I woke up with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird trying to escape a cage made of bad decisions.
My ceiling. It was my ceiling. The one with the water stain that looks vaguely like a crying clown—a fitting omen for my life, but a familiar one. I felt the sheets beneath me. They were dry. No mud. No puddle water. No lingering scent of 'cheap bread and desperation.'
I checked my arms. They were still in their sockets. My shoulders didn't feel like they had been used in a supernatural tug-of-war between a saint and a silver-haired lunatic.
"It was a dream," I whispered, the words tasting like pure, unadulterated sweet relief. "Thank the gods. It was just a fever dream brought on by the trauma of being rejected by the only girl I ever loved. My brain just hallucinated a silver-haired girl with an RPG to cope with the pain. Totally normal. Very healthy."
I sat up, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. I felt a twinge of... what was that? Disappointment?
Pathetic, I scolded myself. You're actually sad that a girl didn't claim you as her 'Eternal Consort' because you tackled her in front of a slow-moving truck? Kyotaru, you are a bottom-tier human being. A sub-human. A literal piece of sentient garbage.
But hey, being garbage is better than being dead in a crossfire of anti-tank weaponry. I stood up, stretched my back—which only popped three times, a record low for me—and headed toward the window to greet the morning sun. Maybe today my luck would change. Maybe today, a bird *wouldn't* target me. Maybe today, my breakfast wouldn't be haunted.
"Yes," I muttered, placing my hand on the curtain. "A new day. A fresh start. No more silver hair, no more bazookas, just—"
I pulled the curtain back.
I stared.
My brain attempted to process the visual information, found it incompatible with sanity, and briefly considered shutting down entirely.
Down in my front yard—the small, pathetic patch of grass my mother spent years trying to keep alive—a literal trench had been dug.
On the left side, crouched behind a barricade made of my neighbor's trash cans and a very confused-looking garden gnome, was Yuko. She was wearing her school uniform, but she had a bandana tied around her head that said 'Safety First' in cute, pink letters. She was currently reloading a heavy-duty flare gun with what looked like high-explosive rounds.
On the right side, standing atop my father's parked sedan (and definitely denting the roof), was Amilia. Her silver hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and she was currently swinging a traditional ceremonial staff that had a kitchen knife duct-taped to the end of it. Her silver RPG was leaning against the windshield like a casual accessory.
"Surrender, you black-haired temptress!" Amilia screamed, her voice cracking with the strain of a girl who clearly didn't get enough sleep. "The Shindou-Ainsworth do not retreat! We have survived three world wars and a very poorly managed HOA! Kyotaru-sama is my destined husband by the Laws of Momentum!"
"He's a minor!" Yuko countered, popping up from behind a trash can to fire a flare that whistled past Amilia's ear and incinerated a nearby bush. "And as his childhood friend, I have 'Seniority Rights'! That's a real law I just made up! Also, you're standing on a Toyota! That's a felony in at least three prefectures!"
"Property damage is a small price for love!" Amilia roared, lunging off the car and swinging her knife-staff at Yuko, who blocked it with a metal riot shield she had apparently pulled out of the grocery bag from yesterday.
Clang! Spark! Boom!
I stood at the window, my face pressed against the glass.
"It wasn't a dream," I whimpered. "The rocket launchers weren't a metaphor. The universe didn't reset. I'm still in the disaster. In fact, the disaster has moved to my house. It has localized. It is now a 'Home-Grown Disaster.'"
---
I scrambled to open the window, nearly breaking my fingernails because the latch was, of course, jammed. After a frantic struggle that involved me accidentally hitting myself in the eye with the window handle, I managed to shove it open.
"STOP IT!" I yelled, my voice cracking like a middle-schooler's. "GET OFF THE TOYOTA! YUKO, THAT'S THE LADY FROM NEXT DOOR'S GNOME! AMILIA, WHY DO YOU HAVE A KNIFE ON A STICK?!"
Both girls froze. They looked up at me, their faces smudged with dirt and soot, yet somehow they both managed to look radiant in that terrifying 'I will kill for you' kind of way.
"Kyotaru-kun! Good morning!" Yuko chirped, hiding the flare gun behind her back with a smile so sweet it could cause instant cavities. "Did you sleep well? I was just helping this lost tourist find the nearest exit from our neighborhood! And our reality!"
"Liar!" Amilia pointed her knife-staff at me. "Kyotaru-sama! This woman is a demon in a pleated skirt! She tried to lure me away with the promise of 'free samples' at a supermarket, only to lead me into a dark alleyway filled with hungry cats!"
"It was a legitimate suggestion!" Yuko shouted. "You look like you enjoy cats! And alleys!"
"ENOUGH!" I clutched my head. "Both of you, get inside! Now! Before the police show up, or worse, before my mom sees what you did to the car!"
"Oh, your mother already left for work," Yuko said casually, stepping over the charred remains of the bush. "She saw us fighting and just sighed. She said, 'If he manages to get two girls to fight over him, at least he's not a total loss,' and then she drove off in the other car."
I slumped against the window frame. "My own mother... she's traded my safety for her own amusement. She's officially joined the Universe's side."
"I shall enter the domicile!" Amilia declared, vaulting over the fence with an athletic grace that was completely ruined when her skirt got caught on a splinter, causing her to face-plant into the mud.
"I'm coming too!" Yuko yelled, dropping her shield and sprinting toward my front door, but end up slipped and face-plant in mud aswell "I need to make sure she doesn't poison your breakfast! Or try to 'traditionally' marry you in the kitchen!"
I watched them both scramble toward my front door, pushing and shoving each other like two toddlers fighting over the last cookie in a burning building.
"Why me?" I asked the crying clown on my ceiling.
The clown didn't answer. But I'm pretty sure I heard the faint sound of a truck horn in the distance, mocking me.
---
I scrambled back from the window as the sound of the front door being kicked off its hinges—not opened, kicked—echoed through the house.
Thump-thump-thump-thump!
The footsteps on the stairs sounded like a herd of caffeinated elephants. I looked around my room for a weapon, but the best I could find was a half-empty bottle of lukewarm soda and a math textbook. Neither was going to stop a girl with a rocket launcher.
As I backed into the corner of my bed, a sudden, horrifying realization struck me.
Wait a minute... how did I get here?
The last thing I remembered was standing in the middle of a war zone on the street. There were bazookas. There were threats of 'Aggressive Counseling.' There was a flash of light—probably a flare or a localized rift in the space-time continuum caused by sheer stupidity. And then... darkness.
"Did I... did I faint?" I whispered to the crying clown on the ceiling.
I looked at my hands. They were clean. My shoes were neatly placed by the door. Someone had tucked me in. Someone had changed me into my pajamas—oh god, someone changed me into my pajamas.
The image of Yuko and Amilia, who currently wanted to skin each other alive, cooperating long enough to carry my unconscious, limp body like a sack of unlucky potatoes across the neighborhood filled me with a special kind of dread. Did they argue about who got to hold my head? Did they drop me? Knowing my luck, they probably used me as a human shield against a stray dog on the way back.
The door to my room didn't open—it exploded inward as both Yuko and Amilia tried to charge through the frame at the same exact time.
"Get out of my way, you silver-haired squatter!" Yuko hissed, her elbow buried in Amilia's ribs.
"Never, you raven-haired harpy! The Savior's chambers are sacred ground!" Amilia grunted, using her hip to pin Yuko against the doorframe.
They popped into the room like a cork from a bottle, stumbling over each other before instantly regaining their footing and creeping toward me. And I mean 'creeping'. They were hunched over, eyes wide, moving in sync like two predators who had cornered a particularly pathetic piece of prey.
"Kyotaru-kun... you're awake," Yuko said, her voice dripping with a sweetness that felt like being slowly drowned in syrup. "Don't worry. Your best friend is here. I've already sanitized the kitchen and checked your bed for bugs. Or traditional fanatics."
"Kyotaru-sama!" Amilia pushed past her, falling to her knees by my bedside. She looked around my room—at the pile of dirty laundry in the corner, the posters of niche anime girls, and the dusty shelf of unfinished plastic models. Her eyes sparkled as if she were looking at the Sistine Chapel. "Is this it? Is this the Inner Sanctum? The place where we shall forge our legacy?"
"It's... it's a bedroom, Amilia. It's mostly just where I sleep and regret my life choices," I said, pulling the duvet up to my chin.
Amilia tilted her head, her silver hair brushing against my knees. "So it is true. According to the Compact, the Savior's dwelling becomes the Sanctuary of the Consort. From this day forward, I shall reside here. I have already sent a carrier pigeon to my family to forward my luggage. Also, I need to know where you keep the ceremonial salts and the extra pillows."
"YOU'RE NOT RESIDING ANYWHERE!" Yuko roared, her Saint mask slipping for a split second to reveal the face of a drill sergeant. She turned to me, her eyes twitching. "Inuzuka-kun, tell her! Tell her that this house is a 'No-Tradition Zone'! Tell her that we already have a delicate ecosystem here that involves me bringing you leftovers and you being grateful for my existence!"
"I... I mean, she can't really stay, right?" I looked at Amilia. "My mom—"
"Your mother and I have already reached an understanding!" Amilia chirped, standing up and dusting off her knees. "She said that as long as I don't set fire to the curtains and I help with the grocery shopping, I am 'the daughter she always wanted but was too unlucky to have.' She even gave me a spare key! It's currently tucked into my bodice for safekeeping!"
I buried my face in my hands. "She sold me out. For grocery help. My own mother traded my soul for a bag of onions."
Yuko's aura turned a dark, pulsing crimson. She stepped toward Amilia, her shadow looming over the silver-haired girl. "A spare key, huh? That's cute. I have the spare key, the emergency back-door key, and I know where the loose floorboard is under the porch. You're playing checkers, Amilia-san. I'm playing three-dimensional chess with a man who can't even play Go Fish."
"I do not need chess!" Amilia countered, crossing her arms defiantly. "I have the Law of the Truck! It is a binding cosmic contract! You are just... a girl who lives nearby! A background character in the epic of Inuzuka and Amilia!"
"BACKGROUND CHARACTER?!"
Yuko lunged. Amilia ducked. My bedside lamp was the first casualty, sent flying across the room where it shattered against my wardrobe.
"STOP!" I screamed, but I was already invisible to them.
As they rolled around on my floor—a blur of black and silver hair, flying school shoes, and shouted insults about seniority and prophecy—I realized my dream of a quiet, ordinary life hadn't just died. It had been taken out back, beaten with a silver RPG, and buried in a shallow grave.
"I wonder," I whispered, watching a stray sock fly past my head. "If I go back outside and find another truck... will it take me to a world where everyone is just normal?"
Probably not. Knowing my luck, I'd just get hit by a second, even slower bread van.
The bedside battle was reaching a crescendo of flying pillows and shrill insults until Amilia suddenly froze. Her violet eyes widened, sparking with a realization that clearly bypassed logic and went straight to 'tactical romance.'
"Wait!" she shouted, holding up a hand. "Violence is the path of the peasant! I am a lady of the Silver Moon! I shall use my ultimate technique!"
"Your what?" Yuko and I said in unison.
With a flick of her wrist that defied every known law of physics, Amilia tossed her knife-staff over her shoulder. It didn't fall to the floor. It didn't hit the wall. It seemed to vanish into a localized rift of 'narrative convenience,' followed shortly by a distant CLANG and the sound of a cat screeching three houses away.
"Kyotaru-sama!" she shrieked, launching herself at me with the force of a heat-seeking missile.
OOF.
I was slammed back into my mattress, the air leaving my lungs in a pathetic wheeze. Amilia's silver hair acted like a silken net, wrapping around my face and smelling faintly of expensive jasmine and... burnt gunpowder? She squeezed my neck with the strength of a professional wrestler, her face buried in my chest.
"According to the 402nd Decree of the Shindou-Ainsworth!" she muffled into my pajama shirt. "The Savior and the Saved shall become as one! You are my lover! My destined husband! My eternal anchor in the sea of chaos! I have claimed you! The contract is sealed by the touch of our skin—well, mostly your shirt, but the fabric is cotton, which is a natural conductor of fate!"
"I... can't... breathe..." I managed to choke out, my legs kicking uselessly under the duvet. "Amilia... ribs... cracking..."
"Let go of him, you silver-haired leech!"
I looked past Amilia's shimmering head to see Yuko. If she had looked like a Saint before, she now looked like the Goddess of Retribution having a very bad hair day. Her face didn't turn stormy—literal dark shadows began to swirl around her feet, and her eyes turned a flat, terrifying shade of void-black.
"Destined husband?" Yuko's voice came out in a low, vibrating growl that made the glass of water on my nightstand ripple. "Amilia-san... do you have any idea how many times I've had to pull this boy out of literal gutters? I have seen him cry because he dropped a lollipop in the sand. I have seen him try to use a microwave to dry his socks. I have seniority! I have ten years of trauma-bonding and 'pity-love' built up!"
"Seniority is for office workers!" Amilia shouted back, tightening her grip on me until I saw a flash of light that definitely wasn't a flare. "I have the mandate of the universe! He is mine by right of heroism! Kyotaru-sama, tell her! Tell her you prefer the shimmering silver of destiny over the plain black of... childhood proximity!"
"I prefer... oxygen!" I gasped.
"See?!" Yuko stepped closer, her hand reaching into her skirt pocket—god, what now? A grenade? A heavy-duty taser? "He's calling out for me! He's asking for the sweet release that only a childhood friend can provide!"
She lunged forward, grabbing my ankles and trying to pull me out from under Amilia. Now I was being stretched like a piece of saltwater taffy. Amilia was hugging my top half, Yuko was yanking my bottom half, and my bed—the only innocent bystander in this room—began to groan under the sheer weight of their collective delusions.
"He is my husband!" Amilia wailed.
"He is my pet project!" Yuko roared.
"I AM A HUMAN BEING!" I screamed, but my voice was drowned out by the sound of my bedframe finally giving up on life.
CRACK.
The wooden slats snapped. The mattress collapsed into a V-shape, folding all three of us into a chaotic pile of limbs, silver hair, and Saintly rage. In the darkness of the folded mattress, I felt someone's elbow in my ear and someone else's foot in my mouth.
"Is this... part of the tradition?" I muffled against someone's sleeve.
"The 'Trial of the Folded Bed'!" Amilia's voice echoed from somewhere near my armpit. "It is a sign! We are destined to share this cramped space forever!"
"If you don't let go of his arm in three seconds," Yuko's voice came from the darkness, sounding disturbingly calm, "I am going to find that RPG of yours and show you a 'Traditional Firework Display' inside this mattress."
I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable explosion. This wasn't a rom-com. It was a survival horror, and I was the protagonist with 1 HP left.