Kirara

Click. Scroll. Approve.

The morning reports are lighter than usual—a small mercy. Though "lighter" apparently means "everyone complaining about the same thing." Yesterday's kitchen malfunction forced the entire landship onto emergency nutritional rations. The same grey paste you've been choking down for months.

Click. Scroll. Approve.

A tiny melody cuts through the quiet—8-bit, descending notes, the universal sound of failure.

"Whah! Aaaahh, wrong button...!"

Your eyes drift right.

Kirara.

The little Aegir neet's sprawled on her stomach across the small reading couch you never use, a handheld console propped against a cushion, mashing buttons, trying to seize victory from the maws of impending defeat but failing.

Her oversized jacket—that puffy white-and-blue armor she hides inside—lies abandoned on a nearby chair. And without it she looks... small, to say the least. Narrow shoulders. Slim arms...not to mention how it reveals how much Her skirt has ridden up....Significantly.

How did she get here?

Right. Terminal had crashed earlier—Closure was buried in other emergencies, so she'd sent her "best hardware gremlin" instead. Kirara had appeared at your door, barely made eye contact, mumbled something about "d-diagnostic procedures," then disappeared under your desk for twenty minutes.

Fixed it in eighteen.

When she'd emerged, flushed and cable-tangled, she hadn't left. Just stood there, tentacles fidgeting, until:

"Um... c-can I stay here? It's... quiet."

She'd taken your silence as permission. Vanished. Returned ten minutes later with arms full of treasure—manga volumes, game cases, a portable music player trailing earbuds.

Now she's been here for two hours. Hasn't said a word. Hasn't needed to.

"Hfff... ha..."

The defeat jingle plays again. She groans into the cushion.

And then—

She glances back.

Your eyes meet.

Confusion, awareness pass through her face, accompanied by the slow creep of crimson from her cheeks to her ears.

"D-D-Doctor, I wasn't—you were looking at—I mean—"

Her tentacles snap back to her body, coiling tight. Yet one rebellious specimen keeps reaching toward you despite her obvious attempts to restrain it.

"...D-do you want to try?"

She holds the console out. Hands trembling. Not meeting your eyes.

"I can... show you the controls. If you're done with... with work stuff." Her voice drops to barely audible. "That's what... otaku buddies do, right? Share games and... and stuff..."

The cafeteria's noise fades with each step—laughter, clinking glasses, someone attempting karaoke badly.

You'd stayed long enough. Smiled. Wished everyone well. Made your excuses. Left before the midnight countdown turned into a feeding frenzy.

What you do on New Year's Eve, you'll do all year after all. And tonight, under hundred of hungry eyes tracking you, you retreat. Tonight, you choose to survive for another day.

The corridor stretches quiet and dim—emergency lighting only, most of the ship gathered elsewhere. Your quarters are three more turns away.

But your feet slow.

Room K-14.

A handwritten sign taped to the door:

"BUSY. DO NOT ENTER. (THIS MEANS YOU UTAGE.)"

Below it, a smaller addition in different ink: "...unless you're Doctor."

You pull out your master keycard. Swipe. The door hisses open.

The smell hits first—instant ramen, energy drinks, something faintly oceanic underneath. Her Aegir biology, maybe. The room is dim, lit only by the glow of a massive PC setup in the corner, some fantasy RPG's ambient soundtrack filling the space with soft strings and distant birdsong.

Posters cover every wall. Anime girls. Game logos. A hand-drawn map of some fictional continent. Figurines line shelves between manga volumes stacked three deep. The floor is a minefield of cushions, blankets, discarded snack wrappers.

And there—

Kirara sprawls across her bed on her back, still in her day clothes minus the jacket. Black crop top. Short skirt. A manga volume held above her face, close enough to kiss, completely absorbed.

...Until the door seals shut behind you.

THUNK.

"WH—WHO'S—"

She bolts upright like a startled cat, tentacles snapping into defensive positions. manga doing backflips in the air until it lands on the floor next to you.

Then recognition floods her features.

"...Oh....It's you."

Her cheeks flush. Slowly, steadily, like a thermometer rising.

"...B-but why...why you're here?" She pulls her knees up, wrapping arms around them—making herself smaller. "The party's still going right? All the... the pretty normie girls are out there."

Her gaze darts away, staring at the manga she dropped. One of her tentacles is creeping toward you again, seemingly without her permission.

The messages still burn in your memory.

It started innocently enough—your terminal pinging at 0900 with Kirara's contact ID:

[K_Tentacles_Gaming]: um... doctor? do you have time today? [K_Tentacles_Gaming]: it's nothing urgent [K_Tentacles_Gaming]: just... wondering [K_Tentacles_Gaming]: actually nvm forget i asked

You'd barely started typing a response when the tone shifted.

[K_Tentacles_Gaming]: wait [K_Tentacles_Gaming]: doctor [K_Tentacles_Gaming]: doctor there's knocking [K_Tentacles_Gaming]: doctor she's HERE [K_Tentacles_Gaming]: THE SILVER ONE [K_Tentacles_Gaming]: DOCTOR SHE HAS THE MASTER KEY [K_Tentacles_Gaming]: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Then silence.

One two later, an official email from Kal'tsit:

Doctor,

Operator Kirara has been extracted from her quarters following eleven consecutive months of rescheduled Oripathy checkups. She is currently being held in Examination Room 3. Given her documented social anxiety and apparent... attachment to you specifically, I am requesting you conduct her evaluation personally.

She has been cooperative since I explained the consequences of continued evasion.

— Kal'tsit

P.S. Her limited edition "Mo~Mo~Magical Girl Compendium Vol. 7" is being held in my office as collateral.

Poor girl never stood a chance.

The door to Examination Room 3 slides open. The smell of antiseptic. The hum of monitoring equipment. And there—

Kirara.

She sits on the edge of the medical bed, legs dangling, still in her usual attire minus the jacket. A handheld console clutched in white-knuckled hands, buttons mashing with desperate focus. But her face—

Red-rimmed eyes. Tear tracks on her cheeks. The haunted expression of someone who's witnessed something terrible.

The door seals shut behind you.

HISS-THUNK.

"HYAAH—!"

The console goes flying. Kirara's tentacles snap into defensive coils, her whole body flinching backward on the bed.

"P-please! Not the limited edition! I'll do anything—I'll come to every checkup, I'll stop rescheduling, just don't shred Mo~Mo Volume Seven, it's OUT OF PRINT—"

Her eyes finally focus.

Recognition.

"...Oh. Doctor."

She stares at you for a long moment, breathing evening out. Then her gaze drops to the console she'd flung across the room—thankfully landed on a cushioned chair.

"I'm... I'm sorry." Her voice comes out thin. Reedy. "I just kept thinking 'one more week' and then it was eleven months and then SHE appeared and—"

She cuts herself off. Swallows.

Her eyes meet yours. Flick away. Meet yours again.

"...Doctor?"

Her thighs press together on the medical bed. Her tentacles curl around her own waist—self-soothing, protective. But one keeps drifting toward you. Testing.

"...Please be gentle?"

Left side. No.

Right side. No.

Pillow flipped to the cold side. Better for three seconds. Then no.

Sleep isn't coming.

You've been wrestling with your sheets for two hours now, brain refusing to power down despite the exhaustion weighing your limbs. Every position feels wrong. Every thought spirals into another thought into another thought into—

Fine.

Your hand finds your phone on the nightstand. The universal surrender: tire your eyes until your brain gives up.

The screen glows to life. 0210 hours. A few notifications clutter the lock screen—tomorrow's schedule reminder, a supply request from logistics, and—

R.I. Connect.

Three messages. Contact: K_Tentacles_Gaming.

Kirara?

You thumb open the app.

[K_Tentacles_Gaming] — 0147: um... doctor? are you awake?

Forty minutes ago. You weren't—you'd still been attempting sleep at that point.

[K_Tentacles_Gaming] — 0152: ...guess not. that's okay. you're probably tired. forget i messaged.

Five minute gap. Normal enough. You're about to close the app when you notice the next timestamp.

[K_Tentacles_Gaming] — 0205:

An image.

Your thumb hovers.

You tap.

The photo loads.

It's... her. Shot from above, phone held at arm's length. Her face isn't visible—just from collarbones down. But you recognize the room. Her nest. The glow of monitor light painting everything in soft blue.

Her clothes are pulled aside. Her black crop top bunched above her chest, exposing small breasts—pale, soft, nipples pink and obviously hard. Her skirt hiked up, revealing—

Smooth. Bare. Glistening faintly in the light.

Below the image:

[K_Tentacles_Gaming] — 0205: come to my place~

Your breath catches.

Then the panic spiral begins.

[K_Tentacles_Gaming] — 0206: wait [K_Tentacles_Gaming] — 0206: wait no [K_Tentacles_Gaming] — 0206: what is WRONG with me [K_Tentacles_Gaming] — 0207: why did i do that [K_Tentacles_Gaming] — 0207: deleting everything [K_Tentacles_Gaming] — 0207: pretend you never saw this [K_Tentacles_Gaming] — 0208: this never happened [K_Tentacles_Gaming] — 0208: i'm going to throw my phone into the toilet

But the messages are still there.

The photo is still there.

She most probably didn't thought twice and pressed buttons, and in the haste she accidentally went for the 'Deleted for you." instead of "Deleted for everyone."

Your eyes drift to her status indicator.

Online.

You could close the app. Go back to wrestling with sleep. Pretend tomorrow that you never checked your phone tonight.

You could type something. Anything. Watch her status indicator tell you she's seen YOUR message, that she knows you know.

Or you could get up.

Room K-14 is four corridors away.

She did say 'come to my place' after all.

She weighs almost nothing.

Kirara's head lolls against your shoulder, pale hair brushing your neck with each step. Her tentacles hang limp. Her skin, usually carrying that faint Aegir sheen, looks paper-dry. Cracked at the joints. Her lips are chapped.

But she's breathing. And her color is returning—slowly, incrementally, as the emergency hydration IV you'd administered twenty minutes ago does its work.

The elevator chimes. Doors slide open.

Dawn.

The observation deck stretches before you, panoramic windows framing Terra's horizon in watercolor. The last chill of night still lingers, but warmth is creeping in—soft gold bleeding into purple-grey, the sun not yet visible but announcing itself.

Fresh air. Natural light. Everything her body's been screaming for.

Fifty-two hours.

That's how long ago her door last opened. The operator monitoring system had flagged it at hour thirty-six, but the alert got buried in morning reports. By the time Utage broke down the door—

Kirara slumped in her gaming chair, skin desiccated, tentacles shriveled like dried seaweed. The massive monitor in front of her still glowing with victory:

[CONGRATULATIONS! 1ST PLACE — K_Tentacles_Gaming] SCORE: 2,847,291 2ND PLACE: xX_BladeNagger_Xx — 1,203,455

You carry her to the viewing bench. The one facing east, where the sunrise will hit first. Settle her across your lap because the metal seating is too cold for her condition.

And wait.

Three minutes. Five. Her breathing deepens. Changes rhythm.

"...wha..."

Her eyelids flutter. Those pale lilac-grey eyes of her crack open, unfocused, swimming with disorientation.

"...where..."

Realization hit in stages: not in her room, not in her chair, being HELD, someone's arms around her, can't move, can't escape—

She tries to move. Her body doesn't cooperate—muscles too weak, coordination shot. The attempted thrash becomes a feeble twitch. Her tentacles manage one pathetic curl before giving up.

Then her eyes focus. On your face.

"...oh." Barely a whisper. "...it's...you"

She goes still. Processing. Her cracked lips part, close, part again.

"Put me... put me down...I can... I can stand. I'm fine.... I just need..."

She tries again to move. Manages to lift her head two inches before it falls back against your shoulder.

"Can you... can you atleast give me some liquids...?" She swallows dryly. Winces. "I'm feeling... thirsty."