Returning to Apartment 301 was marked by the heavy silence of logistical defeat.
The reconnaissance mission at the café had confirmed the diagnosis: the "Other Futaba" was a ticking time bomb of insecurity wrapped in trendy clothes and provocative photos. The "Original Futaba," walking behind Kaito like a prisoner heading to solitary confinement, was a ticking time bomb of self-deprecation wrapped in a rumpled blouse.
And Kaito? Kaito was just the bomb disposal technician who preferred to be at home playing Minesweeper.
"Alright," Kaito said, locking the door and kicking his shoes into the corner. "Field day is over. Night protocol activated."
He looked at the bedroom. The bed. His bed. The only ergonomically correct horizontal surface in a ten-meter radius.
He looked at Mai Sakurajima. She was already taking off her shoes, with that annoying naturalness of someone who has already decided the evening's script.
"Don't even start," Mai said, raising her hand before Kaito could open his mouth to protest. "Rio needs stability. You saw how she got when she saw the 'other one.' She's shaking."
Kaito looked at Futaba. Indeed, the scientist was curled up near the wall, hugging her backpack, eyes glazed over. She looked like a small animal that had just discovered it wasn't at the top of the food chain.
"She can shake on my beanbag," Kaito argued. "The polystyrene filling absorbs vibrations."
"Kaito," Mai used that tone of voice. The tone she used when acting like a responsible older sister, or a bossy girlfriend. "Be a gentleman. For the second night in a row."
"Chivalry causes pain," Kaito grumbled.
But he knew it was a losing battle. Mai's logic, while emotionally manipulative, was solid: letting a teenager in crisis sleep on the floor while he slept in the bed was socially unacceptable, even by his low standards.
Kaito sighed. "Beanbag. Again."
The night brought a repeat of the torment, even more intense: his neck, already sore, now felt shattered. From the bedroom, he heard murmurs. Mai was trying to calm Futaba, who was crying quietly.
Kaito put on his headphones, turned up the volume on his "Lo-Fi Rain" playlist, and tried to ignore the fact that his apartment had become a crisis center for female puberty.
Morning arrived suddenly, like a fright at the window.
Kaito woke up, or rather, gave up trying to sleep. His body was stiff. He brewed coffee for the three women and left before they woke up. He needed space. And, unfortunately, the only available space was school.
Minegahara High School. The place where dreams go to die and time loops go to repeat themselves.
Kaito walked through the hallways. The atmosphere was different. He was irrelevant again. Perfect.
He went to the courtyard, and from there, followed the rhythmic, echoing sound of rubber sneakers squeaking against varnished wood.
The gymnasium.
He entered discreetly through the side door. The basketball team was practicing. The smell of teenage sweat and cheap deodorant was intense.
Noticing the Other Futaba near the exit, Kaito headed toward her.
She was standing leaning against the door, watching the practice. She wore the school uniform, her blouse unbuttoned one notch more than regulations allowed, and she wore contact lenses. Her hair was tied in that high ponytail that exposed her nape.
She wasn't looking at the game. She was looking at a player.
Yuuma Kunimi.
The best friend of Sakuta, the fired protagonist. The popular, athletic, kind, and annoyingly normal guy. He ran across the court, dribbling, sweating, smiling.
The Other Futaba watched him intently. Her eyes shone. There was a slight blush on her cheeks.
"CLICHÉ ALERT!" Fia's voice exploded in Kaito's head, making him wince. "THE DAMSEL WATCHES THE SPORTS HERO! THIS IS A CLASSIC ARCHETYPE! SHE IS IN LOVE! THE SYSTEM DETECTS CRITICAL DOPAMINE LEVELS!"
"Fia, if you shout again, I'm going to hit you as soon as you return to your physical form," Kaito thought.
He approached the girl. She was so focused on Kunimi that she didn't notice his approach until he was right beside her.
"He has good dribbling technique," Kaito said, monotone. "But his defense is full of holes."
The Other Futaba jumped.
"Tanaka?!" she hissed, placing a hand on her chest. "Are you a ninja or a stalker? Stop appearing out of nowhere!"
"I am an inevitable consequence of your life choices," Kaito replied. He looked at the court. Kunimi made a basket. The Other Futaba sighed involuntarily.
Kaito looked at her. "You are drooling. Metaphorically. And maybe literally."
She wiped the corner of her mouth quickly, blushing. "I am not! I just... was passing by!"
"You have been 'passing by' here for twenty minutes. I timed it," Kaito lied. "And you are looking at Kunimi as if he were the last bottle of water in the desert."
The girl looked away, crossing her arms defensively.
"So what if I am?" she challenged, lifting her chin. "What's the problem?"
"None, it is just troublesome."
He turned to her.
"So explain it to me. Why him? Why Yuuma Kunimi? The world is full of guys. Why does your entire existence seem to orbit around this sweaty basketball player?"
She looked at Kunimi down below. Her gaze softened.
"Because he saw me," she said, voice low.
"Saw you?" Kaito asked. "In the literal sense? His vision functions, I presume."
"No, you insensitive idiot," she retorted. "He saw me when no one else did. When I was just the science club weirdo who had no friends. When I ate lunch alone in the lab."
She smiled, a sad, nostalgic smile.
"It was last year. I hadn't brought lunch. That would be the first time I'd buy bread, but since there were so many students there, I was sure I wouldn't be able to buy one."
Kaito listened. It was an origin story. The "Trigger Event."
"And then," she continued, eyes shining, "Kunimi appeared, he came to talk to me and said I might like sweet things."
She paused, clutching her blouse near her heart.
"...He pulled a sweet bun out of his pocket. A choco cornet. One of those cheap ones from the convenience store. And he gave it to me. He said: 'You look like you're going to faint, Futaba. Eat this'."
She looked at Kaito, tears in her eyes.
"It was... the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me."
Silence fell. She was lost in the memory of that gesture, the moment that defined her affection.
Kaito processed the information.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
"A..." he began, his voice coming out slow. "...A choco cornet?"
"Yes," she sighed, dreamy.
Kaito did the mental conversion.
Average price of a choco cornet in a Japanese convenience store: 120 yen. Maybe 150 yen if it was a premium brand, which he doubted coming from a high school student.
Kaito looked at the girl in front of him. She had created an alternate personality. She had run away from home. She was exposing herself on the internet. She was living a quantum existential crisis that threatened her sanity.
All this... because of a 120-yen bun.
"You..." Kaito said, and for the first time in a long while, his apathy was broken by genuine incredulity. "You are telling me that the fundamental basis of your love, the central pillar of your psychological split, the reason why I have been sleeping on a beanbag for two days... is a low-cost, industrialized bakery product?"
The Other Futaba blinked, the magic of the moment dissipating with his raw analysis. "I-It's not about the price! It's about the gesture! The kindness! And it's not just because of that!"
"120 yen," Kaito repeated, shocked. "That is less than a bottle of water in a tourist vending machine. Kunimi bought your eternal loyalty with his lunch change."
"You are horrible!" she shouted, flushing with anger. "You don't understand sentimental value!"
"I understand market value!" Kaito retorted. "If he gave you an eel bento, I would understand. If he saved you from a fire, I would understand. But a sweet bun? A bun that was probably in his pocket, squashed and warm? That is not romance, Futaba. That is low-budget caloric charity!"
"SYSTEM COLLAPSE!" Fia cackled in Kaito's head. "THE LOVE EXCHANGE RATE IS IN FREEFALL! THE CHOSEN ONE JUST DEVALUED THE HEROINE'S AFFECTION USING THE YEN INFLATION!"
Kaito put a hand to his forehead. The logic of the romantic world was flawed. It was inefficient. It was absurdly cheap.
"You sold yourself cheap, Futaba," he said, shaking his head with disappointment. "Your self-esteem isn't just low. It's on clearance."
The Other Futaba stared at him, mouth open, oscillating between crying and hitting him.
"But..." Kaito sighed, looking at Kunimi. "This simplifies things. If the root of the problem is a sweet bun, then the solution doesn't need to be complex."
He turned to leave.
"Hey! Where are you going?" she shouted.
"I'm going to buy a bun," Kaito said. "And I'm going to have a serious talk with your other half about standards."
He went down the stairs, leaving the confused girl behind.
"120 yen..." he muttered as he left the gym. "Love is the most overpriced commodity in history."
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