Bento Before Battle

Miyuu trudged through the campus pathways until she found the park listed on her device, a rare SEED-accessible refuge from the chaotic nonsense that was her life. Her feet dragged as though the gravity had doubled, her body pre-emptively protesting the upcoming VR torture session on her calendar. K.A.T.O., in his holographic fox form, lounged on her shoulder like a little devil, his pixelated tail flicking lazily.

She spotted a sprawling oak tree ahead and made a beeline for it. Dropping to the ground with a groan, she leaned back against the trunk, stretching her legs out in front of her like a cat in the sun. Shutting her eyes, she allowed herself a fleeting moment of peace. K.A.T.O. hopped down from her shoulder with an unnecessarily flashy spin, landing beside her with a bounce.

“Ugh. If only I could hack the school’s network,” she muttered. “Curse my stupid dad and his god-tier coding.”

K.A.T.O. chuckled. “Oh sure, genius plan. I’m positive turning Harmonia into a glitch-riddled hellscape will definitely keep you out of prison.”

Miyuu cracked one eye open, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I’d reverse the rules. Make students lose XP for good behaviour. Let’s see how long it takes for this kingdom to devolve into a murderous bloodbath.”

“Careful your inner villain is showing.” K.A.T.O. teased.

She let her head fall back against the tree, grinning as she entertained the absurdity for a moment. “You know, if I really wanted to, I could take down the whole world’s networks. Total societal collapse, mass hysteria, power grids offline, global panic. The works.”

K.A.T.O. gave her a sidelong glance, his ears twitching. “Sure, because nothing says ‘great life decisions’ like collapsing civilization.”

“Don’t worry, humanity’s safe—for now.” Miyuu waved a hand dismissively. “Lucky for them, I’ve got priorities. Like binge-watching The Great Mecha Bake-Off. Can’t do that if the world’s on fire.”

“Ah, yes, our merciful goddess Miyuu, sparing humanity from annihilation out of devotion to pastry competitions.” K.A.T.O. gave her a bow. “How selfless of you.”

Before she could retort with another self-proclaimed genius idea, a smug voice cut through the moment.

“Oh, really?”

Miyuu’s eyes snapped open, and her scowl deepened as she tilted her head back to glare up at the intruder. How had she missed him sneaking up on her? She flinched inwardly—sloppy.

Towering over her, arms crossed, was none other than Genji Haruki, the bane of her existence.

“Are you following me?” Miyuu demanded.

Genji grinned, that infuriating, easy confidence oozing from every pore as he bent down just enough to meet her gaze. “Just thought I’d check in on our favourite little delinquent,” he said, ruffling her hair like she was a misbehaving puppy.

“How thoughtful of you,” Miyuu snapped, swatting his hand away and sitting up straighter, her scowl deepening. “Really, your dedication is just so inspiring.”

Unfazed, Haruki tapped his student device, summoning a holographic map between them. As the glowing screen flickered to life, a small chibi avatar of Miyuu appeared at the centre of the display. Her mini-doppelgänger had crossed arms, a scowl identical to hers, and—to her absolute horror—tiny devil horns poking out of her head.

Her jaw dropped. “What the—? I don’t look like that!”

Haruki leaned in, his face the picture of concentration as he scrutinized the avatar, then glanced back at her. “Hmm…” He rubbed his chin. “No, it’s pretty accurate.”

K.A.T.O. materialized beside her, sitting on his haunches and studying the map. “I dunno, princess. The horns are a bit subtle for my taste.”

Miyuu groaned, dragging a hand down her face in exaggerated despair. “I hate both of you,” she muttered.

Something on the holographic map snagged her attention. Several other chibi avatars—equally as ridiculous as her devil-horned caricature—had popped up. They were moving in, fast. Kaito’s was decked out as a paladin, glowing shield and all, while Riku’s darted like a rogue, daggers flashing. Both were headed straight for them.

Her eyes flicked to the rest of the map. Shion hung back in the corner as a wizard, complete with swirling robes, and Jun floated peacefully as a healer. 

Miyuu’s eyes narrowed, her finger jabbing at the map. “What is this supposed to be? A fantasy raid party? And I’m the boss you’re here to slay?”

Haruki just grinned at her.

K.A.T.O. snickered. “You wouldn’t even drop decent loot.”

Her stomach sank as she glanced back at Kaito and Riku’s avatars closing in. “And why are they coming here?” she asked, dread curling into her voice.

“We thought we’d have lunch together. A little family bonding time—to celebrate your first Reflective Mission.” His voice was syrupy, as if this was supposed to be a momentous occasion.

Miyuu shot him a look so flat it could’ve ironed out his personality. “Hard pass. I’m not hungry.”

Right on cue, her stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl, just loud enough to hammer home her lie.

The smugness radiating off Haruki hit new levels. “Sure, you’re not,” he said, barely holding back laughter.

Her cheeks burned, but she doubled down, crossing her arms so tightly they could’ve cut off circulation. She scowled, daring him to comment further.

Of course, he didn’t back down. Haruki leaned in, lowering his voice to that teasing, conspiratorial tone that made her want to commit minor acts of violence. “I mean, I could call the others off, but it sounds like you could really use a snack.”

Miyuu shot him a sharp glare. “Shut up, you insufferable, wannabe overlord.”

Haruki laughed outright at that, making it clear he wasn’t even slightly fazed. If anything, it just fuelled his ego further. “Ah, Tsukishima,” he said, wiping an imaginary tear. “You really are the gift that keeps on giving.”

Kaito and Riku showed up exactly as predicted—because Haruki apparently couldn’t resist dragging in reinforcements. Miyuu sat cross-legged on the grassy field with the student council, doing her best to look disinterested as they settled around her.

She focused on the floating greenhouses above. The massive, spherical glass structures glided through the afternoon sky, their surfaces shimmering as they subtly adjusted to capture the sun. Occasionally, an orb would drift gracefully down to ground level, allowing students to step inside for an interactive botany lesson or just to gawk at the flowers. They were beautiful. Miyuu hated it.

She had tucked K.A.T.O. back into her wrist node. Safer this way. She wasn’t about to risk another incident like earlier, when Haruki overheard her offhand comment about world domination. Better safe than sorry.

Flying drones buzzed overhead, dipping down to deliver neatly wrapped bento boxes to each of them. The hum of the drones quieted as they zipped away, leaving behind the aroma of freshly prepared meals.

Miyuu reluctantly took the bento, eyeing it like it might bite her. The presentation was immaculate—onigiri perfectly shaped, karaage golden and crispy, tamagoyaki rolled to fluffy perfection. Pickled vegetables added pops of colour, and a tiny container of dipping sauce sat in the corner.

She was hungry—starving, actually—but she wasn’t naïve. This wasn’t just a kind gesture. Nothing they did was without a reason.

Her stomach growled, traitorously loud, but she ignored it, her fingers tightening around the edges of the bento box. She knew exactly why they were here, sharing a meal with her. She couldn’t afford frivolities like this—not on her limited allowance. They knew it too.

This wasn’t just lunch; it was a calculated move. A trust exercise she hadn’t consented to.

“Don’t let it go to waste,” Haruki said, his tone light but pointed as if he could read her internal monologue. “It’s rude to ignore a gift, you know.”

Miyuu forced a tight smile and picked up her chopsticks. “Sure. Thanks. So generous of you,” she said, the sarcasm dripping off her words like soy sauce on rice.

If they thought food was enough to sway her, they were delusional. She wouldn’t be bought so easily. She had principles. Ideals. Morals. No amount of perfectly rolled tamagoyaki was going to change that.

“Thank you for the food,” she muttered, breaking her chopsticks with a sharp snap. The words tasted as bitter as the pickled radish she had no intention of eating. She kept her gaze fixed on the bento, refusing to look up and acknowledge her enemy.

She took a bite of the karaage, and unfortunately, it was incredible. The moment the crispy chicken hit her tongue, her resolve shattered like a faulty drone. The flavours exploded in her mouth—perfectly seasoned, impossibly juicy.

Her expression softened into one of pure, unfiltered bliss. Her eyes fluttered closed, and a wide, toothy grin took over her face, reaching all the way to her pinking cheeks. For a second, just a second, she forgot everything: the Reflective Mission, her XP, the smug jerks sitting around her.

“She’s actually quite simple-minded, isn’t she?” Kaito remarked dryly. He didn’t even look up from his tablet, one finger idly scrolling through data.

The other council members exchanged knowing nods, as though they’d just witnessed some grand scientific breakthrough.

Unaware—or, more likely, willfully ignoring—their commentary, Miyuu was lost in the bliss of her meal. Stars practically sparkled in her eyes as she plucked another piece of karaage, devouring it with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t seen food in weeks.

Meanwhile, Kaito sat slightly off to the side, tablet still in hand, his focus so unshakable it might as well have been welded there.

Haruki watched him for a moment. Leaning in, he pushed up imaginary glasses in a perfect imitation of Kaito’s signature move—the one he always deployed right before saying something so overly complex it made your brain want to curl up and die.

“Now, if I eat this piece of tamagoyaki first,” Haruki intoned, “I’ll be optimizing my protein intake to fuel the next five minutes of thinking. Critical for maintaining peak cognitive function.” He narrowed his eyes at a piece of karaage, before popping it into his mouth.

Riku, never one to let an opportunity pass him by, stiffened his posture and held up his own tamagoyaki like it was Exhibit A in a court case. “This,” he announced gravely, “is completely unacceptable. Not up to University standards. Minus 10 XP!” His face was so perfectly stern, so utterly devoid of humour, it was like watching Kaito in a parallel universe.

The impressions were so spot-on that Miyuu actually snorted mid-chew, a sound she immediately tried to cover with a cough. Too late. Both Haruki and Riku turned toward her with twin grins, clearly pleased with their success.

Kaito finally sighed, his gaze lifting from his tablet with the slow weight of someone who knew they were surrounded by idiots. “If I put this down,” he said, “will you all stop acting like children?”

“Not a chance,” Haruki replied cheerfully, clapping Kaito on the shoulder like they were old war buddies. “But seriously, Kaito—if you keep this up, your brain is going to combust. Take a break. Eat your damn lunch.”

Kaito looked at him for a long moment, then at the bento in front of him. Begrudgingly, he picked up his chopsticks, muttering something about “inefficiency” under his breath.

Watching the great Shirogane Kaito actually take orders from someone else filled Miyuu with a smug kind of satisfaction. She leaned back savouring the moment.

The group settled into a rhythm as they ate, the clinking of chopsticks and the hum of conversation blending with the lazy warmth of the afternoon sun. For a fleeting moment, Miyuu let herself feel… part of something. Not entirely, and not comfortably, but enough.

Of course, she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone. This wasn’t bonding—this was reconnaissance. Gathering intel on her enemy. That’s all.

Once she finally grounded herself, Miyuu decided to press her luck. "So, this VR session... any tips?"

Haruki gave her a sympathetic smile, the kind that screamed this is going to suck for you, but I’ll enjoy watching. “Sorry, but no spoilers. You’ll just have to experience it firsthand.”

"Why not?" Miyuu pressed, narrowing her eyes.

“Maybe next time you’ll focus on your studies instead of messing with the network,” Kaito snapped.

Miyuu blinked, momentarily stunned. “Huh?” she blurted, snapping her head toward him like a startled cat who’d just been sprayed with water.

Her brows knitted into a sharp furrow, her upper lip curling in a way that would probably scare off most people. Her fists clenched, and when she spoke, her voice was a low, deliberate drawl dripping with venomous sarcasm.

“What? Did you think I was going to take notes? Do I look like a leashed pup to you? Wave a little XP in my face, and I’ll wag my tail, right? I was told to attend class, and I did. So, what’s the problem? Or maybe you’re all just braindead losers on a power trip—”

She rattled off her words like an unchecked train hurtling downhill, each one landing with cold, calculated precision. No yelling, no rage—just a sharp-edged monotone that sounded like she genuinely believed every insult was a scientific fact.

Then thunk.

A dull knock landed square on the top of her head, hard enough to shut her up. Not painful, but definitely enough to get her attention.

Riku stood over her, his ever-present, lazy grin firmly in place. His ruby eyes gleamed with amusement, tilted just enough to give the impression that he’d already seen the ending to this little scene and found it hilarious. His hand rested lightly on her head, fingers barely brushing her hair as if to say, Careful now, kitten.

The playful hit had jostled her hair, leaving a single strand sticking up defiantly. It was the sort of touch designed not to intimidate but to annoy, like flicking a cat’s ear just to see how mad it would get.

Miyuu flailed awkwardly in protest, her arms jerking up like a startled puppet. “Hey—what the hell?” she snapped, rubbing the spot with a scowl as if the light tap had bruised her pride more than anything else.

Riku’s grin widened, a smug, self-satisfied curl at the edges of his mouth. “Easy there, kitty,” he drawled, his voice raspy. “Maybe check who’s sitting around you before you start running your mouth. You’re surrounded by final bosses, and you're just level one.”

Her mouth snapped shut, the fiery retort on her tongue fizzling out as she realized everyone was watching her. 

“Good girl,” Haruki said with a teasing nudge toward her half-eaten bento. “Finish your food. You don’t want to face a mission on an empty stomach.”

Miyuu muttered something incoherent under her breath, stabbing her chopsticks into a piece of karaage with unnecessary aggression. The smug satisfaction radiating from the student council made her want to throw the whole bento box at them—but damn it, the food was really good.