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It starts, although Yuuma is unaware at the time, with a misunderstanding.
Solo rank wars are bustling with activity on a Saturday afternoon, full of C-Ranks looking to move up, as well as official agents training their skills against fellow combatants in their off time. Yuuma finds himself in the middle of his nth round against his nth opponent. This time it’s Tsuji-senpai, whom he doesn’t get to fight one-on-one very often, so Yuuma is grateful for the opportunity to practice.
[Trion supply system damaged… Bail out.]
The score card blinks and displays the final record. Five to two, in Yuuma’s favor.
Re-spawning in a booth, Yuuma drops onto the mattress with a bounce. He sits up, as Tsuji’s level voice comes through the intercom, “That trick with the scorpion was rather clever. I couldn’t predict it at all.”
“Thank you very much for the match, Tsuji-senpai,” Yuuma preens, making a duck-face, “You were a tough opponent, too.”
“You’re welcome,” Tsuji acknowledges, polite as always. There’s a pause. “Do you know who’s supposed to be next?”
Yuuma hmms, scrolling through the digital tablet, “It seems Murakami-senpai is still finishing up with—Hyuse, it looks like.”
The two aces of Tamakoma-2 had originally made plans to fight with Murakami and Kageura, but somewhere down the line, their group attracted a menagerie of other attackers who are currently off-duty. They’ve been rotating opponents in first-to-five-points matches for the past couple of hours, like a never-ending carousel of solo rank wars. Even Yuuma is feeling burnt out, at this point.
“Hey, are you guys done, finally?!” Kageura barks over the intercom, impatient, “I’ve been here for like, ten minutes!”
“It’s not our fault you finish your matches faster than others, Kage,” Murakami’s calm voice cuts in. It appears he and Hyuse just completed their match. Yuuma is curious about how it went: the ultimate showdown between Murakami-senpai’s unbreakable raygust defense, versus Hyuse’s indomitable escudo spam?! He’ll have to review the logs later—perhaps tonight.
Kageura clicks his tongue. Before he can argue that, if anything, it’s definitely Kou’s fault whenever the matches run long, Ikoma interjects, apropos of nothing,
“I’m hungry. Any of y’all cravin’ eggplant curry?”
There’s a heavy pause, as everyone simultaneously tries to recall: at what point did Ikoma join the round robin, again? The awkward silence is prolonged further, when no one can remember ever fighting him in a match that afternoon. But, now that they’re all thinking back, he might have been present all along…
Oops?
Midorikawa saves them from having to address the realization, piping up, “Same here, Iko-senpai! I’m pooped, honestly. Let’s go get something to eat!”
“That sounds good,” Tsuji agrees.
“What’s on the cafeteria menu, again?” Miura—from Katori Squad—wonders.
“Eggplant curry!” Ikoma repeats, insistent. No one is sure if he’s answering Miura’s question, or just expressing enthusiasm for the dish.
No one is brave enough to ask.
“How ‘bout everybody comes to my place,” Ikoma pitches generously, when there’s no immediate response, “We can do a sleepover, an’ talk ‘bout girls!” Yuuma senses an ulterior motive here, albeit not very well hidden. Though, he also hears Ikoma-senpai is a good cook, so—
Kageura complains, “That’s stupid, we’re not fucking middle schoolers—”
“Yes, we are,” Midorikawa objects, on behalf of the fifteen and under faction. Then he switches targets, sheepish, “Though, I’m not really sure about a sleepover, Iko-senpai…”
Hyuse, bless him, is not afraid to be the straight man, inadvertently, “I thought our objective was obtaining food. What does discussing girls have to do with anything?”
A sound not unalike a lizard choking to death filters through the intercom. It’s probably Tsuji-senpai, Yuuma guesses—perhaps laughing, perhaps dying, possibly both.
“Is that Tsuji?” Miura asks, alarmed, “Is he okay? Should someone go check on him?”
“Tsuji-chan, you don’t have ‘ta come,” Ikoma reassures him, supplying further evidence of an ulterior motive.
“T-that’s alright,” Tsuji wheezes.
Sasamori—from Suwa Squad—mercifully attempts to address Hyuse’s confusion, “I’m not sure how it is in Canada, but, um…” He fishes for an explanation, but there is none. It’s just Ikoma being himself, in this case. Nevertheless, “Sometimes, when people of the same gender sleep in one room together, certain topics tend to come up… like, crushes, and stuff…”
“Crushes?” Hyuse echoes, the trion enabled interpretation failing to convey the term’s informal meaning.
“The person you like, or have romantic feelings for—that’s what he means,” Murakami clarifies.
“Oh,” Hyuse understands, “The woman you want to be married to. I see.”
Tsuji dissolves into a fit of dying lizard noises, again. Miura promptly excuses himself to go and check on the poor guy.
Yuuma snickers. It figures that Hyuse would phrase it that way. He’d be giving all neighbors a bad name, if it weren’t for the fact everyone believes he’s from Canada. Speaking of, Yuuma realizes most of the friends he’s made at Border don’t actually know he’s a neighbor, do they? He folds his arms and pouts, though no one can see it.
“Not just that, girls in general,” Ikoma insists, “All girls are charming and cute!”
“I am sorry, I cannot attend this ‘sleepover’,” Hyuse concludes seriously, “I’m afraid I have a prior commitment.”
Yuuma is pretty sure he’s just trying to cover for the fact he has horns. Maintaining his hornless trion body whenever he’s outside the branch office must be tough. Yuuma makes a duck-face. Can’t relate.
Midorikawa laughs. “Who’d have thought you were the old-fashioned type, Hyuse-senpai—”
“Don’t be mean,” Kageura warns.
“Saving yourself for after marriage, and all,” Midorikawa continues, anyway.
“Of course,” Hyuse agrees. Canadians are immune to teasing.
Now that Yuuma is considering it, he wonders how these guys would react if they find out he’s a neighbor. Tsuji already knows about Hyuse—oh, that might be part of why he laughed—and it’s been fine. Also, unlike Hyuse, Yuuma has never willfully endangered innocents or participated in a violent invasion of Mikado City. Yuuma is practically a saint. He has a hard time imagining his friends’ reacting badly, if he tells them he’s from the neighborhood. They’re all kind, honest people—Yuuma knows this thanks to his side effect.
Then again… it wouldn’t hurt to be sure…
“Unlike certain party poopers I know,” Yuuma begins playfully, only to elicit no reaction from Hyuse (ah, well), “I’m free after this. And I hear Ikoma-senpai’s cooking is delicious.”
“Really? Who told you that, Yuuma-senpai?”
“Jin-san did.”
“Awww!” Midorikawa whines.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind having dinner together, since Ikoma-san is volunteering,” Murakami acquiesces. Following his example, Miura and Sasamori agree to come over for dinner, baited by the rumors of delicious eggplant curry. Tactfully, none of them comment on the sleepover bit. Yuuma figures they can all find a way to excuse themselves after eating.
On the other hand, Kageura claims that he has defense duty in the morning, and doesn’t want to stay out late. Meanwhile, Midorikawa regrets that he has an obligation to his mother to be home at a reasonable hour. Tsuji is down for the count. It goes without saying that he is unable to make it, for reasons outside his control.
Ikoma jovially distributes his home address, and instructs everyone coming to arrive at eighteen o’clock in time for supper. With that, everyone goes their separate ways, bidding farewell to those who can’t go.
(—Somewhere in Mikado City, at the apartment he shares with his captain—who was also scouted from outside the prefecture—Mizukami Satoshi, liar broccoli extraordinaire, inexplicably feels a shiver down his spine.
‘Must be his imagination—)
“What the hell,” Mizukami says, as the front door swings open to reveal four surprise visitors. “This is why Iko-san’s makin’ so much grub, ain’t it…” He rubs his forehead. “I should’a seen it comin’. Well, come in an’ make yourself at home, I suppose.”
(—Thanks to his tenure with Ikoma Squad, Mizukami Satoshi is a master of going with the flow, even if it makes his brain hurt. If his captain was a game of shogi, he’d be equivalent to randomly replacing half the tiles with chess pieces, and then proceeding to win anyway in spite of Logic and Common Sense—)
“Hello, Mizukami-san. I didn’t know Ikoma-san lived with you,” Murakami greets. Everyone files in and takes off their shoes, a chorus of, “Pardon the intrusion,” as they enter the apartment and spread out.
“Something smells really good,” Yuuma sniffs the air, “Eggplant curry?”
“With rice,” Mizukami confirms.
The party of five makes their way into the living area. It’s an open floor plan, with a breakfast bar dividing the kitchen from the sitting room. A square dining table is located in between, but at first glance, it’s too small to accommodate six people comfortably.
“Two of y’all will hafta’ sit at the bar, sorry,” Mizukami apologizes, though it’s not his fault Ikoma volunteered to host an impromptu dinner party at their tiny apartment.
“It’s not a big deal,” Murakami says, “I can take a stool.”
Yuuma raises his hand, “Aye, aye.”
Ikoma is in the kitchen, plating six portions of curry and rice. There’s no indication that he repents for inviting random houseguests over without warning his roommate. Feeling somewhat sorry, Murakami and Miura offer to help set the table, but Mizukami declines, citing that this is normal. Everyone settles in to eat. As promised, the cooking is delicious.
After everyone finishes their dinner, full and satiated with eggplant curry, Ikoma springs his trap. “The reason I invited y’all here tonight…” There’s a pause, to build suspense, “…is to chat about girls!”
Mizukami chokes on water. No one else is surprised. Ikoma has already said as much, after all. Miura surreptitiously passes Mizukami a napkin.
Ikoma forges ahead, determined to solicit advice on flirting with the opposite gender, “I was hopin’ to ask Hyuse’s opinion, since he’s a hot guy an’ all, but y’all can contribute too. How to get popular?! Miura, you know a gal, thoughts?”
Miura cringes at being put on the spot. “Uh, well, Youko-chan is… she talks about celebrities she likes, sometimes, and Karasuma…”
“Ah,” Murakami acknowledges.
“Another one bites the dust,” Sasamori sighs wistfully.
Mizukami recovers from choking on water, in time to prevent the discussion from devolving into bemoaning guys perceived to be cooler and more attractive. That would be a definite minus, in the popularity column. “I don’t think there’s any secret formula yer missin’ to bein’ popular, Iko-san. People jus’ like who they like, don’cha agree?”
“Hmm,” Ikoma mulls it over.
“On that note,” Yuuma introduces his own ulterior motive in coming, having been waiting for a chance to ask, “I have a question.” The table goes quiet, waiting for him to elaborate. Yuuma nods, and jumps straight to the point, “If someone you knew happened to be keeping a secret from you, how would you react if you found out?”
There’s a stretch of contemplative silence, as everyone processes the new topic.
“Depends,” Mizukami responds first, “What kinda secret we talkin’ ‘bout, here?”
“A big one.” Yuuma forms a duck-face, undercutting the severity of the subject. “Like, it might change what you think of that person.”
The table considers this answer, thoughtful. At Yuuma’s side, Murakami stops to stare at the other teen, mouth parted in muted surprise. Feeling his gaze, Yuuma turns to ask, “What is it? Do I have rice on my face?”
After a beat, Murakami seems to reach some kind of conclusion, and he shakes his head, “No, it’s nothing.” A wisp of black smoke emerges with the lie—the visual cue that Yuuma’s side effect is activating. Did Yuuma give too many hints away already? Oh, well. It’s not a big deal if Murakami-senpai figures it out. Yuuma doesn’t call him out on the lie.
Sasamori tilts his head. “I’m already friends with this person, right?” he asks. Yuuma nods. “Then it can’t be that bad,” Sasamori surmises.
“Real pals ain’t gonna turn rotten outta’ nowhere,” Ikoma points his spoon at the freckled attacker in solidarity.
“I don’t know,” Miura ponders, holding his chin, “It’s hard to say for certain, without the full picture…”
“I think,” Murakami weighs in, with a note of decisiveness, “If someone I knew was hiding a big secret like that, then there must be a good reason for it.” He sweeps his gaze around the room, lingering on Yuuma for a half-second, before settling on the gathering at large. An affable smile softens his expression, and he says, “So, I’d trust them to tell me on their own terms, whenever they feel ready to.”
Yuuma senses the sincerity of this answer, and feels reassured when a wave of accord passes through everyone present. Sasamori nods, and Mizukami hums in agreement. Miura takes a moment to ruminate, before he concurs, “I see what you mean. That makes sense.”
Ikoma bobs his head, stealing the opportunity to announce, “One time, I fell on my face when tryin’ to learn grasshopper! That’s my big secret, don’t go tellin’ anybody!” Trust Ikoma to slice through the tension, like butter—or an airborne opponent within forty meters of his kogetsu. Even if it means spilling his guts unabashedly.
Murakami chuckles at the anecdote, and returns the favor, “I tried to practice your ‘Ikoma Whirlwind’ before, but couldn’t learn it. Got any tips for me?”
“Strike a cool pose as yer sheathin’ the blade!” Ikoma offers this piece of advice with a sparkly thumbs up, as if genuinely intending to be helpful. “That’s what I do!”
“Dude, that’s a trade secret yer sharin’ with the enemy, there,” Mizukami jokes.
Everyone laughs, and the gathering descends into lively chatter. Thanks to Ikoma’s unintentional diversion, no one dwells on the hidden purpose of Yuuma’s question. Not that he was all that worried, in the first place. He’s satisfied with his shot at testing the waters, and with Murakami’s answer especially.
Heartened by his friend’s vote of confidence, Yuuma resolves to take the advice, and come out about his being a neighbor when the time feels right.
As a general rule, Yuuma tries to give Miwa Shuuji a wide berth at headquarters. He gets it, he really does. Miwa is far from the first person Yuuma’s met who carries the permanent scars of war. Ironically, the neighborhood is full of people like Miwa. Yuuma can only be grateful that Miwa extends the same courtesy of avoidance towards him as well, though largely for his own personal benefit.
However, on days where Miwa is feeling particularly hateful, friction at the vending machine is inevitable.
“Canned red bean soup? Really?” Miwa sneers.
Yuuma makes a duck-face, holding coins in one hand, and his prize in the other. It seems that nowadays, Miwa’s hatred for him has become more personally targeted, than universally applicable to all neighbors. Yuuma is not sure how he feels about this change. It might be progress in the grand scheme of character growth, but does Miwa really have to come for him like this? Yuuma just likes to try new things, so sue him.
“It’s good,” Yuuma says, still with a duck-face, “Want some?” He jangles the fist with loose change. There isn’t enough money for another can, but Miwa is going to refuse anyway, so…
“No. I don’t want anything you’ve touched with your filthy hands.”
See? Yuuma knew it’d be this way. “Suit yourself.” He tucks his change into a pocket and cracks the can open, taking a long sip. “Ahh~ very delicious.”
Miwa looks like he’s going to pop a blood vessel, or maybe three, just from the indignity of watching Yuuma drink canned soup. Poor guy. “You’re disgusting,” he declares, raising his voice, “Stay away from me.”
“Roger,” Yuuma mock salutes, completely unserious.
At that, Miwa gives up on this particular vending machine, and storms away. Yuuma considers their interaction today a success.
“…The fuck’s his problem, huh?!”
Yuuma turns around. “Kage-senpai, hello.” A different agent might have been startled by Kageura’s unexpectedly stealthy entrance, but not Yuuma. Even at headquarters, he’s hyper aware of everyone around him. It’s a habit, and hard to break.
“Who lodged a stick up his ass?” Kageura jerks his head in the direction Miwa left. “Don’t tell me it was you. I can’t imagine you pissing anyone off that bad.” Of all people, Kageura would probably know best. He claims that, outside of rank wars—during which he feels next to nothing—Yuuma’s emotions are like pom-poms on his skin. Apparently, it’s an impressive feat, considering how difficult Kageura can be to mesh with.
Yuuma shrugs. He’s really a saint, he knows. “We’ve had a disagreement, before.” Unfortunately, Miwa is just immune to the disarming power of a silly duck-face. It’s a real problem, for Yuuma.
Kageura pauses, twitching. He appears to pick up on something. Finally, scowling deeply, he spits, “I didn’t know Miwa’s like that. What a fucking loser.”
‘Like that’? Yuuma’s duck-face turns pensive. Did Kageura-senpai also figure it out, just now? So far, two of his close friends might already know his secret, before he’s even gotten the chance to tell them himself. Kageura is also honest and trustworthy, like Murakami, but Yuuma will have to be more careful from now on, if he wants to stay under the radar.
“It’s alright, I know it’s not personal. Miwa’s just taking it out on me, really.”
This just makes Kageura even angrier. “It’s not ‘alright’!” he shouts, bristling defensively on Yuuma’s behalf. How touching; Yuuma is blessed to have such supportive friends, even if he thinks Kageura is getting a little too worked up for the public space they’re in. “Listen, Kuga, there’s nothing wrong with the way you are. Miwa’s just being a prejudiced asshole!”
Yuuma nods in agreement. Right, it’s not fair to hate all neighbors just because one murdered his sister. Neighbors aren’t a monolith. Yuuma understands where Miwa’s coming from, though. Losing a loved one hurts; it’s normal to lash out in grief.
Kageura continues to rage, “If anyone gives you a hard time around here, I’ll kill them. I don’t give a damn if they’re A-Rank or that shithead Netsuki himself, they deserve to get fucking ass-whooped for—”
Yuuma might need to dial this back a bit. He can’t be indirectly responsible for Kageura-senpai getting points deducted for the third time in a row. At this rate, ace attacker or not, he’ll end up demoted all the way to C-Rank or something. Then, Kageura couldn’t participate in group rank wars with everyone. That would be a tragedy.
“Now, now. Thank you for your kind offer, but I can defend myself, you see.” Yuuma mimes attacking the air, comically.
At the reminder of Yuuma’s own combat ability, Kageura settles down, exhaling, “Right.” He takes another deep breath. “You’re a real menace yourself, eh?”
Yuuma swings at an invisible enemy to demonstrate, duck-face equipped for maximum impact. “Ultimate double scorpion attack!”
“Hey, that’s my move, shrimp,” Kageura scoffs, cracking a smile.
“You’re gonna have to share, sorry, Kage-senpai,” Yuuma grins. Then he sobers, reflecting, “I’m surprised you knew about me, though. How did you find out?” A pout forms on his face. “I thought I was doing good at acting normal… Is it really that obvious?”
“Nah, not really,” Kageura brushes off, then looks apologetic, “Kou told me about what happened at that dinner party you went to the other night. We just connected some dots. Sorry, didn’t mean to go behind your back like that.”
“Oh,” Yuuma understands now. So it was Murakami-senpai. “No biggie’, I don’t mind if it’s you two. I know I can trust you guys.”
“Thanks, shrimp.” Kageura ruffles Yuuma’s hair. “But seriously, we’ve got your back if anyone gives you trouble, got it?”
“Of course, I have such reliable senpai,” Yuuma makes another duck-face. He’s glad that a second person is willing to take his side, when it comes to being a neighbor at Border. Maybe he really should set up a meeting to just come out with it. With how things have already been going, his entire social circle will know before Yuuma can work up the nerve to tell them all in person. That would be funny, actually, but also sort of awkward.
Yuuma only needs to consult with one more person, before he’s ready.
They’re in his bedroom doing homework together, when Yuuma decides to bring it up, “Hey, Osamu. Do you think I can tell some of the people we know that I’m a neighbor now?”
Osamu jolts, dropping his pencil in surprise. It falls to the floor with a clack, before rolling underneath the desk.
Yuuma pushes his worksheets aside, and flops down on the bed, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I think it’d be okay.”
“Wh-what? What makes you say that?” Osamu responds, voice muffled while bending over and fumbling to retrieve his pencil.
“Kage-senpai and Murakami-senpai already know.”
Osamu surfaces from underneath the desk, sweating a little bit. “Really? How did that happen?” He straightens his glasses, as a possibility occurs to him. “Did you tell them?”
“No, apparently they found out,” Yuuma replies. He allows Osamu a moment to collect his nervous sweat. He knows Osamu needs it, to function properly and unleash his full power as the captain of their squad. It must be one of the necessary components to his cheese strats, along with the glasses, of course.
“And they were… okay, with you being a neighbor?” Osamu is still buffering, like a refurbished old computer trying to run modern video games.
“More than okay,” Yuuma confirms, “Murakami-senpai implied he’ll hear me out whenever I’m ready, and Kage-senpai threatened to fight anyone on my behalf.”
“Kageura-senpai shouldn’t do that, he’ll lose points again.”
“That’s what I said.”
The two of them lapse into contemplative silence, as Osamu weighs the pros and cons before formulating an answer. This is one of the things Yuuma appreciates about his captain. Osamu is smart, and reliable, and doesn’t say or do anything without first sweating about it for awhile—a sign that he’s thinking deeply, in fact. He’s the kind of person with a lot of Thoughts, which is invaluable when partnered with someone who has many actions, like Yuuma.
“…Why exactly do you want other people to know?” Osamu asks after a moment, thoughtful.
“I dunno, it just feels right.” Yuuma rolls over, and makes a duck-face while kicking his feet in the air. “It kind of feels like I’m lying for no reason, don’t you think?”
Osamu sits back, and twists around in his swivel chair to face Yuuma with a serious expression. “I guess it makes sense. If I were in your shoes, I’d probably feel the same, if I had to keep secrets from my friends all the time. Though, Kitora and Kikuchihara-senpai already know you’re a neighbor…” Osamu starts mumbling, side-tracked by his many Thoughts, “I don’t know about Yuiga-senpai…”
Yuuma snickers to himself. Something about Osamu must be drawn to people who are mildly insufferable. Or maybe it’s actually Osamu who attracts such personalities to himself. Yuuma’s captain is unexpectedly popular, in an inconvenient way. “You get along with only the difficult types, huh, Osamu?”
“That’s not—” Osamu starts defending his dubious social circle, then breaks off with a realization, “Hey! That includes you too, doesn’t it?”
“No, no, I’m the exception to the rule.” Yuuma cranks up the innocence of his duck-face. He’s a perfect angel, thank you very much.
“You launched a wad of paper at a classmate on your first day at school…” Osamu recalls pointedly.
“Ah, but I’m domesticated now…”
“What are you, a farm animal…?”
“You know how chickens are modern dinosaurs—”
Osamu frowns. “Is that your only takeaway from science class? Kuga, you’re going to fail the test next week—”
“—humans are basically bananas—”
“Please do your homework,” Osamu deadpans, resigned.
“Wait,” Yuuma scrambles upright, “You haven’t answered my question, yet. Come out and tell the truth, yes or no?” His homework is way less important, compared to this. It’s practically of zero importance, relatively, so Yuuma probably doesn’t even have to do it.
Osamu makes a face. “Yes, Kuga, I think that if you want to be honest with your friends about being from the neighborhood, you should be allowed to tell them. I’ll talk to Director Rindou and get permission in the morning, just in case.”
“Thanks, Osamu.” Yuuma didn’t even consider that he might need permission. It’s a good thing he consulted the wisdom of his captain, first.
“It sounds like some people are already okay with it, anyway.” Osamu pauses, and then tacks on, “Maybe don’t use the words ‘coming out’, though, they mean something different.”
It turns out they meant something exactly the same, actually.
Yuuma messages his friends that he ‘has something to tell everyone’, and they make plans to meet up at headquarters on a day everyone is free.
For moral support, Osamu and Chika accompany Yuuma to the meeting, eager to be there for their teammate slash friend’s big confession. Hyuse is also present, though allegedly not to be supportive. With Hyuse, it’s hard to tell whether he’s being tsundere, or genuinely just a cold-hearted bastard. Regardless, he is not excused from participating in team activities, so little does he know, he had no choice in coming from the start.
Yuuma instructed everyone to meet up in Tamakoma-2’s operations room, in all it’s unfurnished glory. They never use it for anything except B-Rank Wars, so it will likely remain without sufficient furniture for a long time. In retrospect, this might have been unintentionally cruel on Yuuma’s part, as his friends would be forced to stand while waiting for him. Oops?
Yuuma shrugs, and punches in the pass code. Hopefully, no one arrived super early. The digital lock hisses, and the door slides open to reveal everyone standing around and facing the entranceway.
Osamu and Chika blanch on sight.
“Kuga, wait a second, what did you—”
“Yuuma-kun, I think—”
Yuuma can somewhat sympathize with their confusion. Did everyone agree on a dress code for this and just not tell him, or something?
Kageura and Murakami are both wearing civilian clothes, bright t-shirts with rainbows and hearts and a sequence of English letters that don’t form any word Yuuma is familiar with. Kitazoe and Ema are holding a large banner, also with rainbows, and a sentence that contains actual English words, though Yuuma can’t make sense of their meaning when put together. Arafune has swapped his usual cap for one decorated with heart-shaped pins and a multi-colored scarf. Midorikawa is bouncing on the balls of his feet and waving little miniature flags, one a rainbow and the other striped pink, purple, and blue.
Touma has claimed the sole chair in the room (stolen from behind the operator’s station), and is sitting with his arms folded, a defeated look on his face. “I tried to stop them,” he mutters.
“Don’t be a homophobe,” Kageura snaps.
“I brought two different flags, since we weren’t sure,” Midorikawa beams proudly.
“C’mon guys, let him have his moment,” Murakami reminds everyone that Yuuma hasn’t officially confessed anything yet.
Indeed, Yuuma has confessed nothing. Osamu takes in the room at large, and then side-eyes Yuuma, bombastically. Chika opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again, but no sound comes out. Hyuse blinks.
Well, Yuuma can be graceful about this, even though nobody warned him they were having a rainbow surprise party. “Everyone, I have something to confess—”
Chika buries her face in her hands. Osamu is sweating buckets. Hyuse blinks some more. The room at large collectively holds its breath, waiting for it—
“I’m a neighbor,” Yuuma finishes. “Though some of you already guessed.”
Whew! What a weight off his chest—
Kageura and Murakami look appalled, caught completely off guard by the revelation. Kitazoe drops his end of the banner, and it collapses on Ema’s head. Arafune does a double take. Midorikawa abruptly halts, his flags drooping like wilted daisies.
Touma sighs, deeply.
“…What?” Midorikawa laughs, the first to shatter the resounding silence. “Next you’re going to say Hyuse isn’t actually from Canada, or something crazy like that.”
Hyuse bristles in affront, “I am a Canadian.” On cue, black smoke pours out of his mouth. Touma coughs.
“…Huh?” Yuuma whips his head around, taking in everyone’s reactions. Especially, “Kage-senpai, Murakami-senpai! But you told me you already knew?” He’s feeling a bit betrayed, right now, least of all because his terrible, no-good side effect tricked him, somehow.
Murakami recovers first, “This is… not what I thought we knew—”
Kageura grumbles, “Kou, I am never believing anything you say, ever again—”
“Wait,” Yuuma puts his hand up, “What did you guys think you meant when you—” He gestures with his arms, “Said that you’d wait for me to talk when I’m ready, and ass-whoop Netsuki-san if he gives me a hard time?”
“Kage, you can’t do that,” Kitazoe chides reflexively.
Kageura puffs up, like a hissing cat. “I meant what I said!”
“…Still?” Osamu tests, tentatively.
Right, Yuuma originally (was lied to) believed that this would go perfectly well, because (he was lied to!) people already knew his secret and were okay with it, in theory. In practice, apparently people thought they knew and were okay with an entirely Different secret, and Yuuma is no longer certain whether what they said to support him before still holds true.
Honestly, what kind of dark, terrible secret did they assume Yuuma had, that could possibly lead to this?
“I thought Miwa was giving the shrimp a hard time because he was gay,” Kageura stresses, “And, for the record, I absolutely would still kill anyone who is a piece of shit about that.”
…Gay? Is that supposed to be kept a big secret, in Japan? Or just Meeden in general, maybe? So much, that hiding his being from an alternate dimension could be conflated with hiding that he wants to kiss boys?!
This is insane. Yuuma had no idea this would be a possibility.
Hyuse also looks confused, so at least Yuuma isn’t alone.
“You knew about this, Touma-san?” Ema redirects the collective shock and turmoil of the gathering onto, seemingly, the only person who could have prevented this.
The hammer of blame falls with a resounding clang.
“I tried to tell you guys this probably isn’t what you think it is,” Touma protests, raising his hands in surrender, “You wouldn’t listen to me!”
“Touma-senpai…” Somewhat disappointed, Chika levels a small frown at her senior sniper. It’s a deadly cannon, and disintegrates Touma instantly.
“Aw, don’t look at me like that, Chikako—”
Yuuma’s head is still spinning, but if he doesn’t say anything now, Chika will kill Touma by accident and then she’ll feel really guilty, and their squad can’t have that. “Except for Touma-senpai, none of you knew that I came from the neighborhood,” Yuuma repeats, just to get his facts straight, “You thought I was hiding that I’m gay, instead.”
Murakami winces, suddenly reminded that the misunderstanding originated with him, at Ikoma’s impromptu dinner party. The hammer of blame shifts, and clobbers him over the head. “In my defense,” he says weakly, “We were talking about girls, at the time, and then you changed the subject, all of a sudden—”
Arafune drags his palm down his face. “Oh my god, why am I here—”
“I didn’t think… Yuuma-senpai—”
“—not m’ fault—”
“—Kou, you fucking—”
“—and calm down, maybe—”
The volume rises as everyone talks at once, the gathering descending into chaos due to the wrench thrown into their expectations, versus reality which is formidable and difficult to cope with, when they spent the past week or so believing with one hundred percent confidence in something incompatible. Yuuma feels like he’s swimming in brain matter soup, processing it all. To be frank, he’s equally as befuddled as everyone else in the room.
What. What should Yuuma do?
“Guys—!” Osamu raises his voice, then freezes when he succeeds in grabbing everyone’s undivided attention. A bead of sweat appears on his face, and he clears his throat.
“Regardless of who… started this entire thing, Kuga was serious about talking to you all.” Osamu takes a deep breath, donning his metaphorical captain hat. “Despite what you may or may not have believed prior to today, Kuga is a neighbor. I met him when he first came to Japan. He saved me from getting eaten by a bamster.” Someone stifles a snort, and Osamu manfully ignores it. “I’m really happy that Kuga has so many people he trusts now. Please—” Osamu bows his head, “Please continue to be friends with him!”
Silence.
Yuuma stares at his friend in astonishment. “Osamu…”
Everyone glances around at each others’ faces. Two people start to speak at the same time, and then stop. Yuuma suddenly feels nervous about his friends’ reactions, for the first time.
What does That Look mean, exactly?
Kageura and Murakami both nod, and allow Midorikawa to step forward first. “Yuuma-senpai,” the younger teen begins, firmly, “We’re your friends no matter what. It doesn’t matter if you’re gay or a neighbor, or even both, we like you because you’re Yuuma-senpai.”
Yuuma pulse quickens. Oh…?
“You’ve never come off as mean or insincere, Kuga, even when you were keeping this under wraps,” Kageura adds gruffly, “Knowing you’re a neighbor isn’t gonna make me think you’re an ass, all of a sudden.”
Kitazoe enthusiastically seconds this, “Yes, what Kage said!” Ema nods his head.
“We’re sorry if we made you think otherwise, with how we reacted initially,” Murakami apologizes, “I should have been clear that I wasn’t upset with you.” A soft smile appears on his features. “I’m happy to have you as a friend, Kuga.”
Arafune tips the brim of his hat in agreement. “Same here.”
Oh, wow. Yuuma feels all warm and fuzzy inside, which is definitely not a function of his black trigger’s trion body.
It must be his flesh and blood heart, melting into an ooey-gooey puddle.
“You already know we’re cool, Kuga,” Touma says next, “M’bad, for letting these bozos get outta’ hand before you got here.”
Chika beams at everyone’s positivity, and Osamu looks relieved. Hyuse’s face is ten percent more expressive than normal, even the resident prisoner of their squad feeling a bit touched. Yuuma doesn’t know what to say. Would a silly duck-face be appropriate? Probably not?
“Man, you had me worried for a second there…” Yuuma makes a duck-face anyway. Tried and true. “I’m glad you’re my friends, too. It wouldn’t be fun if you all hated me, after this.” He tries to sound like he’s not tearing up, but his lip wobble gives him away. Darn.
“I could never hate you, Yuuma-senpai,” Midorikawa promises vehemently.
“Kuga, are you crying…?” Murakami says in concern.
Touma chuckles. “What kinda’ heartless bastard could hate that face?”
…Yuuma can think of one person who does, actually.
Kageura abruptly pales. “Fuck, I think I need to say sorry to Miwa.”
“Huh, why?” Kitazoe asks. Something occurs to the gunner, out of the blue. “What did you do, Kage?” Ema swears under his breath. Kitazoe frets, “Oh no. You didn’t try to fight him, did you?”
“Nah, I just yelled in his fucking face and called him a bigoted asshole and stuff.”
This is enough to pacify Kitazoe, somehow. “Oh, okay, just that.”
“You’re not technically wrong, so you don’t need to say sorry,” Ema weighs in, proving that Kageura’s squad mates are in fact his worst enablers.
Well, Yuuma’s not going to argue that Miwa doesn’t deserve to get yelled at, just a little bit. He will survive, if only to get into more one-sided arguments with Yuuma at the vending machines. Honestly, Yuuma might start to miss those, if Miwa ever stops finding petty reasons to pick a fight.
Buzz. Arafune checks a message on his phone. “Oh, it sounds like Hokari is outside with Nire. They brought… the cake.”
Everyone pauses. Osamu sweat-drops. “You guys got cake, too?”
Murakami looks down at his Gay Pride t-shirt, recalling thoughtfully, “It was custom-ordered. That one bakery near the branch office was very supportive about the design…”
Arafune lets Hokari and Nire into the room, and together they set the cake—ambitiously large for how many people were going to be present today—on the table in the center of the room. As predicted, it is cheerfully rainbow and has the messages ‘CONGRATS ON COMING OUT’ and ‘GAY IS OKAY ♡’ spelled out in buttercream.
Cue filling the late faces in about the shocking reveal.
…
“Oh my god, I really had no idea…”
“About the cake, what are we going to do? My back I broke carrying it here.”
Hyuse interrupts, “I don’t see the problem, here. Cake is cake.”
Yuuma is positive Hyuse just wants to eat food. It’s practically all the horned neighbor does, holed up in the branch office all day, as far as Yuuma has observed.
Hyuse continues to make his case, “The flavor is the same, regardless of its exterior appearance.” He frowns, suddenly questioning, “Unless you somehow made it taste like gay people as well…”
Touma coughs into his fist. “Very funny, but that’s impossible, of course.”
“Hyuse is right,” Yuuma volunteers, “We can’t let this entire cake go to waste. It doesn’t matter what it looks like. Let’s dig in!” After the entire debacle with the misunderstanding, there is no way he is going to pass up free cake.
Yuuma deserves to celebrate, with his friends who’ll accept him, whether he’s gay or a neighbor.