Chapter 203: The Summit at the Lair of the Troll Queen

My life has officially become a high-stakes, low-budget spy thriller. I am currently crammed in the back of Miki's mom's minivan, which she has "borrowed" for this "essential club activity." I am sitting between a silently fuming Rina and a furiously texting Haruka. Aiwa is in the front passenger seat, looking like she is on her way to her own execution. Kenji and Hana are in the way-back, with Kenji loudly whispering his predictions ("This is it, guys! The final boss lair! 10/10 odds Rina tries to punch her!") and Hana stress-eating Pocky. Miki is driving, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, her expression grim.

We are "Team Rui" (a name I despise), on our way to confront Izumi Sato (aka Ichigo, aka CrimsonBladeIzumi, aka the Troll Queen of Tokyo) in her own apartment. After the "Hostile Takeover Selfie" and the "Bento Box Apocalypse," Rina accepted Izumi's insane invitation for a face-to-face "summit." I am pretty sure this is how most horror movies start.

"Okay, let's review the strategy one more time," Miki says from the driver's seat, her voice all business. "This is an intelligence-gathering mission, not an assault. Rina, you will not attempt to physically engage the target."

"No promises," Rina mutters, cracking her knuckles.

"Haruka, you will not allow her to bait you into a pointless debate on aesthetics. Stick to the primary objective: determining her weakness."

"Her primary weakness is clearly an inflated ego," Haruka sniffs. "I intend to deflate it."

"Aiwa," Miki continues, "you are our emotional baseline. Observe her. Look for cracks in her persona. Hana, you are on snack duty and emotional support. Kenji, you are on note-taking duty and... try not to faint or propose marriage."

"Got it, boss!" Kenji says, saluting with a Pocky stick.

"And Rui," Miki says, her eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "You are the bait. The asset. Just… try not to make things worse. Do not agree to any more dates, do not accept any more kisses, and for the love of god, do not sleep over at her apartment again."

"IT WAS THE SOFA!" I hiss, my face burning.

We arrive at the sleek, high-security high-rise. My heart is pounding. We look like a ridiculously dysfunctional J-Pop group about to stage an intervention. We crowd into the elevator, the silence thick with tension. The doors open directly into her loft.

Izumi is waiting for us. She is not in cosplay. She is in her "Izumi" attire- casual jeans, a faded 'Galaxy Gladiators' t-shirt (which I now recognize as a deliberate, calculated choice), her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun. She is casually leaning against her massive workbench, sipping a cup of tea, looking completely, infuriatingly unbothered. Her apartment is immaculate, a stark contrast to the chaotic, glitter-bombed warzone of my own living room. The rows of 3D printers hum quietly. The finished Ichigo costumes gleam under the track lighting like a row of captured, silent heroes.

"Welcome, 'Rui's Angels'," she greets us cheerfully, gesturing to her massive sofa with her teacup. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Can I offer anyone some coffee? Or perhaps… one of my psychologically damaging, symbolic cookies? I have leftovers."

Rina looks like she is about to physically launch herself at Izumi. Miki puts a firm, restraining hand on her arm.

"We are not here for snacks, Sato-san," Haruka says, taking the lead, her voice cold and sharp as she steps forward. "We are here for answers. The games are over. We know you are Ichigo."

Izumi just raises an eyebrow, a slow, amused smirk spreading across her face. "Do you now? Took you long enough. I was dropping hints the size of a convention center." She winks at me. "Rui finally put the pieces together, did he? Or did you have to draw him a color-coded diagram, Haruka-san?"

I just blush and try to look invisible, earning me a sharp glare from Rina.

"So it is true," Aiwa whispers, her voice full of a strange mixture of awe and betrayal. "You are Ichigo."

"I am," Izumi confirms easily, taking a sip of her tea. "And I am Izumi. And I am CrimsonBladeIzumi. It is all just… me. Different armor for different battles."

"So all of it," Rina steps forward, her voice trembling with suppressed rage, "the kabedon, the dinner, the trolling, the selfie… it has all been one big, elaborate joke to you? You have been manipulating all of us- using Rui- just for your own amusement?!"

"Yes," Izumi admits without a trace of shame. "Mostly."

The blunt, cheerful, unremorseful honesty of her confession is more devastating than any lie. Kenji actually gasps. Hana looks like she might be sick.

"It was amusing," Izumi continues, pushing herself off the workbench and walking calmly towards the group, circling us like a predator. "Watching you three, the 'Queens of Cosplay,' the most powerful, confident women in the industry, completely fall apart and resort to drone surveillance and passive-aggressive baking, all over one, average, endearingly awkward teenage boy." She smiles at me, a smile that is both affectionate and deeply patronizing. "No offense, Rui."

"Some offense taken," I mutter, my face burning.

"But," Izumi continues, her expression turning serious for the first time, her playful, trolling energy fading. "It started as a joke. A way to alleviate my own boredom. But then, as I told Rui, it got… complicated." She looks at me. "I actually started to like him. Genuinely."

"So you are trying to steal him!" Rina accuses, her voice rising.

"Steal him?" Izumi laughs, a short, bitter sound. "You cannot 'steal' a person, Hinamata-san. That is your problem. You, Haruka-san, and even you, Aiwa-chan… you all treat him like a prize. A strategic asset. A childhood trophy. You have been so busy fighting over who gets him that none of you bothered to ask, as I pointed out at the panel, what he actually wants."

The three girls flinch, the truth of her words hitting home.

"And you?" Haruka challenges, recovering first. "You kiss him, you have him sleep over, you send a triumphant selfie to all of us. How is that not treating him like a prize?"

"That," Izumi says, her smile returning, but this time it is sad, almost weary, "was the prank. The final, chaotic push. To get you all here. To force this exact conversation." She looks around at the three of them, her expression unreadable. "And also, yeah, it was fun. But it served its purpose."

She turns her full attention to Rina, Haruka, and Aiwa, her gaze sharp and analytical. "I am going to tell you why I am Ichigo. Why I created him. Why I hide. Because unlike you three, I am actually going to be honest."