Sota's big day

Sota Takahashi was about to get married.

Not out of love. Not out of passion. But because boats are expensive and life is stupid.

Now, as a developer of the world's most evil app, he was no stranger to pain and problems. He had survived failing servers, caffeine withdrawal, even Hana’s judgmental stare. He also outlived the grammar collapse, the AI uprising, and a security system that believed IKEA furniture was a valid form of execution.

But this?

This was too much.

The sun was too bright. The air was too dry. The wedding robe was itchy. And someone—someone—had handed him a bouquet made of expired coupons and goat hair. Why? No one could say.

Meanwhile, the bride smiled like this was all completely normal.

And Sota? He smiled too.

The kind of smile that said: I’m going to die and the last thing I’ll see is a camel wearing a flower crown.

Somewhere nearby, Hana was sharpening her sarcasm and Kaito was trying to convince a child not to use the ring pillow as a slingshot.

And me?

I was taking notes. Because if the world was ending, I wanted to ensure it ended with proper documentation.

Welcome to the wedding of the year.

The ceremony no one asked for.

Starring a groom who would rather be anywhere else.

And a bride whom I'm not sure she's aware of anything at all.

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Sota paced behind the makeshift altar like a man preparing for his own public execution. Which, in fairness, wasn’t that far from the truth.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered. “I’m going to trip. Or sneeze. Or faint. Or forget how to speak. Or catch fire. People catch fire, right? That’s a thing?”

“You’re fine,” Kaito said, adjusting the crooked bow tie he’d been handed ten minutes ago and was still convinced was made of a shoelace.

“I’m not fine! I asked for an ice cream and I got a whole honeymoon. That’s not romance—that’s linguistic blackmail!”

“You’re panicking.”

“Thank you for noticing! What would I do without you?”

Across the courtyard, guests were gathering—locals in patchwork suits, old women carrying lawn chairs, and a goat wearing a little bowtie (again). A rug had been rolled out to serve as an aisle. The sun glared down like even it wanted to see how this mess played out.

And there stood Hana.

In a dress.

A floral dress.

A floral dress with sleeves, and ruffles, and something that sparkled if she moved too quickly.

Her arms were crossed. Her eyebrows were in full murder mode.

Kaito started laughing. Loudly. “How can something look so beautiful and so scary at the same time?"

“I will kill you,” Hana snapped, glaring daggers at him.

Sota blinked. “You okay?”

“I’m wearing a dress,” she growled.

Kaito blinked. “...You look nice?”

“Don't make it worse."

She yanked at the fabric like it had personally insulted her ancestors.

“I’ve worn experimental lab coats. I’ve walked through burning server rooms. But this? This is the lowest moment of my life.”

“Lower than the LEGO pit?”

“This is the LEGO pit.”

Sota blinked. “You want to trade outfits?”

Hana gave him a look. "Nice try."

She stormed off to grab a lemonade that looked suspiciously like rehydrated battery acid.

Sota turned to Kaito. “I’m scared of her.”

Kaito patted his shoulder. “We all are, man. We all are.”

The blowing of a conch shell announced the beginning of the ceremony.

Why a conch shell? Well, I'm not a narrator anymore to know that kind of stuff am I? Get used to it.

But it echoed through the square like a dramatic airhorn announcing Sota’s descent into madness.

The crowd quieted. The bride appeared, veiled in gauze and hope. Children tossed flower petals that might’ve been onion peels. A man played a flute with only one working note. And Sota stood frozen at the altar, breathing like someone who had just seen their Google Calendar schedule a heart attack.

“Just breathe,” Kaito whispered. “And if you pass out, aim for the rug.”

The girl reached Sota and looked up at him like he was the main character of her post-apocalyptic rom-com.

The priest stepped forward. Probably a priest. He wore three belts and spoke like a corrupted audiobook.

“We are here to join this sing-boy and lady-smile in union of the life glue.”

“Life glue?” Kaito whispered.

“Shh,” Hana said, sipping her battery acid lemonade.

“Now speak vow words,” the priest continued, holding up a large napkin covered in glitter.

Sota cleared his throat. “Uh. Sure. Okay.”

He looked at the girl. She looked back, smiling like a Disney princess who’d just discovered boy bands.

“I promise to support your dreams,” he said slowly. “To protect you from sandstorms, syntax errors, and surprise AI attacks. I vow to always listen when you speak, even if what you say is… completely untranslatable.”

She giggled. Somewhere behind them, a goat bleated supportively.

“And,” he continued, voice cracking slightly, “even though we met, like… yesterday, and I have no idea what your favorite food is or whether you believe in aliens—I still showed up.”

He took a breath.

“Because love… love transcends boundaries. Even grammatical ones. Even if I’m just a guy from Tokyo who sang a desert jingle about lemonade stands, and you’re a desert girl who thought that was romantic.”

Nice one, Sota. We might get extra points from the jury for that bit.

He looked briefly at Hana and Kaito and blinked.

Hana sighed. Kaito gave him a proud thumbs-up.

The priest smiled wide, raising both hands.

“Now I proclaim—”

CRASH.

A wooden chair sailed through the air and obliterated the altar.

The priest screamed and disappeared behind a curtain. Someone shouted, “Was that part of vows?!”

And through the swirling dust stepped the man in the sombrero.

Boots. Hat. Fury.

He pointed straight at Kaito.

“YOU!”

Kaito blinked. “...Me?”

"HIM?" Sota said.

“KAITO SASAKI,” he boomed. “DESTROYER OF STREAK. MURDERER OF DUO.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even the goat gasped. Twice.

Kaito snapped. "Oh come on! Can't we have ONE nice moment?"

The man tossed something shiny through the air—it landed with a clink at Kaito’s feet.

A badge. Homemade. Laminated. Slightly coffee-stained.

on it it was a symbol, then some text.

CULT OF THE FORGOTTEN STREAK

“And I’ve come to bring you to justice.”

Sota raised a hand. “So this is the part where someone objects?”

“Yes,” Hana said. “VERY LOUDLY.”