Chapter 6: The Pen is Mightier Than the Panic Attack

Saturday morning is usually my sanctuary. It is the sacred window of time when the rest of the world sleeps, the sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon, and I can type away on my mechanical keyboard in peace. It is the only time of the week when I am not Kenji the average student, but Twilight-Senpai, the creator of worlds where dragons eat solar systems for breakfast and high school boys actually get girlfriends without hyperventilating into a paper bag.

But today, my sanctuary feels less like a creative haven and more like a prison cell.

I am sitting at my desk, staring at my dual monitors with eyes that feel like they are filled with sand. The RGB lighting on my keyboard cycles through a calming rainbow pattern, but I feel anything but calm. I haven't written a single word. Not one. My cursor blinks at me from the blank white page of the word processor. It mocks my existence with every rhythmic pulse.

Blink. Blink. You are doomed. Blink.

Why is my productivity at absolute zero? Why am I sweating despite the air conditioning being set to a comfortable twenty-four degrees?

Because I lost my pen.

It isn't just any pen. It is a Copic Multiliner SP, 0.3mm, with a brushed aluminum body. It is the Excalibur of my artistic life. It is the wand with which I cast my ink spells. It has been with me through three serialization meetings, five deadlines, and one mental breakdown during finals week. And worse, it is a limited edition version that was only sold at Comiket two years ago. You cannot buy this pen in stores anymore. It is irreplaceable.

And Aoi has it.

I groan, a low, pathetic sound that vibrates in my chest. I slide down my ergonomic gaming chair until I am practically sitting on the floor under my desk. I pull my knees to my chest. I am a slug. I am a cowardly slug hiding from a pop idol who smells like vanilla and terrifying perceptiveness.

"Niisan?"

The door creaks open.

I freeze. My breath catches in my throat.

Aiko pokes her head in. She is wearing her favorite oversized pajamas. They are bright pink and have the words 'Imouto Power' printed in bold, comic sans font on the front. Her hair is a bird's nest of morning bedhead, and she is clutching a stuffed shark toy by its tail. She looks at my empty chair, blinking in confusion, then looks down and spots me huddled under the desk like a fugitive.

"Are you playing hide and seek with the dust bunnies?", she asks, her voice thick with sleep and completely unimpressed.

"I am contemplating my mortality", I reply from the floor, staring at a stray cable. "Leave me be, child. The darkness is my only friend now".

"Okay, well, contemplate faster. Mom says we need milk for pancakes. Go to the store".

"I can't go outside, Aiko!", I hiss, scrambling out from under the desk but staying low, as if snipers are watching through the window. "It is dangerous! There are idols out there! They roam the streets with their perfect hair and their sharp eyes, looking for unsuspecting authors to torment!"

Aiko stares at me. She walks over, her slippers shuffling against the floorboards. She pats my head like I am a golden retriever that just ran full speed into a glass door. She sighs, shaking her head.

"You have been weird since yesterday", she observes, looking down at me with pity. "You came home looking like you saw a ghost, and you spent three hours staring at the wall. Did you get rejected? Did you finally confess to a 2D girl and realize she couldn't answer back?"

"No!", I yelp, standing up and brushing the dust off my sweatpants. "I mean- I didn't confess to anyone! My heart is a fortress of solitude!"

"Good. Keep it that way. Romance distracts you from your deadlines", she says, kicking my shin lightly. "Now go get milk. If we don't have pancakes in thirty minutes, I am going to tell Yoshi that you actually love his singing voice".

I gasp. "You wouldn't".

"Try me", she narrows her eyes.

There is no winning against Aiko. She is the true final boss of my life.

Thirty minutes later, I am walking to the convenience store.

I am not taking any chances. I am wearing a black hoodie with the hood pulled up, large sunglasses that cover half my face, and a white surgical face mask. I look less like a shopper and more like a celebrity trying to avoid paparazzi, or perhaps a bank robber who forgot to bring his weapon.

The sun is bright. Too bright. It reflects off the pavement and assaults my eyes. Every person I pass looks suspicious. Is that old lady actually an undercover agent for my publisher? Is that cat staring at me because it knows my secret identity?

Paranoia is a heck of a drug.

I keep my head down, walking with a brisk, nervous energy. I need to get in, get the milk, and get out. Mission Impossible: Dairy Run.

I reach the convenience store. The automatic doors slide open with a cheerful ding-dong sound that feels mockingly upbeat given my internal turmoil.

I grab a basket. I head straight for the dairy section. I grab the carton of milk. Then, I hesitate. I need sugar. My brain is running on fumes and panic. I detour to the aisle with the jelly drinks. I grab three packs of the energy-boosting kind. I am safe. I am anonymous. I am just a weird guy buying milk and jelly.

I walk to the counter. The store is mostly empty, save for a few sleepy customers.

"That will be 850 yen", the cashier says. He is a college student with dark circles under his eyes that rival mine. He barely looks at me.

Perfect.

I reach into my pocket for coins. I fumble around, feeling the cold metal of the yen pieces.

"Kenji-kun?"

The voice comes from my left.

It is soft. It is melodic. It is a voice that I have heard singing the opening theme song of a top-rated anime.

My heart stops. Literally. I am pretty sure it stops beating for a solid three seconds. My soul leaves my body, does a terrified backflip, hits the ceiling, and crashes back down into my shoes.

I turn my head slowly. Like a rusty robot that hasn't been oiled in a decade. Creeeeaaak.

Standing next to the magazine rack, holding a basket full of… premium cat food?… is Aoi.

She is wearing a disguise too. She has a beige bucket hat pulled down low and a large, fashionable trench coat that swallows her slender frame. But those eyes. Those distinct, violet-tinted eyes are unmistakable. They are locking onto me like laser-guided missiles acquiring a target.

"A-Aoi-san?", I squeak.

My voice cracks. It sounds like a prepubescent boy going through puberty in fast forward. Great. Very cool, Kenji. You sound like a dying squeaky toy.

She stares at me. She looks at my sunglasses. She looks at my mask. She looks at the milk in my hand.

Then, she smiles.

It isn't her TV smile. It isn't the dazzling, blinding beam of light she flashes at concerts. It is a small, secretive, knowing smirk. It is the smile of a cat that just cornered a very stupid mouse.

"I thought that was you", she says, stepping closer. She smells like expensive shampoo and vanilla. "You have a very… distinct posture. You slouch like a shrimp".

"Thanks", I say, sweating profusely under my mask. My glasses are starting to fog up. "I- I am just buying milk. For pancakes. My sister demands carbohydrates".

"Me too", she lies effortlessly.

I look at her basket. It is clearly full of cans labeled 'Royal Feast for Aristocratic Cats'.

"You… eat cat food?", I ask, my brain misfiring.

"It is for a… friend", she says smoothly, not breaking eye contact. "But that is not important".

We stand there. The silence is loud. The hum of the refrigerator feels deafening. The cashier looks between us, bored out of his mind, probably wondering why the bank robber and the fashionista are having a staredown.

"Oh, right", Aoi says casually. Her voice drops an octave. "I have something of yours".

She reaches into her coat pocket.

My breath hitches. Is she going to pull out a microphone? A contract forcing me to write her biography? Handcuffs?

She pulls out a pen.

My pen.

It glints under the harsh fluorescent convenience store lights like a holy relic. The aluminum body shines. The 0.3mm nib is capped, safe and sound.

"You dropped this yesterday", she says, twirling it deftly between her long, slender fingers. "When you ran away because of your… explosive stomach issues".

I flinch at the reminder of my terrible lie.

"Right! Yes! Thank you!", I reach for it, my hand trembling slightly. "I have been looking everywhere for that! It is my favorite pen! I use it for… homework!"

She pulls it back slightly, just out of my reach.

"It is a nice pen", she says, examining it closely. "Professional grade. The kind used by architects. Or mangakas. It is very expensive for just homework".

"I take my math very seriously", I stammer. "Calculus requires precision".

"And look", she points a manicured fingernail at the metal clip. "There is a tiny scratch right here. Shaped like a lightning bolt".

I freeze. My blood turns to ice.

"I saw the exact same scratch on a photo Twilight-Senpai posted on Twitter three months ago", she says. Her voice is barely a whisper, but it echoes like a thunderclap in my ears. "He posted a picture of his desk to celebrate hitting one million copies sold. And this pen, with this scratch, was sitting on top of the manuscript".

She knows. She definitely knows. It is over. My quiet life is over. I will be dragged to talk shows. I will be forced to shake hands with thousands of people. Aiko will have to fight off fans with a broom.

I need to lie. I need to lie better than I have ever lied in my life. I need to channel the storytelling prowess of Twilight-Senpai.

"I- I found it!", I blurt out.

Aoi blinks. "You… found it?"

"Yes!", I yell, too loud. The cashier jumps. "I found it on the street! In Akihabara! A few months ago! I saw the tweet too! I realized it was Twilight-Senpai's pen, so I picked it up! Isn't that crazy? I kept it as a lucky charm! Haha! I am just a scavenger! A raccoon who steals trash from famous people!"

I am breathing heavy. My chest hurts. That was the most pathetic lie I have ever constructed. It has plot holes the size of craters. Why would Twilight-Senpai drop a pen in the street? Why would I keep a used pen? Why did I call myself a raccoon?

Aoi stares at me. Her eyes search mine through the tinted lenses of my sunglasses. She is analyzing me. She is dissecting my soul. I try to make my eyes look as vacant and stupid as possible. I channel the energy of a damp sponge.

Finally, she laughs.

It is a genuine laugh. A soft giggle that sounds like wind chimes.

"You are funny, Kenji-kun", she says. She reaches out and places the pen in my palm. Her fingers brush mine. They are warm. Electric. "You are very committed to your… story".

"It is the truth!", I insist weakly.

"Sure", she smiles. "Take better care of your… lucky charm. You wouldn't want to lose it again. It might contain magic ink".

She picks up her basket of premium cat food. She adjusts her bucket hat.

"See you at school, Kenji-kun. Don't be a stranger".

She pays for her cat food, flashing a dazzling smile at the cashier that makes him drop a coin, and leaves the store. The bell chimes as she exits.

I stand there, clutching the pen to my chest. My legs feel like jelly. My heart is beating a techno rhythm against my ribs.

"Sir?", the cashier asks, looking at me like I am crazy. "The milk? Are you going to pay, or are you just going to hug your pen?"

"Right", I whisper, my voice hoarse. "The milk".

I pay. I stumble out of the store.

The fresh air hits my face, but I don't feel relieved.

She gave it back. She didn't expose me. But that look in her eyes… that wasn't the look of someone who believed my lie. That was the look of someone who just found a new toy to play with.

I survived the battle. But looking at the pen in my hand, I have a sinking feeling that the war has just begun.