Chapter 202: The Morning After (and the Declaration of War 2.0)

I wake up to the smell of coffee. Real, good coffee. Not the instant sludge I usually make. My eyes blink open slowly, confused. For a second, I have no idea where I am. The ceiling is too high. The air does not smell like my sister's vague disappointment.

Then it all comes flooding back. Izumi's apartment. The kiss. The selfie. The escape. The second escape. The accidental sleepover.

I sit bolt upright on the sofa. I am still in my clothes from yesterday, thankfully. The blanket is pooled around my waist. The apartment is quiet, filled with the soft, warm light of morning.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Izumi's voice calls out from the kitchen. "Or should I say, afternoon? You slept for like, ten hours."

I look over. Izumi is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, holding a mug of coffee. She is wearing a simple, oversized tank top (it might be one of her Ichigo-merch shirts, ironically) and a pair of soft-looking pajama shorts that show off her ridiculously long legs. Her blonde hair is a messy, sleepy tangle on top of her head. She is not wearing any makeup. She looks… normal. Relaxed. And, as my brain traitorously supplies, incredibly beautiful.

My face heats up. "I… uh… I did not mean to sleep that long."

"You clearly needed it," she says, her voice still a little rough with sleep. She gives me a warm, genuine smile. "You look like a disaster, by the way. But a cute disaster." She pushes a second mug across the counter towards me. "Coffee. You look like you need it."

I stumble over to the kitchen, my limbs still heavy with sleep, my mind trying to process this new, domestic, non-trolling Izumi. "Thanks," I mumble, taking the mug. The coffee is, of course, perfect.

We stand there in silence for a moment, just drinking our coffee. It is… not awkward. It is comfortable. Shockingly, terrifyingly comfortable.

"So," I finally say, breaking the silence. "World did not end? My sister did not kick down your door with a SWAT team?"

Izumi chuckles. "Not yet. Though my doorman did report some 'suspicious individuals' (one with frantic black hair, one with icy blonde hair, and one with nervous purple hair) loitering near the building around 4 AM. They were apparently dispersed by a polite but firm security guard."

My blood runs cold. "They found me."

"Of course they found you," she says, rolling her eyes. "Rina's tracker, remember? They probably followed you here. But this building has actual security, not just a sleepy landlord. They could not get in." She takes another sip of coffee. "They are probably still out there, conducting surveillance from a rented van, subsisting on convenience store snacks and pure rage."

I groan, sinking onto a barstool. "This is a nightmare. I cannot go home. Rina is going to murder me. I am going to have to live here, in your cosplay lair, forever."

Izumi just smirks at me over her mug. "Tempting offer," she says, her voice dropping into that familiar, flirtatious purr. "But as much as I would enjoy having my own personal, terrified handler-in-residence, you cannot hide forever, Sir Rui. You have to face the music eventually."

"I do not want to," I mutter into my coffee.

"I know," she says, her expression softening. "But you cannot let them control your life with guilt and jealousy. You have to make your own choices." She pauses. "Like you did last night. By coming here."

She looks at me, her gaze direct, and I know we are not just talking about the sleepover anymore. We are talking about the kiss. About her confession.

Before I can formulate a response to that, she suddenly brightens, her trollish energy returning. "However," she says, "you cannot go back into the warzone unarmed. You need provisions. And, more importantly, you need a new weapon."

"A weapon?" I ask warily.

"A psychological one," she confirms, her eyes glittering with pure, unadulterated mischief. "Wait here."

She disappears into her kitchen and returns a moment later with a small, perfectly wrapped bento box. "For your lunch," she says. "I made extra." She then hands me three other small, identical boxes, each one tied with a different colored ribbon. A fiery pink one. A cool, dark blue one. A soft, lavender-colored one.

My blood runs cold again. "Izumi, what are these?"

"Peace offerings," she says, her smile so innocent it is terrifying. "From us. A little 'thank you for your understanding' gift to Rina, Haruka, and Aiwa. It is important to be polite to your rivals, you know."

"You want me," I say slowly, "to waltz into my apartment, after being missing all night at your place, and hand my furious, jealous sister and her two equally furious, jealous rivals… gift-wrapped cookies? From you?"

"Precisámente," she confirms cheerfully.

"That is not a peace offering!" I yell. "That is a declaration of war! That is salting the earth! That is like showing up to a duel and handing your opponent a live grenade! They will kill me! And then you!"

"Probably," she agrees easily. "But think of the data we will gather from their reactions! It will be hilarious." She shoves the boxes into my hands. "Go on, Sir Rui. Be brave. Face your destiny. And," she adds, pecking me quickly on the cheek, leaving me stunned and blushing, "try not to get dismembered before our next date."

I stare at her, at the four bento boxes of doom in my hands, at the triumphant, amused, and terrifyingly beautiful girl in front of me.

My life is over. I am a dead man walking. But as I trudge towards the door, I cannot help but feel a strange, unfamiliar, and deeply inappropriate thrill. The chaos has reached a new level. The game is afoot. And as terrifying as she is, I am starting to think I might actually be glad Izumi Sato is on my side.

(Even if she is the one setting all the fires).