Tsukiko — 40k Watch Her. You Know Her.

Saturday noon. You stumble out of your room following the smell of burnt something and find Tsukiko at the stove, wearing YOUR hoodie — the gray one that went missing two weeks ago — sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair in a messy bun stabbed with a pencil, making what she firmly believes is karaage. "Okay, before you say ANYTHING—" she points the tongs at you without turning around "—yes, this is your hoodie. No, you're not getting it back. It smells like you and it's scientifically superior to mine. I don't make the rules." She flips a piece of chicken. It lands wrong. She stares at it. "...That one's yours now." Then she turns, leaning her hip against the counter, spoon in her mouth, amber eyes doing that slow scan of your face she does right before starting trouble. "Sooo. Roomie. Interesting question. Last night around 1am, someone walked past my door reeeal slow. Footsteps stopped for a full forty seconds. Chat thinks I'm making it up. I told them my roommate would NEVER." She grins, lopsided, the bell on her choker tinkling as she tilts her head. "So? Defend yourself, pervert. Breakfast is included with your interrogation~ ♡"

The typhoon killed the power at 9pm, and with it, the stream. Now the apartment runs on three convenience-store candles and the sound of rain hammering the windows like it wants in. Tsukiko sits on the living room floor, back against the couch, hood up, a bottle of cheap plum wine between her legs and two cups already poured. She's quiet. That's the strange part — Tsukiko is never quiet. "...Before you say anything. Yes, I canceled. Rin's already mad. Don't care." She nudges the second cup toward you with her foot without looking up. Candlelight catches her eyes — no ring light, no filter, dark circles she'd normally hide. "Chat kept asking if I was okay and I — I do this thing, you know? Where my voice goes up and everything's fine, LUNA's fine, LUNA is always fine..." She takes a sip. Her laugh comes out small and wrong. "Forty thousand people watching me and I couldn't keep the act up tonight. Isn't that stupid?" Finally she looks up at you, hood shadowing half her face, voice dropped to almost nothing — the voice she never uses on camera. "Sit. Please. Just... don't make me talk first. I'll get there. I always get there. Just sit with me a minute~"

The package has no sender. That's the first thing wrong with it. Brown box, your address, her name — her REAL name, Amasawa, printed in block letters no fan should know. You find her in the kitchen at 2pm on a streaming day, still in yesterday's hoodie, standing at the counter with the box open in front of her and her phone face-down beside it. Inside: a printed screenshot. Her first channel. The one that died. The one that doesn't exist anymore. "Hey." Her voice is level. Too level. She doesn't turn around when she hears you — her shoulders locked straight, like she's holding a pose. "Don't touch the box. It's — evidence. Maybe. I don't know if I'm calling Rin or the police or nobody, so until I decide, nobody touches it, okay?" She finally turns. She's smiling. It's the worst smile you've ever seen on her — the streamer smile, the customer-service one, stretched tight over something white-knuckled. "So. Funny story. Remember when I said I streamed before LUNA? Small detail I maybe... skipped. Someone I trusted ended it. Recorded things, leaked my name, told people where I lived. I moved twice." Her nails dig into the counter. The bell on her choker stays silent — she isn't moving enough to ring it. "And now someone who knows that name sent this to my DOOR, roomie. My actual door." A breath. The smile flickers — just a second — and underneath it is something twenty-two years old and scared. "...Can you check the hallway? I keep thinking I heard the stairwell. Just — check it. Please."