While I kept up the safe, engaging banter with Mem-Cho, the loli goddess's voice suddenly bubbled into my awareness, a private murmur beneath the noise of the set.
"Kumano Nobuyuki. He is the most useful connection you could make here if you want your Sword Art Online films to proceed without obstruction, Aqua. His uncle is Sugou Nobuyuki—a high-ranking executive at Argus. More importantly, he was one of the very few in Akihiko Kayaba's inner circle."
Sugou Nobuyuki…
The name landed with a familiar, venomous weight. In the fragmented future visions the goddess had shared, this man wasn't just an executive.
He was the stalker, the high-level predator and the mastermind who had allowed the death game to proceed despite knowing the risks, who had hidden the truth so he could later exploit Kayaba's technology.
His goal was mass brainwashing, ownership of the Seed, and the creation of ALO—a scheme built on acquiring RECT, a company already deeply intertwined with Argus.
He was a spider at the center of the very web I needed to navigate.
I didn't need her to tell me what to do next. The path was clear.
I observed the two boys.
Their personas for the show were already solidifying into the classic "bros before hoes" dynamic—likable to teenage boys for their loyalty, and shipping fodder for girls who enjoyed that particular flavor of fantasy.
Let's be real, that's how a certain rotten segment of the female audience thinks.
I didn't rush over.
Instead, I excused myself from Mem-Cho with a charming smile and made my way to the kitchenette.
I grabbed three bottles of chilled water and then walked calmly toward their spot.
"Kumano Nobuyuki. Kengo Morimoto. Hope I'm not interrupting," I greeted, my smile easy and open.
They looked up, their expressions immediately shifting to welcoming grins.
"No bother at all, Aqua! Take a seat. We're all bros here," Kengo said, gesturing to an empty spot.
"Alright, friends. Sorry for the interruption—just thought you might be thirsty." I handed each of them a bottle.
"Thanks, bro! You're awesome," Kengo said, cracking his open and taking a grateful gulp.
Nobuyuki nodded, following suit, draining half his bottle in one go before wiping his mouth. "Yeah, me too. Thanks, man."
We fell into an easy rhythm.
The conversation was deliberately harmless, light—school life, the video games currently trending, the inherent awkwardness of being on a dating show.
We leaned into the irony, making self-deprecating jokes about the situation, our grins wide and natural for the cameras.
We built the rapport the audience would eat up: three relatable guys bonding over shared, minor suffering.
The friendship of boys is a simple algorithm. You don't need grand gestures or deep secrets.
You just need to be relatable in your discomfort, share a laugh at the absurdity of it all, and offer a bottle of water. It's a straightforward transaction, devoid of the complex, layered games and shifting walls that girls so often construct around themselves.
A foundation built on simplicity is often the strongest—and the most easily manipulated.
I became the cool, charismatic friend they'd never had—the one who listened with what seemed like genuine, unforced interest, absorbing their minor anxieties and ambitions as if they were the most compelling stories I'd ever heard.
Later, during a scheduled one-on-one confessional segment—the kind where the cameras pretend to capture raw, private moments—Nobuyuki sighed, running a hand through his hair in a practiced gesture of youthful frustration.
"You know Sword Art Online?" he began, his tone a mix of pride and a weird, detached irony. "It's crazy. My uncle is one of the lead developers. And now, with the movie adaptations… it's a whole thing."
He gave a short, self-deprecating chuckle. "A dancer with a developer uncle and a family background in high tech. The irony is pretty thick, right? Everyone expects me to follow that path—be the successful tech guy with the high-paying salary. Instead, here I am, taking the uncertain artist route. They think I'm wasting it."
He looked into the camera, then at me, as if I were the only one who might get it.
I met his gaze, my expression cool but supportive, devoid of any obvious pity. "I think you're great on camera, man. Who made the rule that a dancer can't also be an actor?"
He laughed, the sound looser and more real than before.
The line worked because it didn't feel like flattery; it felt like a simple, logical observation from a friend.
It boosted his confidence without the sticky residue of someone trying too hard.
"Yeah… you know what? I might actually consider that. Thanks for the suggestion, Aqua." He paused, a spark of genuine camaraderie in his eyes. "Next time, you should come by my place. I'll introduce you to the family. It'll give you a better picture of the whole… situation."
Checkmate.
"Absolutely," I replied, my grin wide and perfectly calibrated—the pleased smile of a friend who's just been trusted with an invitation, not the predatory smirk of a hunter who's just sprung his trap.
Inside my mind, the loli goddess's presence shimmered with gleeful satisfaction. "Now you are learning, Aqua. Access to his home is merely the opening move. Our true target is Sugou Nobuyuki. We must assess him. Determine whether he will be a useful piece… or a threat that must be removed from your board."
Good.
Because if he is a threat… I will show him no mercy!
Now, the bromance segment was over. Time to move to the real, pulsing core of the show: the fucking dating reality show.
The next setting was a group date in a high-end karaoke suite—all plush leather and mood lighting.
The premise was simple: song, and the chance to unleash pent-up energy through your voice.
The trick was to make it look genuine, fun, and laced with just enough romantic ambiguity for the masses to chew on.
Mem-Cho and Akane were already sharing a mic, their voices harmonizing on some sugary pop anthem, their bodies angled toward each other in a way the cameras would love.
Yuki Sumi sat between Nobuyuki and Kengo, the two "bros" now putting on a façade of polite, slightly awkward interest in the beautiful girl flanking them.
The dynamic was perfect—shallow, watchable, and full of potential for edited tension.
As for who my designated "CP" was, I maintained strategic ambiguity.
I hung back, leaning against the sound system, watching.
Observing.
Cataloging.
"Aqua-kun! You haven't sung yet!" Mem-Cho's voice cut through the music, chirpy and insistent.
She bounded over, shoving the microphone toward me with a grin.
All eyes locked onto me.
The boys offered supportive, encouraging nods—the bro-code in action.
The girls' reactions were a study in contrasts: Mem-Cho's expectant, performative glee; Yuki's mild, polite curiosity; Akane's quiet, analytical stare, already dissecting my next move.
I noted each one.
This wasn't about singing.
Not really.
This was a character reveal.
A test.
The carefully constructed persona of the "cool, charming friend" could stumble here.
It could crack under the pressure of performance, revealing the calculation beneath.
So, what was the play?
A safe, crowd-pleasing pop song?
A try-hard rock number to project edge?
None of it felt right.
None of it felt... mine.
Just like I told Director Gotanda…
I don't play safe. I don't meet expectations. I surpass them. I bypass the traditional game entirely and forge my own fucking myth.
I don't want fans who will nitpick every flat note, every off-key moment.
I want a cult.
A devoted legion that will cheer my flaws as proof of authenticity, that will weaponize my mistakes into inside jokes, and that will swarm and eviscerate every critic, every hater, who dares to stand in my way.
Their fury will become my armor, their devotion my endless resource.
Now. Let the real game begin here.
The loli goddess, ever-present in the shadows of my mind, had already provided the tool—a piece of music, a melody that didn't just cross the line; it erased the line and drew a new one in blood and neon.
A song to bypass the normal and vault straight into the realm of myth.
All I needed to do was reach out and take it with both hands.
A slow, deliberate smile spread across my face, one that didn't reach my eyes but promised something the cameras had never captured before.
I took the microphone from Mem-Cho's hand, my grip firm.
"Alright," I said, my voice a low hum through the speakers. "Let's try something different."
...
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