The Italian leather sofa in the Futaba living room was a masterpiece of comfort engineering. It was firm, yet yielded in the right places. The leather was cool against the skin, a blessed relief against the August humidity. Kaito lay on it, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, in a state of near nirvana.
"This is my new address," he declared to the mansion's high ceiling. "I'm filling out the adoption papers. Futaba, tell your parents they gained an older son who demands silence and air conditioning at 22 degrees."
The "Other Futaba"—now former digital influencer and current refugee in her own home—sat in the armchair next to him, eyes still red but looking lighter.
"You are ridiculous, Tanaka."
"I am adaptable to luxury," Kaito corrected.
DING-DONG.
The mansion's doorbell wasn't a strident buzz like in Kaito's apartment. It was a melodic chime that echoed through the marble halls.
Kaito didn't move. "If it's visitors, say we aren't home. If it's the police, say I'm the gardener."
Futaba got up and went to answer. Kaito heard familiar voices in the foyer. Seconds later, the invasion began.
Mai Sakurajima entered the living room, bringing the Original Futaba with her.
Kaito stood up and looked at everyone.
"Now that we are all here, I have an executive announcement: The Fireworks Festival has been canceled by decree of thermal comfort. The Reintegration of the Futabas will occur here, on this sofa, watching a movie on the giant TV with surround sound."
There was a moment of silence.
"No," said Mai.
Kaito opened one eye. Mai was standing before him, hands on her hips. She was holding a large department store bag.
"No?" repeated Kaito.
"No," she confirmed. "We are going to the festival. Rio..." she gestured to the two versions of the scientist, who were now looking at each other with a mix of shame and recognition, "...needs symbolic closure. Fireworks are the universal symbol of 'phases ending and beginning.' Besides, I already bought mental candy apples."
"Symbolism is inefficient and expensive," Kaito argued, trying to merge with the sofa leather. "In here we have comfort. Out there we have mosquitoes and sweat."
"Vote!" shouted Fia, materializing physically on the Persian rug—which made the Other Futaba jump in fright. "Who wants to go to the festival to see things exploding in the sky raise your hand!"
Fia raised both hands. Mai raised her hand. The Other Futaba, shyly, raised her hand. "I... I want to go." The Original Futaba looked at her copy, then at Kaito, and sighed. She raised her hand. "Logic dictates that controlled social exposure is necessary for reintegration."
Kaito looked at the four raised hands (five, counting Fia's extra one).
"This is a dictatorship of the majority," he grumbled. "Democracy is flawed when the minority is me."
"Great!" Mai clapped, ignoring his complaint. She threw the large bag into Kaito's lap. The impact was heavy.
"What is this?" Kaito asked, feeling rough fabric through the plastic.
"Your uniform," Mai said, with a smile Kaito had learned to fear. "You are not going to the festival in jeans and a t-shirt, Kaito. You are going to wear a men's yukata. Dark gray, because I know you are allergic to colors."
Kaito pushed the bag away. "Absolutely not. Yukatas are glorified tablecloths that restrict stride and let wind in from below. It is aerodynamically offensive."
"Kaito," Mai said, and her voice dropped an octave, becoming dangerously soft. "You made Rio buy clothes. You made Koga wear that ridiculous fishing vest. Now it is your turn to suffer for aesthetics."
"Logic does not apply to me, I am the observer," Kaito tried, standing up to flee.
Fia blocked the way. The goddess was small, but when she decided to be an obstacle, she possessed the density of a neutron star.
"Mandatory Dress Protocol!" she declared, spreading her arms. "You shall not pass, Chosen One! Wear the Japanese robe or face the wrath of four women!"
Kaito looked at the two Futabas. They were united, for the first time, in a common goal: seeing him uncomfortable.
"How..." Kaito grabbed the bag with a growl, "...damnably troublesome."
Fifteen minutes later, Kaito emerged from the mansion's guest bathroom. He felt like a samurai who had lost his sword and his will to live.
The charcoal-gray yukata fit well (Mai's damn clinical eye), but the feeling of the fabric rubbing against his legs and the lack of functional pockets irritated him. He wore his own flip-flops, having steadfastly refused to wear geta (wooden sandals).
"Acceptable," Mai assessed, adjusting his obi with a strong tug that almost cut off his breath.
"I am being strangled by cotton," Kaito complained.
"Now, the real problem," Mai said, turning to the two Futabas.
The two Rios stood side by side. It was a surreal sight. Identical twins, separated only by style. The Original wore the hydrangea yukata Mai had helped her put on. The Other wore the goldfish yukata.
"We have a continuity problem," Kaito said, massaging his temple. "We are going to encounter people from school. Specifically, Sakuta Azusagawa and Yuuma Kunimi. Sakuta is too perceptive for his own good. If he sees two identical Futabas, he will deduce the Syndrome in five seconds and try to help, which will generate long and unnecessary emotional dialogues that I want to avoid."
"And Kunimi..." the Other Futaba murmured. "If he sees me... and sees her..."
"Exactly. The athlete's brain might not process quantum physics, but it will process that there are two of you," Kaito said. "We need camouflage."
He looked at Mai.
"Mai. You are an actress. You understand makeup and characterization. I need you to transform the 'Other Futaba' into someone who looks like Rio, but isn't Rio."
Mai raised an eyebrow. "Like a cousin?"
"Exactly. The 'Distant Cousin.' The classic soap opera trope to explain suspicious genetic similarities." Kaito pointed to the Other Futaba. "I want her to look older. More mature. Different enough that, at night, under the light of fireworks and lanterns, she passes as a college relative."
"Understood," Mai said, eyes shining with the artistic challenge. "Rio Number Two, come with me. Let's change your face."
"And Rio Number One?" asked the original Futaba, adjusting her glasses nervously.
"You stay as you are," Kaito said. "You are the reality anchor. Just... try not to look like you are about to apologize for existing."
While Mai took the Other Futaba to the master bathroom, Kaito turned to Fia.
The goddess stood in the middle of the room, looking upset in her frilly dress.
"And me?" she asked. "I can't go like this! The System says Western clothes at Japanese festivals generate a -10 penalty on 'Cultural Immersion'!"
"You can stay invisible," Kaito suggested.
"NO! I want a candy apple! I want to fish for rubber goldfish! I want to be physical!"
Kaito sighed. "I don't have the money to rent a yukata for you, Fia. And Mai didn't bring an extra."
Fia smiled. A mischievous and divine smile.
"Ah, Chosen One of little faith. You forget that I am the System? I can render textures!"
She closed her eyes and extended her arms. A soft light enveloped her.
"Cosmetic Asset Materialization: Summer Skin!"
There was a flash, and when the light dissipated, the frilly dress was gone. In its place, Fia wore a hot-pink yukata with white and gold cherry blossom prints. It was a bit too "anime," with large bows and a ribbon in her hair, but it passed for a modern eccentric girl's yukata.
"Ta-da!" she twirled. "Like it?"
"It is visually loud," Kaito assessed. "Suits you."
"But Kaito..." Fia stopped twirling. "If we meet your friends... who am I? Gods don't have IDs."
Kaito thought. He looked at the Other Futaba being transformed into a "cousin."
"You are also a cousin," he decided. "My cousin. The cousin from the countryside who came to visit. That explains why you are weird, talk loud, and lack basic urban social etiquette."
"Hey! I have divine etiquette!"
"Which doesn't apply in Fujisawa. You are my cousin. Your name is... Fia Tanaka. Don't talk too much. Just smile and eat."
The bathroom door opened.
Mai and the Other Futaba came out.
Kaito looked. And he had to admit Mai was a sorceress.
The Other Futaba no longer looked like the twin sister. Subtle makeup altered the contour of her eyes, making them sharper. The lipstick was a darker, more serious shade. Her hair, previously in a high, youthful ponytail, was now in an elegant low bun, with a few loose strands strategically placed.
She looked, in fact, about three years older. A self-assured college student.
"Impressive," Kaito admitted.
"I am good at what I do," Mai said, wiping her hands on a wet wipe. "Meet Rio's cousin. Let's call her... Rena?"
"No, Rena is the name of Koga's fake friend," Kaito said. "Let's call her... Reo. Rio and Reo. Lazy, but functional."
The Other Futaba (now Reo) looked at herself in the hall mirror. "I look... adult."
"You look like someone who doesn't need to post photos to feel good," Kaito said. "Maintain that posture."
He looked at the group.
Him (in gray yukata, unhappy).
Mai (in classic yukata, disguised, beautiful).
Original Futaba (shy, glasses, classic yukata).
Reo (mature version, modern yukata).
Fia (anime version, short yukata, "country cousin").
It was a squad of anomalies, lies, and disguises.
"This is going to be a logistical disaster," Kaito predicted, opening the mansion door to the night heat. "Let's go. If we miss the fireworks, all this wardrobe effort will have been in vain."
They left the mansion, marching toward the station and the festival, ready to fool the world and, hopefully, fix a broken soul.
"Kaito," Mai whispered as she passed him. "You look good in gray."
"Whatever," he replied, adjusting the collar that scratched. "Let's just get this over with."
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