and then just… went back to whatever he was doing. Which only encouraged you. You poked through his books, made a short-lived attempt to balance a pen on your upper lip, and at one point flopped backwards dramatically onto his carpet like you were reenacting a soap opera death scene.

It was only after a few minutes of you narrating an imaginary documentary about “The Endangered Teenage Recluse in Its Natural Habitat” that you noticed he’d stopped pretending you weren’t there and was just watching you, silent, arms crossed.

And then, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain — maybe it was the unshakable stillness in the room, maybe it was the faint guilt gnawing at you from how often you crashed into his life like a wrecking ball — you heard yourself say, "Hey… I’m sorry.”

It came out quieter than you intended, and for once, without a joke stitched onto the end. "For, you know… always barging in. Making a mess. Being—” you gestured vaguely at yourself, "--all this. I just… I like hanging out with you. Even if you’d never admit it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… still. You didn’t push it further. You didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, you let the apology hang there in the air for a moment, then grabbed a cushion from the floor and hugged it like it was going to shield you from the fact you’d just cracked your own armor.

Eventually, you cleared your throat. "Anyway, I'm taking the last banana from the fruit bowl downstairs before I go.”

That earned you nothing more than a flat look, but it was easier to take than whatever that moment before had been.

Saiki wasn't ignoring you on purpose–like he has tried, he just had nothing to say to you. Just thinking back to Okinawa is giving him headache. Little does he know your little mind is scheming another plan to throw him him off his line.

Groceries.

An activity so mundane it should barely qualify as an event, yet somehow you’ve managed to turn it into a mission of national importance. You don’t even know when the fridge at your place became an ecosystem of expired dairy, but it has. There’s probably a civilization thriving in one of the yogurt cups. They might even have laws.

You start the morning with the standard rituals: grumble at your alarm, grumble at the bathroom mirror, grumble at Cat. Admire Fred. Feed them both. Cereal for breakfast, which you eat while scrolling through a half-baked grocery list that looks more like a scavenger hunt written by a raccoon. 'Eggs, bread, more eggs, something green (not mold).' That kind of thing.

But then the thought occurs to you: you could invite company. Not friendly company. Just… company. Someone to witness your inevitable meltdown in the canned goods aisle when you realize mayonnaise has too many brands.

You know exactly who to ask.

It takes some work (you carefully select an embarrassing outfit), but eventually you’re standing in front of Saiki’s house, wearing your best “I’m absolutely not about to inconvenience you” smile. The door opens, and there he is, staring at you with the same expression people reserve for spam calls.

"Hi! I’m going grocery shopping. Come with me.”

"No.”

You blink. "Cool, so you’re in.”

Somehow, five minutes later, he’s walking beside you down the street. You don’t know how you won that argument, mostly because there wasn’t one. You suspect pity. Or resignation. He doesn’t say much — actually, he doesn’t say anything at first — but his pace is steady and he doesn’t veer off to escape you, so you count it as a win.

It was definitely resignation. Mostly because your mind today was abuzz with popular songs he swears he never knew existed. You were also humming a horribly off-key melody that immediately got stuck in his head.

"Okay“, Kusuo, gameplan. Here's what I need... you paused for dramatic effect, showing him the hastily written shopping list.

~Eggs
~ Bread
~more eggs
~something green
~ go with vibezzzz

He went over the contents quite quickly, already imagining the hassle you'll put him trough.

The supermarket is bustling. Families doing their weekly shop, elderly ladies comparing the price of radishes, and you, with a cart rolling in front, jumping like a very hyped toddler and Saiki trailing a few steps behind like a very unenthusiastic bodyguard.

You hold up a loaf of bread. "What’s the difference between ‘whole grain’ and ‘multigrain’?”

He glances at the label. "One has more grains.”

"…Wow. Thanks for the TED Talk.” You toss the fanciest looking bread in the cart, along with few other pastries, which he's sure you'll manage to eat by the time you return home.

The produce section is where things begin to unravel. You decide you want apples, but can’t commit to a type. Fuji? Gala? Pink Lady? You consult him like he’s a seasoned apple sommelier.

"Just pick one."

"Yeah, but what if they taste weird?"

"They’re apples."

You toss a random bag into the basket just to end the stalemate, though you’re certain he’s silently judging your choice.

In the canned goods aisle, you manage to knock over an entire pyramid of tuna tins. The sound echoes through the store like a metal avalanche. You stand there, frozen, while Saiki just… watches. No offer to help, no sigh, nothing. Just the stillness of someone who’s seen too much and has decided not to get involved.

You gather the tins back into something resembling order.  "Bet you’re glad you came, huh?”

"Thrilled."

By the time you reach the checkout, your basket is a disaster: bread, those pastries you already tried to eat and he had to stop you because he didn't want his face plastered in the local newspaper next to you, apples, three different jars of pickles (because you couldn’t decide), yogurt, eggs, lots of snacks, alarming amount of ice cream he's sure will melt by the time you make it back home, and a novelty fish-shaped bottle opener you absolutely didn’t need. Saiki pays for his own minimal purchase — bottled water and a single energy bar — while you try to keep your absurd collection from toppling off the conveyor belt.

Outside, you glance over at him. "You know, for someone who clearly hates this, you didn’t actually leave.”

He doesn’t look at you. "You walk too fast to ditch quietly.”

You grin. "So I’m basically holding you hostage. Cute.”

His face is unreadable, but you swear you catch the faintest twitch in his jaw, like he’s suppressing something — irritation, probably, maybe gas again. Or maybe the urge to drop you in the yogurt aisle and run.

Back at your place, you dump the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter with the finesse of a demolition crew. Saiki stands in the doorway like he’s bracing for impact. He’s been here before, so he already knows what’s coming, but there’s still a faint furrow in his brow–the look of a man realizing hope springs eternal, but not here.

The state of your house doesn't surprise him anymore. Books you never even read stacked in unstable towers. Shoes in geological layers by the door. A laundry pile in the corner that might have reached sentience. He’s never commented on it out loud, which you appreciate, but his silence is loud enough.

You start unpacking the groceries with zero system. Bread gets shoved into the fridge. Apples go into a cabinet for some reason. The pickles? On top of the microwave. You claim it’s “strategic placement” but even you don’t know the strategy.

"You know,” Saiki says finally, leaning against the doorframe,
"normal people keep apples in a fruit bowl.”

You glance over your shoulder. "Normal people don’t invite you over, either, but here we are. Also, can't you see this Helianthus slash freesia arrangement? You've never been told that fruit leaks out this weird thing called ethylene that fastens the wilting of flowers?” you finish, looking at him as if he just said something ridiculous.

They're already wilted though. He thinks to himself as he looks at the already dried up sunflowers on the counter.

"Don't ask how I know that. It involved bees. A lot of bees.” you shudder as if remembering very traumatic experience.

He says nothing, but his eyes flick to the corner where Cat is currently batting at the novelty fish-shaped bottle opener you bought. You crouch to retrieve it, nearly knocking over a teetering stack of cereal boxes in the process.

"Why do you even have three open boxes of the same cereal?” he asks.

"Different vibes,” you reply without hesitation, shrugging and tossing the bottle opener somewhere into the pile of the laundry, Cat immediately diving head-first into it.

Eventually, the groceries are “put away,” meaning every available surface now has something on it. You hop onto the counter, tearing open a bag of chips, while Saiki surveys the room like an architect mapping the scene of a disaster.

"You hate this, don’t you?” you say around a mouthful of chips.

He doesn’t deny it. "It’s… efficient, in its own way.”

"That’s not a compliment.”

"It’s not.”

By the time the groceries are all “stored” (a generous term for whatever system you’ve invented), the sky outside has shifted into that dusky, sleepy blue. Saiki’s still here, somehow. Most people would’ve fled within the first ten minutes, but he’s planted himself at the kitchen table, arms crossed, eyes occasionally sweeping the room like he’s looking for an escape hatch.

You’re halfway through a bag of chips when it hits you–you still haven’t properly thanked him. You know he's a fan of coffee jelly, you made it for him once and didn't burn the house down, so why not try again?

"Stay put,” you announce, sliding off the counter with purpose.

He doesn’t move. Which is good, because you’ve already decided this is happening. A few clumsy steps, two questionable measurements of instant coffee, and an incident involving gelatin powder that somehow got on your elbow later, you’re setting a small dish in front of him. It wobbles slightly, as if unsure of its own existence.

"It’s edible,” you assure him, as if that’s a selling point. "Go on. Try it.”

He picks up the spoon with the same level of enthusiasm someone might show for jury duty. Still, he takes a bite. No comment. No visible reaction. Just another bite. Which, coming from him, is basically a standing ovation.

"Not bad, right?” you press, leaning across the table.

"…It’s fine.”

Which you immediately translate in your head as fantastic, best thing he’s ever eaten.

"Of course it is, I made it." you point at yourself as if it's the most obvious thing, sliding into seat across him. He takes his time eating the dessert, considering you didn't even let it cool down properly, but has to admit, you're not bad at it at all.

Maybe—just maybe, he'll stick around for a bit.

Chapter Text

The weeks didn’t exactly fly by. If anything, they dragged along like a tired substitute teacher in heels two sizes too small.

When you weren’t at school—causing small-scale social disasters, debating Kuboyasu about the ethics of revenge arcs ("It’s not about the ethics, it’s about the aesthetic,” you’d argue), fueling Kaidou’s delusions of secret organizations, or bribing Nendo into performing increasingly stupid stunts just for your own entertainment—you were at home. 'Home' meaning loitering around in pajamas, eating snacks that could singlehandedly fund the national yogurt industry, upgrading your nest (bedroom) into something that would confuse both archaeologists and interior designers, spoiling your beloved pets, and, apparently, being the narrator’s personal migraine trigger.

"You know,” the narrator’s voice intruded as you slam-dunked an empty yogurt cup into the trash with the flair of an NBA finalist, "I am not opposed to you staying here.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you practically saw your brain. "This again. Yadda yadda, I’m overstaying my welcome, mysterious forces are angry, impending doom, the world trembles in suspense, blah blah. Can I do my thing at my pace?”

"Your pace consists of getting cursed in Okinawa and making your neighbor hate you every time you open your mouth.” The tone was pure side-eye.

"Saiki’s a nice guy,” you shot back. "Sure, I cause him trouble, he probably hates me, but—who wouldn’t?” You ignored the tiny, traitorous flicker in your chest at certain flashbacks and switched on the most boring TV show you could find, purely out of spite.

"My point,” the narrator continued, "is that I’m here to help.”

You snorted. "Really? You insult me constantly, you won’t give me mission hints, and you abandoned me during math class. You’re the emotional equivalent of bad Wi-Fi.”

"I’m not here to solve quadratic formulas for you. I’m here to help you achieve your mission. And even a blind person could figure out who the cold-hearted one is.”

"I refuse to believe it’s anyone from my school. And no—I’m not going on another date with Takahashi.”

“Suit yourself. The higher-ups decided you can stay until you’re satisfied.”

You laughed out loud, startling Cat off your lap and almost into Fred the Second’s fishbowl. "Man, this show’s—wait. What did you say?”

"I’m not repeating myself.”

You launched out of your chair like you’d been tasered. "Really? I can stay?”

"Yes,” the narrator sighed, "for now.”

What followed was you running victory laps around your house, dancing to music only you could hear, and then collapsing dramatically on the floor like you’d just won a gold medal in triathlon.

"If you were real, I’d kiss you,” you said to the ceiling.

"No, thank you. And I am real. I just have a physical form reserved for emergencies.”

"Does getting cursed not count as an emergency?”

"Everyone warned you about that. You wanted to be quirky and give the author a reason to commit.”

"Blah blah. Show me, then.”

"Show you what?”

"A circus trick, what else?”

"It’s for emergencies only. I’m not enduring another cringe arc.”

"Boring. Anyway—remember that time you said Kuboyasu wasn’t supposed to appear yet? What’s that about?”

"To be frank, I don’t know. You’re messing up the timeline. And… there’s something else…”

"Oh? Care tell—”

Knock. Knock.

You groaned, hauling yourself to your feet. "You’d better explain later.”

Opening the door revealed… quite the lineup. Nendo, grinning like a man about to sell you life insurance. Kaidou, buzzing with 40% excitement and 60% paranoia. Saiki, radiating pure 'I could be anywhere else' energy. And Kuboyasu, who looked like he’d just been told he was walking into an active crime scene.

"Yo, shrimp, wanna hit the beach with us?” Nendou announced, tipping his sunglasses down like a budget action hero.

"Idiot,” Kaidou cut in, vaguely pointing behind you, where a large amount of trash piles accumulated over the days. "she’s probably busy. Look at this mess.”

You grinned. "Nah, I’m free. Come in. I’ll get ready.”

They hesitated at the threshold like your house was the mouth of a cave in a horror movie. Kaido was distracted by the jungle of potted plants and ivy strung across your living room ceiling. Kuboyasu scanned the corners like he was expecting a cult leader to step out from behind a beaded curtain. Saiki just sighed and walked in, resigned to his fate, watching Nendou scan the place like he was in an amusement park.

Of course, his mother had made him spend his day off with a pack of idiots. And you.

"Your parents aren’t home?” Kaido asked, still craning his neck to see if your décor came with its own ecosystem.

"They’re abroad,” you said, heading upstairs. "Won’t be back anytime soon.”

And just like that, you left four wildly different flavors of disbelief standing in your living room.

Getting ready was supposed to be simple. Supposed to be.

The others had barely stepped inside before their collective brains short-circuited. Your living room was… eclectic. That was the polite term. The less polite term was “the result of a flea market sneezing.” Bright woven rugs clashed violently with a neon pink beanbag chair that sagged in the middle like it had survived a war. A velvet chaise lounge sat in the corner for no reason other than “it looked dramatic,” which you had once proudly told Kaidou in passing. A chandelier made entirely of mismatched spoons hung from the ceiling like a culinary threat.

Then there were the plants. Plants on every surface, climbing the walls, drooping from macrame hangers on the ceiling beams. It was less “homey” and more “small rainforest café run by a person who doesn’t know how to say no to ferns.” The everyday change you bring to your house doesn't surprise Saiki at all.

And the pets.

Cat wandered in first, tail high, giving each intruder the slow, judgmental look of a landlord doing surprise inspections. Kuboyasu kept one hand half-raised like he expected the cat to either scratch him or try to sell him essential oils. Fred the Second swam lazy circles in a over the top-sized tank for such a small fish, perched precariously on a stack of vintage suitcases, the tank's label upgraded into golden letters reading it's name, which did not inspire confidence in terms of earthquake safety. Nendou leaned down to tap the glass, and you yelled from upstairs for him to stop “psychologically harassing Fred the Second.”

Kuboyasu raised his eyebrow. "What happened to the First?“

Saiki only mentally faceplamed. "Sensitive topic.“

Saiki, however, didn’t waste time staring at your questionable interior design choices, unlike Kaido, who was already admiring the collection of a hit manga and weekly shounen jumps. Instead, he turned to Cat. In theory, the brain of an animal might hold small, casual details about its owner. In practice…

'Loud earlier. Sat in chair, spoke to air. Can stay. Ran around.'

The mental feed was… patchy. Like listening to a radio station with bad reception in a tunnel. Still, one thing stuck out: spoke to air. It was the first time Cat’s thoughts had hinted at that,other than judging you for interior choices and overfeeding both animals. Saiki filed it away—though, knowing you, it could be you just monologuing to the ceiling again.

Downstairs, Nendou was busy poking a ceramic bowl on the counter shaped like a screaming sun.  "What’s this for?”

"Idiot, can't you see it's a fruit bowl?” Kuboyasu said, though he wasn't very sure with his answer.

"It’s a hat,” Kaidou countered, finger tapping his chin in a thought.

Both theories were wrong, but you weren’t in the room to correct them–or to explain that the bowl was actually a failed pottery project you’d decided was “too ugly to not display.”

"Nendou, put it down, you'll break it!“ Kaido voiced.

From upstairs, you yelled, "Don’t touch the ceremonial spoon display!”

"What ceremonial—” Kuboyasu started, before his gaze landed on the chandelier. "Never mind.”

Footsteps thundered on the stairs, and you appeared in full “beach-ready” attire. Which, in your vocabulary, meant a tropical-print skirt layered over bright yellow swim shorts, an oversized T-shirt with “I PUT THE HOT IN HOT MESS” written in glittery font, and enough jangly bracelets to set off airport metal detectors. You had a woven tote bag slung over one shoulder, already overstuffed with things that definitely weren’t beach essentials.

"Ready,” you declared, as if you hadn’t just caused psychic and emotional damage to everyone’s sense of aesthetic.

By the time the group actually left your house, Saiki had already decided you’d been in his life for far too long without him learning anything concrete about you.

He knew the basics about everyone else. Nendou’s dad issues. Kaido’s delusions. Kuboyasu’s past as a delinquent. All annoyances, yes, but documented annoyances. Predictable patterns. Easy to file away in the mental cabinet labeled “People I Tolerate.”

You, however… nothing.

You’d just appeared one day. Like most transfer students here do—mysteriously, inconveniently, and with absolutely no respect for the sanctity of his peace and quiet. But unlike the others, there had been no background. No family details beyond a vague "I’m from America” tossed out with the casual dishonesty of someone making up a fake name at Starbucks. No childhood stories except the ones that sounded suspiciously fabricated. And every time someone asked you a personal question, you either dodged it, distracted them, or made up something so ridiculous that people stopped asking entirely.

So here you were now—sitting in the passenger seat of Chouno's van (which Nendou insisted on driving despite Kaido offering a much safer ride, but thanks to Saiki's psychic powers, he made the driver appear more... dignified to actually hit the road), your woven tote bag resting on your lap. Saiki’s peripheral vision caught the contents shifting with every bump in the road: a pair of goggles with fake rhinestones glued on, an unopened bag of marshmallows, two flashlights, a fishing net, and what looked like a portable blender. You had not once acknowledged that this was a beach trip, not a survival reality show.

He glanced at you briefly. You were staring out the window with the expression of someone ready to cause trouble at the first opportunity. The jingling of your bracelets was constant, like an obnoxious metronome.

From the backseat, Kuboyasu muttered something about how  "beaches are supposed to be relaxing,” and you immediately launched into an argument about the superior chaos of "beach combat sports.” Kaido was nodding along like you’d just revealed a top-secret military strategy.

Saiki looked away.

The beach was supposed to be quiet. Serene. Filled with the sound of waves, distant seagulls, and the occasional vendor shouting about yakisoba. That’s what Saiki had been counting on when his mother all but shoved him into this trip.

Instead, the first thing he saw when he stepped out of Chouno's  van was you.

Wearing a bucket hat covered in shiny fish-shaped pins you somehow acquired, he's resigned to ask from where. Questions about you lead to even more questions which lead to headaches.  On your nose were perched oversized sunglasses, the swim suit combo you hastily came up with clinging swaying freely with the breeze, you looked less like someone ready for a relaxing day at the shore and more like a public disturbance waiting to happen. Your tote bag and bracelets clinked ominously with every step, like it was full of items confiscated from several failed science experiments.

Meanwhile, Saiki was in his usual plain green trunks, with a summer shirt thrown on top. He couldn't care less to doll himself up for such an unnecessary occasion.

"We should have a chicken fight later!“ you announced, leaving no room for arguments, spraying sand everywhere with your childish steps.

"Thrilled.“ Kuboyasu deadpanned, already finding a way how to not make it his job to carry you.
Saiki watched as you tripped, landing face first in the sand. He audibly sighed.

It didn’t take long for the trouble to find you.

Some tough looking guys–loud, smug, and already dripping with the arrogance of people who thought they owned the beach—laughed as you passed by. You caught the tail end of their comment: "Nice outfit. Did your grandma dress you?”

Saiki could already tell where this was going.

And so could Nendo and Kaido as they stared between you and the hunks. Aren was daggering them with his eyes, waiting for his trigger event to spike.

You turned, sunglasses sliding slightly down your nose. "You wanna run that by me again, surfer boy?”

They smirked. Bad move. Within thirty seconds, you had somehow challenged them to a beach volleyball match. And within thirty-one seconds, you had also somehow recruited Saiki, Nendo, Kaido, and Kuboyasu as your “elite team of champions.”

"Why are you the referee?” Kuboyasu asked, already annoyed.

"Because I need to observe my athletes in their natural habitat,” you replied, holding up an old whistle that looked like it had been through several wars. "And also, I don’t play sports.”

Saiki stood there, arms crossed, considering the many, many ways he could teleport away without anyone noticing. Unfortunately, his mother’s inevitable interrogation about “why didn’t you play with your friends?” flashed through his mind, and he decided minimal participation was the lesser evil.

So there he was, standing barefoot in the sand as Nendo and Kaido argued about who would serve first, Kuboyasu stretched like he was about to fight a gang, and you… well, you had dragged over a mismatched beach chair, planted it dramatically on the sidelines, and were now sipping something suspicious out of a novelty fish-shaped cup.

"Alright, maggots,” you shouted, blowing the whistle so hard Saiki was sure a dolphin heard it. "Play fair, or I’ll replace you with the seagulls.”

The match started. Predictably, Nendou dove for the ball like it was a bomb, Kaido put on the tough exterior, muttering something about a “genocide spike” but screamed as the ball came his way and Kuboyasu actually tried to win. Saiki, meanwhile, did the bare minimum required to keep the ball in play.

You cheered obnoxiously every time your “team” scored, and booed theatrically every time the other team did. Saiki wasn’t sure if you were actually trying to win the match or just seeing how much you could embarrass everyone involved. Probably both.

"Point!” you yelled after the ball hit the ground on the opponents’ side. The whistle blast was so aggressive, a toddler three umbrellas away started crying.

"That was out!” one of the guys protested.

"Your face is out,” you shot back without hesitation. "Score’s eight-five, my guys.”

By the second set, sand was flying everywhere. Nendo tripped over Kaido’s leg, Kuboyasu spiked the ball so hard it nearly took out a beach umbrella, and Saiki caught himself wondering if teleporting the entire net into the ocean would be too obvious.

At one point, Kaido managed to hit the ball with enough force, sending it to Saiki, who took on the most lazy setting position and tossed it to Nendou who spiked it successfully.

You blew the whistle and stood up, clapping. "Bravo! We're going to nationals with this one!”

Saiki's pretty sure that the volleyball world wouldn't take this as seriously as you said it.

You somehow kept a running commentary through the whole game, making up player nicknames (“The Muscular Menace” for Kuboyasu, “Pigeon Boy” for Kaido, “Muscle Disaster” for Nendo, and “Guy Who’s Definitely Not Interested In Being Here” for Saiki).

The opponents grew increasingly irritated, which only seemed to fuel you more. By the time the score was tied, you had started announcing each serve like it was a heavyweight boxing match.

Kuboyasu won the final point, his spike sending the ball skidding across the sand with a satisfying thunk. You shot to your feet, threw your arms in the air, and declared, "Defenders of Beach Honor, baby!” before high-fiving Nendou, fist-bumping Kaidou, and tossing Kuboyasu a congratulatory shrimp chip from your tote bag, before plopping back into your chair like you’d just secured world peace.

You were absolutely exhausting.

Luckily, the opposing team didn't cause any more issues and went on with their day.

After the volleyball match, you declared the team “official beach legends” and insisted on commemorating the victory with an “honorary cool-down in the ocean.”

Saiki had been hoping this meant you’d wander off to splash around with Nendou and Kaidou while he sat under an umbrella, perfectly dry, eating something vaguely edible from the beach stalls. But apparently, that was too much to ask.

Because when he looked up from adjusting his sunglasses, you were standing there dripping wet, hair plastered to your face, grinning like you’d just discovered a new way to ruin his afternoon.

"Chickens fight,” you said.

"No.”

"You’re my teammate, Aren pulled a muscle and said he can't be bothered enough to carry me, so,” you insisted, pointing dramatically at the ocean as if it were a battlefield. "Team Saiki and [name] versus Team Nendou and Kaido. For glory. For honor. For--”

"No.”

"--for the satisfaction of utterly humiliating those two buffoons.”

That, admittedly, gave him a moment’s pause. But before he could fully decide, you’d already grabbed his wrist and were dragging him toward the water with the strength of someone who’d clearly been planning this from the start.

The sea was cool and deceptively calm as you waded in, still holding onto his arm like you were afraid he’d escape. Which, for the record, he was considering. Unfortunately, teleporting away would only encourage you to track him down later, probably with a snorkel and some ill-advised “underwater rescue mission.”

Within minutes, Nendou and Kaido had taken their positions: Nendou in the water, Kaido perched on his shoulders, wobbling like a nervous flamingo. You swam up to Saiki and without warning climbed onto his shoulders like this was the most natural thing in the world.

"Don't you dare think of dropping me, Kusuo. Or else I'll fart.” this only fueled his desire to drop you and teleport to a whole another continent.

He stood there, hands gripping your calves for balance, silently weighing the benefits of just dropping you into the water and teleport away versus letting this play out.

"Alright!” you shouted, pointing at your opponents. "Prepare yourselves for the Chicken Fight of the Century!”

Kaido immediately started flailing his arms like he was summoning the Dark Reunion, Nendo laughing so hard he nearly dropped him. You, meanwhile, leaned forward on Saiki’s shoulders with the confidence of someone who believed victory was inevitable.

The “battle” began.

Kaido swiped at you and missed entirely, his momentum nearly sending him toppling backward into the water. You retaliated by slapping at his hands with an open palm, yelling something about “ancient chicken combat techniques” you had supposedly learned in a monastery. Nendo tried to sidestep in waist-deep water, which went about as well as expected, splashing everyone within a ten-foot radius.

Saiki, for his part, remained perfectly steady, moving only when necessary to keep you from falling off or to dodge one of Kaidou’s wilder lunges.

The match ended when you leaned down, muttered “hold steady,” and then shoved Kaidou so hard he pinwheeled backward into the ocean, taking Nendou with him in a spectacular splash.

You threw your arms in the air, victorious. "And THAT is how champions are made, woohoo!”

Saiki walked toward the shore, letting you slide off his shoulders into the shallows. You were still grinning like a maniac, already talking about “round two” against Kuboyasu, who was wisely pretending not to hear you and massaging his sore shoulders.

"This was AWESOME!” he watched you jump around with a flat look, considering the whole fight as anything besides awesome, but he'll let you live in the moment.

If you're this excited about childish activities like this–

Saiki turned around, quickly stomping back to his spot under the shade. Not good, he almost smiled.

The rest of the afternoon blurred into sand, salt, and chaos that wasn’t technically his problem but somehow still managed to involve him. Eventually, he found a spot near the shore, away from the noise, and sat down.

The waves rolled in and out in a steady rhythm, white foam fizzing at the edges before sliding back into the sea. The sun was warm without being suffocating, the kind of day that would’ve been perfect for quietly reading a book, eating coffee jelly, and most importantly–not interacting with other humans.

Except you were here.

You were waist-deep in the water, trying to get Kaido to hold a seashell “like it’s a magic amulet,” while Nendou attempted to teach a very confused child how to do push-ups in the sand. Kuboyasu stood nearby, arms crossed, caught between his default annoyance and mild amusement.

Your hair was wet, sticking to your face, the golden glow of the setting sun only enhancing your features, making you look like an actress from a Paracetamol advertisement, definitely not experiencing a set amount of alarming side-effects.

Saiki had no idea how you still had that much energy after an entire day of beach volleyball, chicken fights, and antagonizing strangers. Then again, he wasn’t sure why he expected anything different.

When you’d first appeared in his he had assumed you’d be just another background character. A few polite greetings, maybe the occasional group outing he’d get roped into, then you’d fade into the blur of classmates and acquaintances.

But you hadn’t.

Instead, you’d carved out space in his life without asking, your chaotic energy forcing him into situations he never would’ve agreed to on his own. And the worst part was… he didn’t hate it.

Not that he’d ever admit that.

You laughed at something Kaidou said, loud and unrestrained, and for some reason it stuck in his head. Saiki leaned back on his elbows, eyes half-closed against the sun, wondering exactly when his definition of a “normal day” had shifted to include you in it.

Chapter Text

Fridays after school were supposed to be simple.

Saiki’s plan for today had been foolproof: leave the house, buy coffee jelly, return home, eat coffee jelly. It was an elegant, three-step plan, a rare slice of peace in his otherwise chaos-riddled life. His parents had given him a small amount of cash under the guise of “spending money” — although considering the only thing he ever spent money on was coffee jelly, the gesture felt more like they were directly funding his caffeine-sugar habit. Not that he was complaining.

He stood in the refrigerated dessert aisle of the store, scanning the neatly lined cups of coffee jelly in silence. There were several brands, each boasting some ridiculous marketing slogan: 〔Bold Coffee Flavor! Perfect for Your Elegant Afternoon! Now With Even More Coffee Essence!〕 he wasn’t here for slogans. He was here for taste. And, admittedly, package design. He was currently comparing two brands, debating whether the one with the gold lid actually tasted better, or if it was simply tricking his brain into thinking it was “premium.”

Then, in the middle of this quiet, sacred ritual--

"Think fast. Should I buy these or these?”

The voice came out of nowhere, but it was unmistakably yours.

Saiki blinked once, very slowly, like a man whose day had just been derailed by an incoming freight train he could not avoid. He turned his head, and there you were, holding up two mesh bags of onions as though this was a normal thing to ask in the dessert aisle.

No 'hello'. No warning. Just onions.

He stared at you for a moment, not because he was considering your question, but because he was internally recalculating his chances of finishing this trip without further nonsense. The odds were low. Statistically nonexistent.

"What are you doing here,” he asked flatly, not even phrasing it as a question so much as an accusation.

You brightened, as if he’d just given you a perfect conversational opening. "Oh, I saw this viral recipe for spicy onions, right? And I can’t commit to a type. The recipe says yellow onions, but the comments section is a battlefield of people saying white onions are superior. I want to be a responsible chef and consider my options, you know?”

"You’re not a chef,” Saiki replied automatically.

"Not with that attitude.”

He glanced back at the coffee jelly, silently mourning the solitude he had moments ago. The aisle, once peaceful, now felt like a hostage situation. He reached for the gold-lid brand, hoping you would interpret this as 'conversation over.' You did not.

"So, between these,” you continued, lifting the bags for emphasis, "which screams ‘I’m ready to ruin my stomach lining with spice’ to you?”

Saiki briefly considered answering incorrectly just to end the interaction faster. But then again, knowing you, any answer would be an invitation for you to somehow escalate the situation until he was standing in the middle of the store holding an onion while being accused of “not committing to the bit.”

"Whichever is cheaper,” he said instead, the universal code for I don’t care, please go away.

You gasped dramatically, clutching the yellow onions to your chest. "So you do have a preference. Bold of you, Saiki. Very bold.”

He sighed, placing his chosen coffee jelly into his basket and turning to leave, only for you to fall into step beside him without missing a beat.

"Good choice, by the way. The spicy onion recipe is going to be my magnum opus. You’ll be invited to the tasting.”

"I’m busy that day,” he said.

"I didn’t tell you what day it was.”

"Exactly.”

Saiki’s first mistake was assuming you were done after the onions.

He should’ve known. In fact, if he looked back on his life up until this point, there were several glaring red flags that screamed never follow [name] anywhere, but here he was, drifting down the aisles like a man trapped in a documentary about poorly planned expeditions. You had attached yourself to his side, steering the course of the shopping trip like some chaotic tour guide who had mistaken him for an eager tourist.

"Okay, so,” you began, immediately swerving into the snack aisle without warning, "the onion recipe is just the centerpiece. The supporting cast is equally important. We need spice, texture, flavor. Drama.”

Saiki didn’t respond. He was focused on maneuvering his basket out of the way of a small child who was staring at him like he might hand out candy. That would be your influence.

"And I know what you’re thinking,” you continued, grabbing a family-sized bag of spicy chips and tossing it into his basket, "Why chips? Well, that’s obvious. To eat while the onions are marinating. You can’t just… stand there, onionless, with nothing to snack on.”

He stared at the chips in his basket, then at you, pointing a finger to your own basket. "That’s your basket.”

"Yeah, but yours looks roomier. More… trustworthy.”

He stopped walking. "Take them out.”

You pretended not to hear him, your head tilting toward the shelf like you were suddenly deeply engrossed in the complex sociopolitical narrative of breakfast cereals. A moment later, a box of chocolate puffs joined the chips in his basket. Then came marshmallows. Then three different brands of cookies.

By the time you made it to the baking aisle, Saiki’s basket looked less like it belonged to a high school psychic and more like a survival kit for someone planning to live exclusively off sugar until the end of days. He would’ve put everything back, but every time he glanced at the growing pile, he realized with horror that most of it was actually… things he liked. Suspiciously so.

"You’re doing this on purpose,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

"Doing what?” you asked innocently, balancing on the edge of the shelf to reach for a jar of caramel sauce. It clinked against the others as you pulled it down, unscrewed the lid for a sniff, and without hesitation dropped it into his basket.

"You have a sweet tooth,” you said simply, like you were revealing the ending of a mystery novel. "I’m just making sure your needs are met.”

"I'm not--”

"Don’t worry, I’m paying.”

Saiki stopped walking again. "You’re what?”

You grinned at him, a grin so self-satisfied that it was impossible to tell whether you were doing this out of genuine generosity or because you liked the idea of saying I bought you snacks in a tone that implied he now owed you his undying loyalty.

It was the second one. Definitely the second one.

"Consider it a gesture,” you said, already pivoting toward the dairy section. "From me. To you. The king of coffee jelly. Speaking of, you should get more. I’ll cover it. We can have a feast.”

This was supposed to be a quick trip. In and out. No witnesses, no interruptions. But now, thanks to you, he was on the verge of leaving the store with enough sugar to induce cardiac arrest and an unshakable suspicion that he’d just been tricked into participating in something far larger and far more sinister than an onion recipe.

Kusuo watched as you began switching around the items on the shelves to spell out 'SEND HELP' and dragged a hand down his face. This was supposed to be his peaceful day off. It all started with you and the onions. It should’ve ended with the onions.

But no, somehow, this had evolved into a full-scale domestic shopping expedition that Saiki had never consented to, complete with aisle detours, spontaneous product testing, and you using his basket as your personal storage unit.

Currently, you were holding two brands of hot sauce and staring at him like he was about to deliver a verdict that would change the course of history. "Quick, no time to think, Kusuo,” you said. "Which one’s better for the marinade? This one says ‘extra hot’ and this one says ‘fatal mistake’.”

He didn’t look up from the jar of marmelade he was pretending to be examining. "Neither.”

You gasped like he’d just told you friendship wasn't magic. "What do you mean neither? You can’t have drama without spice! It’s like eating cake without icing, or going to karaoke and not singing the power ballad!”

"Exactly.”

You glared at him for three whole seconds before dramatically tossing both bottles into his basket. "Fine. We’ll get both. You can taste-test them later and tell me which one made you cry harder.”

He was about to remove them when you suddenly grabbed his sleeve and yanked him toward the candy aisle with the force of someone who’d just spotted buried treasure. By the time he processed what happened, your hands were full of pocky, gummy bears, and three novelty lollipops shaped like cartoon animals. Without breaking eye contact, you dumped them into his basket again.

"Stop putting things in here,” he said flatly.

"You’re so stingy,” you shot back, "I told you I’m paying. I like treating my friends.”

"We’re not—” he started, but then froze as he noticed movement in his peripheral vision. A group of high school guys had stopped a few feet away, watching you and him with the unfiltered bluntness only nosy people possessed.

One of them leaned closer to his friend and, in a voice that was not nearly quiet enough, said, "That guy’s girlfriend is a total weirdo. He should dump her.”

"Yeah, dude. She's chopped.”

Saiki almost dropped the basket.

Girlfriend? A GIRLFRIEND? The word hit him like a physical blow. Not only was it factually incorrect, it was conceptually offensive. He would never, under any circumstances, even consider--

"Oh, honey,” you said loudly, cutting into his mental spiral with the worst possible choice of words. You clutched his arm like a melodramatic soap opera character. "Don’t listen to them. We’re stronger than this. Our love will prevail.”

The guys laughed, not because it was funny, but rather sad looking. An old woman passing by smiled at you like you were the most wholesome thing she’d seen all day. Saiki wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.

He yanked his arm free. "Stop.”

"Why? You’re blushing,” you teased, leaning in just close enough to make him take a full step back. He was not, in fact, blushing. Rather turning red in rage.

"I’m leaving.”

"No you’re not,” you said cheerfully, looping your arm through his again and steering him toward the bakery section. "You still need bread. And I need someone to carry the baguette like a sword while I duel the produce section.”

He seriously considered teleporting home and letting you fend for yourself, but then remembered his coffee jelly was still in the basket. The only thing worse than being publicly mistaken for your boyfriend was losing a dessert over it.

This was supposed to be a peaceful shopping trip. Instead, it had turned into a public trial of his patience, conducted in front of witnesses under the false pretense of romance. And you, the chaos in human form, were the prosecution, judge, and jury all at once.

The checkout line was moving too slowly for Saiki’s liking. Not because there were too many people, though there were, but because you had decided to “organize” the items in the basket by “emotional importance.”

The candy was “pure joy,” so it went first. The hot sauce was “unresolved trauma,” so it went last. The onions were “bitterness,” so they went somewhere in the middle, sandwiched between two cartons of strawberry milk.

By the time you finished your system, the cashier was already giving the two of you that polite but slightly concerned smile people reserved for eccentric couples they didn’t want to offend.

"You two having a cozy night in?” she asked pleasantly as she scanned the Pocky.

Saiki’s internal response: No.

Your actual verbal response: "Me and him? Please,” You waved a hand dismissively, the way one might swat at a fly. "The only thing we’d ever do together at night is probably fight over who gets the last pudding. And I’d win.”

The cashier blinked. "Oh. I just thought--”

"Don’t,” you said flatly, before leaning toward her and adding in a faux whisper, "He’s the kind of guy who’d schedule a date in Excel and bring a PowerPoint about why you should leave by 8:30 p.m.”

Saiki didn’t flinch, but internally, he was debating whether coffee jelly was worth standing here for another 40 seconds.

The cashier laughed awkwardly, finished bagging the groceries, and told you the total. Before Saiki could reach for his wallet, you swooped in, slapped your money on the counter, and grinned like you’d just executed a flawless heist.

"There. I told you. My treat. You’re welcome.”

"I didn’t ask you to--” he started.

"Exactly. That’s what makes it nice,” you cut in, grabbing the bags and shoving half of them into his arms before walking toward the exit.

He followed, mentally cataloging every second of this trip as Exhibit A in his ongoing case for why leaving the house was a mistake. Somewhere behind him, the cashier was probably still trying to figure out whether you two were dating, enemies, or both.

Spoiler: it was neither.

At least, in his mind.

His plan for the day had been perfect. Wake up. Eat breakfast. Go into town. Buy coffee jelly with the allowance money his parents shoved into his hand after that whole “you need to treat yourself more” speech. Go home. Eat the coffee jelly. Possibly nap. Minimal human interaction. Ideally, zero. But of course, you had to ruin things.

The walk home should have been silent. It could have been silent. In a better world, it would have been silent.

Instead, you were narrating your own grocery haul like a cooking show host on their third energy drink.

"So here’s the plan,” you said, swinging your bag of groceries with the kind of confidence that suggested you’d never once considered the possibility of failure. "First, I slice the onions, right? But not just slice–dramatically slice, like in those recipe videos where everything is in slow motion and there’s a pop song in the background. Then, I douse them in the spicy marinade, let them sit overnight so they can absorb maximum regret, and boom–two days of me walking around like a dragon with seasonal allergies.”

Saiki did not comment. Mostly because commenting would imply engagement, and engagement would encourage more talking. Unfortunately, your talking required no encouragement.

You were mid-rant about the difference between “regular spice” and “the kind of spice that makes you question your life choices” when Teruhashi appeared ahead on the sidewalk, like a cutscene trigger in a video game, all sparkles and cinematic lens-flare.

She spotted Saiki. Then she spotted you. And if Saiki hadn’t been cursed with telepathy, he might have mistaken her smile for genuine warmth instead of the polite, over-saturated social glow it really was.

'Why is he with her? Are they…? No, impossible. On the weekend too… Is she blackmailing him? Does she have some kind of hold on him? Why would Saiki-kun--'

Her thoughts were a rapid-fire spray of question marks and mild existential crisis, all wrapped in her usual perfectly poised exterior. She tilted her head, the sunlight catching in her hair like some divine spotlight operator was following her around.

You, blissfully unaware, just kept walking, launching into a description of how “the spicy onion challenge” was basically a social experiment in masochism. "See, the key is to suffer just enough that it’s funny, but not enough to require medical intervention. That’s the sweet spot.”

Saiki considered, briefly, the odds of simply teleporting out of this interaction. But the trouble was that Teruhashi would still be here, and you would still exist, and somehow he knew you’d both just find him again. Like emotional homing missiles.

"Oh! Teruhashi,” you said finally, as if you’d only just noticed her, which was a lie so transparent it could have been used as cling film. "We’re just heading back from the store. Did you know Saiki here has the refined taste of a toddler in a candy aisle?”

Her perfect smile didn’t falter, but her inner monologue now included: 'And she insults him, too? In public?'

Saiki walked on, saying nothing, just letting the mental chaos wash over him like a static-filled radio station. Somewhere between your nonstop chatter and Teruhashi’s silent interrogation, he decided he’d had enough social interaction for the rest of the week.

Unfortunately, it was only Friday evening.

Teruhashi’s smile didn’t falter, but Saiki could practically hear the glass cracking behind it.

'Why is she so relaxed around him? Are they on a date?! Is he blushing?! She just talks and talks and--what’s in that bag? Are those… onions? What kind of date involves onions?'

"Spicy onions,” you announced out loud, as if answering a question nobody had asked. "It’s a new challenge I’m doing. You basically eat them until your soul ascends.”

Teruhashi tilted her head slightly, perfect hair catching the light again. "Oh… that sounds… interesting,” she said, her voice the kind of careful tone reserved for someone describing modern art they don’t understand but have to pretend to like.

"Yeah, wanna come?” you said instantly, because you interpreted interesting as eager commitment. "It’ll be fun! You, me, him. Onion pals.”

What? Saiki thought, with the exact level of emotion he’d have if someone told him his shoelace was untied.

Teruhashi’s inner monologue spiked like an overloaded speaker. 'Go? To her house? With Saiki-kun? I could… impress him. I could show him I’m not afraid of spice! But–ugh, why her idea?'

"Oh--well, if it’s not any trouble…” she said aloud, clearly trying to sound casual while every molecule of her being screamed THIS IS A MISSION NOW.

You grinned like you’d just recruited a new party member in an RPG. "Great! It’s settled. Tomorrow. Bring milk.”

Saiki stopped walking. "No.”

"Oh, come on,” you said, waving a dismissive hand. "You’ll love it. You can’t say no to a culinary bonding experience.”

"Yes, I can,” Saiki said flatly.

But it was too late. You were already describing, in vivid detail, how “the heat hits you in waves” and “your tear ducts become rivers of achievement.” Teruhashi, meanwhile, was nodding politely while thinking, 'If this will make him finally gasp for me, I’ll eat the entire plate.'

Saiki imagined his peaceful weekend–quiet, coffee jelly, no people–evaporating into the ether. What remained was you, a bag of onions, and Teruhashi’s competitive aura filling his brain like a gas leak.

For the first time today, he considered whether teleporting into the sun would actually be that bad.

Chapter Text

The next day arrived far too quickly for Saiki’s liking, which was saying something considering he could literally manipulate time. You’d been texting him all morning–correction: you’d been sending him all morning, since your messages read more like someone live-blogging their own descent into madness rather than actual communication.

. •°〔Onions are ready. They’re glaring at me from the counter. Milk’s present. Is it normal if onions feel smug? Be there, or else.〕

He didn't want to know what “or else” meant in your dictionary.

By the time Saiki reluctantly arrived at your place (he dragged his feet over the street), Teruhashi was already there, standing on your doorstep like she’d just been photographed for a lifestyle magazine called Perfect But Relatable. Her hair glowed in the late afternoon light, her smile could have been sold as luxury toothpaste advertising, though her mind was a cacaphony of voices, wondering why your house was just across his and why was there glitter all over the doorknob.

"Oh! Saiki-kun, you're here!” she said, expecting a gasp or three. Giving a polite nod, Saiki rang the doorbell–why does it sound like that?–and you threw the door open, some seasoning already in the corners of your mouth. He vocally sighed.

"Welcome to my abode.” you said as you led the two inside, speaking more to Teruhashi, since it's her first time visiting, and dodged absolutely nothing in the air, making the picture perfect girl copy your gesture with confusion.

Her eyes scanned the surroundings, sweat forming at the back of her neck, as if wondering what she got herself into and counting down until something spontaneously combusts. "W--Wow... [name]-chan, your house is...” before she could even finish, you cut in, shooing Cat off the counter.

"Feng-shui.”

"I--I see...” she nodded, as if your reply explained the spoon-chandelier and ferns all over the place, which she's sure weren't watered in at least, a month. "Your parents are away?”

"Oh, they're far. Veeeery far. Like, all the way back in 'merica, yep,” you explained, tossing a random spicy chip into your mouth (how? where did it come from?). Saiki watched how you avoided eye contact while saying that. Suspicious.

He tried to tune in, bracing himself for whatever appaling tune would autoplay in your mind this time. However, it was a total nonsense. The melody wasn't catchy at all and the words spoken were probably in Latin or a very fake and made up language.

There was no point in doing this anymore. He can't figure you out. You're an enigma. One big question mark.

Saiki sat down, his eyes immediately catching the wine glass sitting on the counter top, a small goldfish lazily swimming in circles. He spun around to check on Fred. He was still there, in his updated tank, which had no filtration whatsoever, but seemed content. Even his thoughts were joyous, however, unlike Cat, it told him absolutely nothing about you.

"Why–” before he could ask (curse his own curiosity, but who wouldn't ask) you yanked the wineglass off the counter with an  alarming strength. "Don't touch him. He's in a timeout for tax evasion.”

Yeah, he's not coming back after this.

Teruhashi was staring in what could only be described as a regret of someone who thought too highly of themselves, but her sweet smile didn't falter, though if you focused enough, you could see it twitch every so often.

"Anyway, welcome to hell,” you announced cheerfully, handing each of them a plate. "The rules are simple: eat the onion. Survive.”

Saiki stared at his plate with all the enthusiasm of a man being handed a live grenade.

Teruhashi, however, grinned gracefully, clearly thinking; 'If Saiki-kun sees me as strong and fearless, he’ll be impressed. He'll finally gasp! I can handle spice. I’ve eaten curry before.'

You, of course, dove in first like you were trying to win a medal in “reckless self-destruction.” The first bite made your eyes water instantly, but you waved it off with a cough-laugh hybrid that suggested you’d already lost feeling in your throat.

Teruhashi followed, keeping her face composed for exactly four chews before her eyes began to glass over like a tragic movie heroine. "Oh--this is… wonderful,” she managed, voice trembling, hand shaking. 'Don’t cough. Don’t cry. Be perfect. She won't beat me!'

Saiki hadn’t moved.

"You’re not even trying,” you said between hiccups, pointing your fork at him like a sword.

"I don’t need to,” he replied, monotone.

The next ten minutes were a slow descent into mutual suffering. You were gripping your glass of milk like it was a life preserver. Teruhashi was clearly in the middle of some private endurance contest, her polite smile twitching with every bite. Milk was disappearing at an alarming rate.

"You--” hiccup "--gonna--” wheeze "--finish that?” you asked, pointing at Teruhashi’s half-eaten plate like a vulture circling a wounded animal.

Saiki watched the two of you as one might observe a nature documentary. In the wild, two competitive species fight for dominance, while the third, wiser animal keeps its distance, knowing neither will survive.

By the end, you were slumped over the table, tear-streaked but somehow proud. Teruhashi was still smiling, but it was the smile of someone who’d just walked through fire barefoot.

"Well,” you said hoarsely, "who’s up for round two?”

Saiki stood up without a word and left your apartment.

The door had barely clicked shut behind him before Teruhashi turned her attention fully to you. Her perfect smile softened into something more conspiratorial, the kind of smile that says 'I’m just curious while actually meaning I am gathering intel to crush you socially if necessary.'

"You and Saiki-kun seem… close,” she said, placing her empty glass of milk delicately on the table like she hadn’t just used it to put out a culinary house fire.

You, still recovering from the onion apocalypse, squinted at her like she’d just asked if you could recite the entire periodic table backward. "Close? Nah. I mean, unless you count the fact that I annoy him on purpose sometimes, but that’s more of a public service.”

Her eyes flickered, polite curiosity hiding the faintest spark of confusion. 'Why would Saiki-kun tolerate someone like this? He doesn’t even look at other girls this way… does he?'

You waved your fork lazily in the air, as though conducting an invisible orchestra. "Besides, if me and him were a thing—” you made an exaggerated face of disgust "--I’d have to deal with the fact that he’s… you know. Him.”

Teruhashi tilted her head, the halo of perfect hair catching the light. "And what’s wrong with ‘him’?”

You leaned forward as if you were about to confess something profound. "For starters, he has the energy of a tax audit. And he never smiles. I feel like if he ever laughed, the world would implode.” You took another sip of milk. "Also, I bet he alphabetizes his socks. I can’t live like that. Have you seen his baby photos? He was very round.”

She laughed politely, but her mind was doing cartwheels. 'Baby photos?! How come she had gotten so close to him, that he'd show her his baby photos?! So she’s not interested… right? But then why spend so much time with him? Unless she’s lying. Is she lying?'

She fiddled with the edge of the glass, looking down at her lap with her soft smile, trying to keep her composure. "Well... Back in Okinawa... When he was saving you with Toritsuka... He had this... Look, you know? Like he didn't want to lose you.”

She looked up and you titled your head. "You think it's that? I thought he was holding gas. Also–Toritsuka said he was so scared he started crying. Not much of a hero to me.”

Teruhashi's brow irked. 'I'm pretty sure the one crying was Toritsuka.'

"Well... Do you like him?” she finally said, meeting your eyes

You shrugged, standing to start cleaning up the kitchen disaster zone. "Nah, I just like bothering him. Keeps him humble. He’s got that quiet, broody thing going on, you know? Probably thinks too much about, like… clouds. Or coffee jelly. Or both. Also, I promised to teach him how to loosen-up. He didn't agree, but that's just step one of breaking his barriers. I'm doing the world a favor by doing that.”

Teruhashi smiled again, but this time there was an almost imperceptible edge to itthe kind of edge you’d expect from someone who’d just realized their “rival” wasn’t playing the same game at all.

"Mm,” she said sweetly. "I’m sure you are.”

By late afternoon, Saiki’s house was quiet again. His parents had gone out for one of their aggressively affectionate “date nights”, which, judging by past patterns, meant they’d either return with six shopping bags or a pet they didn’t plan to keep.

He was reading in his room, finally enjoying the absence of background noise (you), when the faint click of his front door opening registered in his mind.

Not knocking. Not calling out. Just… entering.

Of course, it was you.

There was a brief mental debate between teleporting away and pretending he wasn’t home, but before he could choose, the sound of your feet hitting the staircase gave way to the unmistakable creak of his bedroom door. You walked in like you owned the place, holding a carton of something suspiciously resembling sweet tea, and without so much as a “hello,” or “can I come in?” you flopped onto his bed.

"Wow, your sheets are softer than mine,” you said, sprawled out sideways like a starfish, socks mismatched. Saiki stared at you for three silent seconds, mentally noting the exact point where his peaceful afternoon had died. "Why are you here.” it wasn't so much as question as much it was an order for you to leave and maybe return back to wherever you came from.

"I was bored.” you took a sip of your drink and didn’t elaborate, as if that fully explained breaking into your neighbor’s house.
"Also, Teruhashi totally likes you.”

Unfortunately, he's very well aware. He's also very well aware of the conversation that happened after his departure. Well, from what he could read from Teruhashi's mind.

Saiki blinked, not knowing which reply to settle with. So he chose the classic. "...What.”

"She does,” you said, sitting up just enough to gesture vaguely in the direction of where she left to. "Like, it’s obvious. I knew from the second day I transfered here. She’s got the whole shiny hair, twinkle-eye, magazine cover smile thing going on every time she looks at you. I don’t know how you haven’t noticed. Unless--” you gasped like you were in a soap opera "--you’re in love with her too.”

He didn't miss a beat. "No.”

You smirked, leaning back into his pillow. "Knew it. You should just go for it. Get married. Have matching coffee jelly mugs. Live the dream.”

He resisted the urge to tell you that he’d rather be launched into the sun.

"I mean, come on, she’s perfect. Literally perfect. It’s like she’s been Photoshopped in real life. She literally glows.” you tapped your chin. "Although, she did chug two cartons of milk in one go. Which was impressive, honestly. I didn’t even think that was possible. My record has been broken.”

Saiki shut his book and stood up. "Get out.”

You ignored him, rolling over and kicking your feet up. "You’re welcome for the love advice, by the way. I’ll officiate the wedding. No need to thank me.”

He was already regretting not teleporting when he heard you mutter, "I wonder if she’d let me give a speech about his socks.”

Saiki had resigned himself to the fact that you weren’t going anywhere. Experience told him that physically throwing you out of his room wouldn’t stop you from coming back in five minutes with a new topic to yell about–and teleporting you somewhere else would only result in more questions he didn’t want to answer.

So he just… turned his back. Picked his book back up. Pretended you weren’t there. You seemed content to lie on his bed, sipping sweet tea and occasionally humming tunelessly. It wasn’t peace, exactly, but it was… the closest approximation he was going to get.

Until–

"... Oops.”

Two things about that word made him tense immediately.

One: the tone. It wasn’t your fake “oops” you used when you’d intentionally set something on fire or one would give after delivering a life changing spoiler. It was your real “oops,” which you only used when you’d done something inconvenient to yourself. Which, by extension, meant it was going to be inconvenient for him too.

Two: you were holding a drink over his bed.

He spun around just in time to see a large, dark stain spreading across his otherwise perfectly clean sheets. The sweet tea carton in your hand was tilted at an angle that screamed I should’ve put the cap back on.

"Oh, wow,” you said in the same voice someone might use when spotting a dead body in the street. "That’s… yeah, that’s a spill.”

"Get. Off.”

You raised your free hand like you were swearing an oath. "I can fix it.”

"You can’t fix it.”

"I can totally fix it--”

He reached for your arm to pull you off the bed. You immediately resisted, planting yourself deeper into the mattress like a toddler refusing to leave a toy aisle. "Saiki, let me explain—”

"You spilled tea on my bed.”

"But—”

"You spilled tea on my bed.”

"Okay, yeah, but I was holding it very carefully—”

"That’s worse.”

The situation escalated quickly from mild annoyance to full-on tug-of-war. You kicked your legs, he pulled harder, and somewhere in the shuffle, his foot caught the edge of his rug. Gravity made the executive decision to betray him. Because, apparently, if God exists, he hates him.

In one sharp motion, he stumbled forward, lost his grip, and ended up catching himself with both hands braced on either side of your head. The book he’d been reading laid somewhere on the floor, spine-up and mocking him. Curse you. If it weren't for the fact that most his abilities didn't work on you, or around you, he'd had already gotten rid of you.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. "Oh.”

From the kitchen, the refrigerator made a faint humming noise. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped obliviously. Inside his head, Saiki was screaming at a volume that could shatter glass.

The moment lasted for few seconds, but for him, it felt like eternity. Not in a good sense.

"You’re heavy,” you finally said, as if you were critiquing a grocery bag. He got off you so fast you might’ve thought the bed was rigged to explode. "Wow,” you said, sitting up and fixing your hair like you were the one who’d just endured a near-death experience. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were falling for me.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response. He just walked into the kitchen to get a towel. His mind was spiraling with thoughts, each leading to either self-destruction, or to a, possibly, murder. By the time he came back with a towel, you had decided the best way to “help” was to press your hand over the tea stain.

Not dab. Not blot. Not even cover it with a napkin.

Just place your palm directly on it.

"I’m absorbing the moisture,” you explained, as though you were a specialized piece of cleaning equipment. "Like a human sponge. I saw it on a life hack video once.”

He stared at you for a moment, wondering if verbal response would suit this situation more than throwing his bookshelf at you. "That doesn’t work.”

"It could work. You don’t know my absorption rate.”

"It’s zero.”

You gasped as if he’d insulted your honor. "Wow. No faith in my talents.”

Talents? What talents? he thought, his face the embodiment of a particularly skeptical rock.

"...”

Internally, Saiki was already writing your biography.

【The Worst Person I’ve Ever Met: An In-Depth Study.】
Chapter One: The Day She Moved In Across the Street and Ruined My Life.
Chapter Two: The Sweet Tea Disaster.
Chapter Three: The Reason I’m in Prison (It Was Her Fault).

He took the towel, pushed your hand aside, and began blotting the tea properly, but the damage was already done. The sweet smell had seeped deep into the fabric. He could practically hear the bacteria multiplying. "Relax,” you said, watching him work like you were supervising an employee. "It’s just a sheet. You can, like, change it.”

"Yes. Which I wouldn’t have to do if you didn’t exist.”

"You say the nicest things.” he could’ve ignored you. He should’ve ignored you. But something in your tone, that blithe, completely oblivious cheer, made his eye twitch. "I sleep here.”

"Wow, really? I thought you just stood in the corner and powered down like a Roomba.”

He decided not to respond to that.

Of course, that silence only encouraged you. "Tell you what, since you’re mad, I’ll help you change the sheets.”

That sentence alone was enough to make him envision several possible timelines in which you were banned from his house forever. But you were already getting up and yanking at the fitted sheet with the same violent enthusiasm someone might use to pull up weeds.

By the time he’d taken the pillowcases off, you had somehow wrapped yourself in the sheet like a cape and were doing a slow spin in the middle of his room. "It’s a shame we’re not neighbors in medieval times,” you said, examining yourself in his small vanity mirror. "I’d make an excellent dramatic ghost.”

"You’re already haunting me.”

"That’s the spirit!”

Somehow, the process of putting on fresh sheets took three times longer than it should have. You kept “accidentally” sitting on the new one every time he tried to tuck the corner in, claiming you were “testing the comfort level.” By the end of it, Saiki stood there, arms crossed, looking at the crisp, clean bed with the kind of hollow-eyed exhaustion usually reserved for people who’ve survived natural disasters.

"Well,” you said, flopping back onto it without hesitation, sweet tea back in your hand, "mission accomplished. See? You were all worried, but now you have nice fresh sheets. You’re welcome.”

He considered briefly whether telekinetically launching you out the window was worth the risk of a lawsuit. Because this is completely ridiculous. You made yourself at home in his bed the way raccoons make themselves at home in garbage cans — completely unapologetic and with an alarming sense of ownership.

Saiki had gone to his desk, deliberately turning his back to you in what he hoped was a clear “conversation over” signal, hoping you'd leave soon. He opened his book the pages giving him a fragile illusion of peace.

"You know,” you said casually, arms behind your head like you were sunbathing, "I bet you’ve never had a girl in your bed before.” his pencil-thin patience wobbled. Correct. And if the universe had any mercy, it would’ve stayed that way.

"You don’t have to answer,” you continued, because of course you did. "but if you have, they probably didn’t make it this comfortable. I’m, like, the perfect guest. Low maintenance. Easygoing. Only sometimes spill drinks.”

"Perfect guests don’t spill drinks,” he said without looking up.

"They do if it’s part of the vibe.”

He turned a page. If I ignore her long enough, maybe she’ll get bored and leave.

"So,” you went on, "are you one of those guys who sleeps on the exact same side of the bed every night? Or do you move around? I feel like you’re a ‘same side’ guy. Like a bed creature of habit.”

He didn’t respond. You took that as encouragement.

"Y’know, if you ever get married, your wife’s, probably Teruhashi, is gonna have to put up with you being a sheet perfectionist. Did you tuck the corners in military-style? Oh my god, you totally did.”

From the corner of his vision, he could see you rolling over, reaching for one of his pillows.

"You’re analyzing my sleep habits while lying in my bed,” he said flatly. "Do you realize how insane that is?”

"Yeah, but it’s fun.”

You hugged the pillow like it owed you money. "Also, this pillow smells like your hair. Which is not creepy because I’m just making an observation.”

That was it. He set the book down with the slow, deliberate motion of a man about to commit an unspeakable act of self-defense. "Get. Out. Of. My. Bed.”

You grinned. "What if I don’t?”

"Then I’ll--” he cut himself off, realizing anything he threatened would only escalate the situation. He stood there, arms crossed, waiting for you to take the hint and vacate his bed. You, on the other hand, were doing a convincing impression of someone who had just been told their lease had been extended indefinitely.

"Okay, but hear me out,” you said, tucking yourself under his blanket like a burrito. "What if--”

"No.”

"You didn’t even let me--”

"No.”

"Awh, you're such a tease. It's so sexy when you're all irritated like that.” the words left your mouth before you could even stop yourself. You put a hand over your mouth, trying to stop yourself from laughing as he slowly spun around and shot you a look that could probably destroy the neighborhood.  "Out.”

"But why? I promised I'd teach you how to loosen up. You're way too uptight. Besides, do you think Teruhashi would like you,” you vaguely gestured at him, laying down and propping your chin against his pillow. "like that? The answer is no. How she even managed to fall for you is a spectacle to me. I, sometimes, want to punch you.”

Look who's talking, he thought before giving you a flat look and even flatter reply.

"I don't like her like that.”

This reply, of course, made you jump up, stars in your eyes. "Well, I mean, she definitely sees me as a competition in... Whatever you two have going on. I have my eyes on someone else, and no, before you ask, it's not Takahashi.”

"You went on the date with him.”

"Yeah, that was because--” Saiki looked up, finally managing to get you to open up about the past 'study session' with Takahashi you went on. Why? How? Who would even invite that guy anywhere?

He waited for your reply, but it never came. Instead, he decided to take a look in your mind and what he heard, finally made some sense. Well, not really. But it was deeply unsettling in the way something deeply inconvenient will occur.

'A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE A LIE'

Before he could mentally recover from that, you were already up on your feet, staring into your palm as if you were cursed with some supernatural powers which just destroyed the world.

"Saiki, real talk. Can I trust you?”

Finally, he thinks, progress.

He didn't give anything else as much as a small nod, waiting for you to continue. If, whatever you're about to deliver, will finally give him answers about you, he'll take it.

"Okay, whew, so... I'm, erm...” you stopped, not being sure if telling him the truth would help you. If you told him you're not from this world, God knows what would happen. First off all, nobody would believe it and considering your reputation, it'd be even less believable than telling him you're not spy sent to torment him.

"Eh...” you fumbled with your hands in what could only be described as nervosity and Saiki raised an eyebrow. Okay, this is new.

Of course you can't tell him. That'd break the whole point of you being here. Narrator would definitely kill you and since you're already unraveling this universe in the bad way, you're sure there won't be a good outcome. So you bit those words back. You won't tell him. You won't drag him into your 'mission'.

"What if...”

Saiki was basically on the edge of his seat. The silence and tension was so great it could be sliced. Before he could urge you to continue, you had spoken up and his ideal of figuring you out, the great mystery, shattered.

"... we had a spontaneous sleepover?”

The words hit him like a meteor, lighting an immediate firestorm of outrage in his mind. Sleepover? Here? Again? He remembered the last time. He was not repeating that experience. "No.”

You pouted dramatically, which only made him more determined to remove you from his personal space. Of course it wouldn't be that easy to get anything out of you. This only proved his theory on you, that you're very strange person.

"C’mon, Saiki. We’re neighbors! It’s efficient! I don’t even need to pack clothes, I’ll just wear this tomorrow.”

"That’s not a selling point.”

"Fine, I’ll bring pajamas next time.”

"There won’t be a next time.”

"Uh-huh,” you said in the tone of someone who already had a mental Pinterest board for future sleepovers.

Deciding to physically move you was futile, he tried the next best tactic - avoidance. He left the room, fully expecting you to give up if he ignored you long enough. Unfortunately, you treated his movement as an invitation to follow, trailing behind him like a duckling on espresso.

He went to the kitchen. You followed. He went to the laundry room. You followed. He stood in the hallway doing nothing at all, just to test you. You still followed.

"Do you not have your own house?”

"Yeah, but this one’s more fun,” you said, peering over his shoulder at the snack cupboard. "Also, you have better snacks. And Cat is in his moods again. Can you believe that guy? He won't let me pet him at all!”

Of course. Of course you were here for the snacks. And also, he relates to Cat.

He had retreated to the living room, book in hand, strategically positioning himself so that the couch formed a protective barrier between him and your chaos. You didn’t care. In fact, you seemed to take it as a personal challenge.

You tried switching the TV channel every time he glanced down at his book. You kept “accidentally” leaning on the lamp switch so the light went out mid-sentence. You even took his blanket without asking, wrapping yourself up like a burrito again, only this time with your legs dangling off the armrest.

"What are you even doing here?” he asked flatly, not looking up from the page.

"Keeping you company,” you said, with the smugness of someone who thought they were a charity case. "Otherwise, you’d just be here… alone… in the dark… reading about… whatever boring thing you read about.”

"It’s a--”

"Exactly. Boring.” you kicked your feet idly against the couch. "Anyway, you should be thanking me. I’m improving your social skills.” he stared at you over the edge of his book. "You’re the worst social interaction I could have.”

You grinned like you’d just been paid a compliment.

The front door clicked open. Both of you turned your heads just in time to see his parents step inside–his father looking cheerful as ever, his mother practically glowing from what was clearly a date night.

"Oh, [name]-chan!” his mother lit up instantly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. "It’s been a while since you came over!”

"It’s been two days,” Saiki muttered.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Saiki! I was just about to tell you!” you said brightly, cutting him off. "I’m sleeping over tonight.”

No. No, you are not.

His parents’ reaction was immediate and entirely unhelpful. His mother clasped her hands together in delight. "Ahyu! How wonderful! You two can spend more time together! You're two are such good friends!”

"She’s not—”

"Yes, yes,” his father nodded earnestly, slipping off his shoes. "Of course you can stay. Kusuo needs more friends! Don’t let him chase you out!”

The esper gave his father one of his looks which told “we'll settle this later” and glanced back at you, arms crossed.

"I won’t!” you said cheerfully, already acting like the matter was settled.

Saiki closed his eyes. Somewhere in the multiverse, there was a version of him living alone on a remote mountain, free of this exact nightmare. He envied that version.

Chapter Text

The moment the words “I’m sleeping over” left your mouth and his parents’ enthusiastic approval sealed your fate, Saiki knew the night was lost.

You didn’t even bother asking where you were going to sleep. You had apparently decided that logistics were for the weak. Within minutes, you’d disappeared upstairs – not to unpack, since you’d brought nothing – but to ransack his closet like it was a thrift store going out of business.

By the time Saiki begrudgingly followed you up, you’d already changed into one of his hoodies and a pair of sweatpants that were several sizes too big. You looked entirely pleased with yourself.

"Not bad. Your clothes are very chic.” you obliviously smiled as if you just didn't invade his privacy. He stood in the doorway, gripping the doorknob with enough force to shake up the whole room.

"Take them off.”

You put your hands up in mock surrender. "Whoah, slow down, big boy, your parents are still downstairs.”

Yeah, he walked right into that one.

He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Maybe after he opens them, you'd be gone and all what happened today and before would be just one big and painful nightmare.

"Didn't know you were wild like that, Saiki, but honestly, I like this side of you more.”

He gave you a flat look. "I’m going to burn those when you’re done,”

"Please. You’re welcome that I’m increasing their value by wearing them,” you replied, stretching your arms out like you were modeling for an ad no one asked for. "Also, your hoodies are comfy. You should advertise that.”

He didn’t respond, but mentally, he was already drafting a plan to have the clothes incinerated by morning.

Last time you’d slept over, you'd thankfully fell asleep on the floor, however, waking him up in the middle of the night just to guard you on the bathroom due to the “haunted plumbing” you were afraid of, was one of many things he dreaded to happen again. Also the fact you two switched places during the night, him ending up on the floor and you in his bed was alarming. He wasn’t eager to repeat that, but at least the floor had put a physical barrier between you.

Not this time.

"Move over,” you said now, gesturing at him in his bed. "The floor’s cold. And I’m fragile.”

"You’re not fragile,” he replied.

"I am on the inside.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, weighing whether dragging a futon into the hallway and locking you out was worth the argument it would start. Unfortunately, you’d already made yourself comfortable, lying sideways across the bed like you were trying to occupy as much surface area as possible.

For the next half hour, you didn’t so much “hang out” in his room as you infected it with noise. You talked about everything–your day, the spicy onion challenge and Teruhashi, how you thought maybe you should start a side hustle reviewing snacks, and that one weird pigeon you saw on the way home one day that “looked like it had political opinions.”

Saiki, now sitting at his desk with his back to you, tried to focus on his book. He’d gotten exactly three lines in before you started tossing small objects at him. First a balled-up sock. Then a pillow. Then, for reasons unclear, a stress ball shaped like a tomato.

"Are you going to keep doing that?” he asked without turning around.

"Only until you acknowledge me,” you replied cheerfully.

"I acknowledged you when you broke into my house.”

"That’s not the same.”

By the time you started humming loudly–not to a song, just an aggressively inconsistent melody–Saiki had resigned himself to the fact that you weren’t going to shut up. He'd rather have to sleepover with anyone else. Nendo, Kaido, Hairo, even Takahashi.

He considered briefly that maybe he should just go to bed and ignore you. Then he remembered: you were in his bed. And judging by the smug grin on your face, you had no plans of moving.

Eventually, Saiki decided the only logical course of action was to leave the room entirely. Not because he was surrendering–he told himself this repeatedly–but because a long shower sounded far more tolerable than enduring another ten minutes of your running commentary about how he should “redecorate with more vibes and ferns.”

He stood, grabbed a fresh set of clothes, and made his way toward the bathroom. Naturally, you followed. "Where are we going?” you asked, trailing after him like a particularly unhelpful assistant.

We are not going anywhere, he thought. Out loud, he said, "I’m taking a shower.”

"Ooh, self-care king,” you said approvingly. "Don’t forget to moisturize.” He shut the bathroom door in your face before you could offer further advice.

For ten glorious minutes, there was silence–save for the sound of running water and the faint static of his own internal monologue reminding him that you were still here, in his house, wearing his clothes, and possibly stealing his bed.

When he stepped out of the shower, toweling his hair and changing into clean clothes, he cracked the door open  and immediately regretted it.

Because you were there.

Peering in.

With the world’s most insincere gasp, you exclaimed, "Oh nooo, I walked in on you changing! Just like in a shoujo manga!” You even clutched your face dramatically for emphasis. "Guess that means we’re destined to fall in love now.”

His expression didn’t change, but internally he was already calculating how much it would cost to install multiple locks–or a moat.

Then, as if to confirm you were on a personal mission to dismantle the last shreds of his sanity, you waltzed into the bathroom past him, grabbed his toothbrush, and started brushing your teeth like this was a perfectly normal development in the evening.

"You know that’s mine,” he said flatly. "Sharing is caring,” you mumbled through the foam. He reached out and took the toothbrush right out of your hand. "Hey!” you protested, still foamy-mouthed. "Rude! I wasn’t done.”

"It’s mine,” he said. "You’ve contaminated it.”

You placed a hand over your heart, as if deeply wounded. "Oh, so I’m the problem now? Not the person who leaves their toothbrush so… invitingly accessible? You were basically asking for this.”

He stared at you for a moment, mentally debating whether to throw the toothbrush away or burn it in the yard. Both seemed equally necessary. You shrugged, still with toothpaste on your mouth, and wandered back into his room like you owned it. By the time he followed, you had flopped onto his bed again, scrolling on your phone and humming off-key.

"You’re still here,” he said.

"Where else would I be? I live here now.”

"No, you don’t.”

"Yes, I do,” you said matter-of-factly, reaching for the blanket. "It’s called a spontaneous sleepover. We’ve done it before. Remember the haunted plumbing incident? Good times.”

He did remember, specifically, the part where you somehow traded places with him in the middle of the night, leaving him on the floor with a blanket that barely covered his ankles.

The thought of repeating that experience was enough to make him see red. "No.”

"Yes,” you countered instantly.

By the time you’d rummaged through his closet again (you were now wearing one of his other hoodies that looked dangerously close to never being returned), he was already considering moving to another country.

"So where’s my side of the bed?” you asked innocently, tossing his pillow at him. "You’re not sleeping on the floor again, right? That was tragic. I love to sleep by the wall,”

He sat down at his desk instead, pulling a book into his lap like it was a lifeline. "I’m not sleeping. And neither are you.”

"Oh, we’ll see about that,” you said with a yawn, sprawling comfortably under his blanket.

It was quiet in his room. Peaceful, almost. For the first time that evening, he could hear the soft hum of the fan, the faint ticking of the wall clock, and–most importantly–no sound of you talking.

You had excused yourself to the bathroom before bed, taking with you the energy of a small tornado and leaving him in the blissful silence he craved. Naturally, he took the opportunity to reclaim his bed. He set his book aside, pulled back the blanket, and lay down, the mattress sighing under his weight in a way that almost sounded relieved. This was his bed, his sanctuary. The one piece of territory in the entire house that hadn’t been completely ruined by your presence, save for the tea spill, it was still fine.

The distant sound of the bathroom door opening was his first warning. Your footsteps padded down the hall.

And then you opened his door, walked in, and made a beeline straight for the bed. "No,” he said instantly, but you ignored him entirely.

You flopped down beside him with the ease of someone who clearly had no shame or self-preservation instincts, yanked the blanket halfway over yourself, and muttered, "Goodnight,” like this was the most natural arrangement in the world.

He stared at the ceiling, silently weighing the pros and cons of physically removing you from his bed. Pros: silence, space, the restoration of his dignity. Cons: you’d probably just climb back in while he was asleep.

Before he could decide, you reached over and turned off the lamp. Darkness flooded the room.

"This is unacceptable,” he said into the void.

You made a content noise, already settling in. "Shh. Bedtime.”

His weekend had officially gone from “ruined” to “catastrophic.”

Morning arrived far too brightly for his liking.

The sunlight filtered in through the blinds in thin, bladed stripes across his walls, landing squarely on his face. He blinked, groggy, and became instantly aware of two things:

One – he was warm.

Two – there was something very much not a blanket wrapped around him.

He tilted his head slightly and saw you. Not just next to him. Not just “sharing the bed in an overly casual, borderline illegal manner.” No, you were fully draped against him like some kind of smug, sentient body pillow. One of your arms was slung lazily over his torso, your head resting on his shoulder, and horrifyingly, one of your legs had somehow tangled itself with his.

He froze.

This was exactly the kind of physical contact he avoided with every fiber of his being. His entire life philosophy revolved around the avoidance of situations like this. It was uncomfortable. It was unnecessary. And yet… here it was. Here you were.

He considered moving you, but any attempt at extraction would risk waking you up, and waking you up meant starting his day with your voice in surround sound.

So, he lay there, motionless, like some unfortunate hiker who had been pinned under a fallen tree, except the tree occasionally let out a loud snore and smelled faintly of his laundry detergent. This was insane. Ever since you moved next door, you've been turning his whole world around only because he decided to indulge in figuring you out.

Fatal mistake. If he had ignored you, treated you just like an another annoying enigma in his disaster filled life, it wouldn't have to end up like this.

You'd be just his neighbor. His classmate. Nothing special. If it weren't for his curiosity, curse it, really, this wouldn't have to happen. He wouldn't have to be putting up with you everyday. Saving you from danger, helping you with groceries, going fishing with you and so much more.

He wouldn't have to end up like this, with you by his side, clutching him in the tight embrace, in his bed.

His eyes drifted to your face. You looked harmless like this, save for your hand which was dangerously gripping at his shirt. His eyes drifted down to your lips, not in that sense, hell no, never. You still had toothpaste in the corners of your mouth. You were still in his clothes.

Your hair smelled of lemon and coffee grounds. What kind of shampoo you use is beyond him, but curse it for smelling, actually, not that bad.

Saiki continued to examine your face. Unknowingly so. He scanned every freckle, every small dent in your skin, every barely visible scar you probably got from doing your usual spontaneous activities. It was like you were almost cute like this. Silent, not speaking. Not annoying him.

He paused as you shifted slightly, your mouth falling open as you let out an ear-piercing snore. Okay, he takes that back.

Wait, what?

Did he just call you cute? And it wasn't a dare? It was out of his own mind? What's happening?

He slowly blinked, as is contemplating whetever waking you up was worth the migraine. Then, a strand of hair fell into your face. Really? Right now?

He wasn't going to fix it. And even if he did, that'd risk waking you up and answering unnecessary questions he didn't want to answer. Instead, his gaze tracked your hand, resting on his chest. He examined your knuckles, your nails painted in a shade of green, resembling swamp water. Your style really baffles him. There was a set of novelty colorful rings on your fingers, with barely readable out-of-context phrases.

He rolled his eyes.

And then you stirred.

Your eyes cracked open in a squint, your brow furrowed against the sunlight. "Why’s it so bright? Feels like God’s personally trying to spite me,” you mumbled, voice scratchy from sleep and drool hanging from your lips.

"Get off me,” he said, his tone carrying the same amount of warmth as a tax audit.

You didn’t move. "This is your fault. You have bad sunlight management in here.” You shifted slightly, your arm still firmly around him, like you were deliberately ignoring the fact that this was, objectively, a crime against boundaries.

He could feel his sanity slipping. This, this, was exactly why he should have kicked you out the night before. He wasn’t a hugger. He wasn’t a toucher. He wasn’t someone who woke up with his personal space entirely compromised. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he had allowed this to happen.

He could already feel the spiral starting in his mind. Ever since you crash-landed into his life, things had been… different. Worse. Definitely worse. There was no other possible explanation. And if there was, he didn’t want to hear it.

"Get. Off.” he repeated. You finally rolled away from him with a groan, flopping onto your back. "Ugh, fine. Guess you’re not a morning hugger. Noted.”

He closed his eyes briefly. If this was his life now, he needed to start mentally preparing for early retirement from society.

You were gone within twenty minutes.

Not because you suddenly realized the deep social faux pas of waking up in another person’s bed uninvited. No. That would require self-awareness. You left because, in your own words, "Cat’s probably plotting my downfall if I don’t feed him soon. And Fred the Second… well, let’s just say he’s not great at delayed gratification.”

You said this while adjusting the same hoodie and sweatpants you’d “borrowed” from his closet the night before–which, by the way, were still his. There had been no formal lending agreement, no verbal confirmation, not even an informal, "Hey, can I take these?” Just… theft by prolonged proximity.

He stood in the doorway as you slipped your shoes on, watching you leave like a man who’d just witnessed someone steal the last lifeboat off a sinking ship. You were halfway down the street before he realized: you were still wearing his clothes.

He could have called after you. He could have demanded them back. But that would mean engaging, and engagement meant conversation, and conversation meant you would probably invite yourself back in and he’d lose the rest of his Sunday.

So instead, he stayed silent.

Because here was the truth, one he wasn’t thrilled to admit, even to himself: somewhere along the line, he’d stopped enforcing the rules. The hard boundaries he lived by, the invisible walls between himself and the rest of humanity... had hairline cracks now. And those cracks had a name.

You.

He wasn’t sure when it happened. Maybe the day you first barged into his life with no warning and less context. Maybe the hundredth time you ignored his attempts to disengage. Maybe this morning, when he woke up and didn’t immediately shove you off the bed.

Regardless, it was a problem. You were a problem.

And as he shut the door and turned back into the quiet of his house, he found himself wondering why he was letting the problem stay in his world at all.

You’ve barely made it through the door before Cat starts meowing at you like you’ve been gone for years, his tail flicking in that “I love you, but I also resent you” kind of way. Fred the Second is doing his usual routine of floating near the glass like a small, judgmental god, waiting for his ceremonial sprinkling of flakes.

"Alright, alright,” you mutter, toeing off your shoes and heading straight for the kitchen. "I know I’m late, but I was out… preventing global disaster. You wouldn’t understand.”

You half expect the narrator to chime in with some snarky remark about how you’re exaggerating again, but… nothing. Silence. Not even a passive-aggressive sigh in the back of your mind.

"…Hello?” you say out loud, pausing mid-step. "Narrator? Ghostly omnipotent voice? The guy who makes my life sound like a sitcom?” Still nothing. Which is concerning, because they never shut up. You feed Cat. You feed Fred. You try again. Still radio silence. It’s almost unnerving, like when the cicadas suddenly go quiet before an earthquake.

Your eyes catch on the mirror above the entryway, and for the first time since you stormed into Saiki’s house yesterday, you actually get a good look at yourself. Oversized hoodie, sweatpants hanging low on your hips, faint strawberry scented laundry detergent smell clinging to the fabric. His fabric.

You step closer to the mirror, tugging at the hoodie’s hem. It’s ridiculously comfortable. Warm in a way your clothes never are. And---

You freeze.

"…It smells like him,” you murmur without thinking, nose buried in the collar for exactly 0.3 seconds before the weight of what you’ve just said slams into you like a runaway truck. Your reflection stares back at you with the wide-eyed horror of someone who just realized they’ve said the quiet part out loud.

"Nope. No. Nonononono––––” you slap your cheeks, backing away from the mirror like it’s cursed. "I am NOT catching feelings for that guy. Not happening. Never. This is just--hoodie Stockholm syndrome. Yup. That’s a thing. Probably.”

Cat yawns at you. Fred the Second blinks, the kind of blink that feels like judgment. The narrator is still nowhere to be heard.

You point at the mirror. "We’re not talking about this again.”

The silence that follows feels suspiciously like agreement.

Chapter Text

✩｡:*•. ───── ❁ 【 ㅇㅅㅇ 】 ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

——📼——

"You think this is a good idea?” Toritsuka asked, staring down at the war crimes you had arranged neatly on the coffee table.

A half-circle of alcohol bottles glinted back at him in the warm light of your living room, each label whispering, illegal, illegal, definitely illegal. He swallowed hard. His hands hovered over his lap like he was afraid touching the air above them might somehow get him arrested.

Meanwhile, you emerged from the kitchen with a grin plastered across your face. Not the normal, I-just-saw-a-cat-on-the-street smile. No. This was your signature, wide-eyed, toothy grin. The one that signaled—loudly, dangerously—that something catastrophic was about to happen.

"Re-laaax,” you said, stretching the word as if that would somehow cancel out his nerves. "You’re such a buffoon. Of course it’s a good idea. Have I ever been wrong?”

You plopped onto the leg rest of the couch, dangling precariously as you set down two shot glasses like some kind of benevolent host about to ruin his guest’s life.

"Yes,” Toritsuka said immediately. "Many times. Too many times. Literally every time I’ve ever met you. Where did you even get this much alcohol? You’re seventeen!” His voice cracked at the end like his dignity was giving up on him in real time.

You didn’t answer at first. Instead, you tore the cap off a bottle that smelled like it could dissolve the coffee table itself. The hiss of carbonation sounded like danger. Then you smiled—sweetly, serenely, like a shark in holy water.

"I have my connections.”

That was not reassuring. Not even a little bit.

Still, you poured two shots, the liquid sloshing violently against the glass like it already wanted to escape. Toritsuka sat rigid, his eyes darting toward the front door as if seriously considering whether sprinting into the night was safer than staying here.

Here’s the truth: you were bored. So catastrophically, mind-numbingly bored. You’d already exhausted every single sane option for entertainment. Saiki had turned down your latest “life-enriching plan” (not surprising), and everyone else had mysteriously vanished when you asked if they wanted to “do something fun.”

So naturally, you invited the last possible resort in your contact list. Toritsuka.

And now here he was, pale and trembling, staring at his imminent death in the form of a neon-colored liquor bottle.

"This’ll open your gray little world to endless possibilities!” you declared, knocking back your first shot like it was water. "So many new, legendary experiences await!”

Toritsuka raised his glass with all the enthusiasm of someone being forced to drink battery acid at gunpoint. "I wouldn’t call being detained a ‘legendary experience.’”

You waved him off, already pouring your second shot with the practiced hand of someone who should not, under any circumstances, be practiced at this. "Relax, puss-wuss. Tonight, we drink and take down the city!”

It sounded bold. It sounded epic. It sounded cinematic.

It was not.

What followed could only be described as chaos with poor posture.

By your second (or was it third?) bottle, your speech had devolved into enthusiastic, barely comprehensible sound effects. Your legs dangled uselessly beneath you as you stumbled upright from the floor, pointing toward what you were convinced was the front door.

"Now, we conquer the town!” you slurred, eyes ablaze with the confidence of someone who had never once read a law book.

Toritsuka, who had barely survived three shots, lurched forward to catch you as you tripped over absolutely nothing. "You’ve overdone it!” he scolded—though the reprimand quickly dissolved into laughter when he noticed you were still pointing proudly… at the art piece hanging on your wall.

"Shut up and open the gates, soldier!” you barked, finger trembling with the weight of your destiny.

The painting of a mountain landscape stared back at you, silent and unmoving.

Legendary, indeed.

The thing about alcohol is that it makes the world feel less like a world and more like a really bad video game where you’re in charge of every button and somehow keep pressing all of them at once. That’s what you and Toritsuka looked like as you staggered out into the humid night air—two extremely under-leveled characters attempting to “conquer the city.”

The street lamps buzzed overhead, moths orbiting like drunk little satellites. You mirrored them perfectly. Every time you spotted one, you pointed at it and declared, "That’s my new god now,” before promptly forgetting five seconds later.

Toritsuka trailed after you, already wheezing from laughter at nothing in particular. "We’re so stupid,” he said, voice cracking as he doubled over.

"Correction,” you pointed at him with the authority of a judge, "I am a genius. You’re just my sidekick. My loyal—my… my loyal fish boy.”

"I’m not a fish---”

"You are a fish,” you interrupted, placing hands on both his cheeks, suddenly solemn. "Look at you. You have… fins. Spirit fins.”

Toritsuka looked down at his very human hands as though doubting his entire existence. Then he snorted so hard he nearly fell off the curb.

The two of you walked like that for blocks—no destination, no purpose, just loud, stupid commentary echoing through the quiet neighborhood. You pointed at random houses and claimed you “used to live there.” You stopped in front of a mailbox and tried to hold a very serious one-sided debate about how “this guy gets me.” You even attempted to climb a stop sign, but Toritsuka managed to pull you back down before you could launch yourself into orbit.

The problem with laughter is that once it starts, it refuses to stop. Everything became hilarious. A barking dog? Comedy gold. Your own shoelaces coming undone? The funniest thing you’d ever seen. Toritsuka hiccupping mid-sentence? Revolutionary. You both laughed until your stomachs hurt, until you were half-bent over on the sidewalk, gasping for air like you’d just run a marathon when really all you’d done was exist loudly in public. Somewhen—nobody is sure when, you sent an "emergency message" to Kaido and Kuboyasu, prompting the two to come to your house as soon as possible. 

 At some point, you dramatically whispered, "We’re like Bonnie and Clyde.”

Toritsuka blinked. "…They died.”

"Shhh,” you waved your hand in his face. "Don’t ruin the moment.”

It was messy. It was reckless. It was absolutely the last thing you should have been doing at your age. But as far as your alcohol-soaked brain was concerned, it was legendary.

The night had only just begun.

The return journey to your house was… well, “journey” is generous. More like a lurching, off-balance pilgrimage where you and Toritsuka took turns swaying like drunk wind chimes while passing a single bottle back and forth like it was sacred reinforcement. It wasn’t even good alcohol. It was the kind of drink that probably doubled as paint thinner. But you treated it like holy water, raising it in the air every so often and announcing to the night sky, "For morale!”

The street was dark and quiet, the kind of quiet that normal people would preserve. Naturally, you decided to ruin it.

Because then—then came your brain’s stroke of genius. You froze mid-step, clutching Toritsuka’s arm like you had just been struck by divine revelation. "Listen. LISTEN. I have the best idea.”

Toritsuka paled. "Oh god.”

"No, better. Saiki-proofing.” You gestured dramatically toward the neat little row of trash cans lining the street. "We… we block his door. Every can. Every single one. He’ll wake up and—BAM—trash kingdom. He’ll never escape.”

Toritsuka blinked. "That’s---... actually evil.”

"Thank you,” you slurred proudly, already dragging a trash can across the pavement with the determination of a general preparing for battle.

And so began what would later be known as (by you, only you) The Great Trash Siege of Suburbia. You stacked bins, rolled them, arranged them in chaotic Tetris formations directly in front of Saiki’s door. At some point you saluted one of the bins and declared it your lieutenant. Toritsuka was no help; he was doubled over, laughing so hard he could barely breathe, occasionally wheezing, "He’s gonna kill us,” like it was the funniest punchline in the world.

By the time you were satisfied with your masterpiece, the front of Saiki’s house looked less like an entrance and more like the aftermath of a garbage truck explosion. You dusted your hands off like an artist stepping back from a completed canvas. "Perfect. He’s trapped forever.”

With that, you staggered back across the street, bottle still in hand, dragging Toritsuka along like he was your exhausted accomplice.

You threw the door open with all the grace of a hurricane and none of the timing. Both you and Toritsuka were clinging to each other like lifeboats during a shipwreck, except lifeboats are supposed to keep you afloat, not steer you directly into the nearest wall. Which is exactly what happened when you walked face-first into the open door.

Your dramatic entrance ended with you sprawled on the floor, face flattened against the threshold like a defeated cartoon character.

Smack-dab in the middle of your living room were two (three if we're counting Cat) very concerned figures. 

Kuboyasu and Kaido.

They stood side by side, arms crossed, faces pulled into matching masks of confusion and mild panic, the exact look of people who had received your frantic “acute emergency” text and expected to walk into something serious. Blood, maybe. A fire. A hostage situation.

Not… this.

"…” Kuboyasu finally broke the silence. "What… kind of emergency is this supposed to be?”

Kaido squinted, his voice trembling. "... Beats me.”

Toritsuka, naturally, abandoned you immediately. He hopped over your collapsed body with the carefree laughter of a man who had decided consequences were a tomorrow problem, plopped onto the couch, and—without hesitation—cracked open a beer. Like it was water. Like this was normal.

Meanwhile, Kuboyasu, radiating the energy of a babysitter who regretted ever answering his phone, leaned down to grab you by the arm with a grumble. But before he could haul you up, you sprang back to life. Like a cockroach. Like you had respawned.

You staggered toward the leg rest of the couch and aimed for a dignified recovery, but dignity missed you by a wide margin. You sat directly on the floor instead, next to the leg rest, staring up at the room with an expression of unearned triumph while Toritsuka doubled over laughing.

The silence that followed was deafening. The kind of silence where everyone in the room seriously considers their life choices.

"Won’t you ask me something?” you finally slurred, grinning like you had just delivered the setup to the greatest joke in the world. Toritsuka nodded in agreement, giggling like an accomplice in crime.

Kaido blinked once, then deadpanned: "Why are you sitting on the floor?”

The room cracked. You blinked, dramatically glancing around like you hadn’t realized you were still on the floor. With all the effort of an Olympic athlete, you hauled yourself onto the leg rest at last, shoving away a throw blanket that had dared to obstruct your path. Victory.

"Now,” you announced grandly, raising your hand like a conductor ready to cue the orchestra, "won't you ask me something else?”

Toritsuka snorted. Kaido sighed and Kuboyasu walked over, poker-face rivaling that of Saiki's. "What did you two do?”

"Excellent question!” you declared, punching a fist to your chest. "We... rejectors of societal norms—went on a pilgrimage. What we saw… was unforgettable.” You paused, stared into the middle distance like a war veteran recalling trauma, and then burst into helpless laughter again.

Kuboyasu pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get to the point.”

"Fine, fine,” you huffed, then leaned in with conspiratorial weight. "Two hooligans,” you winked at Toritsuka, who was trying not to choke on his beer, "blocked Kusuo’s front door with every single trash can on the street. He’s trapped. Absolutely cornered. He could scream, cry, beg—doesn’t matter. He’ll never escape... Poor little guy.” You and Toritsuka nodded solemnly like generals confirming a battle plan.

Kaido stared. "You’re telling me… you blocked Saiki’s front door with trash cans?”

"Incorrect.” You raised one finger to his lips like you were imparting divine wisdom. "Those hooligans blocked Saiki’s front door with trash cans. Not us.” A pause, before you added with absolute confidence: "And anyway, I refuse to let him torment my life. The days of his tiranny are over now. I am not scared of hi---”

You didn’t get to finish. Because that was when an aggressive knock rattled the door so violently it could’ve been mistaken for the swat team.

The timing was, frankly, art.

You froze, then immediately yanked the throw blanket over your head like a child hiding from the boogeyman. The effectiveness of this strategy was debatable, considering you were still very much sitting in the middle of the living room.

And for once, for once, Toritsuka didn’t try to hide. He grinned, raised his beer like a toast, and turned toward the door. Betrayal had never been so quick.

Kaido, muttering under his breath about divine punishment, got up and opened the door. And there stood Saiki, face twisted with more fury than anyone had ever thought possible for someone who usually had the emotional range of a brick.

Kaido nearly jumped out of his skin. "S-Saiki! What brings you here?”

Saiki didn’t waste time with pleasantries. His voice was flat, sharp. "Where’s [name].” Not a question. A demand.

"[name]---” Kaido turned, looked into the living room, where you were currently poorly disguised under the blanket, and hesitated. "Um… doesn’t seem to be here… but Toritsuka is here!”

"Yo, Saiki-san!” Toritsuka chirped cheerfully, raising his beer like this was a dinner party.

Saiki didn’t even bother answering Toritsuka’s idiotic greeting. He just stepped past Kaido with the calm determination of a man who had already accepted that his lifespan had been cut short by the sheer stress of being neighbors with you.

The moment he entered the living room, his eye twitched.

Toritsuka, sprawled comfortably on the couch like it was his own home, grinned with a beer still in hand. Kaido looked like he was silently praying to higher powers for mercy. Kuboyasu sat with his arms crossed, radiating “I will kill someone soon.” And then… there was you. Or rather, the suspiciously lumpy blanket mound vibrating faintly with muffled hiccups.

Saiki’s voice was ice. "Why,” he said, slow and deliberate, "was there a barricade of trash cans in front of my door?”

Toritsuka, the absolute traitor, didn’t miss a beat. He sat up straighter, grinning like a proud accomplice. "Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t my idea?”

Saiki followed his gaze to the blanket lump. The blanket lump immediately froze in place like a rabbit caught in headlights.

Before Saiki could take one step closer, his attention snagged on the coffee table. His eyes narrowed. Bottles. Several bottles. Some open, some empty, some that probably violated multiple federal laws just by existing. And two shot glasses, faintly sticky from being sloppily overfilled.

Oh, great.

"You’ve been drinking,” he deadpanned, no inflection, just stating the obvious with the weight of a guillotine blade.

Kaido shot up instantly, panicked. "It wasn’t me! I swear on my Dark Reunion contract, I didn’t touch a drop!”

Kuboyasu groaned, running a hand over his face. "Don’t lump me into this. I’m already pissed enough being dragged here for some fake ‘emergency.’”

Toritsuka raised his beer in salute. "Hey, I’m just vibing, man.”

The blanket finally spoke. Your muffled voice came out suspiciously chipper. "We’re not drinking! Don’t be silly! This is just… uh… grape juice!”

There was a pause. A silence so heavy it could smother small animals.

Saiki leveled his flat, unimpressed stare at the blanket burrito. Slowly, deliberately.

"Grape juice.”

"Yep,” you confirmed from beneath the blanket. "Totally legal, totally normal, family-friendly grape juice!”

Saiki pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his teeth. He didn’t even need to use his powers to know what was under the blanket. The muffled giggles, the suspiciously human-shaped lump, the faint scent of cheap alcohol—it wasn’t rocket science.

Without a word, he bent down, grabbed the edge of the blanket, and yanked.

 "AAAHHH!!” You screeched like a vampire exposed to sunlight, immediately curling in on yourself on the floor. "Rude! Do you not understand the sanctity of blanket diplomacy?!”

Saiki stared down at you, expression flat as ever. "You’re drunk.”

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest. "How dare you accuse me of such slander! I’ve never even seen alcohol in my life!”

Toritsuka, still sipping from his bottle, piped up. "That’s literally a lie. She---”

"Silence, soldier,” you hissed at him, before attempting to stand up and nearly toppling right back over. You caught yourself on the coffee table, sending two empty bottles clinking dangerously close to the edge. "See? Perfectly balanced. Like a professional gymnast.”

Kaido buried his face in his hands. "She’s gone…”

Kuboyasu growled low in his throat, rubbing his temple. "This is such a waste of my time.”

Saiki folded his arms. "Why did you barricade my front door with trash cans.”

You looked up at him with the serenity of a monk who had achieved enlightenment. "Because, Kusuo… sometimes life gives you trash, and you must use it… as a weapon.”

"Wrong answer.”

"It was a test!” you quickly added, pointing dramatically at him, your finger wobbling only slightly. "Yes! A test of your… uh… strength and perseverance. You passed, congrats! You’re welcome.”

Saiki blinked slowly, unimpressed. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache forming.

You, however, beamed at him like you’d just solved world hunger.

"ANYWAY,” you suddenly bellowed, clapping your hands together so loudly Cat bolted under the couch. "That concludes the Q&A portion of the evening! Time for the fun part — drinking until the shame fades from memory.”

Toritsuka, already halfway there, raised his glass with a tipsy grin. "I second that!”

Kaido’s eyes widened in pure horror. "You’re seriously still drinking? After Saiki just---”

"Shhh, child,” you shushed him, pressing a finger to his lips like a prophet imparting wisdom. "The night is young, the bottles are plentiful, and my frontal lobe has already left the building.”

"Unbelievable…” Kaido muttered, but when you shoved another shot glass in his direction, he backed up like you’d offered him poison. "Nope. No way. I’m going home before the cops show up.”

Kuboyasu, who’d been radiating pure annoyance since the moment he walked in, finally stood, pocketing his phone. "Yeah. I’m not babysitting drunk idiots. Again.”

You waved dramatically from the floor like a martyr bidding farewell to her loyal knights. "Cowards! Quitters! The chronicles of our adventure will not remember your names!”

"Good,” Kuboyasu snapped, yanking Kaido toward the door. "That’s the point.”

And then they were gone.

The silence they left behind was deafening. Well, silence plus Toritsuka loudly slurping from his bottle on the couch. And you, humming to yourself on the carpet while rearranging the empty shot glasses into what you proudly declared was “a pyramid scheme, literally.”

Which left Saiki. Still standing, still glaring, still angrier than anyone had ever seen him—but, to his credit, not leaving.

Why. Why was he still here. He should have gone home, disposed of the trash blockade, and enjoyed the remainder of his night in peace. Instead, he was stuck in your living room, watching you and Toritsuka spiral deeper into chaos like two raccoons in a recycling bin.

Against all logic and reason, Saiki sat down.

Not because he wanted to. Not because he cared. Certainly not because he was planning on “hanging out.” But mostly because you had flopped onto the couch cushions like a dying fish, taking up precisely the spot he would have otherwise cleared to get you off the floor. The only available seat was next to Toritsuka. And unfortunately, standing in your living room forever out of sheer spite wasn’t a sustainable option.

So he sat.

"Look at us!” Toritsuka cheered, slamming his bottle on the coffee table with all the grace of a demolition truck. "Three amigos, baby! Bonded by fate, alcohol, and the inability to make good life choices!”

You pointed at him as if he’d just uttered the deepest truth of mankind. "YES. Exactly. We are the triforce of chaos. The Bermuda Triangle of society. The unholy trinity.”

Saiki pinched the bridge of his nose. This was already too much.

"Okay, okay, okay,” you said, scrambling upright and nearly tipping the pyramid of shot glasses in the process. "Let's play a game. It’s called: ‘Drink if…’” You wiggled your eyebrows, which you clearly thought made you look devious but instead made you resemble a malfunctioning cartoon character.

Toritsuka leaned forward, instantly invested. "Drink if what?”

You tapped your chin in mock-thought. "Drink if… your life is in shambles and you cope by making bad decisions at two a.m. on a school night.”

Both you and Toritsuka raised your glasses in unison like you’d just been knighted. Saiki, meanwhile, stared at the table as if the sheer intensity of his willpower could vaporize the alcohol bottles into another dimension.

 "Drink if…” Toritsuka added, already swaying slightly, "…you’re tragically handsome but emotionally unavailable!” He nudged Saiki with his elbow so hard Saiki contemplated actual homicide for a split second.

You gasped dramatically, nearly choking on your drink. "Oh my god, Kusuo, it’s literally you.”

Saiki did not drink.

"Booooo!” you heckled, tossing a balled-up napkin at him. "You’re ruining the sanctity of the game.”

Sanctity? Saiki thought. In this room? With you two?

The “Drink If” game spiraled downhill fast, which was expected. By round five, you had invented at least three entirely new rules, none of which made sense, all of which you enforced with alarming zeal. Toritsuka, to no one’s surprise, went along with everything. Saiki had yet to touch his glass, but his patience was thinning faster than the air in the room.

He only stayed because the idea of you two blocking another neighbors entry way with trash cans was borderline illegal, and if it ended up with you and Toritsuka being arrested, he knows, for a fact, his name would be somehow brought up and he doesn't want that. 

"Alright,” Toritsuka announced, thumping his fist onto the table like a judge about to deliver a death sentence. "New level unlocked. We’ve graduated to Truth or Dare.”

"No,” Saiki said flatly.

"Yes!” you countered, pointing at him with all the authority of someone who’d just been elected mayor of Chaosville. "Democracy rules! Two against one. You’ve been outvoted. Welcome to the people’s game.”

Saiki resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands and scream.

Toritsuka leaned in with a grin far too wide to be trusted. "Okay, Saiki-san… I dare you to…” He paused, clearly attempting to summon the most idiotic thing his brain could conjure. "Wear [name]’s fuzzy pink slippers for the rest of the night.”

Saiki just stared at him. Blank. Silent. Pure, distilled disinterest.

"…Or not,” Toritsuka chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "That’s cool too…”

"Lame!” you shouted, immediately springing to your feet—or at least attempting to. You swayed like a tree in a storm, caught yourself on the coffee table, and pointed at Saiki with glassy-eyed determination. "Fine, I’ll do it instead. Hand ‘em over, soldier.”

But instead of fuzzy slippers, Toritsuka’s drunken genius took a darker turn. "No, no, no, wait—better idea. Saiki-san…” He wiggled his eyebrows at you like some sort of cursed magician. "…I dare you to kiss [name].”

Saiki immediately considered walking out. On foot. Into the night. Preferably into a dimension where neither of you existed.

But before he could even move, you clutched your chest, staggered forward, and with a mock swoon announced, "At last… destiny calls! Here I come, darling.”

Saiki’s eyes widened by exactly one millimeter (which, by his standards, was equivalent to screaming in shock) as you lurched across the couch and planted a messy, unapologetic kiss squarely on his lips.

Toritsuka howled with laughter like he’d just witnessed the pinnacle of human entertainment. You, meanwhile, pulled back with a flourish, pointing at Saiki triumphantly as though you’d just won the Olympics.

"There. You won the dare.” you announced, wiping your lips immediately. 

Saiki stared at you in silence. His face betrayed nothing. But his thoughts were louder than the cicadas outside.

What. The. Hell.

For a moment, the entire room fell silent—well, except for Toritsuka, who was still wheezing on the couch like he’d just discovered fire.

You, meanwhile, sat back with the confidence of a champion gladiator, raising your arms like you’d just slain a lion in front of Caesar. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you win Truth or Dare. You’re welcome.”

Saiki did not move. Did not blink. He was staring at you with the same neutral expression he always wore, but internally—internally—his brain had just imploded.

You kissed him.

Why? For a dare. For no reason. With no hesitation. Without the slightest ounce of embarrassment. Like kissing him was as casual as ordering takeout. And worst of all—worst of all—his heart had the audacity to skip a beat.

Ridiculous.

Absurd.

Completely unacceptable.

It was the alcohol, he told himself. The fumes were contagious. That had to be the explanation, because otherwise… otherwise what? He’d just enjoyed it? Impossible.

Meanwhile, you were grinning ear to ear, clearly taking his silence as something far more dramatic than it was. "Aw, don’t tell me that was your first kiss, Kusuo. You’re welcome, by the way. I just saved you from eternal virgin doom.”

Toritsuka collapsed against the armrest, laughing so hard he nearly fell off the couch. "OHHH my god, she did it! Saiki-san, she just destroyed you! The legend herself!”

Saiki closed his eyes briefly. He’d lived through volcanoes, psychic battles, and Nendou’s friendship. None of them had been this exhausting.

You leaned in again, narrowing your eyes at him with mock seriousness. "Wait… don’t tell me you enjoyed that. Eww, no way! Oh my god. Did you?”

His face didn’t twitch, didn’t move—but somewhere, beneath layers of stoicism, his heart stopped for a bit. What did you mean by that? Was he not good enough? Not like he cares, but the way you began wiping your lips on the blanket gave away your true feelings. But were they true? You wouldn't kiss him in that case, right? 

... Right?

Absolutely not. He refused. He was not letting this spiral into whatever bizarre romantic comedy you thought this was.

"…You’re drunk,” he said flatly.

"And you’re in love,” you shot back immediately, pointing at him like you’d just cracked the Da Vinci code.

It was official. You were insufferable. And he had no idea why he hadn’t already walked out the door.