Chapter 15: I Think I Finally Realized The Appeal Of The Yuri Route

Part 1

Night had settled completely, the kind of deep, heavy darkness that made the streetlights look like islands in a black sea. One of them buzzed faintly above the bench where Sera and Erika finally stopped, both bent forward, hands braced on their knees.

At first glance, it looked like they were catching their breath from running.

But their breathing was too uneven.

Too shaky.

Too… flustered.

A cold breeze swept down the empty street, brushing goosebumps up Sera’s arms. Her pulse was still racing, her chest tight in a way she couldn’t explain.

Why am I still shaking?

Why does it feel like my heart hasn’t caught up to me?

Erika wiped her sweat off her forehead with trembling hands. “This is absurd,” she managed, her voice cracking an octave higher than usual. “We ran for maybe ten minutes.”

Sera swallowed hard. Her throat felt like sandpaper. “Then why—” She pressed a hand to her sternum, as if she could physically hold her heart in place. “Why does it feel like this?”

They exchanged a look. Wide-eyed. Flushed. Completely cognitively compromised.

A beat of silence.

Sera’s breath hitched. “When she… when she took off the jacket…”

Erika nodded, mortified. “Yes. That.”

They both looked away at the same time, faces burning.

“I don’t understand what came over me,” Erika said, fanning herself with a crumpled receipt she didn’t remember grabbing. Thwip‑thwip‑thwip. “My thoughts were scrambled. My logic was compromised. I felt—” She cut herself off, horrified. “Never mind.”

Sera covered her face with both hands, her fingers cool against her skin. “I thought my heart was going to burst. I felt like my womb was actually screaming. Like every instinct calling out that it wanted to bear her children. Right there on the gravel.”

A gust of cold air swept through the street, snapping a loose strand of Sera’s hair across her cheek. The streetlight above them flickered once, as if echoing their disarray.

Erika froze, her fanning hand going still. She stared at the brick wall for a long, vibrating second. “Sera… that was a little too specific. And terrifying.” She cleared her throat, her voice trembling. “But… I’m starting to understand. I think I finally realized the appeal of the ‘Yuri Route.’”

Sera peeked through her fingers, her voice a tiny, dangerous whisper. “Does this mean we’re… switching teams?”

Another beat of silence.

Then, in perfect unison, they groaned.

“This is humiliating,” Erika muttered.

“I want to crawl into a hole,” Sera whispered.

They both sank onto the bench beside Olivia — who was sprawled across it like a wounded soldier, clutching her ankle dramatically.

Olivia let out a long, theatrical wail. “Uuuugh… my leg… it’s necrotic… the Hero of Legend is fading… save yourselves…”

The sound shattered the heavy, romanticized haze like a brick through a window.

Sera and Erika blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then stared at Olivia with dawning horror.

“…Oh, thank goodness,” Sera whispered, her shoulders finally dropping. “I’m normal again.”

Erika nodded rapidly, her spine snapping back to its usual height. “Same. Completely normal. Totally fine. That was probably what joggers refer to Runners’ High.”

Olivia squinted at them, pausing her "death" scene. “Why are you two acting weird? You look like you saw a ghost. Or a really big bug.”

Before either could answer, Olivia tried to sit up—and immediately winced, fumbling her grip and nearly sliding onto the gravel.

“Ow— ow— ow— okay, nope, that was a mistake—”

The spell was gone.

Reality had returned.

And with it, the embarrassment.

The streetlight hummed softly overhead, casting long shadows across the pavement. The night felt colder now — not dangerous, but heavy, as if waiting for something else to break.

And that’s when footsteps approached.

Part 2

Sera straightened instinctively, her hands flying to her hair as if she could brush away the insanity of the last three minutes. Erika’s shoulders snapped to her ears, her posture going rigid. Olivia froze mid-groan, clutching her ankle like a startled cat.

Then, a familiar voice drifted from the darkness.

“Hey— I’m back.”

Ken jogged toward them, a plastic convenience‑store bag swinging from one hand and three cold drinks clutched in the other. His breathing was uneven, but not from panic — more from irritation.

Sera exhaled, tension draining from her shoulders.

Erika lowered her guard.

Olivia slumped back dramatically onto the bench.

Ken stopped in front of them, holding out the drinks. “Here. Hydrate.”

Erika accepted hers with a polite nod.

Sera took hers with both hands, fingers still trembling slightly.

Olivia reached for hers—

—and immediately fumbled it.

Ken caught the bottle an inch before it hit the gravel. He didn’t move. He just stared at her with the exhausted disbelief of someone who had already used up his patience for the week.

Olivia puffed out her cheeks, her face turning pink. “The condensation,” she muttered. “It loosened my grip.”

“Sure it did.”

He handed it back, then reached into the bag and pulled out a cooling bandage. “And this is for your ankle.”

Olivia brightened. “Oh! Perfect. I can do it myself.”

She could not.

She tore the wrapper at the wrong angle.

She dropped the bandage.

She tried to stick it on sideways, missed, and nearly spilled her drink again.

Ken watched the disaster unfold with the expression of a man witnessing a slow‑motion train wreck. Finally, he let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire night. He knelt in front of her.

“Give me your foot.”

Olivia recoiled. “What— hey— I can do it—”

“You clearly don’t.”

He didn't ask a second time. He gently took her ankle, removed her shoe, and applied the bandage with practiced, almost clinical precision.

Olivia went very still. The “King” who had just shattered a man’s jaw was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was just a girl with flushed cheeks and eyes that darted everywhere but at the boy kneeling in front of her.

Sera watched the scene, a knot forming in her chest — relief tangled with something she didn’t have the vocabulary for yet. Beside her, Erika tapped her fingers against her thigh, studying Ken’s hands with the analytical focus she usually reserved for unexpectedly competent people.

When Ken finished, he stood and brushed the grit from his knees. “There. Try not to put pressure on it.”

Olivia saluted weakly from the bench. “No promises.”

The streetlight buzzed, its yellow glare carving long, jittery shadows across the pavement. The air felt colder now — not dangerous, but heavy. Like a storm was gathering in the silence between them.

Sera tightened her grip on her cold drink until the plastic groaned.

She had been avoiding this for years.

Avoiding the questions.

Avoiding the truth.

But tonight, everything had cracked open.

She took a small step forward.

“Ken.”

He froze mid‑motion, the plastic bag still dangling from his fingers.

Erika straightened.

Olivia stopped fiddling with her drink.

The air shifted — subtle, but unmistakable.

Sera’s voice trembled, but she didn’t back down.

“We need to talk.”

And the night seemed to hold its breath.

Part 3

Ken didn’t turn around right away.

He stood there, the plastic convenience‑store bag dangling from his hand, shoulders stiffening as if bracing for a physical blow. The streetlight above them buzzed, casting a pale, sickly circle around the four of them that made the rest of the world feel miles away.

Erika shifted her weight, sensing the shift.

Olivia stopped fiddling with her drink, her expression tightening.

Sera took another step forward.

“Ken,” she said again, softer this time. “Please.”

He finally turned.

His expression wasn’t angry — not yet — but guarded. Defensive. Like someone who had already decided he didn’t want to have this conversation.

“What is it?” he asked.

Sera swallowed, her fingers tightening around her drink. “Back in the alley… why were you talking to that man?”

Ken blinked. “What man?”

“Donnie,” she said, the name scraping out of her throat like broken glass. Her voice faltered. “Why was he there?”

Erika’s head snapped toward her.

Olivia’s eyes widened.

Neither of them spoke, but the shock was immediate.

“You know them?” Erika whispered.

Sera didn’t answer. Her gaze stayed locked on Ken.

He stiffened. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Ken.” Sera stepped closer, her voice trembling. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I haven’t seen you in five years,” she said, breath shaking. “And suddenly he shows up in a dead-end alley? That’s not a coincidence.”

Ken’s jaw tightened. “I said I don’t know them.”

Olivia leaned forward, brows knitting. “Sera… who is Donnie?”

Sera didn’t look away from Ken. “Just tell me the truth. Please.”

Ken’s eyes flickered — a tiny, involuntary movement toward the shadows — and Sera caught it. Her stomach dropped.

“What did he say to you?” she whispered. “What does Donnie have on you?”

Ken’s expression hardened. “Drop it.”

“I can’t.”

“Sera—”

“No!” Her voice cracked, echoing too loudly against the silent pavement. “Not this time.”

The streetlight flickered with a sharp pop, the sudden jump in the dark making everyone flinch.

Erika stepped closer to Sera, protective instinct overriding her confusion. “If you know something, Ken, you should tell her. Look at her.”

Ken’s eyes snapped to Erika. “This is none of your business. Stay out of it.”

Olivia bristled, her “Hero” edge returning even without the jacket. “She’s our friend. Everything that affects her is our business.”

Ken’s jaw clenched so hard it looked painful. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it,” Sera said, voice trembling. “Explain why you came back after disappearing for five years. Explain why Donnie was there. Explain why—”

She hesitated.

The air seemed to go dead, the hum of the city vanishing entirely.

“…why Dad’s name was mentioned.”

Ken froze.

Erika’s breath caught.

Olivia’s fingers tightened around her crutches until her knuckles went white.

Sera’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She hadn’t meant to say it.

Not like that.

Not with them watching.

But the word was out now. It hung between them like a lit fuse, burning toward a powder keg they weren't ready for.

Ken’s expression shifted—not into anger, but something wounded. Something broken.

“Sera,” he said quietly. “Don’t.”

But she couldn’t stop now.

Not after five years of silence.

Not after everything that had just happened.

“Does this have to do with Dad?” she asked.

And the night seemed to exhale — a long, cold breath — as the first thread of the truth began to unravel.