Chapter 143: The World's Most Suspicious Walk Home

Hand in hand, Aiwa and I walk away from the chaotic energy of the Anime Universe Expo, leaving behind the flashing lights, the cheering (or perhaps jeering, in Kenji's case) crowd, and the smoldering wreckage of LUNA's performance. The simple act of holding her hand feels both incredibly natural and catastrophically dangerous. It is the hand of my shy classmate. It is the hand of LUNA, the cosplay goddess. It is the hand of the little girl I vaguely remember promising to marry. My brain is juggling too many identities, and it is starting to drop them all.

We walk in silence for a few blocks, the noise of the convention fading behind us. Aiwa seems lost in thought, her earlier distress replaced by a quiet contemplation. My own mind is racing. What just happened? Did I just declare allegiance in the Cosplay Wars by rescuing the enemy? Will Rina disown me? Will Haruka analyze my betrayal with cold, calculating precision? Will Kenji write a tragic ballad about my downfall? This is far too much stress for one handler.

"Thank you, Rui-kun," Aiwa says finally, breaking the silence. Her voice is soft, back to her normal Aiwa tone. She gently withdraws her hand from mine, though her fingers linger for a split second, sending another jolt of confusing electricity through me. "For… helping me back there. That was… humiliating."

"It was not your fault," I insist, shoving my hands in my pockets to stop myself from doing something stupid, like trying to hold her hand again. "The tech failed. And… Kenji is an idiot." I glare back in the general direction of the convention center, hoping Kenji can feel my disapproval through sheer psychic force.

"He did seem rather… enthusiastic," she says, a small, wry smile touching her lips. "Is he always like that?"

"You have no idea," I groan. "He once tried to start a fan club for the school's vending machine because it gave him an extra soda. His enthusiasm knows no bounds and obeys no logic. He probably thought short-circuiting your costume was a form of avant-garde performance art."

She giggles, a real, genuine sound that makes the stress of the day melt away, just a little. It is a surprisingly nice sound. "It must be… interesting. Being your friend."

"It is a full-time job," I agree grimly. "Requires hazard pay and extensive therapy." We lapse back into silence, but it is a more comfortable silence this time. The shared absurdity of the Kenji situation seems to have eased the tension between us.

"The way you defended me," she says quietly, looking down at her shoes as we walk. "To your sister and Ito-san. And just now… when you told me I was incredible. Even after… the disaster." She looks up, her eyes full of a vulnerable sincerity that hits me right in the gut. "No one has ever really done that for me before. Stood up for me like that. Not since..." She trails off, but I know what memory she is accessing. The dogs. The park. The little boy with the plastic sword.

My face feels warm. I quickly look away. "Well," I mumble awkwardly, trying to deflect the intensity. "That is what… friends do? Right? Prevent each other from being publicly humiliated by faulty electronics and overenthusiastic idiots?"

"Friends," she repeats softly, testing the word. A small, hopeful smile blooms on her face. "Yes. Friends."

We reach the train station, the easy camaraderie of the walk making me momentarily forget the impending doom that surely awaits me at home. We say a slightly awkward goodbye, promising to text about the literature project (a safe, neutral topic, unlike childhood promises or cosplay sabotage), and head towards our respective platforms.

As I ride the train home, a strange feeling settles over me. Despite the chaos, despite the secrets, despite the ever-present threat of Rina's jealousy, talking to Aiwa felt… nice. Easy, even. Dangerous, yes. Complicated, absolutely. But undeniably nice. It is a dangerous thought.

My warm, fuzzy feeling lasts for approximately thirty seconds after I open the door to my apartment.

Rina, Haruka, Kenji, Miki, and Hana are all sitting in the living room. They are not yelling. They are not arguing. They are just sitting there, silent, staring at me with the combined intensity of a tax audit and aศาลพระภูมิ (shrine for a guardian spirit). It is like walking into a meeting of the world's most judgmental parole board, and I am the parolee who just violated every single condition.

"Welcome home, Onii-chan," Rina says, her voice unnervingly calm, like the eye of a hurricane. "Have a nice walk? Did you ensure the fallen star reached her destination safely?"

"Where did you take her?" Haruka asks immediately, her eyes narrowed like a hawk spotting its prey. "Did you require a detour? Perhaps for refreshments?"

"Did you console her fragile heart?" Kenji adds, sniffing dramatically and clutching his chest. "Did you pledge your undying loyalty to the tragically sabotaged LUNA-sama?! Did you betray us?!"

"I just walked her to the station!" I protest, feeling like a cornered animal. My voice is definitely too high-pitched. "Because she was upset! Because someone," I glare pointedly at Kenji, who immediately tries to hide behind Hana, "sabotaged her performance!"

Kenji immediately bursts into tears, his guilt apparently outweighing his fanboyism for once. "I knooooow!" he wails, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. "I am a monster! A villain! I have betrayed the sacred code of cosplay! I used my powers for evil! LUNA-sama will never forgive me! My life is meaningless!"

"Oh, shut up, Kenji," Rina snaps, though she looks slightly mollified by his dramatic admission of guilt (and the convenient reminder that LUNA was, in fact, taken down a peg, even if by underhanded means). "Stop being so pathetic."

"So," Haruka says, her focus shifting smoothly back to me, ignoring Kenji's existential crisis. "You just… walked her to the station. As a friend." Her tone suggests she finds the concept of me having a normal friendship utterly unbelievable.

"Yes! As a friend!" I insist, trying desperately to project an aura of innocent platonic camaraderie.

"And held her hand," Rina adds, her voice dangerously quiet. Her eyes seem to be emitting laser beams. "We saw you. From the loading dock. While Kenji was confessing his sins." (Of course they did. My life apparently has zero privacy settings enabled).

"That was… supportive hand-holding!" I stammer, feeling my face heat up. "Moral support! Completely platonic! Like… like helping an old lady cross the street! But younger! And a cosplay goddess! But still platonic!" My explanation is rapidly devolving into incoherent babble.

They do not look convinced. Not even slightly. Miki just sighs and makes a note on her phone, probably updating my file in the 'Rui Hinamata Disaster Index' under the heading 'Compulsive Liar with Poor Execution.' Hana just offers me a stress-cookie with a look of profound pity, as if I am already a lost cause.

The interrogation continues for another hour. They demand a play-by-play of my conversation with Aiwa. I offer a heavily redacted, mostly fictional version that involves discussing the weather ("quite humid for this time of year"), the structural integrity of convention center display stands ("surprisingly flimsy"), and the philosophical implications of Kenji's sabotage ("a complex moral quandary"). They do not buy it, but they cannot prove anything else, especially since Aiwa is not here to corroborate or deny my increasingly outlandish story.

Finally, exhausted and defeated, they disperse. But as Rina walks past me towards her room, she pauses, leaning in close. "Just so you know, Onii-chan," she whispers, her voice a low, possessive growl that sends shivers down my spine. "Platonic or not. You are mine. And I do not share my toys."

The message is crystal clear. The brief moment of peace I felt walking with Aiwa is officially over. The war is back on, and my apartment is ground zero. My life is a minefield, and I have the sinking feeling I just stepped on another one.