"Asshole, get your car away from mine. If you keep this up don't blame me for getting rough."
Sawamura Eriri unleashed a volley of words at Tanaka Masao while her foot hammered the accelerator — but Masao's car had pinned hers in place.
Instead of escaping, the collisions made the racing rig shake even harder. She tried to fight back but she had no leverage at all.
Their commotion drew a lot of sideways glances. People who didn't realize they were just playing a driving game were starting to assume… other things.
"Wow, you can do that with a racing game? Learn something new every day."
After a few minutes, that frantic, cathartic race finally ended.
Eriri slid out of the motion seat, relieved but red-faced from anger and humiliation. She'd been shaken up pretty badly. Breathing in, she stormed straight for the culprit: Tanaka Masao.
On tiptoe, she grabbed his collar and snarled, "You jerk—acting all cocky just now. You got a plan for how you want to die?"
Masao chose to respond by repeating her own words back to her, deadpan.
"Bumping into someone while driving is normal. If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for driving too slow and blocking my way."
That was using her own logic against her.
"You—…" Eriri was momentarily speechless. She had said it, so by strict reasoning he was right. But was Eriri the type to calmly accept being out-argued?
"No way, baka!" she spat. "You go die, you idiot!"
Because she was still wearing her cap, she couldn't unleash her signature twin-tail hair attack, so she settled for punching him instead. Her soft little fists landed on Masao's belly with practically zero effect.
Watching her pound on him with her eyes shut, Masao couldn't help but indulge a nasty little impulse. He sucked his belly in, and the moment her fist came down he gave it a sudden rebound.
He even cried out in mock-heroic fashion, "Rebound!"
Caught off guard, Eriri was knocked back several steps by the ricochet. She stared at Masao's round belly in stunned disbelief — confusion, shock, anger flickering across her face in an instant.
All that built up into one big slap — a solid smack across Masao's stomach.
"Die!" she shouted.
Smack!
The sound was crisp. For a second Masao actually felt pain. Everyone knows force is mutual.
Eriri crouched, clutching her reddened hand. The sting was fierce; she fought hard not to let tears fall. After a while she ground her teeth and said, "You—what game are you, some kind of meat shield?"
Masao, amused, couldn't help jab back.
"Oh? So the ironclad defense that even your punches can't break… must mean you're the weak one, huh?"
"Weak? You're the weak one—weak, weak!" Eriri fumed, furious but still keeping her head enough to stop punching.
Humiliated and not about to let him off, Eriri narrowed her eyes and looked him over. A plan came to her.
She flicked her hair and snorted. "Hmph. I'm magnanimous — I won't bother you. Let's go play something else."
"Nope." Masao refused flatly.
"What did you say?!" Eriri blinked, incredulous that she'd been turned down.
"You dare refuse me?"
Masao spread his hands helplessly. "Because you look like you were about to do something shady to me. Refusing is reasonable, right?"
"Who'd do anything shady to you?" Eriri retorted, then without warning grabbed Masao and dragged him forward.
"You don't get to refuse. Now shut up and come with me."
Masao could have planted his feet and taken it, but he was curious what she'd do. Eriri hauled him to the rhythm-game area and forced him onto a dance mat. She planted herself on the mat beside his and fed some coins into the machine.
"Hurry up, it's starting," she urged.
Masao stared down at the eight directional panels and the center jump pad under his feet. This was Eriri's revenge?
The song began. Arrows streamed down the screen. Masao tapped the corresponding panels with his feet. At first he managed it. Then the tempo rose, the prompts sped up, and he had to keep hopping frantically across the mat. Double-arrow cues came up often, raising the difficulty.
Eriri watched him dance and, between breaths, admitted, "I didn't—expect you to be this agile, fatty."
After a short while, even Eriri was winded. Sure, she was a bit of a shut-in, but she'd always assumed Masao's corpulence meant he'd be clumsy. She'd planned to make him look ridiculous — but he was far more nimble than she'd imagined.
To be fair, Masao had trained for a week; his body was more responsive than before. While they danced he taunted her, "Hey—Eriri, your breathing's getting shaky. Tired already?"
She refused to admit it. "Ha—this is nothing. Barely breaking a sweat. Why don't you worry about yourself?"
They were both gasping as the song accelerated. No more trash talk now — they were locked in, eyes on the screen.
"Ugh, why is it so fast?" Eriri grunted, pushing herself to keep up. Her legs threatened to cramp.
Masao's cheeks and belly jiggled with each jump, sweat beading on his forehead. They pounded through the notes.
Suddenly, the screen spat out a special simultaneous prompt — the two players both shouted in surprise.
Without time to think, Masao dropped to the floor and slapped the special pad with his hands while also pressing with his feet. Eriri, not to be outdone, dropped into a low backbend and hit her special with perfect timing.
They both hit it.
For a beat, the arcade was filled with the sound of their synced success.