Work Text:
Rotten Love
Saito Yasushi had always loved eating. Every bite was an adventure, every flavor a revelation. Just from a whiff of the cafeteria air, she could identify what was cooking that day curry rice, tonkatsu, or miso soup with too much tofu. Food was her sixth sense, her love language, her everything.
She was a generous girl too, always willing to share her snacks even when they were her favorites. Her friends used to call her a "delightful, diced deity" mostly as a joke, but there was truth in it. Once, she even rescued a stray, half-blind cat in a video game, dragging its pixelated body out of a burning house to safety. It didn't matter that it was just a game kindness was kindness. And to Saito, fantasy counted as much as reality.
But Saito had one big problem.
She was obsessed with Boys' Love.
Not just interested. Not just curious. It was in her blood, her soul, her daily oxygen. Saito didn't just know every BL manga and anime out there; she lived it. She could list ships faster than multiplication tables, quote romantic confessions line for line, and predict which characters would fall in love before the opening credits ended.
She was what the internet called a fujoshi , a "rotten girl," hopelessly devoted to stories about beautiful boys and their complicated love.
And she wore that title like a crown.
The only problem was... she didn't pay much attention to anything else.
When Saito walked into her classroom, the noise hit her like a wave laughter, gossip, the rhythmic tapping of pencils, the drone of a teacher somewhere down the hall. None of it really mattered to her. She took her usual seat by the window, the perfect spot for daydreaming and people-watching.
Most girls her age cared about their looks, their followers, or their crushes. Saito didn't. She was overweight, and she knew it. But she didn't care not really. Why worry about romance when your heart already belonged to fictional men?
She sighed, leaning her chin on her palm, and gazed out the window.
Then she saw him.
Nanashima Nozomu.
Tall, athletic, unfairly good-looking the kind of boy who could smile and get away with murder. And right beside him was his best friend, Igarashi Yuusuke equally handsome, with that cool, quiet energy that made people instantly curious. Together, they were perfect. Too perfect.
Saito's heart skipped. Her mind began spinning faster than a shoujo manga artist on a deadline.
They were talking. Laughing. Looking at each other. The chemistry! The unspoken tension! The potential for romance!
Her imagination kicked into overdrive.
In her mind, Nanashima and Igarashi weren't just friends. They were tragic lovers, bound by fate, separated by pride. She pictured them on a windswept hill, their eyes meeting with aching longing, while dramatic piano music swelled in the background.
Her pulse quickened. this was the good stuff.
Even when the bell rang, Saito was still floating in her fantasy, her notebook now filled with random doodles of two faceless boys holding hands.
Later, during P.E., her excitement reached a dangerous level. Nanashima and Igarashi were playing on opposite teams. Enemies on the field, lovers in the heart.
She could hardly breathe watching them from the sidelines. When Nanashima scored a point, Igarashi chased him with mock fury, and Saito's entire world became a slow-motion BL drama sweat glistening, shirts clinging, eyes meeting for one electric second.
Her heart thumped to an imaginary soundtrack: drums, bass, violins the full orchestra of obsession.
It was ridiculous. It was over-the-top. It was her favorite kind of moment.
For Saito Yasushi, the world wasn't divided between reality and fantasy. It was all one big story and she was perfectly happy being the audience.
The gym was alive with sound sneakers squeaking, dodgeballs thudding, and the whistle of a coach who'd long since lost control of the class.
Saito Yasushi sat cross-legged on the bleachers, sipping from a juice box and pretending she was just there to observe. In truth, she and her best friend, Kae Serinuma, were on a mission to witness what they both swore was the greatest slow-burn romance in history.
Kae was just as much of a BL devotee as Saito maybe even worse. She wore her obsession proudly, from the tiny enamel pins of anime boys on her bag to the doodles of her favorite ships scribbled across her notebooks. Her glasses always slid down her nose, and she pushed them back up with the kind of focus most people reserved for exams.
The two had been inseparable ever since the day they fought over the last copy of a rare BL manga at the school library only to realize they shipped the same characters and decided to share it instead.
"Okay, okay, look at them," Kae whispered now, clutching Saito's sleeve. "Nanashima and Igarashi side by side again. The chemistry is literally radiating off them."
Saito's eyes widened, glittering. "You're right! Look Igarashi just saved him from getting hit! That's pure devotion!"
Kae gasped, pressing a hand over her heart. "That's episode six energy if I've ever seen it."
The two of them leaned forward in unison, watching the boys on the court with laser focus while everyone else just played dodgeball. To them, this wasn't a PE class it was a live-action love story in motion.
Saito whispered, "The way they move... it's like they've trained for each other."
Kae sighed dreamily. "It's the perfect pairing strong and quiet, loud and loyal. They balance each other."
Saito nodded solemnly, the way one might discuss philosophy. "I would die for them."
"Same," Kae replied. "Preferably in a dramatic scene with violins."
And that's when fate intervened.
A dodgeball, thrown with terrifying accuracy, came hurtling toward the bleachers. Saito didn't even see it she was too busy narrating an imaginary confession scene between Nanashima and Igarashi in her head.
THWACK!
The ball hit her square in the face.
The sound echoed through the gym like a gunshot.
For a moment, time froze. Then the ball bounced off and rolled away, leaving behind a perfect red circle blooming on Saito's cheek. Her glasses slipped down her nose. Her mouth fell open in slow disbelief.
And then the blood started.
Two perfect crimson streams trickled from her nostrils, dramatic and unstoppable.
Kae screamed, "SAITO!"
The coach blew the whistle in alarm. Students gasped. Nanashima and Igarashi both stopped mid-game, staring across the court in horror.
Across the court, Igarashi's eyes widened in horror. "Oh no— did I just hit her?" he called, dropping the ball immediately.
Beside him, Nanashima crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "Tch. Maybe if she paid attention instead of spacing out, she wouldn't get smacked."
The words stung, more than the ball had. The gym fell into an uneasy silence.
Kae glared at him from the bleachers. "Hey! That's not funny, Nanashima!"
He didn't respond just turned away, jaw tight. But his eyes, for a fraction of a second, flicked back toward Saito. There was something there guilt, confusion, something he'd never admit to himself. Then walked away
Kae scrambled for tissues while Saito just sat there, dazed, sparkling eyed.
Meanwhile, Igarashi jogged over, looking genuinely worried. "Are you okay? I swear I didn't mean to hit you that hard."
Saito blinked up at him, tissues pressed to her bleeding nose. She nodded faintly, cheeks burning not just from pain, but from the sudden proximity of Igarashi Yuusuke, who in her mind was currently glowing like a romantic lead.
"It's fine..." she murmured dreamily, muffled through the tissue Kae pressed against her face. "I don't really think it came from the ball this always happens to me."
Igarashi jogged away, probably now looking for Nanashima who walked away
Kae groaned. "yeah maybe you should get it checked out that's a lot of blood."
"I'll probably go after school," Saito corrected weakly.
The coach hovered nearby, muttering about "safety procedures" while students whispered and snickered. But Saito barely heard them.
Even through the sting and the blood, her heart fluttered. Her imagination replayed the moment slow motion, sparkles, emotional music everything exactly as she wanted it.
For Saito Yasushi, even a dodgeball to the face could be an act of love.
School ended at last, and Saito practically bolted out of the building, three tissues stuffed into her nose. The dull ache from the dodgeball throbbed behind her eyes, but she barely noticed. Her mind was already racing ahead to her room, to her laptop, to Blade of Eternity.
She pushed open the front door and nearly collided with her mother.
"Oh, that happened again?" her mom said, gesturing to the tissues. "You're going to have to be more careful. The pharmacy's definitely closed by now, so you'll just have to manage the pain until tomorrow."
"I'll be fine," Saito muttered, already tugging the tissues tighter and racing up the stairs. Her mom sighed, shaking her head. "Just... don't overdo it, okay?"
Once inside her room, Saito collapsed onto her bed. Tissues still pressed to her nose, she opened her laptop with trembling hands. Her fingers hovered over the episode list of Blade of Eternity. She had seen many episodes before dozens of repeats but she had not watched this newer season that came out.
Her excitement soared. She already knew the usual pattern: Arthion, the valiant Prince Knight of Eldoria, would always get through impossible fights because of Dalen, his devoted companion who had been transformed into a sword. Dalen and Arthion shared a bond that was both telepathic and physical the sword could communicate with Arthion, guiding him in battle, and when possible, Dalen would take human form to share a fleeting embrace or stolen moment. Their love was subtle, unspoken, yet entirely undeniable.
Saito's heart raced. "I know how this goes," she muttered to herself. "Arthion always overcomes. Dalen's always there. Nothing can possibly go wrong..."
The episode began. Arthion faced Veynar, a colossal beast of shadow and flame that had already destroyed entire villages. The battle was brutal. Arthion dodged and spun, his armor glinting. Dalen glimmered in his hands, guiding him with telepathic whispers that only Arthion could hear.
"Come on, Arthion! Focus! Dalen's there he always is!" Saito muttered, gripping her blanket. She could see every swing, every counterattack, every moment of tension. Her cheeks flushed with excitement, her nose still throbbing from earlier, but none of it mattered.
The fight escalated. Arthion's sword strikes Dalen's strikes seemed ineffective against Veynar's immense power. But she reassured herself automatically. "He's fine... he always makes it... Dalen will pull him through..."
Then, unexpectedly, something changed.
Veynar's shadow surged with a new intensity. Arthion stumbled. Dalen, glowing brightly in his sword form, hesitated in his human essence within the blade. The telepathic connection faltered. For the first time, Saito saw a look of real fear cross Arthion's face.
"No... no... this isn't how it's supposed to happen," she whispered, pressing a tissue to her nose as if it could protect her from what was coming.
And then it happened.
Dalen was struck. The glow of his sword flickered violently. The blade fell from Arthion's hands. For a horrifying instant, the human essence within the sword seemed... gone. Dead.
Saito's face drained of color. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She rewound the scene. Paused it. Rewound it again. Twenty times. Each time, the same truth revealed itself. Dalen... was gone.
Arthion dropped to his knees, staring at the lifeless sword. Telepathic whispers were absent. The spark that always guided him, the voice that always reassured him... silent.
"No... not you..." Saito whispered, gripping her blanket. Her cheeks were pale, her hands trembling. Her nose still bled, but she didn't care. Every episode she had seen before had followed this formula the knight always prevails, the sword always survives. But not this time. Not now.
Her heart ached as Arthion's grief filled the screen, a grief she felt in her chest, in her temples, in the tissues crumpled against her nose. Saito Yasushi had never felt so hollow watching a fictional romance unfold. And yet... she couldn't look away. She had to see what happened next, even if it broke her in the process.
Arthion stumbled through the battlefield, his armor battered, his breath ragged. Dalen's essence flickered faintly in the sword faint, fragile, a whisper of light barely holding together. Saito's eyes were wide, glued to every desperate movement. The telepathic bond that had always guided Arthion now seemed fractured; the knight's focus wavered. He didn't notice, in his agony, that Dalen was still trapped within the blade, helpless, unable to protect himself.
And then, from the shadows, Veynar struck again. The monster's claw raked across the battlefield with terrifying speed, cutting through everything in its path.
Saito's hands trembled as she leaned forward. Her pulse raced. "No... no, not now... he can't—he won't—he'll—"
The screen filled with the clash. The sword Dalen was suddenly raised, trying to defend Arthion, but the monster's attack was too fast. The tip of the blade, his very being, was struck... pierced... and Saito saw it.
The moment the blade entered him, she couldn't bear to watch. Her vision blurred, her chest tightened, and without thinking, she slammed the laptop shut. The light of the screen vanished, leaving her alone in the dim glow of her bedroom.
And then the tears came.
She cried like she had never cried before. Hysterical, uncontrollable sobs wracking her body. She clutched her knees to her chest, tissues forgotten, blood from her nose barely noticed. The grief she felt for a fictional man for a man who had always been a sword, a companion, a lover spilled over into the room, into her bones.
She didn't stop. Minutes stretched into hours, each breath between sobs shallow and ragged. Her pillow soaked in tears. Her chest heaved. Her mind replayed every scene, every telepathic whisper, every smile between Arthion and Dalen.
Eventually, utterly spent, she rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Her nose still ached, her body shivering slightly, but it didn't matter. The world had narrowed to the raw ache in her heart, the echo of a love lost, and the endless, endless crying.
And there she stayed, night stretching on, until she could cry no more until the room was quiet except for the soft, stifled sniffles of Saito Yasushi, utterly undone by the story she had loved so fiercely.