I didn't walk into my house. I was more... poured.
After being launched across the street by a double-barreled 'Panic Kick,' my body had reached its structural limit. I dragged myself across the threshold, my face leaving a trail of convenience store dust on the hardwood floor, and collapsed in the middle of the living room. I lay there like a discarded gym sock, my ribs humming a mournful tune and my dignity currently residing in a cardboard tofu box three blocks away.
"Kyotaru-sama? Are you... decomposing?"
Amilia's voice floated down to me. I rolled onto my back, my vision still swimming with little silver-haired stars. She was sitting on the sofa, smoothing out her skirt with a poise that ignored the fact that she had just sent a human being into low-earth orbit.
Yuko sat on the opposite end of the sofa, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face was still the color of a ripe tomato, and she was staring intensely at a localized patch of carpet, likely imagining it was my head.
"I am... experiencing the consequences of my existence," I wheezed, my lungs feeling like they were filled with gravel. "Why does the wind hate me? Why do your legs have the kick-force of a hydraulic press?"
Amilia leaned forward, a small, dangerously sweet smile playing on her lips. She didn't look angry. She looked... victorious.
"Kyotaru-sama," she cooed, "while the 'Divine Wind' was clearly a sign from the heavens to test our bond, you really must be more disciplined. A Shindou-Ainsworth's private sanctum—and the lace covering it—is for the eyes of her husband after the ceremony. Not for a casual afternoon inspection on the sidewalk."
She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "However... since you defended my honor against that slab of beef earlier, I shall grant you a 'Savior's Pardon.' Just this once. Be more careful next time, my hero. If you want a peek, you must earn it through traditional labor or a very expensive ring."
"I wasn't peeking! I was a victim of meteorology!" I shouted, though it came out as a pathetic squeak.
Yuko's head snapped up. She looked at Amilia, then at my broken form on the floor. The sight of the 'Traditional Fanatic' being so magnanimous clearly triggered her competitive saintliness. If the silver-haired intruder was going to be the 'forgiving' one, Yuko couldn't afford to be the 'villain.'
"Fine," Yuko huffed, her blush intensifying as she avoided my eyes. "If she's going to be weirdly mature about it, I guess I have to be too. It wasn't your fault the world is a perverted mess, Kyotaru-kun. But if you ever mention the bears... if a single word about the bears leaves your mouth... I will 'Saint' you into the next life. Understand?"
"Bears? What bears? I have amnesia!" I lied frantically. "I don't even remember my own name! Who am I? Where is this? Is that a sofa?"
Before Yuko could interrogate my 'amnesia' with her fists, my phone began to vibrate in my pocket. The ringtone—a recording of a screaming goat I'd set as a joke and forgotten to change—echoed through the tense room.
I fumbled it out. 'MOM' was flashing on the screen.
"Saved by the maternal bell," I muttered, hitting speaker. "Hello? Mom? Please tell me you're coming home with a medical kit and a restraining order."
"Kyotaru! My darling, unlucky son!" my mother's voice chirped. She sounded far too happy. There was the sound of a tropical drink being stirred in the background and the distant cry of a seagull. "I'm calling with wonderful news! Your father and I have decided to take that second honeymoon we've been talking about! We're in Okinawa!"
"Okinawa?!" I sat up, my ribs screaming in protest. "When did you leave? Why wasn't I invited? Why am I currently trapped in a house with two Valkyries?!"
"Oh, stop being so dramatic," she laughed. "We'll be gone for at least a month. Maybe two if the weather stays nice! And don't worry about the house—Amy-chan called me earlier and explained everything. She told me about the 'Tradition' and how you 'Claimed' her. She's such a polite girl, Kyotaru! She's basically my future daughter-in-law already!"
The silence in the room became heavy enough to crush a tank. Yuko's aura didn't turn dark—it turned into a localized black hole.
"Mom, you can't just leave me here with—"
"Amy-chan said she'd handle all the cooking, cleaning, and 'husband-maintenance'!" Mom continued, her voice fading as if she were walking toward the ocean. "She even sent us a 'Travel Grant' that covered the whole trip! She's the daughter I always wanted, Kyotaru! Try not to ruin this for us with your bad luck! Love you, bye!"
Click.
I stared at the dead phone. I had been sold. My parents had traded my safety, my sanity, and my home for a month of tan lines and pineapple juice.
"Husband-maintenance?" Amilia whispered, her eyes glowing with a light that suggested she was already planning the layout of our shared nursery. "Your mother is a woman of profound wisdom and traditional foresight. I shall begin the 'Domestic Bliss Protocol' immediately. I shall start by organizing your sock drawer by color and 'destiny-ranking'."
"You... are... staying here... alone... with him?"
Yuko stood up. She wasn't yelling. She wasn't crying. She was vibrating with a silent, terrifying intensity. She looked at the front door, then at Amilia, then at me.
"A month," Yuko whispered. "A whole month of 'daughter-in-law' nonsense. A whole month of 'tradition' in this house."
She turned to me, her face a mask of cold, tactical resolve.
"Kyotaru-kun. Change of plans. I'm not just walking you home anymore. I'm coming over before school. I'm coming over after school. I'm coming over for 'Midnight Safety Checks.' I'll be here so often that the neighbors will think I'm a structural load-bearing wall."
"Yuko, you have a home! You have parents who actually like you!"
"I have a mission!" she countered, pointing a finger at Amilia. "If you think I'm letting you play 'House' with my childhood friend just because you bribed his mother with a vacation, you've got another thing coming! This isn't a co-habitation! It's a siege!"
"It is a Marriage War!" Amilia stood up, meeting her gaze. "And I have the high ground! And the spare key!"
I fell back onto the floor, pulling a decorative rug over my head.
"I give up," I said to the darkness under the rug. "I'm not the protagonist. I'm the prize in a game where the loser gets me, and the winner gets to deal with my bad luck. Nobody wins. Especially not me."
From above the rug, the sound of a vase breaking signaled the start of the first "Midnight Safety Check."
----
Yuko walked away from the Inuzuka household, her footsteps heavy enough to crack the pavement. The night air was cool, but her face was still radiating enough heat to serve as a portable space heater.
She stopped at the park bridge and looked up. The moon was full, pale, and seemingly mocking her with its silent, silver glow. It reminded her far too much of a certain 'Traditional' rival's hair.
"Daughter-in-law," Yuko muttered, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and something that felt dangerously like a cracked heart. "One month. She thinks she can win in a month. She doesn't realize she've been putting up with his 'Inuzuka-isms' since we were barely tall enough to reach a door handle."
She leaned against the railing and sighed. Whenever things got this chaotic, her brain—usually a fortress of "Saintly" composure—tended to retreat into the past.
---
Most people remember their first meeting with their soulmate as a shower of cherry blossoms and a slow-motion gaze.
Yuko and Kyotaru's meeting was... a dumpster fire. Literally.
Thirteen years ago, at the Hanagawa Public Playground, a four-year-old Yuko was sitting on a swing, contemplating why her juice box was empty. Suddenly, she heard a sound that she would eventually come to recognize as the "Inuzuka Death-Rattle."
"H-help... The darkness... it consumes me!"
She followed the voice to the back of the park, where a large, blue industrial trash bin was shaking violently. Protruding from the top were two tiny, kicking legs and a head of messy dark hair.
Apparently, little Kyotaru had seen a 'cool rock' at the bottom of the bin and, in a display of the staggering lack of foresight that would define his life, had dived in head-first. He was now wedged between a discarded pizza box and an old tire, his tiny arms pinned to his sides.
"Are you a monster?" little Yuko had asked, poking his leg with a stick she found.
"I am... a Hero!" Kyotaru's muffled voice echoed from the depths of the bin. "I am searching for the Sacred Stone of... ow! My nose is stuck on a banana peel!"
Yuko didn't call an adult. She didn't find a teacher. Instead, she decided that this "Trash-Hero" was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. She climbed onto the rim of the bin, grabbed his ankles, and pulled with all her four-year-old might.
*POP.*
Kyotaru flew out of the bin, slamming into Yuko. They both tumbled into the nearby sandbox, covered in dust, pizza grease, and the lingering scent of failure. Kyotaru sat up, a single piece of lettuce stuck to his forehead, and looked at her with wide, watery brown eyes.
"You saved me," he whispered. "You're the Saint of the Trash!"
"Don't call me that," she had snapped, wiping a smudge of grease off her cheek.
But then, he smiled. It was a weak, pathetic, gap-toothed smile, but it had a sincerity that bypassed her defenses. From that day on, Yuko realized that if she didn't watch this boy, he would probably be consumed by the earth itself within forty-eight hours.
And so, the 'Saint' was born—not out of holiness, but out of a desperate need to keep a human disaster from deleting himself from existence.
---
Coming back to the present, Yuko gripped the bridge railing so hard her knuckles turned white.
"Is this love?" she whispered to the moon.
The moon didn't answer. Probably because it was busy watching a cat fall off a fence in the distance (another Inuzuka-level event).
The truth was, Yuko was a tactical genius when it came to preventing Kyotaru from being hit by falling pianos, but she was a complete moron when it came to her own heart. She had never talked to another boy. Not really.
To her, every other male in the school was just 'Background Noise #4' or 'NPC with Bad Haircut.' Whenever a guy tried to confess to her—and they tried often—she would give them a smile so bright and holy that they felt unworthy of her presence and immediately ran away to join a monastery.
She didn't ignore them on purpose; she just... didn't see them. Her eyes were always calibrated to look for the :Inuzuka Signal'—the sound of a trip, a groan, or a localized explosion.
"I protect him," she told herself, her voice growing firm. "I'm possessive of him because he's my responsibility. He's my project! He's the only person in this world who knows how much I actually hate eating broccoli! If he gets married to some silver-haired tradition-freak, who's going to make sure he doesn't try to use a toaster in a bathtub?!"
She paused. A Marriage War wasn't just about a title. It was about ownership.
If Amilia was moving in, it meant Kyotaru's daily disasters would belong to someone else. The thought sent a jolt of genuine, terrifying electricity through her.
No, she said, turning away from the bridge and heading toward her own house. "One month? She won't survive a week. I'm going to come over so often she'll think I've been cloned. I'll be in the kitchen. I'll be in the living room. I'll be in the vents if I have to."
She pulled out her phone and opened her calendar.
[Schedule Update: Tomorrow]
06:00 AM: "Surprise" Breakfast Security Sweep.
07:30 AM: Tactical Walk to School.
04:00 PM: Post-School "Friendship" Siege.
09:00 PM: "Is the Door Locked?" Wellness Check.
"Good luck, Amilia-san," Yuko whispered, her 'Saint' smile returning, though it looked more like a battle-ready grin. "You may have the house, but I have thirteen years of blackmail material and a very high-quality set of binoculars."
High above, a single cloud moved over the moon, as if the universe were closing its eyes in fear of what was coming next.
---
After Yuko's dramatic departure, I was forced to face my second trial of the evening: The Traditional Dinner.
Amilia had spent an hour in the kitchen, making noises that sounded like a blacksmith's forge. She eventually emerged, glowing with pride, carrying a bowl of something she called 'The Leviathan's Blessing.'
I took one bite and my entire nervous system sent out a distress signal. It didn't taste like food—it tasted like I had been tackled by a wave in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and forced to swallow a bucket of brine.
"Amilia," I wheezed, my tongue shriveling into a raisin. "Why... why is it so salty? I think I can see actual salt crystals forming a defensive perimeter around the carrots."
"It is the Secret Sea-Salt of the Shindou-Ainsworth!" she declared, leaning over the table with sparkling eyes. "According to the scrolls, salt purifies the soul and wards off the spirits of 'Bad Luck'! If you eat enough of it, your body becomes a temple that even a falling meteor would be too intimidated to strike!"
"My body isn't becoming a temple, Amilia! It's becoming a jerky! I'm being preserved for future generations!"
I drank three liters of water just to survive the 'Blessing,' my stomach sloshing like a washing machine as I finally stood up. My ribs hurt, my soul was dehydrated, and my childhood friend was currently planning a guerrilla war against my front porch. All I wanted was my bed. The sweet, non-judgmental embrace of my mattress.
I trudged toward my bedroom door, my hand reaching for the knob.
"Goodnight, Amilia," I muttered. "Please don't set fire to the living room while I'm unconscious."
"The night is the most dangerous time for a Savior!" Amilia's voice chirped from behind me.
I turned my head for a split second. *
One blink. That's all it took.
When I looked back at the door, it was already open. And when I looked at my bed, Amilia was already there. She hadn't just walked—she had performed a high-speed 'Traditional Teleportation.' She was flopped facedown on my sheets, her silver hair spread out like a shimmering crime scene.
"Ehhhh?! What are you doing?!" I shrieked, backing away. "That is my bed! My tiny, single-person territory! Why are you occupying it like a conquering warlord?!"
She rolled over, looking remarkably sleepy but entirely too determined. Her violet eyes were half-lidded, and she gave a soft, drowsy yawn that was actually quite cute—until I remembered she was a high-spec lunatic.
"The Tradition of the 'Nocturnal Shield'..." she murmured, patting the pillow next to her. "The Savior is most vulnerable when he is dreaming of... of whatever it is losers dream about. I shall protect you. If a ninja attempts to infiltrate your dreams, I shall headbutt them in the spirit realm."
"I don't have ninjas in my dreams, Amilia! I have dreams where I'm back in middle school and I forgot my pants! You can't headbutt an embarrassing memory!"
---
"Kyotaru-sama," she said, her voice suddenly serious as she propped herself up on her elbows. "Do you know why the Silver Moon is silent?"
"Is this a riddle? Is the answer 'because it's a giant rock in space'?"
"No," she whispered, leaning in close. "It is silent because it is focused on the 'Eternal Nap.' And according to the Shindou-Ainsworth Code, if a husband and wife do not share a sleeping surface, the moon will become offended and cause all the milk in the world to turn sour. Do you want sour milk, Kyotaru-sama? Do you want your morning cereal to taste like betrayal?"
"That makes zero sense! The moon doesn't care about my dairy products! And we aren't married!"
"The paperwork is in the mail!" she countered, pulling the duvet over her chin. "And besides, Yuko-san said she was going to perform a 'Midnight Safety Check.' If she sees us sleeping separately, she will realize our bond is weak and she will attempt to 'Saint' you into submission! I am protecting your freedom!"
"My freedom? You're literally holding my pillow hostage!"
"It is a hostage of love!" she yawned again, her eyes closing. "Also... your bed smells like... like old books and the 'egg-salad sandwich' of destiny. It is very... calming."
I stood there, looking at my bed, which was now fifty percent occupied by a silver-haired fanatic and fifty percent filled with my own despair.
"I can't sleep on the floor," I muttered. "My back is already broken from the 'Panic Kick.' But I can't sleep in the bed because Yuko will actually kill me. If I sleep in the bathtub, I'll probably drown in my own bad luck."
"Join me, Savior," Amilia's voice came from under the covers. "The Leviathan's Blessing is starting to make me thirsty. If I die of dehydration in my sleep, my ghost will haunt your underwear drawer forever."
"That is the most specific threat I have ever heard."
I sat on the very edge of the bed, my feet firmly planted on the floor, ready to bolt if the door kicked open.
"Fine. But no 'Traditional Hugging.' No 'Eternal Consort' whispering. We are two separate entities sharing a mattress for tactical reasons. Understand?"
"Mmm... salt..." Amilia mumbles, already drifting off.
"She's already asleep," I sighed, looking at the ceiling. "I am currently sharing a room with a girl who thinks the moon controls the milk, while another girl is currently lurking in the bushes outside with binoculars. God, if you're listening... I'm not even mad anymore. I'm just impressed at the sheer creativity of my suffering."
Somewhere outside, a twig snapped.
Yuko, I thought, closing my eyes. Please don't have a rocket launcher. Please.