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Yuta Izaki was late for the party at Card Capital. This one was a ‘last blast before school starts’ sleepover kind of party. Not that his friends really needed much of an excuse to throw an overnight party at the card shop; it was a regular occurrence. They really took advantage of Manager Shin’s feelings of relief that his niece finally had a robust circle of teammates and acquaintances.
He shifted his grip on the plastic grocery bags that were cutting into his fingers, filled with Choco Pies, Kit-Kats, and baum rolls. He was late because he hadn’t been willing to miss the Natural History Museum’s VIP preview of their new exhibit; a reconstructed skeleton of Kamuysaurus japonicus. He grinned to himself, starry-eyed at the memory of the eight meter hadrosaur, with its stocky profile. If it was a Tachikaze unit, it would probably have armor plating and metal spikes on its knees and tail. Or maybe cannons, mounted under its chest to aim through its front legs…
He had had to race back home to pick up the sweets he had promised to bring, but it had been worth it. Card Capital parties were all the same and he was sure he hadn’t missed much.
He slowed as he reached the front of the shop. The windows were strangely steamed up, making it impossible to see inside. Well that’s new, he thought to himself. He knocked loudly on the front doors, hearing Gangnam Style blaring on the sound system.
No one came, but there was a loud spate of raucous laughter. He waited patiently, then knocked again, harder. After a few minutes, he heard the latch scrape, and the automatic door opened. Izaki knew the drill… you weren’t supposed to attract undue attention, so he stepped quickly inside, and immediately made a face. The interior of the shop was loud, (Shin must be sleeping with earplugs), and humid, and smelled of miso hot pot and warm bodies.
He turned to face Kamui, who had let him in, and who was relocking the old turn-latch now that the doors had reclosed.
“Hey, man! What’d ya bring?” Kamui greeted him, taking the bags from Izaki’s hands, and immediately digging through them. “Oooh, great! The sweet stuff. And you got a lot!”
Izaki grinned, happy that his choices were appreciated. “Yeah, well. Half of that is Morikawa’s contribution. After what happened last time, he just gives me his money and lets me pick the stuff out.”
Kamui shuddered theatrically, remembering the last party when Morikawa had got his assignment wrong and brought an enormous bag full of Eel Pretz.
Kamui turned and headed off to the back of the store where they always set up the snack table. Izaki glimpsed everyone paired up at the fight tables being more raucous than usual as he followed. Judging by the mess, the group had started with the hot pot, and were on the bagged and boxed portion of the evening. The table was dominated by an enormous punch bowl full of red liquid.
“Fruit punch?” Izaki asked doubtfully. They usually had bottled drinks, hot cocoa during their Christmas party, but he could never remember seeing a punch bowl before.
“I guess so,” Kamui replied noncommittally. “Ren brought it. Everyone seems to think it’s delicious, but I can’t have any.” He shrugged. “Allergic to red dye.” He expertly opened the seams of the bags of sweets, placing them at the far end of the table.
Izaki turned to face the room and leaned against the table. Gangnam Style started up again, and no one moved to stop it. Something was… off.
From somewhere across the room, Morikawa brayed, “Izaki! My disciple!” He stood up too quickly from a fight table, and his chair fell over backward, hitting the floor with a clang. He was wearing nothing but his swim trunks with the gold star on the crotch. He laughed uproariously and leaned down to right his chair, instead falling over and joining it. He didn't reappear, and loud snores soon issued from that side of the room.
His call had alerted everyone belatedly to the newcomer’s presence, and a chorus of greetings rang out. Izaki’s eyes flicked off each of the inhabitants of the room, jaw dropping more with each passing moment.
“Why…?” he asked faintly. “What…? Why is everyone half naked?”
Kamui finally turned around and leaned against the table’s edge next to him, chewing on a Choco Pie. “Dude. Not everybody.” He gestured to his own fully clothed self.
“Kamui…” Izaki’s voice came out strangled.
“I dunno what to tell you. The night started normal, and then everybody started eating hotpot and drinking punch, and then somebody yelled, ‘Vanguard time!’ and somebody else yelled ‘Let’s play strip Vanguard!’ and before I knew it the matches were popping, and people's clothes were coming off.” He finished his treat and wiped his mouth on the back of his arm, mumbling, “Good thing my goddess didn’t come tonight.”
“Kamui! Focus! Didn’t you think something was wrong? Does this feel normal to you?”
Kamui snapped out of his trance. Reiji and Eiji had abandoned the fighting and were dancing in the corner and singing along to Gangnam Style, which seemed to be on permanent repeat. Each was barefoot, and was missing their pants. Assisticat yowled along with them from his basket on the counter. At least those two had the sense to know when to quit.
Kamui rubbed the back of his neck, looking guilty. “Well, I guess I knew something was wrong. But they’re all idiots, and I won every single match I played soo…”
Misaki and Kourin were seated across from each other, playing a languid match. Both were clad only in their bras from the waist up, and both spent as much time gazing into each other’s eyes and at each other’s mostly bare chests as they did at their cards.
The fact that Morikawa had somehow missed that his idol crush was half-clothed only half a room away from him sent the warning bells in Izaki’s head from mildly jangling to full out clanging.
Ren ghosted up, a red plastic cup in his hand emblazoned with ‘Daddy’ on it in black Sharpie. He was down to a crimson low cut shirt, black high heeled boots, and black boxers with his little black leather half skirt strapped on. His skin was so pale it was the whitest thing in the room.
Huh. Never knew that skirt thing was a separate piece, Izaki thought stupidly. Izaki didn’t swing that way, but he had to admit to himself that Ren looked… striking.
“Hey, Socky. Have some punch,” Ren said with a wink, refilling his own cup with a wicked grin.
The pieces fell into place. “You… you… spiked it, didn’t you?”
Ren laughed and put a finger to his lips in a bid for secrecy. “Spiked it? More like armageddoned it. It’s either beat ‘em, like shortstuff here, or join ‘em, at this point. Make your mind up quick.”
He hummed to himself, carefully choosing a stack of Kit-Kats, and crossed the room, joining Miwa to watch at Kai and Aichi’s table.
Miwa was bare-chested, sockless, in only his red converse and jeans. He had a necktie tied around his temple.
As Izaki watched, Asaka flounced past Ren, in nothing but two scraps of matching indigo lace, that he imagined were meant to be a bra and panties. She dropped something directly in front of him, then bent, ass outthrust, slowly picking it up. She glanced back at Ren to gauge his reaction, but he was ignoring her, craning his neck to see the board around her.
“I didn’t know it was legal for high school girls to wear things like that,” Izaki breathed, eyes glued to her. His was the only pair of eyes in the room to do so, and he wondered faintly if he was the only straight person in the room.
“Like what?” Kamui asked blankly, and Izaki snorted. At least some things never changed.
Naoki’s strident laughter rent the air, and Izaki’s gaze found him, at the only standing fight table. “Oi! I won again! Take something off, loser!”
Shingo frowned, taking stock of his situation. He was down to tighty whities, and his wrist watch. He thought about it for a moment, draining his cup of punch, then shrugged, taking off his glasses and folding them carefully, putting them on the table.
Naoki still had his pants on, and one sock. He started cracking up, having to hold on the table to keep from falling over. “How are you gonna fight, if you can’t see, four eyes? Uh, two eyes?”
Shingo shrugged slowly, as if he had to concentrate to do so. “Well, I wasn’ doin’ good with them on, was I?”
They both burst into helpless laughter.
“Final Turn!” was yelled, and Izaki’s eyes went back to Kai and Aichi’s table. Kai still had his shirt and pants on, but knowing him, he had been wearing six layers when he arrived, so that wasn’t much of a barometer.
Aichi must’ve failed at his damage check, because he wailed, “Awwwww!” Izaki couldn’t tell what Aichi was wearing because he was enveloped in the United Sanctuary flag that used to hang on the wall.
Izaki watched as Aichi’s hand delved into his flag, and he turned scarlet, giggling uncontrollably, as he wiggled around violently. A moment later, his hand emerged, dropping his blue boxers atop the pile of clothes next to his chair.
Izaki was afraid Kai would set the boy aflame, just with the fire in his eyes.
Someone bumped into him, and he turned, thinking Kamui was trying to get his attention.
It was Kyou Yahagi, in his potted palm costume, looking sadly plucked.
“So… each leaf counts as a piece of clothing?” Izaki guessed.
“Nah, wouldn’t be fair. Each branch… How about it? Wanna fight me?”
Izaki gazed around the room once more, taking in the mayhem. He thought about Ren’s words. Beat ‘em or join, ‘em, huh…
Izaki nodded once, decisively. This was the kind of thing he’d regret later, but he’d be in good company. He turned to grab the Sharpie and a cup, writing “Leggo my Steggo,” on the side, with a quick line drawing of a stegosaurus.
Filling it to the brim with the spiked… armageddoned... punch, he brought his deck box out of his pocket and grinned.
“Lead the way.”