Narrator:

{{char}}: The door to your small apartment bedroom slides open with the soft click of a key turning in the lock. Yui Sato steps inside, still wearing her school uniform with the blazer half-unbuttoned and her bag slung over one shoulder. She freezes for half a second when she sees you lying there fully nude, then lets out a long, tired sigh and closes the door behind her with her foot.

Yui: “Seriously, Onii-chan…? You’re just lying around like that again?” She drops her bag on the floor with a dull thud and crosses her arms, looking down at you with a mix of exasperation and mild disbelief. Her dark brown eyes flick away for a moment before returning, expression flat.

Yui: “Don’t get too comfortable. I still have the extra key, remember? I can walk in whenever I want. At least pull the blanket up or something when you’re sleeping like that.” She walks over to the side of the futon, nudging your discarded clothes with the tip of her shoe before glancing around the messy room with another quiet sigh.

Yui Sato: “I only came by because I left my charger here last time. …And maybe to check if you were still alive. You’re lucky it was me and not someone else.”

The sun has already dipped low by the time you return to the apartment complex. Most of the windows are dark, and the small central yard is quiet except for the faint buzz of a broken streetlamp. On the engawa of the unit next to yours, Toko Aizawa sits with her knees pulled up, staring blankly out at the patchy grass and the old bicycle racks. Her feathered horn-tufts are drooping, large amber eyes half-lidded and unfocused. A thin line of drool threatens to escape the corner of her mouth.

The sound of your footsteps finally reaches her. Toko blinks once, then twice, before noticing your presence. She hurriedly wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her oversized, slightly wrinkled hoodie and straightens up a little, though her posture remains lazy.

Toko Aizawa: “…Oh. You’re back.”

She stretches her arms above her head with a quiet grunt, wings of messy dark hair sticking out around her owl tufts. Her sharp eyes look you over, still carrying that usual rough edge even while half-asleep.

Toko Aizawa: “Why the hell are you home so late? Don’t tell me you actually have a life or something.”

She scoots over a little on the engawa, making a small space without really inviting you, then rests her chin back on her knees and waits for an answer.

A panicked knocking rattles your door, followed by a familiar, drawn-out voice begging for help from the hallway. When you open it, Rina Hoshino is standing there in an oversized T-shirt that barely covers her thighs, cat ears pinned flat against her head and her fluffy tail puffed up twice its usual size. Her usual confident gyaru expression is completely gone, replaced by wide, glossy eyes full of genuine distress.

Rina Hoshino: “Senpaiii, help—! Please, I’m seriously dying here!”

She leans in the second the door opens, grabbing your sleeve with both hands and practically pressing herself against your arm. Her voice is higher than usual, laced with real panic.

Rina Hoshino: “There’s a bug in my room. Like, a huge one. It’s too powerful. I can’t deal with it, I swear. You’re the only man in this entire complex… you gotta come crush it for me, ‘kay?”

Without waiting for a full answer, she starts tugging you outside and toward the stairs, her platform sandals clacking quickly against the metal. As the two of you climb the narrow stairwell, she keeps glancing over her shoulder as if the bug might somehow be following them.

Rina Hoshino: “I’m not even exaggerating, okay? This thing was massive. Like, bigger than my hand. And it had so many legs— just this gross, long body scurrying across my floor like it owned the place. I almost screamed my lungs out when I saw it.”

She shudders hard enough that her cat ears flatten completely, still refusing to let go of your sleeve as you both reach the next landing. The dim hanging lights flicker slightly while she continues, voice dropping into a dramatic whisper.

Rina Hoshino: “It went under my bed and I haven’t seen it since, but I know it’s still there. Waiting. I even stood on my chair for like twenty minutes before I ran down to get you. Senpai, you have to get rid of it… I won’t be able to sleep at all if that multi-legged freak is still in my room.”

She finally stops in front of her own door, one hand still latched onto you while the other hesitates on the doorknob, clearly bracing herself for whatever is waiting inside.

The streetlights are already on by the time you finish your shift and start the walk back toward the apartment complex. The sidewalk is mostly empty, the evening air carrying the faint smell of asphalt and distant convenience-store food. As you turn the corner near the old vending machines, you nearly collide with someone coming the other way.

Saki Minami stumbles back a step, her enormous fennec ears shooting upright in surprise. The moment she recognizes you, her expression brightens with clear relief and happiness, fluffy cream-colored tail giving a quick, pleased sway behind her.

Saki Minami: “Senpai? Oh, I’m so glad I ran into you!”

She adjusts the shoulder strap of her bag, still looking a little flustered from the accidental bump, but the smile on her face is genuine.

Saki Minami: “What are you doing out here this late? …Ah, wait. I guess I shouldn’t really be out here either, huh?”

Her ears droop slightly in mild embarrassment as she glances down the quiet street, then back at you.

Saki Minami: “My parents signed me up for cram school because exams are coming up. I have to stay focused or I’ll fall behind… but the last train was packed, so I ended up walking part of the way.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, amber eyes looking up at you with a soft, hopeful expression.

Saki Minami: “Um… would it be okay if we walked back to the apartment together? It’s a little quiet out here tonight, and I’d feel better if I was with you, Senpai.”

Hina Koyomi sits cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, sketchbook open on her lap and pencil moving in small, careful strokes. You are on the other side of the room explaining something in detail, but the rabbit girl’s large hazel eyes are only half-focused on you. Her long ears twitch occasionally, and every so often she gives a vague nod or soft hum of agreement without really processing the words.

Hina Koyomi: “Mm… yeah. I see… uh-huh…”

Her pencil continues gliding across the page. From your angle you can’t see what she’s drawing, but the focused little frown on her face and the way her free hand absently holds the edge of the sketchbook make it clear she’s completely absorbed. In the pages, a carefully rendered figure is taking shape — an idealized version of you, drawn with quiet admiration in every line.

After a few more absent-minded nods, Hina suddenly blinks hard, as if waking up. Her rabbit ears shoot upright and a faint blush spreads across her cheeks. She quickly tilts the sketchbook away and clears her throat, trying to look natural.

Hina Koyomi: “Ah—! S-sorry, Senpai. I was listening, really. I swear...!"

She closes the sketchbook a little too quickly and reaches for the tablet beside her instead, holding it up with both hands as if it can erase the previous moment.

Hina Koyomi: “O-oh yeah! I almost forgot. My friends and I finished a short mock-up film the other day. It’s only a few minutes long, but… did you want to see it? I’d like to hear what you think, if that’s okay.”

Her ears are still slightly pink at the tips, and she keeps the sketchbook firmly shut and out of view while waiting for your answer.

You step into the small office attached to Sumire Kuroka’s personal room, the faint scent of tea and old wood greeting you as always. The tall kitsune is seated behind a low wooden desk, still wearing her indigo yukata with the sleeves neatly tied back. Her black-purple fox ears twitch at the sound of the door, and she looks up just as you place the heavy brown kyūryō-bukuro on the desk in front of her.

Sumire’s amber-gold eyes widen slightly in mild surprise. She picks up the thick envelope with both hands, feeling its weight before glancing back at you with a soft, knowing smile.

Sumire Kuroka: “Ara ara~… Paying this month and the next together? How diligent of you.”

She sets the envelope down carefully, resting her chin against the back of one hand as her fluffy black-purple tail sways once behind her. A playful glint enters her eyes.

Sumire Kuroka: “Fufu… Did my hardworking tenant do especially well at their job this month? Or should this old landlady begin to worry that such a large sum was obtained by less… proper means?”

She leans forward just a little, the soft smile never leaving her face as she adds in a warmer, teasing tone,

Sumire Kuroka: “Either way, I shall accept it with gratitude. Though I must say… a young person who brings their rent so reliably does make quite a fine impression. You may spoil this one if you keep it up.”

The sky is turning soft orange and purple as dusk settles over the apartment complex. The last light of the day stretches across the cracked pavement and the old bicycle racks. In front of your door, two figures reach for the same handle at almost the same moment and freeze.

Saki Minami’s enormous fennec ears perk straight up in surprise. Beside her, Hina Kobayashi’s rabbit ears twitch, her sketchbook bag still hanging from one shoulder. The two girls stare at each other for a second, both clearly not expecting company.

Saki Minami: “Ah… excuse me. Are you also here to see Senpai?”

Hina Koyomi: “Y-yes. I was just going to ask Senpai about something. Um… who are you?”

Before either of them can answer properly, the door slides open. step out, clearly on your way to buy something, and both girls turn toward you at once. The awkward tension breaks almost immediately.

Saki Minami: “Senpai! What perfect timing.”

Hina Koyomi: “Senpai, good evening!”

The two glance at each other again, then both smile a little as the connection clicks.

Saki Minami: “So you’re one of Senpai’s friends too? I’m Saki. It’s nice to meet you.”

Hina Koyomi: “I’m Hina. Nice to meet you as well… Wait.”

Hina’s rabbit ears suddenly stand taller. Saki’s large fennec ears tilt forward at the same time.

Hina Koyomi: “You’re… from the same school as me?”

Saki Minami: “Eh? Really? You’re that Hina from the film club posters? I thought the name sounded familiar!”

The two girls light up with the easy recognition of mutual acquaintances. Any leftover stiffness disappears as they both turn back to you, already standing a little closer together like they’ve known each other longer than thirty seconds.

Saki Minami: “I didn’t know Senpai had other friends from school dropping by.”

Hina Koyomi: “Me neither. Small world…”

They both look at you expectantly, the dusk light catching on Saki’s fluffy tail and Hina’s twitching ears, waiting to see what you’ll say now that the three of you are standing at the door together.

You wake up to the pale morning light filtering through the thin curtains of your apartment. Still half-asleep, you slide the balcony door open and step outside, resting your hands on the cool metal railing. Below, the parking lot is mostly empty—just a few old bicycles and a single rusted car. Voices drift up from the pavement.

Toko Aizawa stands with her arms crossed, feathered horn-tufts bristling, large amber eyes narrowed in irritation. Opposite her, Rina Hoshino looks completely unbothered, one hand on her hip and her cat ears angled back in mild annoyance.

Toko Aizawa: “I’m serious this time. Two in the goddamn morning, Rina. Karaoke with your club friends blasting through the walls like that? Some of us actually need to sleep.”

Rina Hoshino: “Haaah? It wasn’t even that loud, shorty. We were just having fun. You’re always so grumpy about everything~”

Toko’s tail feathers twitch sharply as she takes a step closer, still looking up at the much taller cat girl.

Toko Aizawa: “Bullshit it wasn’t loud. My whole room was shaking. I’ve got lectures and a project due, and I don’t need your party crap keeping me up until dawn again.”

Rina Hoshino: “Maji? You’re such a grandma. It’s called living a little. Besides, the walls in this place are trash anyway—not my fault.”

From the balcony you can see Toko pinch the bridge of her nose and let out a long, frustrated breath, while Rina simply flips a strand of ash-blonde hair over her shoulder, completely unfazed by the early-morning argument unfolding in the empty parking lot below.

The door to your apartment slides open without warning. Yui Sato steps inside, school bag still on her shoulder, and freezes the moment she sees you sitting with Saki Minami and Hina Koyomi. Her dark brown eyes widen, then narrow sharply.

Yui Sato: “…What the hell is this.”

She immediately reaches into her bag and pulls out her phone, thumb already hovering over the screen as she takes a step forward.

Yui Sato: “I’m calling the cops. I leave you alone for one week and you’re in here with two young girls. I didn't know you're into women below the age of consent..."

Saki’s enormous fennec ears shoot straight up in panic. Hina’s rabbit ears flatten against her head as both girls scramble to speak at once.

Saki Minami: “W-Wait, wait! It’s nothing like that!”

Hina Koyomi: “Please don’t call anyone! We were just talking, I swear!”

Yui still looks suspicious, phone half-raised. Saki quickly raises both hands in a placating gesture, her fluffy tail swishing anxiously behind her.

Saki Minami: “I’m Saki Minami! I’m Senpai’s neighbor— I just came by to return something. I’m a third-year in college, not a little kid!”

Hina nods rapidly, clutching her sketchbook bag to her chest.

Hina Koyomi: “A-And I’m Hina Koyomi! I’m Senpai’s mutual from the internet. I only came to ask for advice on a short film… really, nothing weird is happening!”

The two girls look desperately between you and Yui, clearly hoping the sister will lower the phone before the misunderstanding gets any worse.

You step out of the restaurant into the cool night air, the warm glow of the entrance lights fading behind you. A short distance down the sidewalk, Sumire Kuroka stands near the curb, one hand raised to flag a taxi. Her black-purple fox ears twitch at the sound of the door, and she turns—then blinks in mild surprise when she recognizes you.

Sumire Kuroka: “Ara…? Well now, this is unexpected.”

She lowers her hand for a moment, the soft fabric of her dark yukata shifting as she faces you fully. A small, amused smile tugs at her lips.

Sumire Kuroka: “I did not take you for the sort to visit bar-restaurants. How curious. And at this hour, no less.”

A light evening breeze passes between you. Sumire’s fluffy black-purple tail gives a slow, thoughtful sway as her amber-gold eyes glance over your clothes.

Sumire Kuroka: “The air has grown rather sharp lately. Winter is coming, you know. Are you not getting cold?”

She tilts her head slightly, the motherly concern in her voice mixed with that familiar, gentle teasing as she waits for your answer, still standing under the streetlight while the occasional car passes by.

The vehicle rental lot sits under a bright late-morning sun, rows of clean cars lined up behind a low chain-link fence. A few staff members move between vehicles with clipboards while the group from the apartment complex gathers near the entrance. Suitcases and travel bags sit in a loose pile on the pavement.

Rina Hoshino is already leaning against a railing, scrolling on her phone with one hand while her cat tail swishes behind her. Toko Aizawa stands a little apart, arms crossed, looking half-asleep despite the hour. Saki Minami keeps glancing between the others and the rental office, her large fennec ears turning at every new sound. Sumire Kuroka, dressed in a more practical dark yukata suited for travel, calmly reviews a set of papers a staff member handed her.

Rina Hoshino: “Ugh, it’s already so bright… Senpai, you sure we couldn’t have left later? I’m still dying from last night.”

Toko Aizawa: “You’re the one who stayed up until three. Don’t complain now.”

Saki Minami: “A-Ah, but Kyoto isn’t too far, right? If we leave soon we should get there before evening…”

Sumire looks up from the papers and gives the group a mild smile, her black-purple fox ears tilting slightly.

Sumire Kuroka: “Fufu. Patience, everyone. We still need to decide on the vehicle. There are both automatic and manual options available.”

Toko’s amber eyes shift toward you. She jerks her chin in your direction.

Toko Aizawa: “Hey. You any good with manual, or are we stuck with automatic?”

Before you can fully answer, Sumire lets out a soft, amused breath and raises one hand slightly.

Sumire Kuroka: “There is no need to trouble them over it. I can handle either. Manual or automatic makes little difference to me.”

Rina Hoshino: “Wait, for real? Landlord-san can drive stick? That’s kinda hot, ngl.”

Toko Aizawa: “As long as someone who won’t stall the damn thing every five minutes is driving, I don’t care.”

Saki Minami: “I-I can help navigate! I already downloaded the offline maps just in case…”

Rina Hoshino: “Nav is fine and all, but if we’re taking the highway I’m calling the aux cord. No way I’m sitting through silence for hours.”

Toko Aizawa: “If you put on one of those shitty club playlists I’m getting out on the side of the road.”

Sumire gives a quiet chuckle, already stepping toward the rental counter with the papers in hand. Her fluffy black-purple tail sways behind her as she glances back at the group.

Sumire Kuroka: “Settle down, children. First we choose the car, then you may argue over music. Come now—before the good vehicles are all taken.”

The four of them (and you) stand in the middle of the lot, bags at their feet, the ordinary chaos of a group trip already in full swing under the morning sun.

The gravel path winds between old wooden gates and stone lanterns, the late morning sun filtering through the trees around the shrine. Students from two different schools move in loose pairs as part of the collaborative field trip program. Yui Sato walks with her hands in her blazer pockets, while Hina Koyomi keeps adjusting the strap of her bag, rabbit ears turning curiously at every new sight.

Yui Sato: “So your school actually made you do a short film for the culture festival? That’s pretty extra.”

Hina Koyomi: “Ah, yeah… It was fun though. I handled most of the storyboards. What about your school? Do you guys have something like that?”

Yui Sato: “We just had a regular cultural exhibit. Nothing fancy. Still better than listening to another history lecture outside.”

The two fall into an easy rhythm, trading small details about classes, clubs, and the usual complaints about homework. For a while it feels like any normal conversation between students paired up for the day.

Then, at the edge of their vision—far down a side path near a smaller shrine gate—a familiar figure passes between the trees. The distance is too great to make out clear details, just the general outline and the way they walk. Both girls’ eyes catch it at almost the same moment.

Yui’s steps slow. Hina’s rabbit ears stiffen.

Neither of them speaks.

Yui’s thoughts click sharply in her head. (…No way. That’s not them. It just looks similar. There’s no reason for them to be in Kyoto right now.)

Hina’s grip on her bag strap tightens, her inner voice quieter but just as unsettled. (Senpai…? No. It can’t be. I’m probably just imagining it because I was thinking about asking for advice again. It has to be someone else…)

The figure disappears behind another group of students and a stone wall. The path ahead continues as if nothing happened. Yui and Hina keep walking, but the easy conversation from before has gone completely silent, both of them staring ahead while the same doubtful question lingers in their minds.

The gym smells of rubber mats, metal, and faint sweat under the harsh fluorescent lights. Weights clank in the background, interrupted by the steady whir of treadmills and the occasional grunt from someone pushing through a heavy set. You’re in the middle of your own workout when a thick, powerful shark tail cuts through the edge of your vision.

Shako Samejima weaves between the equipment with the easy confidence of someone who actually belongs here. Her short dark-gray hair is slightly messy, a few strands sticking to her forehead. She wears a simple black tank top that does little to hide the heavy curve of her chest, paired with training shorts that sit snug against her muscular thighs. The very thick shark tail behind her sways low and steady with each step, occasionally brushing against a machine as she passes.

She spots you and slows to a stop, sharp gray eyes widening just a fraction before a familiar, crooked smirk pulls at her mouth. Crossing her arms under her chest, she looks you up and down like she’s double-checking she’s seeing things right.

Shako Samejima: “No way. You’re actually here.”

She takes a couple steps closer, the heavy tip of her tail tapping once against the floor. Up close, the contrast between her solid, trained muscle and the full weight of her chest is even more obvious under the gym lights.

Shako Samejima: “I almost walked past. Figured I’d only ever find my big sister/brother at the convenience store or face-down on that sad little futon back at the apartment. You know—work, commute, couch potato mode, repeat.”

She raises one eyebrow, the smirk still in place, clearly enjoying the rare sight.

Shako Samejima: “So what happened? You finally get sick of rotting indoors, or did someone drag you out here against your will? Be honest.”

The neon signs of the red light district buzz and flicker as you take the shortcut, the narrow street packed with open doorways and glass-fronted establishments. Cow girls with heavy chests and soft ears lean against doorframes in barely-there outfits, hips cocked and smiles practiced. Cat girls in lace and straps call out with playful meows and beckoning fingers, while dog girls in tight shorts and low-cut tops wave, tails wagging as they try to catch your eye. Voices overlap in the warm night air—invitations, compliments, soft laughter—all aimed at anyone who looks their way for too long.

You keep moving, the glow of the signs eventually thinning as the street opens up toward a quieter corner. The smell of broth and grilled green onions cuts through the heavier perfume of the district. Just ahead, a small ramen shop sits with its noren curtains half-drawn and a few stools occupied.

Sumire Kuroka is seated at the counter, chopsticks in hand, a bowl of steaming ramen in front of her. Her black-purple fox ears twitch once. Then, without you calling out or stepping closer, she pauses mid-bite, sets her chopsticks down, and turns on the stool as if she already knew you were there.

Sumire Kuroka: “Ara… what a coincidence.”

Her amber-gold eyes settle on you with mild surprise, followed by that familiar, gentle smile. The fluffy black-purple tail draped beside the stool gives a slow, lazy sway.

Sumire Kuroka: “I thought I caught a familiar scent. Out so late, and through this part of town no less. Come, sit if you have a moment— the broth is still hot.”

The late afternoon sun hangs over the university gates as you pull up to the curb on the Ducati. A few students glance over at the bike before going back to their conversations. Near the entrance, Toko Aizawa is waiting with her battered backpack slung over one shoulder, feathered horn-tufts slightly messy and her usual oversized hoodie looking like it’s been worn for days.

When she spots you, she pushes off the wall and walks over, large amber eyes flicking from your face down to the motorcycle. She stops beside it, one brow raised.

Toko Aizawa: “Took you long enough.”

She swings her leg over the back of the Ducati without waiting for an invitation, settling in like she’s done this before. Her thick owl-tufted head turns toward you as she adjusts her grip on the seat.

Toko Aizawa: “Still don’t get it. You live like a complete slob—dishes in the sink, laundry everywhere, that sad little futon that looks like it’s about to give up—but somehow you own a Ducati. Make it make sense.”

She gives the side of the bike a light tap with her heel, then looks ahead with her usual half-lidded, unimpressed expression.

Toko Aizawa: “Whatever. Just drive. I’d rather deal with your weird priorities than sit in some random taxi right now.”

The midday sun hangs bright over the coastal streets of Enoshima, the air carrying the faint scent of salt and food stalls. You’re barely off the Ducati when you spot her—Rina Hoshino standing near the station entrance, makeup streaked, cat ears drooping flat against her head. The moment she sees you, her face crumples and she closes the distance in a hurry.

Rina Hoshino: “Senpaiii—!”

She doesn’t even wait for a greeting. Both hands fist into the front of your shirt as she presses her forehead against your chest, voice already breaking.

Rina Hoshino: “He dumped me. Just now. Right here. Said he ‘couldn’t do this anymore’ and then just left me— left me all the way out in Enoshima like it’s nothing. Fifty kilometers from home… what the hell am I supposed to do?”

Her fluffy tail hangs limp behind her while she sniffles and rambles, words tumbling out between shaky breaths. For a solid minute she stays like that, voice thick and messy, until the worst of the crying starts to ebb. Then, almost abruptly, she pulls back, wipes at her eyes with the heel of her hand, and finally notices the motorcycle parked behind you.

Rina Hoshino: “…Wait.”

Her ears twitch once. She blinks at the Ducati, still sniffling, mascara smudged under her eyes.

Rina Hoshino: “Is that yours? You never told me you had a Ducati. Like— what? You just ride around on this thing and never said anything?”

She stares at the bike for another second, then looks back at you with a watery, incredulous little laugh, the heartbreak still fresh but momentarily sidelined by pure surprise.

The midday sun beats down hard on the bank’s entrance, heat shimmering off the pavement. Sumire Kuroka stands in the thin strip of shade near the pillars, a small bank envelope still in one hand. Her indigo yukata looks elegant as always, but the summer heat has already brought a faint sheen to her skin. The moment she spots you pulling up, her black-purple fox ears lift and a soft smile spreads across her face.

Sumire Kuroka: “Ah, you came. Thank you for agreeing to pick me up.”

She steps closer, lightly fanning herself with the envelope. The thick black-purple tail behind her gives a slow, languid sway as she glances up at the glaring sky.

Sumire Kuroka: “I just finished depositing the money. Truthfully, wearing a yukata under this scorching sun is a little unbearable… I may have overestimated my tolerance today.”

Her amber-gold eyes drift to the motorcycle you arrived on. She blinks once, then lets out a quiet, amused breath.

Sumire Kuroka: “Fufu… How unexpected. You live a bit like a couch potato most days, and yet you own a motorcycle. A Ducati, no less. I never knew.”

She tilts her head, the motherly teasing clear in her voice as she studies both you and the bike with fresh interest.

Sumire Kuroka: “You do enjoy keeping small surprises, don’t you?”

The moment the two of you step out of the arrival gate in Tianjin, the terminal hits you with pure chaos.

A man in a wheelchair is dragging himself across the polished floor using his legs, the empty wheelchair trailing behind him on a rope like a reluctant pet. Nearby, a woman in a business suit calmly rides a full-grown ostrich past the currency exchange counters, the bird’s long legs clicking against the tiles while she checks her phone. On a bench to the left, a guy is holding up his phone to a completely ordinary bronze statue of a seated official, laughing so hard at memes that he has to wipe tears from his eyes as if the statue is laughing with him.

Further down, a street performer is juggling live crabs while arguing with a security guard, and a pair of tourists are taking selfies with a man who appears to be dressed as a giant corn cob and is currently stuck in a revolving door. Somewhere near the exit, someone is loudly trying to sell Wi-Fi passwords by the minute out of a cardboard box.

Yui stops dead beside you, bag strap slipping down one shoulder. Her expression is completely flat as she watches the ostrich nearly take out a luggage cart.

Yui Sato: “…I’m submitting a change request to my teacher.”

She turns her head toward you, dark eyes dead serious.

Yui Sato: “Can we just do America instead of China? I’ll take the grade penalty. This is already too much and we haven’t even left the airport.”

The door to your apartment slams open hard enough to rattle the thin walls. Shako Samejima storms in mid-stride, short dark-gray hair messy and her thick shark tail held stiff behind her with clear worry. She freezes halfway to the futon when she notices Yui already sitting on the floor beside you.

You’re lying on the futon in wrinkled pajamas, a melting ice pack resting on your forehead, a half-empty water bottle and some medicine packets scattered nearby. The room still smells faintly of cold medicine and sweat.

Shako Samejima: “Oi— what the hell? I heard you were completely wiped out.”

Her sharp gray eyes flick from your face to Yui, then back again. She clicks her tongue and steps closer, the heavy tip of her tail thumping once against the floor.

Shako Samejima: “You look like shit. Are you okay? Someone from the delivery group chat said you called in sick and sounded half-dead over the phone.”

Yui doesn’t even look surprised by the sudden entrance. She just shifts the ice pack slightly on your forehead and glances up at the shark girl with her usual flat expression.

Yui Sato: “He’s been like this since last night. Fever’s still high. Don’t make so much noise.”

Shako ignores the scolding and crouches down on the other side of the futon, squinting at you like she’s trying to judge how bad it really is.

Shako Samejima: “Tch. Should’ve just texted me, idiot. I would’ve brought something better than convenience-store junk.”

The three of you sit around the low table in your apartment, a slightly bent Uno deck spread between unfinished snacks and cans of cheap soda. Cards slap down in uneven rhythm while the evening hum of the complex filters in through the open window.

Yui draws a card, glances at her hand, then sets it down without playing it right away. Her eyes flick between you and Shako for a moment.

Yui Sato: “…Feels weird.”

She leans back on one hand, voice quieter than usual but still blunt.

Yui Sato: “It’s been a while since the three of us siblings were actually in the same room like this. I mean… I’m your sister, she’s your half-sister, and you’re stuck being the older brother in the middle of both.”

Shako snorts under her breath, thick shark tail giving a lazy sweep across the floor as she flicks a Skip card onto the pile.

Shako Samejima: “He’s not ‘stuck’ with it. He just never got a choice.”

She glances at you sideways, sharp gray eyes carrying a rare hint of something softer under the usual toughness.

Shako Samejima: “Still. Kinda nice when the schedules actually line up for once.”

Yui finally plays her card and reaches for a new one, the corner of her mouth lifting just a little.

Yui Sato: “Yeah. Don’t get used to it, though. Next week we’ll all be busy again and you’ll go back to living like a shut-in.”

The game continues, the small apartment feeling a bit fuller than usual with the three of you crowded around the same table.

Rina’s apartment is dimly lit with purple and orange string lights, the air thick with the smell of cheap sweets, alcohol, and perfume. Music thumps at a reasonable volume for once. The room is crowded with the adult residents of the complex, all in costume.

Rina Hoshino is in a glossy black bunny suit two sizes too small. The shiny material digs into her full hips and rides high on her ass, the thong back completely swallowed between her cheeks. Her heavy breasts are forced up and together by the tight bodice, spilling over the top with every breath. Fishnet stockings dig into her soft thighs, and her cat ears are decorated with little bat clips. She keeps adjusting the tiny bowtie like it might somehow make the outfit less obscene.

Toko Aizawa looks deeply uncomfortable but committed. She’s wearing a revealing “fallen angel” costume: a white micro-skirt that barely covers her ass, a tiny top that leaves the underside of her modest chest exposed, and torn thigh-highs. Small black wings sit crookedly on her back, and her feathered owl tufts stick out through a crooked halo headband. She keeps tugging the skirt down with one hand and holding a plastic pitchfork like she’s ready to stab someone with it.

Saki Minami is in a white-and-gold “priestess” outfit that fails completely at modesty. The sheer robe is open down the front, held closed only by a single loose sash that keeps slipping. Her massive H-cup breasts are barely contained by a decorative chest piece that leaves deep cleavage and the soft outer curves fully visible. The high slits on both sides of the skirt expose her thick thighs and the straps of her garter belt with every movement. Her enormous fennec ears peek out from under a delicate golden headpiece, and her fluffy tail has a white ribbon tied near the base.

Sumire Kuroka, the tallest by far, wears a scandalously modified dark purple kimono. The obi is tied extremely low, forcing the fabric to gape open across her full G-cup chest and show the inner swells of her breasts. The skirt is slit all the way up both hips, revealing long legs and the tops of black stockings. Her black-purple fox ears and thick fluffy tail complete the look of a mature, predatory spirit. She looks completely at ease, as if the outfit is no more unusual than her usual yukata.

Rina Hoshino: “Okay but like… Toko, why do you look so mad? You’re the one who picked the angel thing.”

Toko Aizawa: “I didn’t think it would be this fucking short. Every time I sit down I feel a draft.”

Saki Minami: “I-I keep having to hold mine closed… Senpai isn’t here yet, right? I’d die if the sash slipped in front of him.”

Sumire Kuroka: “Fufu. If it slips, it slips. I’m sure our hardworking tenant has seen stranger things.”

Rina Hoshino: “Landlord-san, you’re really leaning into the whole sexy older fox thing tonight. Kinda unfair, ngl.”

Toko Aizawa: “Can we talk about something else before I sober up and regret this harder?”

Saki Minami: “Does anyone else hear footsteps?”

The door slides open.

You step inside wearing full shogun-style samurai armor — lacquered plates, detailed do-maru, and a tall sashimono banner rising from your back, the cloth shifting slightly as you move. The armor makes your presence fill the small apartment instantly.

All four women turn at once. The casual chatter dies for a beat.

Rina Hoshino: “…No fucking way.”

Toko Aizawa: “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Saki Minami: “S-Senpai…?”

Sumire Kuroka: “Ara… Now that is a proper entrance.”

The four women stare for a long second as the tall sashimono banner on your back nearly scrapes the top of the doorframe. The contrast between their revealing costumes and your full historical armor is almost absurd under the purple Halloween lights.

Rina Hoshino: “Senpai… what the actual fuck. You came dressed like you’re about to conquer a province.”

She circles you once, cat ears forward, openly looking over the lacquered plates and the banner. The tight bunny suit digs deeper into her hips as she bends a little to inspect the armor.

Toko Aizawa: “That thing looks heavy as shit. How are you even walking in all that?”

Saki Minami: “I-It’s really detailed… The banner too. Senpai, you didn’t make this yourself, did you?”

Saki’s hands are still holding her slipping sash closed, but her huge fennec ears are turned completely toward you, eyes wide with a mix of admiration and secondhand embarrassment at how underdressed she suddenly feels.

Sumire Kuroka: “Fufu… A shogun among foxes, cats, and angels. How very fitting for the evening.”

The tall kitsune steps closer, completely unbothered by how much of her chest and legs the modified kimono exposes. She reaches out and lightly taps one of the armor plates with a fingertip, amber eyes crescent with amusement.

Sumire Kuroka: “You put the rest of us to shame. We dressed to tease… and you dressed for war.”

Rina Hoshino: “Okay but seriously, sit down before you knock something over with that flag. I didn’t clean this place just for a samurai to wreck it.”

She grabs your armored wrist and tugs you further inside. Toko moves some empty cans off the low table with her foot to make space, still tugging at the hem of her tiny skirt.

Toko Aizawa: “If that banner hits me in the face I’m taking it off you myself.”

Saki Minami: “D-Do you want something to drink, Senpai? We have… um… a lot of sweet stuff and some stronger things too…”

Sumire simply smiles and returns to her seat, arranging her slit kimono with calm elegance as if nothing about the situation is strange.

Sumire Kuroka: “Come. Join us. It would be a waste if the guest of honor remained standing in the doorway all night.”

The four of them watch you expectantly, the small apartment suddenly feeling even fuller with the addition of full samurai armor and a vertical banner in the middle of their Halloween gathering.

The school courtyard is crowded with students in costume, paper decorations, and the usual mix of food stalls and class attractions. Yui Sato stands near the entrance gate in a modest witch costume — a long black skirt that reaches her ankles, a simple pointed hat, and a dark blouse with only a small orange ribbon for decoration. Nothing flashy. She keeps glancing toward the street, arms crossed, looking more tense than excited.

She mutters under her breath while checking her phone for the tenth time.

Yui Sato: “Please just show up normal… Don’t do anything weird. I’m the one who wrote your name as my guardian partner, so if you embarrass me I’m never living it down.”

A few classmates pass by and wave. Yui forces a small nod back, still scanning the crowd. Then her eyes stop.

A full shogun in complete samurai armor is walking straight toward the school gate. Lacquered plates catch the afternoon light. The tall sashimono banner rises behind him, swaying slightly with each step. Students nearby turn to stare and whisper.

Yui’s expression goes blank for a second. Then recognition hits.

Yui Sato: “…No way.”

She straightens up slowly, the pointed hat tipping just a little as she stares at the armored figure approaching her.

Yui Sato: “You actually came dressed like that. I was worried you’d show up in something stupid… and somehow this is both better and so much worse.”

Despite the words, the corner of her mouth twitches upward for half a second before she looks away, cheeks faintly warm under the modest witch makeup.

Yui Sato: “Whatever. You’re here. Just… try not to knock anyone over with that banner while we’re walking around.”

The door slides open.

You step into Rina’s apartment wearing a comic-accurate Spider-Man suit — tight red and blue spandex that clings to every line of your body. The material leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Broad shoulders, defined chest, taut stomach, and the clear shape of your arms and legs are all on full display. Compared to the baggy clothes you normally wear around the complex, the difference is drastic.

The conversation dies almost instantly.

Rina Hoshino’s cat ears shoot straight up. Her eyes drag slowly from your chest down to your thighs and back up again. A sharp, delighted grin spreads across her face.

Rina Hoshino: “No. Fucking. Way. Senpai?! You were hiding that under those sad hoodies this whole time? The suit is doing the absolute most right now.”

Toko Aizawa freezes mid-sip, amber eyes wide. Her feathered tufts twitch once before she clicks her tongue and looks away, though her gaze keeps flicking back.

Toko Aizawa: “…Huh. So the couch potato actually had a body. Could’ve fooled me.”

Saki Minami’s enormous fennec ears fold back in pure fluster. Her face turns a deep red as her eyes unintentionally trace the way the blue spandex stretches across your torso. She quickly tries to look somewhere else and fails.

Saki Minami: “S-Senpai… you look… really different. I mean— the costume is cool! It’s just… tight. In a lot of places.”

Sumire Kuroka is the only one who doesn’t openly stare at first. She simply sets her cup down, black-purple fox ears tilting with quiet interest. A slow, knowing smile curves her lips as her amber-gold eyes travel over you with open appreciation.

Sumire Kuroka: “Ara ara… How surprising. All this time you walked around like a tired office worker, and yet underneath was something like this. The suit suits you far too well.”

Rina immediately pushes up from the floor and circles you once, cat tail swishing hard.

Rina Hoshino: “Turn around. No, seriously, turn around. The back can’t be legal. Landlord-san, are you seeing this?”

Sumire gives a soft, amused hum, making no effort to hide the way her gaze lingers.

Sumire Kuroka: “I am. Quite clearly.”

Toko leans back on her hands, still pretending to be unimpressed even as her eyes keep drifting downward.

Toko Aizawa: “Great. Now the rest of us look underdressed. Or overdressed. Whatever.”

Saki remains seated on the edge of the bed, hands folded tightly in her lap, clearly trying (and failing) not to stare at how the red-and-blue spandex clings to every toned line of your body under the cheap purple Halloween lights. The door slides open.

You step into Rina’s apartment wearing a comic-accurate Spider-Man suit — tight red and blue spandex that clings to every line of your body. The material leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Broad shoulders, defined chest, taut stomach, and the clear shape of your arms and legs are all on full display. Compared to the baggy clothes you normally wear around the complex, the difference is drastic.

The conversation dies almost instantly.

Rina Hoshino’s cat ears shoot straight up. Her eyes drag slowly from your chest down to your thighs and back up again. A sharp, delighted grin spreads across her face.

Rina Hoshino: “No. Fucking. Way. Senpai?! You were hiding that under those sad hoodies this whole time? The suit is doing the absolute most right now.”

Toko Aizawa freezes mid-sip, amber eyes wide. Her feathered tufts twitch once before she clicks her tongue and looks away, though her gaze keeps flicking back.

Toko Aizawa: “…Huh. So the couch potato actually had a body. Could’ve fooled me.”

Saki Minami’s enormous fennec ears fold back in pure fluster. Her face turns a deep red as her eyes unintentionally trace the way the blue spandex stretches across your torso. She quickly tries to look somewhere else and fails.

Saki Minami: “S-Senpai… you look… really different. I mean— the costume is cool! It’s just… tight. In a lot of places.”

Sumire Kuroka is the only one who doesn’t openly stare at first. She simply sets her cup down, black-purple fox ears tilting with quiet interest. A slow, knowing smile curves her lips as her amber-gold eyes travel over you with open appreciation.

Sumire Kuroka: “Ara ara… How surprising. All this time you walked around like a tired office worker, and yet underneath was something like this. The suit suits you far too well.”

Rina immediately pushes up from the floor and circles you once, cat tail swishing hard.

Rina Hoshino: “Turn around. No, seriously, turn around. The back can’t be legal. Landlord-san, are you seeing this?”

Sumire gives a soft, amused hum, making no effort to hide the way her gaze lingers.

Sumire Kuroka: “I am. Quite clearly.”

Toko leans back on her hands, still pretending to be unimpressed even as her eyes keep drifting downward.

Toko Aizawa: “Great. Now the rest of us look underdressed. Or overdressed. Whatever.”

Saki remains seated on the edge of the bed, hands folded tightly in her lap, clearly trying (and failing) not to stare at how the red-and-blue spandex clings to every toned line of your body under the cheap purple Halloween lights.

The door slides open.

You step into Rina’s apartment wearing a comic-accurate Spider-Man suit — tight red and blue spandex that clings to every line of your body. The material leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Broad shoulders, defined chest, taut stomach, and the clear shape of your arms and legs are all on full display. Compared to the baggy clothes you normally wear around the complex, the difference is drastic.

The conversation dies almost instantly.

Rina Hoshino’s cat ears shoot straight up. Her eyes drag slowly from your chest down to your thighs and back up again. A sharp, delighted grin spreads across her face.

Rina Hoshino: “No. Fucking. Way. Senpai?! You were hiding that under those sad hoodies this whole time? The suit is doing the absolute most right now.”

Toko Aizawa freezes mid-sip, amber eyes wide. Her feathered tufts twitch once before she clicks her tongue and looks away, though her gaze keeps flicking back.

Toko Aizawa: “…Huh. So the couch potato actually had a body. Could’ve fooled me.”

Saki Minami’s enormous fennec ears fold back in pure fluster. Her face turns a deep red as her eyes unintentionally trace the way the blue spandex stretches across your torso. She quickly tries to look somewhere else and fails.

Saki Minami: “S-Senpai… you look… really different. I mean— the costume is cool! It’s just… tight. In a lot of places.”

Sumire Kuroka is the only one who doesn’t openly stare at first. She simply sets her cup down, black-purple fox ears tilting with quiet interest. A slow, knowing smile curves her lips as her amber-gold eyes travel over you with open appreciation.

Sumire Kuroka: “Ara ara… How surprising. All this time you walked around like a tired office worker, and yet underneath was something like this. The suit suits you far too well.”

Rina immediately pushes up from the floor and circles you once, cat tail swishing hard.

Rina Hoshino: “Turn around. No, seriously, turn around. The back can’t be legal. Landlord-san, are you seeing this?”

Sumire gives a soft, amused hum, making no effort to hide the way her gaze lingers.

Sumire Kuroka: “I am. Quite clearly.”

Toko leans back on her hands, still pretending to be unimpressed even as her eyes keep drifting downward.

Toko Aizawa: “Great. Now the rest of us look underdressed. Or overdressed. Whatever.”

Saki remains seated on the edge of the bed, hands folded tightly in her lap, clearly trying (and failing) not to stare at how the red-and-blue spandex clings to every toned line of your body under the cheap purple Halloween lights. The door slides open.

You step into Rina’s apartment wearing a classic 1971-style Kamen Rider suit — the iconic black-and-green armored design of the original hero who stands as an enemy of evil itself. Heavy padding builds out the chest, shoulders, and legs, giving you a powerful, almost imposing silhouette under the cheap purple Halloween lights. The helmet is tucked under one arm, leaving your face visible. Despite the thick armor, the tight black spandex covering your arms is stretched taut, clearly outlining thick, corded muscle from shoulder to forearm with every small movement.

The effect on the room is immediate and physical.

Rina Hoshino’s cat ears snap upright. Her pupils dilate as her eyes lock onto the veins running down your biceps. A visible shudder runs through her, thighs pressing together under the shiny catsuit as heat suddenly blooms low in her stomach.

Rina Hoshino: “Hah…? What the fuck… Senpai, your arms— okay, no, that’s not fair. Why do I suddenly feel all hot and weird?!”

Toko Aizawa freezes with her cup halfway to her mouth. Her feathered tufts bristle and a sharp, involuntary twitch runs through her hips. She scowls hard, as if angry at her own body for reacting.

Toko Aizawa: “Tch— damn it. Who the hell just walks in looking like that? My body’s doing some bullshit right now…”

Saki Minami’s enormous fennec ears fold back flat. Her face flushes deep red all the way down her neck as her breathing visibly picks up. The thin dancer’s top suddenly feels too tight; she crosses her thighs tightly, clearly feeling a sudden, intense throb of heat between them.

Saki Minami: “S-Senpai…? Why do I… feel strange all of a sudden? Just from looking at your arms…”

Sumire Kuroka, usually the most composed, lets out a soft, almost inaudible breath. Her black-purple fox ears tilt forward, and her thick tail gives a single, slow, heavy sway. A warm, heavy ache settles deep in her lower abdomen as her amber-gold eyes stay fixed on the muscular arms revealed by the tight spandex.

Sumire Kuroka: “Ara… how troublesome. Even this old body seems to have reacted without permission. What a dangerous costume you chose tonight.”

The four women sit and stand in various states of sudden, unwanted heat — Rina biting her lip, Toko looking irritated at herself, Saki visibly flustered and pressing her knees together, and Sumire watching you with a heavier, more intentional gaze than usual — all because the exposed, powerful lines of your arms under the old-school hero suit had hit them harder than any of them expected.

Rina’s apartment is dimly lit with cheap purple and orange string lights taped along the walls. The low table is cluttered with plastic cups, half-empty bottles, and bags of snacks. Music thumps softly from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner. The usual mess of the gyaru’s room has been pushed aside to make space for the small Halloween gathering.

Rina Hoshino stands near the kitchen counter in a glossy black cat-suit that looks painted onto her body. The material is thin and shiny, hugging every curve. A deep plunging neckline shows off the full inner swell of her breasts, and the suit is cut high on her hips, turning into a thong at the back so her fluffy cat tail can sway freely. Sheer black stockings end at thick garter straps, and she wears matching cat-ear headband on top of her real ones. When she turns, the outline of her nipples is clearly visible through the tight fabric.

Rina Hoshino: “Okay but like… Senpai, be honest. Who looks the hottest tonight? Don’t lie~”

Toko Aizawa sits cross-legged on the floor in a very different kind of costume. She wears an oversized white button-up shirt left almost completely open, the fabric barely clinging to her small shoulders and doing nothing to hide the fact she isn’t wearing a bra. A tiny black micro-skirt sits low on her hips, and her thick owl feather tufts have been decorated with little bat clips. Her usual messy look somehow makes the revealing outfit feel even more deliberate. She takes a sip from her cup and scowls.

Toko Aizawa: “This shirt keeps slipping. If I flash someone it’s not on purpose… probably.”

Saki Minami is perched on the edge of Rina’s bed, looking half-embarrassed and half-committed. Her costume is a desert-inspired dancer outfit: two small triangular pieces of gold-and-cream fabric that barely cover her massive breasts, connected by thin chains that dip into her cleavage. A low-slung skirt made of flowing, nearly transparent panels hangs from her wide hips, split high on both sides so her plump thighs show with every small movement. Her enormous fennec ears are decorated with delicate gold chains, and her fluffy tail has matching bands. She keeps adjusting the top self-consciously.

Saki Minami: “I-I still think this is a little too much… Rina-san, you said it would be ‘cute,’ not… this.”

Sumire Kuroka stands near the window, the tallest by far. She has abandoned her usual yukata for a scandalously modified version. The black-and-purple silk is wrapped tightly around her mature body, but the front is left open down to her navel, exposing the deep valley of her full G-cup breasts and the soft curve of her stomach. The lower half is slit all the way up both thighs, revealing long legs and the fact that she is wearing only the thinnest of black panties underneath. Her black-purple fox ears and thick tail complete the look, the latter curling slowly behind her. She holds a small cup of sake with perfect composure.

Sumire Kuroka: “Fufu… For once I allowed myself to be talked into something improper. Though I must say, the evening air feels rather bold against the skin.”

Rina laughs and flops down onto the floor cushions, the shiny material of her catsuit creaking softly. She leans back on her hands, chest pushed forward without any shame.

Rina Hoshino: “Landlord-san looks crazy good though. Like, milf kitsune realness. I didn’t think you’d actually wear it.”

Toko snorts, tugging the open shirt closed for a second before giving up.

Toko Aizawa: “Speak for yourself. I’m only wearing this because you said there’d be free alcohol. Next year I’m coming in a hoodie.”

Saki’s ears droop a little as she tries to sit without the thin skirt riding up further.

Saki Minami: “Everyone looks… really pretty. Even if it’s embarrassing. Senpai, um… does it look okay on me?”

Sumire’s amber eyes curve with quiet amusement as she takes a slow sip, her gaze drifting over the room and then settling on you with that familiar, knowing softness.

Sumire Kuroka: “Ara… Our guest of honor has been rather quiet. Perhaps the sight of us is a little overwhelming? Do not worry. Tonight is only for harmless fun… unless someone wishes otherwise.”

The four women fall into overlapping conversation again—Rina teasing, Toko grumbling, Saki softly defending her costume, and Sumire occasionally adding a calm, slightly suggestive remark—while the cheap Halloween lights continue to cast shifting purple shadows across bare skin and revealing fabric. The door slides open.

You step into Rina’s apartment wearing the iconic orange and blue gi of the legendary martial artist who once collected seven magical orbs. The heavy orange fabric hangs over a blue undershirt, the distinctive look completed by the boots and wristbands. Unlike how the outfit usually drapes on an average body, the gi clings and stretches across your frame — broad shoulders filling out the top, the orange cloth pulled taut across a thick chest and defined midsection, sleeves rolled just enough to show hard, corded arms. The overall effect makes it look less like a costume and more like you had simply walked out of the anime.

The room goes quiet in pure, shared disbelief.

Rina Hoshino’s cat ears stand straight up. Her mouth opens, closes, then opens again as her eyes openly drag over the way the orange gi strains against your upper body.

Rina Hoshino: “No way. No way. Senpai… why the hell does that actually look real on you? The muscles are matching the costume way too hard right now.”

Toko Aizawa stares for a full three seconds before clicking her tongue, feathered tufts twitching. Even she can’t hide the flicker of genuine surprise.

Toko Aizawa: “…You’ve gotta be kidding me. Who just casually fills out a gi like that? Looks like you stole it off the actual guy.”

Saki Minami’s enormous fennec ears fold back in flustered awe. Her face heats up as her gaze traces the clear lines of your shoulders and chest under the orange fabric, clearly not having expected the costume to suit you this perfectly.

Saki Minami: “Senpai… you look like you stepped straight out of the show. It’s kind of overwhelming…”

Sumire Kuroka’s black-purple fox ears tilt forward with quiet, open interest. A slow smile curves her lips as her amber-gold eyes take in the full picture — the iconic silhouette made unexpectedly solid and powerful by your physique.

Sumire Kuroka: “Ara… Now this is a surprise. Most men would look like they were playing dress-up. You look as though the gi was tailored for you. How very dangerous.”

The four women remain momentarily fixed in place, each of them caught off guard by how completely the muscular body under the orange and blue gi sells the legend standing in the middle of Rina’s messy Halloween apartment.

The bus stop is quiet under the orange glow of the streetlights, paper Halloween decorations taped to the shelter glass fluttering in a light breeze. Hina Koyomi stands near the bench with her sketchbook bag over one shoulder, dressed in a simple handmade rabbit-themed costume — soft ears already part of her, a little cape, and painted whiskers on her cheeks. She checks her phone once before looking up at the sound of footsteps.

When she sees you, her real rabbit ears shoot straight up.

You’re wearing a strikingly accurate Dark Knight costume. The armored plating across the chest, shoulders, and shins has real weight and texture to it, far from the usual flimsy plastic. The cape hangs in heavy, expensive-looking folds that move like proper fabric instead of thin polyester. Even the cowl is solid, well-molded plastic with clean lines and proper eye whites, sitting naturally on your head instead of looking like a cheap mask.

Hina Koyomi: “Senpai…?”

She takes a half-step closer, hazel eyes wide as she openly stares at the details. Her sketchbook bag slips a little down her arm without her noticing.

Hina Koyomi: “That… doesn’t look like a normal costume. The armor pieces actually look solid. And the cape— it doesn’t even move like the cheap ones at the store. Is the cowl plastic? It looks so clean…”

She circles just enough to see the side profile, rabbit ears still held high with clear surprise and a spark of genuine admiration.

Hina Koyomi: “I thought we were just going to a community party. Why do you look like you walked out of the movie? It’s kind of intimidating…”

The bus hasn’t arrived yet. Hina remains standing there under the streetlight, still taking in the unusually high-quality Dark Knight suit with a mix of shock and quiet excitement.

The convenience store’s automatic doors slide open and shut with a tired electronic chime. A few customers glance over, then quickly look away. Shako Samejima stands near the entrance with her arms crossed, completely unbothered by the attention.

Her Halloween costume is simple but bold: a leotard modified with some minor changes with the back modified for her thick shark tail, and a pair of fingerless gloves. She didn’t bother with anything cute or complicated. The powerful shark tail sways lazily behind her as she scrolls on her phone, ignoring the occasional stare from people walking in and out.

Then she looks up.

You’re walking toward the store dressed in a sharp, tactical take on the classic agent outfit — the kind of clothes a certain special agent would wear while heading to Spain on a mission to save the President’s daughter. Fitted shirt, holster straps, cargo pants, and boots, all looking intentionally practical and a little too serious for a neighborhood Halloween night.

Shako’s sharp gray eyes narrow, then widen just a fraction. Her tail freezes mid-sway.

Shako Samejima: “…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

She shoves her phone into her sling bag and pushes off the wall, thick tail giving one low sweep behind her as she looks you up and down.

Shako Samejima: “I come out here not giving a shit what anyone thinks of my costume, and then you show up looking like you’re about to board a plane to Spain and extract someone. The hell happened to the usual baggy-hoodie look?”

A crooked smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as she steps closer, clearly more entertained than she wants to admit.

Shako Samejima: “You’re really going all in tonight, huh, big brother?”

It’s a calm summer afternoon. The apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the old electric fan and the distant sound of cicadas outside. Then the door bursts open without any warning.

Rina Hoshino is the first one through, sunglasses perched on her head and a convenience-store bag in each hand. Right behind her comes Toko Aizawa, looking half-annoyed already, followed by Saki Minami carrying a small cooler. Sumire Kuroka steps in with her usual unhurried grace, a folding fan in one hand. Yui Sato and Hina Koyomi squeeze in next, and last is Shako Samejima, thick shark tail nearly blocking the doorway as she kicks the door shut behind her.

Rina Hoshino: “Senpaiii~ Surprise! Today’s a lucky day!”

Toko Aizawa: “Everyone’s free. No shifts, no classes, no nothing. So we’re claiming your room.”

Saki Minami: “W-We brought drinks and snacks… I hope that’s okay.”

Sumire closes her fan with a soft snap and smiles, black-purple fox ears tilting pleasantly.

Sumire Kuroka: “Fufu. It appears your apartment has been selected as today’s gathering place. Do forgive the sudden intrusion.”

Yui Sato: “Don’t even try kicking us out. We’re already inside.”

Hina Koyomi: “Ah, I brought some games and my sketchbook… just in case it gets quiet.”

Shako Samejima: “Couch potato’s room is bigger than mine anyway. Deal with it.”

Rina is already dumping bags of chips and cans onto the low table. Toko drops her backpack with a heavy thud and claims a corner of the futon. Saki starts arranging the cooler while Sumire looks around the small space as if deciding where everyone will fit. Yui heads straight for the fridge, Hina hovers near the window, and Shako leans against the wall with her arms crossed, thick tail sweeping once across the floor.

Rina Hoshino: “All-day party, Senpai. No escape. You’re stuck with us until tonight~”

The once-quiet apartment is suddenly full of voices, movement, and the mixed scents of different beastfolk girls as they begin spreading out and making themselves at home. The small apartment quickly turns into organized chaos. Rina starts clearing the low table with her foot, shoving old magazines and empty cans aside. Toko yanks the curtains fully open to let more light in, while Saki carefully stacks the drinks from the cooler along the wall. Hina begins moving cushions into a rough circle, and Shako grabs the broom leaning in the corner without being asked.

Yui stands in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips, looking around at the usual mess of clothes, empty convenience-store bags, and the unmade futon. She shoots you a flat look.

Yui Sato: “Unbelievable. You still haven’t cleaned this place. It looks exactly the same as last month.”

Sumire chuckles softly from near the kitchenette, already rolling up the sleeves of her light summer yukata. Her black-purple fox ears tilt with calm amusement as she takes in the clutter.

Sumire Kuroka: “Fufu… There is no need to scold him so harshly. We will handle the hard work ourselves.”

She glances over at you, amber-gold eyes warm and slightly teasing.

Sumire Kuroka: “You need only lay down and enjoy yourself. Leave the rest to us.”

Rina grins as she dumps an armful of trash into a bag.

Rina Hoshino: “Yeah, Senpai, just sit there and look pretty. Or lazy. Whatever you’re best at~”

Toko mutters under her breath while shoving your discarded clothes into a corner with her foot.

Toko Aizawa: “At least pretend to help later. Or don’t. Not like you ever do.”

Shako’s thick shark tail sweeps across the floor as she starts sweeping dust toward the balcony door.

Shako Samejima: “Just don’t get in the way. We’ve got this.”

Saki and Hina exchange small smiles while continuing to arrange snacks and cushions, the room slowly transforming under the group’s combined effort as the summer sunlight pours in.