There is a specific kind of agony that comes with sleeping on the literal edge of a twin-sized bed. It's not just the physical strain of tensing every muscle to avoid touching the silver-haired "Traditional" landmine sleeping three inches to your left; it's the psychological weight of knowing that if you fall off, you'll probably land on a stray piece of LEGO or a cursed family heirloom.
I woke up feeling like I had been folded into an origami swan by a very angry giant. My neck was making a sound like dry gravel being crushed in a tin can, and my left arm had gone so numb it felt like a cold, heavy ham attached to my shoulder.
"Ugh..." I groaned, my voice sounding like a rusted gate.
I opened one eye. The sun was peeking through the curtains, illuminating the dust motes that were likely the only things in this room not currently trying to ruin my life. I looked to my left.
Amilia was still there. She was sprawled out across eighty-five percent of the mattress, her silver hair creating a shimmering perimeter of 'Do Not Cross Or You Get Married.' She was hugging my spare pillow with a look of such serene, peaceful obsession that for a second, she almost looked like a normal human being. Then, she mumbled in her sleep.
"No... father... the goat... it's too itchy... Kyotaru-sama needs... more salt..."
"She's dreaming of dehydrating me," I whispered to the ceiling. "Even in her subconscious, I am nothing but a jerky-in-waiting. Truly, the Shindou-Ainsworth bloodline is a biological weapon designed to eliminate my will to live."
I tried to sit up, but the 'ham-arm' flopped uselessly against my chest. I stared at it. I couldn't even start my day without my own limbs participating in a strike against my dignity. I spent the next five minutes using my good hand to manually reposition my dead arm, feeling the 'pins and needles' return with the intensity of a thousand tiny, angry scorpions.
"I wonder," I pondered, looking at my twitching fingers, "if I donated my body to science, would the scientists just give it back? 'Sorry, Mr. Inuzuka, but your luck is actually infectious. We tried to study your spleen and the lab caught fire. Please take your cursed organs and leave'."
That wasn't the sound of my joints popping. That was the sound of my bedroom door—the one I had distinctly remembered locking with a chair, a belt, and a prayer—sliding open with the silence of a professional assassin.
I froze. My 'Bad Luck Sense' screamed. It did a backflip. It wrote a farewell letter to my ancestors.
A shadow fell across the bed. I didn't even have to look up to know the silhouette. The long black hair, the perfectly pressed school uniform, and the aura of 'Radical Kindness' that felt like a cold blade against my throat.
"Good morning, Kyotaru-kun," Yuko said.
Her voice was soft. It was the sound of a velvet glove hiding a brass knuckle. She was standing at the foot of the bed, holding a tray with two cups of tea and a bowl of rice. She wasn't looking at the tea. She was looking at the silver-haired girl currently occupying the space where a 'Childhood Friend' theoretically belonged.
"Y-Yuko!" I squeaked, trying to pull the duvet over my head, only to realize Amilia was lying on top of it. "How did you get in?! I locked the door! I used the deadbolt! I reinforced it with my own despair!"
"Oh, Inuzuka-kun," Yuko smiled. It was a terrifying, hollow smile. "Do you remember when we were six and you got your head stuck in the mailbox? You gave me a spare key 'just in case the mailbox tried to eat you again.' I never gave it back. Also, your window latch is remarkably easy to bypass with a credit card and a sense of righteous fury."
She stepped closer, the tray rattling slightly.
"I see the 'Sanctuary of the Consort' is quite... cozy," Yuko continued, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sight of Amilia's hand resting near my waist. "Tell me, Kyotaru-kun. On a scale of one to 'I am prepared to meet my creator,' how much did you enjoy your 'Traditional' sleepover?"
"It wasn't a sleepover! It was an annexation!" I scrambled off the bed, stumbling over my own dead arm and landing in a heap on the floor. "I slept on the edge! I'm practically a gargoyle at this point! My spine is shaped like a question mark!"
"He speaks the truth!"
Amilia sat up suddenly, her silver hair exploding outward like a supernova. She blinked, her violet eyes focusing on Yuko with the speed of a startled cat.
"The Savior's spine is indeed compromised! But it is a small price for the 'Nocturnal Shield'! Yuko-san, you are early for your 'Safety Check.' Are you here to witness the morning ritual? I was just about to begin the 'First Awakening Kiss of the Crescent Moon'!"
Yuko's tray didn't just rattle—it started moonwalking. "You were going to do what?"
"It is traditional!" Amilia declared, standing up on the mattress to gain the high ground. "To ensure the Savior's soul returns from the dream-realm, it must be beckoned back by the touch of a destined lover! Otherwise, he might wake up as a different person! A person who doesn't like salt!"
"The only thing he's going to wake up as is a 'corpse' if you don't get off that bed!" Yuko hissed. She set the tray down on my desk with a violent THUD and reached into her bag.
For a second, I expected a rocket launcher. Instead, she pulled out a massive, industrial-sized bottle of 'Holy Water' (or high-grade vinegar, knowing her) and a spray nozzle.
"This room smells like 'Tradition' and 'Delusion'," Yuko said, her eyes flashing. "I'm here for a 'Morning Purification.' Kyotaru-kun, move aside. I need to sanitize the area of any silver-haired pests."
"Stop! This is my room!" I yelled, shielding my face. "I am the lord of this ten-by-ten box! I demand sovereignty! I demand a breakfast that doesn't involve a fight to the death!"
Ten minutes later, we were in the kitchen.
I was sitting at the head of the table, looking like a survivor of a shipwreck. My hair was damp because Yuko had 'accidentally' sprayed me during her purification ritual, and my stomach was gurgling from the 'Leviathan's Blessing' I had consumed the night before.
Amilia had insisted on making toast. Unfortunately, her idea of 'Traditional Toast' involved using a blowtorch she found in the garage and a sprinkling of what I hoped was powdered sugar but was likely more salt.
Yuko had brought 'Homemade Miso Soup,' which she claimed was a 'Childhood Friend's Special.' It was perfectly balanced, smelled like heaven, and—most importantly—featured a floating piece of tofu carved into the shape of a tombstone with my name on it.
"Is this... a threat, Yuko?" I asked, pointing a chopstick at the tofu-grave.
"It's an 'Awareness Tofu,' Kyotaru-kun," she said sweetly, sipping her tea. "To remind you of the fragility of life. Especially your life. If you aren't careful about who you let into your bed—I mean, your 'house'—that tofu might become a reality sooner than you think."
"My family traditions are life-giving!" Amilia countered, biting into a piece of charcoal-toast with a crunch that sounded like bone breaking. "The 'Burial of the Bread' is a ritual to ensure our future children have strong teeth! Kyotaru-sama, try a bite! It tastes like destiny and carbon!"
"I'm not eating carbon for breakfast, Amilia. I'm already sixty percent charcoal from all the times I've been struck by lightning."
I sighed, staring into my tombstone soup. This was my life. Dark, petty, and filled with girls who used breakfast as a medium for psychological warfare. I looked at the clock.
"We're going to be late for school," I muttered. "Not that it matters. At this rate, I'll probably be hit by a meteor before the first bell. Honestly, a meteor would be a mercy. It's quick. It's clean. It doesn't require me to explain why I have two girls currently arguing about the 'Traditional' way to fold my gym clothes."
"The 'Traditional' way is into a triangle!" Amilia shouted.
"The 'correct' way is into a square!" Yuko screamed.
"I fold them into a ball and shove them in my bag!" I yelled back. "Because I am a trash-person who lives in a trash-world! Now let's go before the neighbors call the cult-deprogramming unit!"
Walking to school was usually the only time I felt a modicum of peace, mostly because I could focus on not stepping into manholes. But today, the 'Marriage War' had gone mobile.
Amilia was walking on my left, still wearing her silver cape over her uniform. She was holding my hand—not a 'cute' hand-hold, but a 'Traditional Grip' that felt like she was trying to fuse our skeletal structures together.
Yuko was on my right, walking so close that our shoulders were perpetually bumping. Every time Amilia squeezed my hand, Yuko would lean in and whisper a 'fun fact' about the divorce rates of people who met through 'physics-related accidents.'
"Did you know, Kyotaru-kun, that eighty percent of 'Traditional' marriages end in the husband 'mysteriously' disappearing during a hiking trip?" Yuko chirped, her eyes fixed forward. "It's a very tragic statistic. I'd hate for you to become a number."
"The Shindou-Ainsworth do not hike!" Amilia retorted. "We are carried in litters! And our marriages are eternal! Even if the husband dies, we simply 'Traditionally' taxidermy his remains and keep him in the parlor! He never has to leave home again!"
I stopped walking.
"Taxidermy?" I whispered. "Amilia, did you just say you'd stuff me and put me in the living room?"
"Only with the finest silver-threaded stuffing!" she beamed. "You would look so handsome next to the grand piano! I would talk to you every day about my day!"
"That's it," I said, my voice flat. "I'm joining a monastery. I'm done. I'm moving to Tibet. I'll live with the monks. They don't do taxidermy. They don't have bear-panties. They just meditate and eat barley."
"The monks wouldn't want you, Kyotaru-kun," Yuko said, patting my arm with a 'kind' look that sent a shiver down my spine. "Your bad luck would probably cause the temple to collapse during your first chant. You're stuck here. With us. Forever."
Suddenly, the wind began to pick up. Not the 'Divine Wind' from yesterday, but a sharp, localized gust that smelled like... gasoline?
VROOOOOM.
A black motorcycle, looking like it had been stolen from a high-budget action movie, skidded to a halt in front of us. The rider was dressed in a black suit and a helmet with a tinted visor. They didn't say a word. They just reached into their jacket and pulled out a small, silver-embossed envelope.
"The Shadow Guard?" Amilia gasped, her grip on my hand tightening until I heard a faint 'pop' in my wrist. "Is it time for the 'Mid-Morning Inspection' already?"
The rider handed the envelope to me. Not to Amilia. To 'me'.
I opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a single card. It had a picture of a guillotine on it, but the blade was replaced with a silver wedding ring.
[The Message:]
"Kyotaru Inuzuka. Your 'Savior' status is currently being reviewed by the Board of Elders. Expect a 'Traditional' interrogation during the lunch break. P.S. We have your cat."
"I don't have a cat!" I screamed at the rider.
"You do now!" the rider shouted back before revving the engine and disappearing into a cloud of exhaust.
I looked at the card. I looked at the silver-haired girl who wanted to taxidermy me. I looked at the childhood friend who was currently calculating the trajectory of a flare gun shot at the motorcycle.
"That Berserk universe was better than this." I muttered, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. "The universe doesn't just want to kill me. It wants to make it a production*. I'm not even the star of my own tragedy; I'm just the guy who gets hit by the falling scenery."
"Don't worry, Kyotaru-kun," Yuko said, her hand resting on my shoulder. "If they try to interrogate you, I'll tell them the truth. That you're too stupid to be a savior. They'll probably let you go out of pity."
"Oh, Savior!" Amilia cried, hugging my arm. "The interrogation is a celebration! They will only torture you a little bit to see if your 'Luck' can withstand 'Traditional' methods! It's like a bachelor party, but with more electricity!"
I looked at the school gates. They looked like the entrance to a very colorful, very noisy execution chamber.
"I'm going to kick God in the shins," I whispered. "I swear on my charred soul, I'm going to find Him and I'm going to kick Him so hard He forgets why He made truck-kun."