Speedrunner paid the taxi driver and stepped out of the car, eyes scanning the familiar street. "Home sweet home," he muttered under his breath.
It was house number 15. The door loomed ahead like a gateway to something both ordinary and chaotic. With a sigh, he walked up and pushed it open.
Inside, the house was steeped in darkness, but the soft glow from the TV screen illuminated the living room. Gunshots echoed from the speakers, harsh and unrelenting.
Speedrunner checked his watch. 19:23. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, muttering, "Damn, it's late... I have to sneak past before she sees me."
He stepped cautiously into the house, eyes darting to the shadows. A figure sat in the dim light, transfixed by the TV.
Quietly, he slipped off his shoes and crept across the floor.
Thud.
He froze, holding his breath. "Was that me...?"
The figure didn't budge.
He continued moving, trying to make as little noise as possible. But then—CRACK! Something slammed into the back of his head.
His vision swam. He collapsed, dizzy, and the lights flicked on.
"Ha! That's what you get!" a voice rang out.
Groaning, Speedrunner blinked up at the ceiling. A girl with caramel skin and blonde hair, wrapped in a cloth headscarf, was perched on top of him. Her loose vest was revealing, and her grin was a mix of mischief and triumph.
"Look at you, you pervert," she said with a teasing grin.
Speedrunner groaned. "Says the one wearing no bra."
The girl's smirk deepened. "With eyes like yours, no wonder you spot all the fun. Maybe I'll suffocate you with them."
"Hoi hoi! It's too early for me to die!" he protested, but his tone was playful.
She folded her arms, looking away in mock annoyance. "You came late. You don't deserve to die by them."
"Look at you getting all personal," he teased, a grin forming on his face.
"Shut up."
Suddenly, a loud KNOCK KNOCK echoed through the room. Both of them froze.
Speedrunner whipped his head toward the door, and the girl scrambled to answer it. Before she could make it, Speedrunner grabbed her ankle, yanking her down with a thud.
"Ouch!" she yelped.
Speedrunner scrambled to his feet, blood dripping from his nose, and rushed toward the door.
The girl recovered quickly and threw the takeaway bag at him, hitting him just as he opened the door. It wasn't the delivery man.
It was a police officer.
"Sor...ry," Speedrunner stammered, his panic clear.
The officer scowled, wiping sauce from his uniform.
The girl was already in full apology mode. "We're so sorry, Officer! It was a mistake! Please forgive us!"
"I'll file a report," the officer said flatly.
"No, please! I'll do anything!" she pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice.
Speedrunner snickered. "I see, selling yourself already?"
She rounded on him and punched him in the stomach.
The officer sighed. "Your neighbors are complaining. They say there's been a disturbance."
"Sorry, Officer Secko. We'll keep it down," the girl said, her voice dripping with sweetness.
Secko picked up the takeaway bag and handed it back to her. "Keep it down," he repeated, then left, shaking his head.
As the door closed, Speedrunner collapsed on the floor, pretending to be unconscious.
"If my tires weren't punched..." he muttered under his breath.
A few minutes later, they were in the kitchen. Speedrunner, his nose bandaged, opened the takeaway. He squinted through cracked glasses. "Are my lenses broken, or does this thing really look like crap?"
The lenses were shattered like a spiderweb.
"Yoru," the girl said, her tone suddenly serious.
"What?" Speedrunner asked, looking up from his ruined glasses.
"I'll cook today. We don't need takeaway."
Speedrunner raised an eyebrow. "You cook? You burned water."
Her face turned red. She fainted.
Speedrunner sighed. "Still can't waste food."
"Cream Tart!" he called after her. "I said we—"
He turned to find her crawling away from him.
Later, they sat on the floor in the living room, their backs against the couch. The takeaway was on a small table between them, untouched.
"Yoru, Yoru, Yoru, Yoru!" Cream Tart sang, her voice light with mischief.
"Please don't call me by my surname," Speedrunner groaned, burying his face in his hands.
"Look! I think this looks like an eyeball!" she said, holding up a piece of saba fish with a dramatic flourish.
Speedrunner leaned over, his face deadpan. "I've never seen saba fish with eyes still on it... Stop playing with your food."
"This always happens when you bring takeaway. Last time, you left it in the washing machine!"
"Not my fault you can't tell the difference between food and clothes," he shot back.
Cream Tart scooped up a suspicious piece of fish and, with an exaggerated motion, flung it—spoon and all—right at his face.
It hit him squarely.
She burst into laughter. "I didn't mean to throw the spoon!"
"Well, you're not getting it back."
"Fine! I'll get another one," she teased, sticking out her tongue.
She dashed to the kitchen and returned almost immediately. "Did you lock the drawers?"
Speedrunner's glasses gleamed with a knowing look. "You're so predictable. Your punishment: eat with..."
"My hands?!" she asked, horrified.
"Yep. You're good at throwing stuff. Just throw it into your mouth."
Cream Tart twitched, but then she sighed. "No... I was trying to feed you, but my hand slipped."
"Sure, sure. Don't worry—use your hands."
She sat down, sulking.
"Come on, don't keep me waiting," he teased, opening his mouth wide.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"
She reluctantly fed him a small portion of the fish. Her finger brushed his lips as she did, like the delicate touch of piano keys. Embarrassed, she stared at her hand in disbelief.
In that moment, Speedrunner bit her finger.
"Ouch!" she yelped, jerking her hand away.
Speedrunner laughed, a low, victorious sound.
Without warning, she grabbed the entire bowl of saba fish and rice and hurled it at his face.
"I'm done!" she stormed off.
Speedrunner sighed, wiping rice from his face. "In the end, we still wasted food."
He stood up and headed toward the bathroom.
In the bathroom, he tossed his lost phone, blazer, and tie on the small table. The hot water from the shower splashed against his skin as he mumbled to himself, "Is she on her period? Or did I push too far?"
He paused, considering. "Guess I'll have to go nag her as usual..."
Suddenly, a faint buzzing sound filled the room.
He turned off the water, looking around. "What is that noise?"
Wrapped in a towel, he stepped out, his feet bare against the cool tiles. No one was there. But on the floor lay a phone—one he didn't recognize.
He picked it up. A message flashed across the screen:
To think... it's fate for the man who will one day be the freest man in the world.
Speedrunner blinked. "Whose phone is this...?"
Another message popped up, a string of random characters:
Some online D&D gambling spam?
But before he could dismiss it, the phone spoke.
I have scanned all possible futures. To prevent the rise of the world's most notorious serial killer... Cream Tart must survive.