Chapter 1: Nadeshiko-chan Project

*Note: please read the prologue first.

The indignity of the bunny suit was only partially offset by the sheer relief when Liam—now nursing a hangover of mythic proportions and looking like a rejected anime zombie—finally declared club activities officially over. Allen felt a surge of freedom, a desperate need to peel off the itchy, fluffy monstrosity clinging to his dignity like static.

“Ugh, my zipper’s stuck,” Monica groaned behind him, tugging at the back of her pink costume with theatrical frustration. Her bunny ears drooped like defeated antennae. “You go on ahead, Allen. I’ll catch up.”

Allen didn’t need to be told twice. Still smarting from the public humiliation, his face flushed—not from embarrassment this time, but from the sheer calorie burn of their interpretive, philosophical anime debates. He yanked off the fluffy ears and shucked the bunny suit like it owed him money, tossing it onto a chair with vengeance. “Don’t take too long, or I’m leaving without you!” he called back, already halfway out the door, craving the crisp night air like a palette cleanser for his soul.

Outside, the campus was quiet, the sky a velvet dome scattered with stars. He found himself walking beside Graham, another club regular, whose thick glasses magnified a perpetually bewildered expression. They ambled along the dimly lit university pathways, past vending machines plastered with waifu stickers and a bulletin board advertising Karaoke Singles Night. The distant murmur of dorm life—laughter, music, the occasional shout about lag—was a comforting backdrop.

The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and instant ramen. Allen’s mind replayed Monica’s smug, victorious smirk like a cursed gif loop.

“So, Allen,” Graham said, breaking the silence as he adjusted his glasses. “I gotta ask, man. Why aren’t you and Monica, like, dating?”

Allen choked on his breath, the question hitting him like a surprise boss battle. “I—what—why is that your opening line, Graham? Right now? After… this?” He gestured vaguely back toward the clubroom, where the bunny suit still lurked like a fluffy specter.

Graham sighed dramatically, ever the club’s unofficial shipper and chaos commentator. “Because. You two have main character energy, dude. You watch anime together. You debate like it’s foreplay. Everyone thinks you’re practically a couple. It’s the most obvious ship in the entire fandom.”

Allen stiffened, a tight knot of old hopes and fresh anxieties forming in his stomach. The question always made him uncomfortable, stirring up a decade of unresolved feelings. He kicked at a loose pebble, sending it skittering into the shadows like a metaphor he didn’t want to unpack. “It’s… complicated, Graham. Way more complicated than you think.”

“Complicated how?” Graham pressed, either oblivious to Allen’s discomfort or choosing to ignore it in favor of juicy lore. “You guys are inseparable. She practically lives at your place, doesn’t she?”

“Well… yeah.” Allen sighed. “She’s done everything. There was a time she went full cosplay nurse when I was sick. Like, full wig, apron and...” he barely stopped himself before he mentioned ‘suppository’.

His mind drifted back, a faint smile touching his lips. “She even woke me up whispering ‘Onii-chan~’ for the full trope effect during finals. Fake tears. Bento box. The works.”

Graham shuddered theatrically, though a hint of respect crept into his voice. “That’s terrifying. And dedicated.”

Allen winced, remembering the sheer shock of it. “Hey! It’s not creepy when Monica does it. She’s… she’s the best, alright? Always has been.” He shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, the cool fabric grounding him as he recalled that day long ago.

 “Look, I actually… I confessed to her back at our middle school graduation,” Allen said before he cleared his throat.

Graham’s eyes widened behind his lenses, reflecting the dim pathway lights like twin moons of disbelief. “What? Are you serious? The Allen, Mr. Cynic himself, actually did a confession?”

“Yeah.” Allen sighed, the memory still fresh, still stinging a little, a mix of fond absurdity and lingering pain. “Whole dramatic speech on the roof. Cherry blossoms. Sunset. I even quoted a line from that cheesy shojo anime she loved. Told her she was my destined heroine. All that cringe-worthy stuff.”

He paused, the words tasting bitter and sweet. “And she told me… she said she’d only date me if I crossdressed as a girl.”

 Graham blinked. Once. Twice. Then, like a cosmic truth descending from the heavens, realization spread across his face with the slow majesty of a shōnen protagonist unlocking his final form.

“Wait a minute… that’s why you’ve been in so many of her cosplay shoots?” His voice rose with dawning horror. “Like the time you were Miko-tan, the shrine maiden with the suspiciously short skirt? Or Himeko-chan, the gyaru turned pop idol? Oh my god—the Magical Girl Yumeko one!”

He clapped a hand to his forehead, the soft thud echoing in the quiet night like a dramatic sound effect. “It all makes sense now! Dude, you practically moonlight as her personal crossplay model!”

Allen stopped walking. His shoulders slumped with the weight of a thousand frilly regrets. “It’s not that simple, Graham. You don’t understand. She doesn’t just want me to crossdress for a photoshoot. Monica wants the ultimate otokonoko. Like, the most perfectly adorable, universally appealing, girly boy you can imagine.”

He paused, voice dropping to a whisper. “She wants to… turn me into her dress-up darling.”

The thought sent a fresh wave of existential dread through him. It wasn’t just the outfits. It was the transformation. The surrender. The total submission to her aesthetic vision.

Yes, Allen was a proud otaku. A weeb among weebs. But no—he was not her canvas.

Graham’s mouth hung open. “You’re pulling my leg, right? That’s… that’s next-level dedication from her. And next-level lunacy for you.”

“I used to think she was joking,” Allen muttered, glancing up at the moon—a distant, indifferent orb in the vast expanse. “Now I’m not so sure.”

He exhaled slowly. “She’s even got a year-long calendar plan to train me. A binder. Color-coded. She calls it… The Nadeshiko-chan Project.”

Graham stopped walking. “She named it?”

Allen shivered at the memory. The binder had glitter stickers. Motivational quotes from magical girl anime. Tabs labeled ‘Voice Training’, ‘Skincare Regimen’, and ‘Emergency Tsundere Protocol’. Monica had presented it with the pride of a mad scientist unveiling her greatest experiment.

Yoga for flexibility. Skincare routines for a flawless complexion. Vocal drills to hit the perfect pitch. A homemade schoolgirl dress regimen designed to be both “authentic” and “cute.” She’d even charted seasonal growth rates to optimize bra, panties, and skirt lengths.

The sheer, terrifying dedication was… impressive. And horrifying.

Graham stared at him, then burst into a wheezing fit of laughter, doubling over as they continued their walk. “Nadeshiko-chan Project!” he gasped between breaths, wiping a tear from his eye. “Oh man. Only Monica.”

“Then you should date her,” Allen scowled, a flicker of genuine exasperation in his voice.

“No way in hell,” Graham froze, a vivid image of himself in a frilly apron flashing through his mind. “Monica’s… something else. A force of nature. Definitely not girlfriend material for the faint of heart.”

“Tell me about it,” Allen muttered, shaking his head. A wry smile tugged at his lips despite himself.

Suddenly, Allen’s phone buzzed, slicing through the lingering echoes of Graham’s laughter. He glanced at the screen.

Monica: “Vending machines are out of order. Grab some drinks for me, you damn tsundere! And don’t forget my special peach tea!”

Allen sighed. Of course.

Graham slung his backpack over his shoulder, still chuckling. “Later, buddy! And hey—try not to get any more costume requests… or permanent personality changes!”

His laughter echoed as he ambled off into the night, leaving Allen alone with the weight of Monica’s binder-shaped ambition.

Allen sighed again, this time deeper. Relief at Graham’s departure mingled with dread at Monica’s impending presence. The thought of The Nadeshiko-chan Project sent another shiver down his spine.

He needed a strong, cold drink to wash away the taste of public humiliation and existential dread. A convenience store, bathed in the inviting glow of neon light, beckoned just around the corner—a beacon of mundane normalcy in a world increasingly ruled by cosplay and chaos.

BubbleTease Central was a popular convenience store for the university students. It was open 24/7 with a huge selection of different varieties of drinks including their own original seasonal bubble teas that they made in-house. Besides the lone employee in the store, Allen decided to take his time to browse through the different selections.

“Thank you, come back again.”

Allen stepped out of the brightly lit convenience store, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him with a mechanical sigh. A plastic bag clinked at his side, filled with two energy drinks, a chilled coffee, and the faint scent of artificial peach. The night air hit him like a wall—cool, unnaturally still, and charged with something he couldn’t name.

The streetlights hummed louder than usual, casting long, exaggerated shadows that seemed to stretch toward him. The familiar campus landscape looked… off. Like someone had turned down the saturation and added a filter labeled “ominous.”

As he adjusted the bag in his hand, a figure detached itself from the shadows beside a large oak tree.

Monica.

Allen froze. His heart leapt into his throat, a cold dread replacing the lingering frustration. Her eyes—usually bright, mischievous, and full of chaotic sparkle—were narrowed, catching the glow of a distant streetlamp in a way that made them seem almost… glowing.

Her smile curled slowly across her face. Not playful. Not teasing. Something else. Something that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated fear through him.

She was still in parts of the bunny costume. The ears hung askew. Her clothes were rumpled from earlier chaos. But her posture—her gaze—was alien. The air around her seemed to shimmer, thickening with unseen energy.

Allen knew, with sudden, chilling certainty: This was not just Monica. Not anymore.

“Allen,” she said, her voice eerily calm. “Sorry for making you wait.”

Oh no.

His mind raced, a thousand anime scenarios flashing through his brain like a cursed AMV. Was this it? Was she still mad about the Isekai debate? Was this the moment she went full yandere, stabbed him, and he got reincarnated as an overpowered protagonist in a fantasy world with a cheat skill and a sprawling harem?

He clutched the plastic bag tighter, imagining his glorious, albeit forced, new life: mastering elemental magic, charming a demon lord, maybe building a kingdom of weebs. A faint rumble from the street behind him only cemented the thought—sounding suspiciously like Truck-kun preparing for its fateful journey.

“Monica?” he croaked, sweating bullets. “Let’s… talk about this.”

His hands fumbled. The plastic bag crinkled. The cans slipped, clattering onto the pavement with a series of sharp metallic clinks. He braced himself—eyes wide, body tensed—waiting for the glint of a knife, the triumphant cackle, the summoning circle blazing at his feet.

His breath hitched, preparing for pain. Or the sudden, blinding light.

Instead, Monica stepped forward and pulled something from behind her back with a flourish.

Not a knife.

A cake.

A small, perfectly formed vanilla cake, topped with a surprisingly adorable, expertly piped white rabbit. A single candle—unlit—stood in the center like a sentinel, patiently awaiting its purpose.

Allen blinked. The fear drained from his body, replaced by utter bewilderment.

 “A… cake?” he asked. “Monica, it’s not my birthday. You know my birthday isn’t until next month.”

Her intense gaze softened—just a fraction. The sharp edges of her earlier expression melted into something gentler. Familiar. Human.

“I know it’s not,” she said, her voice unusually soft. A startling contrast to their usual boisterous banter. “But… I know how hard you’ve been on yourself lately. With your writing competitions.”

She tilted her head, the bunny ears flopping slightly, and for a moment, under the dim streetlamp, she looked almost angelic. “It’s tough when your ideas don’t quite… land the way you want them to. And after today’s debate…”

She trailed off, her voice lingering in the air like the scent of vanilla and something unspoken.

A warmth spread through Allen, a genuine comfort he hadn’t expected. Monica, actually caring about his struggles, his creative failures? His heart swelled. Maybe… maybe she really was the greatest friend. Perhaps he had misjudged her earlier intensity.

But then sweat began slowly dripping down as Allen remembered what he did.

“Why is all of my peach tea gone?” cried out Monica as she looked through the plastic bag.

Guilt fell down on Allen. When Monica had texted him to buy peach tea, Allen thought this would be the best way that he could pay her back. Any excuse or alibi that he give and then she would instantly notice the faint smell of the peach drink. Now he felt he was the scum of the Earth as her eyes continued to bore into him.

“Look at me,” Monica said, her voice like a mother not angry, not judgmental. Just a tone of disappointment.

After staring down at his feet which felt like entirety, he finally met her gaze fully. And that’s when he saw it. Behind the fleeting concern, behind the saccharine sweetness of the gesture, was the unmistakable, glint of revenge, a smug satisfaction that could only belong to Monica.

He could practically hear the unspoken words ringing in his head, clear as day: 'So you want to play dirty, Allen? Well my grades are better, my life is more together, I'm still the queen of everything. If that is how you want to play then I’ve got the perfect idea for your next cosplay that will cement my victory and elevate you into a true otokonoko.'

His relief dissolved, replaced by an exhausted, familiar resignation. He knew that look. The look was just a prelude to a new demand, a new scheme, another step in the ‘Nadeshiko-chan Project.’

“It’s no biggie,” Monica said, her smile broadening, not with genuine joy but with a cold, blank poker face. “You really would look cute as a girl, Onee-chan.”

It was the smile of a cat that had finally caught its mouse. As if on cue, the two separated, heading to their respective, homes for the night. Miles above, or perhaps dimensions away, a mischievous God watched the scene unfold on what looked suspiciously like a cosmic flatscreen. Their antics, their peculiar blend of genuine affection and ruthless rivalry, their sheer, unadulterated otaku energy, were utterly captivating.

"Ah, yes," the God mused, a cosmic smirk playing on their lips, adjusting a constellation as if it were a knob on a celestial remote. "These two. They'll be perfect. That world has been far too boring lately."

As Allen and Monica returned back to their individual homes welcomed by their families and fell into deep sleep, a faint shimmer passed through their rooms. A barely perceptible hum filled the air, a whisper of cosmic currents. Then, with a gentle, imperceptible tug, they were transported, their comfortable beds dissolving around them as they plunged into the unknown, another world entirely.