Chapter 139: The Schedule of Doom (and Aiwa's Counter-Programming)

Rina and Haruka, united by their shared goal of preventing any further "lip-based sneak attacks" and generally keeping me away from Aiwa, draft the "Rui Hinamata Time Allocation and Emotional Support Schedule – Version 2.0." It is presented to me with the solemnity of a peace treaty, though it feels more like terms of surrender.

My life is now officially micro-managed. Every after-school hour, every weekend moment, is meticulously divided between "Team Ectiqa Duties," "Team Hime-Hime Consultations," and "Mandatory Sibling Bonding Time." There are clauses for joint activities ("Group Strategy Sessions," "Morale-Boosting Snack Breaks"), separate activities ("Individual Project Assistance," "Personal Emotional Debriefings"), and even designated "Neutral Zones" (the school library, which requires chaperones; my own bedroom, which requires prior written consent for entry – a clause I insisted upon).

It is insane. It is suffocating. It is also, in a weird way, kind of flattering? No, mostly just insane.

"This schedule ensures optimal Rui-kun utilization," Miki explains, presenting the color-coded spreadsheet with the deadpan seriousness of a project manager. "It minimizes unscheduled interactions with external variables," (meaning Aiwa), "while maximizing synergistic output for ongoing cosplay projects."

"It is a prison," I grumble.

"It is structured support, Onii-chan," Rina corrects me sweetly.

"Think of it as… exclusive access," Haruka adds with a cool smirk.

My first week under the new regime is a blur. Monday afternoon: Rina needs help "organizing" her wig collection (which mostly involves me holding styrofoam heads while she critiques my taste). Tuesday: Haruka requires my "expert opinion" on the historical accuracy of a fictional void witch's corset (a conversation that goes on for two excruciating hours). Wednesday: Joint strategy session, which devolves into an argument about whether glitter is inherently superior to metallic paint. Thursday: Rina insists on "sibling bonding" by forcing me to watch her favorite cheesy romance drama (and provide commentary). Friday: Haruka needs help carrying "heavy" fabric bolts (which feel suspiciously light) back from the craft store.

I am exhausted. I have no free time. I barely have time to breathe. And I have had almost zero contact with Aiwa. Rina and Haruka's plan is working perfectly. They have effectively isolated me within their own competitive bubble.

But Aiwa is not one to be easily deterred. If she cannot reach me directly, she will find another way. She initiates "Operation: Counter-Programming."

She knows she cannot compete with Rina and Haruka's demands on my time. So, she focuses on the gaps. She starts leaving small, thoughtful things inside my locker – a perfectly brewed cup of my favorite tea in a thermos just before first period, a small sketch of Princess Astra with an encouraging note before a difficult test. They are silent messages, reminders of her presence, her kindness, slipped through the cracks of my tightly controlled schedule.

She utilizes Kenji. Knowing he is my best friend (and a LUNA fanatic), she starts subtly feeding him information she wants me to hear.

"Aiwa-chan was asking about that rare manga you were looking for, Rui!" Kenji reports excitedly one day. "She said she saw a copy at a second-hand store downtown! Is that not thoughtful? She is like your personal scout!"

She even leverages the Cosplay Club. During meetings, while Rina and Haruka are busy trying to subtly undermine each other's authority, Aiwa focuses on being incredibly helpful and competent, offering brilliant solutions and quietly supporting my suggestions. She uses the club space, one of the few places Rina and Haruka cannot completely dominate, to demonstrate her value, her intelligence, her quiet strength. Sometimes, her LUNA-Lite persona flickers through, delivering a sharp, insightful critique or a perfectly logical solution that leaves everyone impressed.

It is a subtle, clever campaign. She is not fighting their war; she is playing a different game entirely. She is reminding me, quietly but persistently, that she is still there, that our connection is real, and that she is not giving up.

And it is working. The constant presence of Rina and Haruka is starting to feel oppressive. Their possessiveness, their rivalry – it is exhausting. Aiwa's quiet gestures, her shy smiles across a crowded classroom, her moments of surprising strength – they feel like a breath of fresh air, a quiet harbor in the storm.

My brain is still screaming about the danger, the complications, the sheer impossibility of it all. But my stupid, traitorous heart is definitely starting to choose a side.