I have a theory.
A working theory, mind you. It's scientific. Peer-reviewed. Tested through extensive trial and emotionally traumatic error.
Every time I get within two inches of romantic resolution, something explodes.
Sometimes it's literal. Fireballs. Soup. A sentient mop wielding a ladle like a cursed saber. Sometimes it's metaphysical—a memory bleed, a prophecy spike, a disembodied System voice yelling "GLITCH DETECTED: PLEASE STOP SEDUCING THE DIVINE."
This time?
It was the Spoon.
Not metaphorically. Not conceptually. Not the vague looming presence of divine kitchenware.
No. This time, the Spoon physically yeeted itself across the Tribunal courtroom mid-kiss like a flying metal chaperone.
Let's rewind.
Belladonna was standing too close. Again.
We were alone in the side wing of the Reincarnation Tribunal's sacred soup court—an architectural monstrosity equal parts cathedral, coliseum, and cursed potluck center. The main hearing was in recess, because apparently the fate of my soul had been delayed for dramatic effect. There were celestial court documents floating in the air like smug butterflies. Fluffernox had eaten three.
Belladonna had cornered me behind a curtain embroidered with the phrase "In Broth We Trust."
And she was looking at me like I was the only thing in the multiverse worth conquering.
"I still haven't forgiven you," she whispered, which in Belladonna-speak means she's at 95% seduction charge. "But you look insufferably kissable when you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous," I lied. I was extremely nervous. I was so nervous I was already composing a breakup speech in Ancient Soup Latin, just in case this ended in a royal engagement via accident.
"I hate how your voice cracks when you say that," she said, stepping closer. "It's adorable."
I opened my mouth to make a snarky retort, possibly something about restraining orders and the geopolitical implications of making out next to a celestial ladle, when she leaned in.
Her hand was on my cheek. The air smelled like cinnamon and war crimes.
We were a breath away.
And that's when it happened.
CLANG.
The Spoon. Launched. Across. The. Room.
Like a divine javelin of unholy judgment.
It struck the curtain, the wall, and my sense of romantic dignity in one precise, judgmental arc. The entire embroidered "In Broth We Trust" tapestry exploded into enchanted thread confetti.
"WHAT THE—"
Belladonna stumbled back, eyes wide. I stumbled forward. My nose collided with her tiara. We both fell into a pile of morally ambiguous legal scrolls.
From the far bench, the Spoon spun midair and landed—standing perfectly upright—on the Tribunal dais. A slow, glowing aura of smugness pulsed from its holy ladle-end.
"MORTALS," the Spoon boomed, its voice echoing with the dramatic resonance of a hundred overcooked monologues. "THE KISS SHALL BE DELAYED. THE MASK HAS YET TO VOTE."
I blinked.
"What does that even mean?!"
"FORESHADOWING."
Belladonna groaned into her elbow. "I'm going to melt that utensil into a hairpin."
"Don't threaten the divine ladle," I muttered. "It thrives on conflict."
The rest of the day did not improve.
Upon returning to the courtroom proper, we were greeted by an emergency update from the System's floating mouthpiece.
[NOTICE: Due to excess romantic interference, User Kael's Affection Algorithm has been forcefully paused. Spoon Protocol has overridden shipping subroutines.]
"Did it just cancel my dating arc?" I hissed.
Fluffernox meowed from atop the lectern and batted a floating parchment into the judge's soup.
The judge—currently a chili elemental in a powdered wig—sighed and sipped around it.
Later, in a private side-chamber labeled "For Processing Emotionally Confused Echo Vessels Only", Belladonna and I had a moment of truce.
"You know," she said, leaning against the windowsill with all the dramatic poise of a tragic opera soprano, "we could just kiss when the Spoon isn't looking."
"That implies the Spoon ever stops looking."
"I'm resourceful. I could... trap it in a pickle jar."
"You remember what happened last time someone tried to imprison the Spoon, right?"
"…They were reincarnated as a ladle."
"Exactly."
We both stared at the sunset for a long moment.
Somewhere in the distance, a choir of cultists began singing about soup.
SYSTEM STATUS UPDATE:
Kael: KISS INTERRUPTUS FLAG ACTIVATED.
Romantic progression delayed due to interference by Divine Spoon Entity.
Reason: Narrative tension must simmer longer.
I returned to my quarters later that night to find the Spoon sitting atop my pillow like a smug spiritual paperweight.
"You sabotaged me," I accused.
"I SAVED YOU FROM A RUSHED ROMANTIC PAYOFF."
"You interrupted a moment of emotional vulnerability and hormonal catharsis!"
"EXACTLY. YOU'RE WELCOME."
"I swear, one day I'm going to date someone who doesn't have to check their affection meter for divine interference."
"MAYBE START WITH DATING SOMEONE WHO ISN'T A WARLORD IN HEELS."
"…Fair."
Next Time on Kaelverse:
System Tribunal: Day 4 – Mask v. Mask, Echo v. Ego, and Someone Accidentally Becomes a God (Again).
Also, Belladonna might finally throw the Spoon into a volcano. Place your bets.