Chapter 179: Paranoia, Pocky, and a Potential Date

Logging off from 'Aethelgard Ascendant' feels less like an escape from reality and more like a transfer between different, equally confusing realities. My mind is buzzing, overclocked, trying to process the implications of my conversation with Izumi. Her flawless Ichigo impression. Her casual-yet-pointed questions about forbidden love and secret identities. Her final, cryptic warning: "Secrets have a way of coming out. Especially the interesting ones."

Is she Ichigo? Almost certainly. The evidence – the name, the voice mimicry, the insider knowledge – is overwhelming. But why reveal herself to me, even indirectly? Why the elaborate game? Is she testing me? Is she trying to recruit me? Is she just enjoying watching me squirm like a bug under a magnifying glass? My brain cycles through possibilities, each more paranoid than the last. Maybe she is working with Haruka? Maybe she is secretly allied with Rina? Maybe she is a rogue agent sent by the Cosplay Illuminati to monitor my sister? (Okay, maybe I need to cut back on the caffeine).

I trudge home from the cybercafe, seeing potential spies in every shadow, interpreting every stray glance from passersby as surveillance. By the time I reach my apartment, I am a tightly wound ball of anxiety and caffeine jitters.

The apartment is, thankfully, quiet. Rina is presumably in her room, deep in Ectiqa-mode, probably hot-gluing something complex and flammable. I manage to sneak into the kitchen for a glass of water without triggering any sisterly proximity alerts.

But the peace is short-lived. My phone buzzes. It is a text from Izumi. My heart does a frantic, panicked tap dance against my ribs.

Izumi: Survived the return trip? Or did the Goddess Guard intercept you at the station? 😉

Her casual use of the nickname sends a fresh wave of paranoia through me. How does she know that name?! Did Kenji leak it? Is she monitoring the Team Rui chat?!

Me: Still alive. No ambushes encountered. Yet.

Izumi: Good to hear. So, about those weeping wyvern tears… turns out I need one more for the final axe upgrade. Cruel, cruel RNG.

Me: Rough. Back to the Gorge of Eternal Weeping then?

Izumi: Nah. Grinding is boring. I was thinking… maybe we could try a different kind of co-op? The real-world kind? Face-to-face? There is this cool little indie arcade bar near my university – Tama Art, remember? – that has amazing retro games, questionable lighting, and potentially life-changing takoyaki. We could… you know. Celebrate our (almost) legendary axe? If you can successfully execute a prison break from your lovely guard detail.

There it is again. The invitation. Delivered with the same casual, playful charm as before, but now loaded with the weight of my near-certainty about her identity. A date? With Ichigo? Who knows I know (maybe)? Who finds my life amusing? Who might be trying to manipulate me for unknown reasons?

Every rational part of my brain is screaming NO. This is a terrible idea. It violates the spirit (if not the letter) of the Rui Schedule. It will infuriate Rina and Haruka if they find out. It could be an elaborate trap.

But… arcade games. Takoyaki. A potential escape from the suffocating pressure cooker of my apartment. And… Izumi. Despite the suspicion, despite the probable secret identity, spending time with her, even virtually, was undeniably fun. Normal, almost.

My finger hovers over the reply button. My self-preservation instinct is at war with my desperate craving for normalcy (and possibly delicious octopus balls). After a long, agonizing moment of internal debate, my desire for something different, something outside the Rina-Haruka-Aiwa vortex, wins out.

Me: Arcade bar? Takoyaki? Okay, you convinced me. When? (And how do I know this is not an elaborate ambush involving ninjas?)

Izumi: Excellent! Tomorrow night? 7 PM? I will send the address. And relax, Sir Rui. The only ambush will be by overwhelming retro nostalgia. Probably. 😉 Just tell your guards you are… researching 8-bit art history.

Tomorrow night. It is official. I have a date. Maybe. With a girl who is almost certainly a world-famous male cosplayer in disguise. Who knows way too much about my life and seems to enjoy trolling me. While being monitored (probably) by my possessive sister and her equally possessive rival, and possibly my shy childhood maybe-fiancée.

This is the stupidest, most dangerous, and most undeniably intriguing decision I have made all week. My life is a dumpster fire, but at least it is an interesting dumpster fire. Now I just need to figure out how to survive until tomorrow night without spontaneously combusting from sheer anxiety or being grounded by my sister.