Chapter 9: The Calorie-to-Boss-Fight Ratio
(Sunny POV)
The sky was bleeding. Not literally—though in this school, I wouldn't put it past the faculty to spray-paint the clouds for "aesthetic motivation." It was that deep, bruised purple and fiery orange sunset that makes everything look like the opening cinematic of a high-budget JRPG.
I stood outside the convenience store, feeling like a high-stakes broker who had just narrowly avoided a federal investigation. I'd spent the last twenty minutes sweet-talking the manager, a guy who looked like he'd aged ten years just by being in my general vicinity.
"Look, my man," I said, leaning over the counter and sliding a 20k point transfer onto his terminal. "I don't need a receipt. I just need you to fulfill a very specific, very weird delivery request. Think of it as a 'Welcome to the Dorms' gift for a girl who's currently trying to speedrun liver failure."
The manager stared at the points. Then at me. Then at the propeller on my hat. "You want me to stack... how many?"
"Every single can of beer I just bought," I said, grinning like a shark. "I want you to build a 'Wall of Beers' in front of Room 505. Block the door. Make it look like a drunk architect tried to build a fortress. And leave this note right at eye level."
I scribbled the message on a napkin: 'Yo girl, you almost became Arisu's property. If you don't want to get permanently formatted by the Loli Queen or just want to vibe without the blackmail, come to the cafeteria tomorrow. P.S. Drink responsibly, or don't. I'm a note, not your dad.'
"And also," I added, sliding another six-pack across the counter. "Deliver two packs of the good stuff directly to Chabashira-sensei's office. Tell her it's from 'her best, loving, sweetest Sunny.' She'll know what it means. Mostly that she owes me another favor."
The manager sighed, a sound that carried the weight of a thousand unpaid overtime hours. "Fine. I'll get the cart."
"Excellent! You're a hero of the people," I cheered, grabbing my own grocery bags and heading for the exit.
The walk back to the dorms was peaceful, if you count "mentally preparing for a rhythmic execution" as peaceful. I was halfway across the courtyard when I spotted a familiar shock of brown hair and a posture that screamed 'I am currently a blank slate.'
"KIYOTAKA! MY BROTHER IN APATHY!" I hollered, closing the gap in a few long strides.
Ayanokōji stopped, turning slowly as if his neck was on a mechanical hinge. He looked at my grocery bags, then at my hat, then back to my eyes. "Sunny. You're... loud."
"And you're a life-saver!" I said, throwing my free arm around his shoulders. He didn't flinch, but I could feel the invisible 'Do Not Touch the Protagonist' barrier humming. "Thanks for taking the heat from Hoshinomiya-sensei back there. You were a magnificent human shield. I'm pretty sure she's currently trying to figure out if you have a pulse or if you're just a very sophisticated AI."
Ayanokōji stared into the middle distance. "She asked me if I liked moss. I didn't know how to answer."
I cackled, nearly dropping a bag of frozen dumplings. "Classic! Look, for your unwilling sacrifice at the altar of the Boob-Trap, I'm treating you to lunch tomorrow. Meet me in the cafeteria. We'll get the expensive set. My treat. Well, technically Suzune's treat, but since I'm her 'Butler Boy,' it's basically the same thing."
Ayanokōji tilted his head. He looked like he was trying to solve a Rubik's cube that was made of liquid. "Lunch. Free food. I accept."
"That's the spirit! Use that high-spec brain for something useful, like avoiding starvation," I said, patting his shoulder.
We walked into the dorm building together, heading for the elevator. As it turned out, the universe has a very twisted sense of humor—or the school's placement algorithm is a fan of chaos.
"Room 401," Ayanokōji said, looking at his key.
"Room 402," I replied, flashing mine. "We're neighbors, Kiyo! This is great. I can knock on your wall whenever I need a second opinion on a meme or if I accidentally set my kitchen on fire. This is going to be the best semester ever for me, and the most stressful one for you."
"I have a feeling you're right," he muttered as the elevator doors slid open.
I dropped my bags in my room, threw on a fresh shirt, and grabbed the "RGB Beast"—the laptop Suzune had ordered. It felt heavy, expensive, and ready to render things that would make a normal computer cry.
I marched down the hall to Room 403 and gave the door a rhythmic, three-part knock.
The door swung open, and I was immediately hit by a wall of steam and the mouth-watering scent of soy sauce, ginger, and something sizzled to perfection. Suzune stood there, her apron tied over her uniform, holding a spatula like a weapon.
"You're late, Butler Boy," she said, her eyes narrowing at my stomach.
Grumble.
My stomach let out a roar that sounded like a dying whale.
Suzune's lips curled into a tiny, cruel smirk. "Skipped lunch to play hero in the mall, did we? How noble. And how utterly pathetic. You're lucky I made enough for two, or you'd be eating the cardboard box that laptop came in."
"Suzu, honey, Sugar Mommy of my dreams," I whimpered, stepping into the room. "The mall was a battlefield! I had to navigate social minefields and buy enough beer to fill a swimming pool. My blood sugar is so low I'm starting to see in 8-bit."
"Don't call me that," she snapped, but she stepped aside to let me in. "Put the laptop on the desk. Set it up. If I see a single frame drop during my execution of your dignity, I'm deducting points from your 'groceries allowance'."
The room was immaculate. Minimalist, organized, and smelling like a five-star restaurant. Suzune was a natural in the kitchen—which was a good thing, because if her cooking was as sharp as her tongue, I'd be dead of internal bleeding by dessert.
I got to work. I cleared a space on her desk, plugged in the beast, and started the Dark Souls download. While the bar crawled across the screen, I unrolled the dance pad. It was a high-end model, thick and responsive, with LEDs that flickered to life as I plugged it into the USB port.
"The altar of sacrifice is ready," I announced, standing on the center panel and doing a quick little jig. "One high-end gaming laptop, one dance pad, and one Sunny, ready to be humbled."
Suzune walked over, carrying two plates of Mackerel ginger-fry, steaming rice, and miso soup. She set them down on a small table she'd pulled over to the desk.
"The food is ready," she said, her voice dropping the sharp edge for a moment as she looked at the setup. "And I've been reading the forums. Apparently, the 'Maniac' mode on that pad is specifically designed to cause joint failure in anyone over the age of twelve. This should be entertaining."
We sat down and started eating. The first bite of the Mackerel was like a religious experience. The ginger was sharp, the fish was flaky, and the sauce had that perfect balance of sweet and salty.
"Oh my God," I muffled through a mouthful of rice. "Suzu... you're a genius. If the school finds out you can cook like this, they'll promote you to Class A just to keep the teachers fed."
"It's basic culinary science, Sunny. Not magic," she said, though she looked pleased. "Now, hurry up. The download is at 95%."
I swallowed a huge gulp of miso soup and looked at the dance pad, then at the plate of delicious food, and then back at Suzune. A truly chaotic, brilliant, and probably suicidal idea began to form in my mind.
"Hey, Suzu," I said, leaning back and wiping my mouth. "Let's raise the stakes. A challenge within a challenge."
She raised an eyebrow, pausing with her chopsticks halfway to her mouth. "I'm listening. Though I doubt your brain has enough oxygen right now to formulate anything coherent."
"I'm going to play the first boss," I said, gesturing to the screen. "On the dance pad. But... I don't want to stop eating. Your food is too good to let it get cold."
I leaned in, a mischievous glint in my eyes. "How about this: I play the game, I dodge the boss, I do the parries—all on the dance pad. And you... you feed me."
The room went silent. I could hear the hum of the laptop's cooling fans. Suzune stared at me, her face unreadable. Her grip on her chopsticks tightened.
"You want me... to hand-feed you... while you play a video game with your feet?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous.
"Think about it!" I urged, waving my hands. "It's the ultimate multitasking feat! It's the peak of 'Butler-Mistress' dynamics! If I can beat Iudex Gundyr while you're shoving ginger pork into my face, I'll have reached a level of gamer-ascension that hasn't been seen since the dawn of the internet. If I fail and get hit even once? You can double my punishment. I'll do your laundry for a month."
Suzune looked at the screen. The download hit 100%. She looked at the plate of Mackerel. Then she looked at me—her eyes scanning my face, looking for any sign of hesitation.
A slow, predatory smile spread across her face. It was the smile of a woman who had just been handed a winning lottery ticket and a flamethrower.
"A month of laundry?" she purred. "And I get to decide exactly when and what you eat? Including the parts with the most ginger?"
"High risk, high reward, Suzu!" I grinned, despite the chill running down my spine.
She stood up, picking up her chopsticks and a small piece of fish. She walked over to the desk and stood beside the dance pad.
"Get on the pad, Sunny," she commanded, her voice full of dark anticipation. "I've always wanted to see if I could make someone choke on their own hubris. Let's see if that 'Toon Force' of yours works when your mouth is full of Mackerel."
I stepped onto the pad. The title screen of Dark Souls III blared through the laptop's speakers—that haunting, epic choir that signals the start of a hundred deaths.
"Open wide, Butler Boy," Suzune said, hovering a piece of fish just inches from my lips. "The boss is waking up."
I took a deep breath, centered my feet on the arrows, and clicked 'New Game.'
"Nah... I'd win," I whispered.
"We'll see," she replied, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Eat up."