Chapter 144: Operation: Punish Kenji (and Divide the Spoils)

Kenji's tearful confession, extracted under the combined pressure of Rina's terrifyingly calm glare and Miki’s steely logic, throws the group dynamic into a new kind of chaos. While Rina and Haruka are secretly (or not-so-secretly) pleased that LUNA's flawless debut was marred by a "technical difficulty," their sense of "fair play" (a concept they apply very selectively, usually only when it benefits them) and their genuine annoyance at Kenji's sheer, unadulterated stupidity override their satisfaction. Plus, my open defense of Aiwa and subsequent suspicious behavior makes them feel obligated to condemn the sabotage, lest they appear unsporting or, worse, like they needed Kenji's help to compete.

The result is "Operation: Punish Kenji," orchestrated primarily by Miki, who sees it as a necessary step in restoring order, maintaining inter-cosplayer diplomatic relations (however strained), and preventing future acts of idiocy that could potentially lead to lawsuits or international incidents.

"Kenji Tanaka," Miki announces gravely during an emergency Cosplay Club meeting convened specifically for this purpose in our now-permanently cluttered living room. "Your actions at the Anime Universe Expo were reckless, unsportsmanlike, potentially illegal, and frankly, deeply embarrassing to everyone associated with you." She adjusts her glasses, looking down at him like a judge about to pronounce sentence. "Therefore, disciplinary measures are required to ensure such buffoonery does not reoccur."

Kenji stands before the assembled group (minus Aiwa, who is wisely keeping her distance from this particular brand of crazy), looking pale and slightly green, like a prisoner awaiting sentencing. "I accept my fate!" he declares dramatically, clutching his chest. "My crime was passion! My motive was loyalty to my chosen queens! My execution was… admittedly, poorly thought out and possibly involved minor electrical code violations! I throw myself upon the mercy of the court! Do your worst!"

Miki consults her notes with a grim expression, clearly having put significant thought into crafting the perfect punishment. "Your punishment is threefold. One: You will write a formal, two-thousand-word apology letter addressed to LUNA and her official management team, detailing the depths of your stupidity and expressing profound remorse. You will handwrite it. In calligraphy."

Kenji blanches. "Two thousand words?! In calligraphy?! But my handwriting looks like a spider fell in an inkwell! And my fingers will cramp into unusable claws!"

"Two," Miki continues, ignoring his protests with the cold indifference of a seasoned executioner. "You are hereby assigned latrine duty- I mean, comprehensive cleaning duty for the Cosplay Club room for the next month. This includes, but is not limited to, dusting every single sequin, scrubbing mysterious adhesive residue from all surfaces, organizing the 'Pile of Shame' (Kenji's personal collection of failed props), and ensuring the air smells vaguely less like sadness and despair."

Kenji groans, looking genuinely miserable. "But the Pile of Shame… it bites back!"

"And three," Miki finishes, a hint of cruel satisfaction in her voice, like a Bond villain revealing the final stage of their evil plan. "You will serve as the personal assistant, errand boy, and general dogsbody to both Ectiqa and Hime-Hime for the duration of their preparation for the next event – the Winter Comicon. This includes, but is not limited to, carrying heavy objects (without dropping them), fetching highly specific and obscure snacks at all hours, enduring lengthy critiques of your very existence, providing unwavering, enthusiastic moral support even when subjected to extreme verbal abuse, and generally being at their beck and call 24/7."

Kenji's eyes light up as if he has just seen the face of god. "Personal assistant to both goddesses?! A chance to serve them directly?! To bask in their radiant presence?! To fetch their divine snacks?!" He drops to his knees, tears of joy streaming down his face. "THIS IS NOT A PUNISHMENT, IT IS THE GREATEST HONOR OF MY MISERABLE LIFE! THANK YOU, MIKI-SAMA! I AM NOT WORTHY! I WILL BE THE BEST DOGSBODY IN THE HISTORY OF DOGSBODIES!"

Miki just sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Punishing Kenji is often indistinguishable from rewarding him. It is a fundamental flaw in the justice system of our group.

Rina and Haruka, however, immediately see the strategic potential. Kenji's punishment is their opportunity. This is not about justice; it is about resource allocation.

"Excellent ruling, Miki," Rina says, a predatory glint appearing in her eyes. "Such an important task requires careful management. Kenji will need constant supervision to ensure he performs his duties correctly and does not, for example, accidentally glue Haruka's wig to the ceiling."

"An astute point, Hinamata," Haruka agrees smoothly, immediately grasping the implication. "Ensuring Kenji does not cause further diplomatic incidents or property damage is paramount. His energy levels require… firm guidance." She looks pointedly at me. "Rui-kun's calm, steadying influence will be essential in managing this volatile asset."

And just like that, Kenji's punishment seamlessly morphs into another excuse for them to fight over my time and attention. They spend the next hour arguing over the "Rui Supervision Schedule," dividing my already non-existent free time into meticulously timed blocks labeled "Kenji Management (Rina Oversight)," "Kenji Task Delegation (Haruka Consultation)," and "Joint Kenji Performance Review (Mandatory Rui Presence)." There are sub-clauses, footnotes, and emergency protocols. It is more complex than the actual Expo schedule.

I just stand there, watching my life dissolve into a series of scheduled supervisions of my idiot best friend while he serves penance to my jealous sister and her equally jealous rival. My soul slowly leaks out of my ears. My life is a Kafkaesque nightmare fueled by cosplay, teenage hormones, and Kenji's inability to function like a normal human being.

Hana just pats my arm sympathetically. "At least," she says quietly, offering me a cookie, "you will probably get a lot of free snacks out of it?" It is cold comfort, but the cookie is surprisingly good.