Chapter 182: Ceasefire Collapse (and the Triple Threat Ultimatum)

The atmosphere in the apartment following my disastrous confession (or rather, my failed attempt at explaining the Izumi situation that was immediately and spectacularly misinterpreted as a confession of romantic interest) is colder than absolute zero. The fragile truce established after the Cosmode photoshoot, the uneasy peace brokered by the (already failing) Rui Schedule – it has all shattered. We are back to open warfare, but this time, the battle lines are drawn differently. It is no longer just Rina vs. Haruka vs. Aiwa competing for my attention. It is now Rina and Haruka and Aiwa, united (in a very hostile, suspicious, and deeply hurt way) against my perceived betrayal with Izumi/Ichigo. My own little Goddess Guard has turned on me.

My life under the new regime is… hell. The schedule is still technically in effect (Miki insists on structure, even in chaos), but the "companionship" slots are now filled with icy silence, pointed glares, and not-so-subtle interrogations disguised as casual, sarcastic conversation.

"So, Onii-chan," Rina asks sweetly during our 'Mandatory Sibling Bonding Walk' (which feels more like a prisoner transfer, complete with Miki as the guard). "Have you scheduled any more… platonic takoyaki research sessions with your gaming buddy? Do you need me to pack you an alibi this time? Or maybe a disguise?"

"Rui-kun," Haruka inquires coolly during our 'Cosplay Strategy Consultation' (which now involves her mostly ignoring my input and analyzing LUNA's wing structure with a new, bitter intensity). "Have you determined if Subject Izumi prefers tonkotsu or miso ramen? Such details can be revealing. Perhaps her preference indicates a 'salty' or 'spicy' personality? Your data is crucial, asset."

Even Aiwa, my supposed ally, joins in, her shyness momentarily overridden by a hurt, passive-aggressive curiosity. "R-Rui-kun," she stammers during our literature project final review (conducted in complete, agonizing silence except for the frantic flipping of pages and Kenji's nervous whistling). "That… arcade bar… d-did it have good lighting? For… sketching? Or maybe for… kissing?" Her voice cracks on the last word, and she immediately bursts into silent, humiliated tears, which just makes me feel like the biggest, most colossal jerk in the entire universe.

I am subjected to a constant, 24/7 barrage of passive aggression, guilt trips, and thinly veiled accusations. They scrutinize my every text message notification ("Is it her?!"). They analyze my facial expressions for signs of "Izumi-related thoughts" ("You are smiling. Are you thinking about retro games? Are you?!"). They have formed an unholy alliance, the Jealousy Hydra, and its three heads are all focused squarely, burningly, on me.

Kenji tries to mediate, bless his idiotic, well-intentioned heart. "Come on, guys!" he pleads during one particularly tense lunch where I am being silently stared at by all three girls. "Rui is just confused! He is a classic harem protagonist, caught in a whirlwind of beautiful, talented, emotionally volatile women! It is a statistical certainty! We should be supportive of his emotional journey!" His pleas are met with three synchronized death glares from Rina, Haruka, and Aiwa, and he wisely retreats, muttering something about "tough crowd." Miki and Hana just try to stay out of the crossfire, occasionally offering me sympathetic looks and emergency cookies, which I devour like a starving refugee.

The breaking point comes a few days later. I am in the Cosplay Club room, trying to help a terrified-looking first-year fix a sewing machine that has decided to eat fabric instead of stitch it. Aiwa is nearby, quietly sketching, pretending I do not exist. Rina and Haruka are supposedly working on a joint prop, but are mostly just radiating low-level hostility and suspicion in my general direction.

My phone buzzes. It is a text. From Izumi. My blood runs cold. I try to subtly, subtly check it without anyone noticing, shielding the screen with my body.

Izumi: Hey Rui. Bored. Cybercafe? Now? Last one there buys the virtual potions. 😉

Before I can even process the message, let alone formulate a reply (or set my phone on fire and throw it out the window), Rina is beside me. Her movements are silent, serpentine. "Who is that?" she demands, her eyes narrowed.

"N-no one," I stammer, quickly shoving my phone back in my pocket. "Just… spam."

Too late. Haruka has also noticed my panicked reaction. "You received a message," she states flatly, her voice like ice. "Your physiological response indicates elevated stress levels, pupil dilation, and a sudden onset of 'terrible liar' syndrome. Was it… her?"

"Leave him alone!" Aiwa suddenly speaks up, surprising everyone, especially me. The LUNA-Lite persona, my supposed defender, flickers to life, but her voice is shaking. "He is allowed to have friends! Even if they are… confusing!"

"Friends who invite him on secret dates?" Rina snaps back, whirling on Aiwa. "Friends who lie and manipulate and use him to troll us?!"

"It was not a date!" I insist desperately, feeling the walls close in.

"Then what was it?!" Haruka demands, stepping closer, effectively cornering me between the sewing machine, Rina, and herself. Aiwa hovers nearby, looking like she wants to help but is terrified of getting caught in the blast.

"Okay! STOP!" I finally yell, pushed beyond my absolute limit, my voice cracking. "I cannot do this anymore! This constant suspicion! This interrogation! This… this SCHEDULE!" I gesture wildly around me. "You cannot just control my life like this! You cannot track my every move! You cannot follow me on dates! You cannot form 'threat assessment' teams to analyze my friendships!"

Rina, Haruka, and Aiwa all fall silent, momentarily stunned by my uncharacteristic, full-volume outburst.

"I need space," I continue, my voice trembling slightly with exhaustion and a deep, profound frustration. "I need to breathe. I need to figure things out. My own things. Without," I look pointedly at each of them, "the constant pressure. The constant… fighting."

They just stare at me, their expressions a complex mixture of hurt, anger, and maybe, just maybe, a tiny, microscopic flicker of understanding.

Rina speaks first, her voice quiet but firm, all the previous sweetness and rage gone, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. "Fine, Onii-chan. You need space? You can have space." She crosses her arms. "But you need to make a choice."

Haruka nods in agreement, her expression cool and decisive. "This instability is untenable. The variables are too chaotic. A decision is required. Logically."

Even Aiwa nods slowly, her eyes full of a sad, reluctant resolve. "Rui-kun," she whispers. "You cannot keep… juggling. It is not fair. To any of us. Even… even to Izumi-san."

They are united. Not against Izumi anymore. Not against each other. But in delivering an ultimatum. To me.

"Choose, Rui," Rina says, her voice barely a whisper but carrying the weight of an entire collapsing universe. "Her?" (She means Izumi, the unknown, chaotic variable). "Her?" (She gestures towards Aiwa, the shy, heartbroken childhood promise). "Or me?" (The forbidden, inescapable, all-consuming reality).

Haruka remains silent, but her gaze is just as intense, just as demanding. Choose logic. Choose me.

I look at the three of them. My sister, whose intense love is both suffocating and undeniably, terrifyingly real. My rival-turned-ally, whose cool, analytical logic is both appealing and slightly terrifying. My childhood friend, whose shy, pure-hearted affection and secret goddess identity make my heart ache with a confusing, overwhelming mix of protectiveness and something more.

And then there is Izumi/Ichigo, the wild card, the agent of chaos, the one who started this fire, the one who is currently waiting for me in a virtual dungeon… the only one who I have actually had a normal date with.

Choose.

The word echoes in the suddenly silent club room. My life, the chaotic, confusing, ridiculous sitcom, has just reached its final, impossible, multiple-choice, bad-ending-guaranteed decision point. And I have absolutely no idea what to do. My brain blue-screens. For what feels like the hundredth time. This time, it might be permanent.