Spurred on by tales of Mother’s booze-filled adventures, the girl in metal embarks on a sudden quest. I understand absolutely: questing is a critical rite of passage for a journeyman adventurer looking to make her mark on the world, and the pursuit of good booze is far nobler than trying to kill hard-working kobolds guarding a castle just so you can rape some sleeping prince who can’t give consent. I hope, little metalhead, that you have an excellent adventure and not a bogus journey. I only regret that I never learned your name.
But now that leaves me with the problem of Tomo. Much as I loathe taking advice from an arch-lich, I have to admit the Busty Baroness is right about the need to act. Stupid Kitsune! I bet she’s probably installed some sort of pheromone sprayer in her protégé’s armpits, too. If I don’t act now, the girl will definitely take Tomo home. I can’t blame him for wanting to sow his wild oats, but I’m also possessive and prone to jealousy, like any maladjusted dweeb. I ponder how to approach this. I still don’t want to be seen as clingy. I need plausible deniability.
My fingers brush the edge of my mask when I correct a stray lock of hair and I start to smile. Ah, I had forgotten for a moment that we were at a masked ball. I stand from my seat.
“Thanks, Auntie, I think I know what to do now,” I tell Kitsune.
Tomo’s winding down his dance with the redhead, so I have some time to get into position. There are still several problems, however. The hall is packed with people ranging from happy couples to creepy jerks. If I just dive blindly into the crowd, my adrenaline level’s going to spike and I’ll end up jettisoning spaghetti all over the floor. If I take too circuitous of a route, I’ll lose track of Tomo. So I’ve got to navigate through the mess of people in a way that builds up my morale. If I run into someone I like, my morale will go up, and if I run into someone I dislike, then it’ll go down.
I draw in a breath and step into the swirling mass.
At first, it’s overwhelming. I’m buffeted on all sides by people dancing, socializing, and occasionally trying to pat my ass. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea after all. The spaghetti-meter’s inching up to critical and I can’t seem to stem the pressure. I’m about to beat a hasty retreat, when all of a sudden, I catch sight of her.
Kahako stands like a beacon in a squall. She’s everything right in the world. Better than cool water, better than honey nectar, better than cold ice against a feverish brow. Better than light, better than truth, better than the way. Her with a babe at her bosom would move men’s hearts more gravely than a thousand corpses strewn at Shinbatsu’s feet. In less melodramatic terms, I really hope Senpai notices me.
Unfortunately, she’s also got none other than Ayumu alongside her. The swine! The waifucidal maniac! He’s the only thing preventing me from going up to Kahako, gently taking her hand, and leading her out of this congested fete so we can have a little girl time together. I can’t just attack him, because that would be hella gauche. Frustrated at this turn of events, I can only draw momentary strength from seeing Kahako, and I press on.
A crashing sound nearby alerts me to Osuteno plowing into a passing waiter and causing an explosion of delicious shrapnel. Fortunately, I’m used to these sort of Quick-Time Events, and my mental button-mashing allows me to pirouette out of the way of a lethal barrage of cherry tomatoes. On instinct, I flick my head back and a spinning disc of smoked mozzarella sails a millimeter above the tip of my nose. It shears a strand or two off my bangs, but I’m unhurt.
Nearby, I spy out the Chigokai matriarch. Ookami’s got smug satisfaction writ large on her face. She’s obviously the one who planned out this attack, hoping to bait me with her delectable trap. Joke’s on you, bitch! I know exactly what Osu hides under his skirt. In fact, I’ve seen and touched it! But I still shouldn’t tarry here for long. Much as I want to see if my favorite shota-loli’s okay, it’s dangerous here. I change course and head to more neutral waters.
A beat later, I almost manage to run headlong into Chiquita. However, she’s busy talking with a handsome guy, and I don’t want to interrupt her conquest for the evening. Besides, whenever I try to rope her into shenanigans, it always devolves into an international clusterfuck involving the highest levels of government. The last thing I want to do is hook up with Tomo, only to find out that I’ve been brainwashed into
assassinating the Prime Minister of Malaysia.
Before my spaghetti-meter crests into the danger zone, I see something that startles me so much it resets my counter.
Shinbatsu, Saito, and Shin, it’s
her. Shima Haruka, the Fallen Throne of Cloud. A heroine to some, a traitor to others, and to me, a friend. I wouldn’t have minded if she’d been lovers with my father, or at least not as much as I mind that quality about Kitsune. I’d call Haruka “Auntie” any day of the week, but that’s perhaps a secret I’ll take to my grave. I’m relieved to see that she’s not only alive, but also allowed to crash the Torre Celeste’s masquerade ball after martyring Saint Hayata. Then again, he wouldn’t be a saint if he weren’t dead, so perhaps she did him a favor by expediting his canonization.
Despite all of my relief, however, I’m also angry at her. Angry for disappearing after we’d put so much faith in her. Angry that I had to deal with hanging chads and Teabaggers for her sake. Angry that she couldn’t just be content with life on the lam, but
had to come back and make us all watch her execution on pay per view. Some of us care about you, Haruka. Some of us also hurt when you fuck yourself over.
I sidle over as surreptitiously as I can in my stupid ballgown and bump my rear into hers. I don’t know if our conversation is being monitored or not, though it probably is. I’m pretty sure I’m on several watch-lists, anyway. “Have you assembled your defense team yet?” I whisper. “Because I want in. I may be inept with everything else but I know how to properly chastise proud men like Saito. For example, I dealt with Natsu recently. Oh Haru-haru, I wish you’d warned me about him. I fell in love with him so stupidly. I couldn’t help it. How could you say no to a man who makes you come so hard you break the blood vessels in your eyeballs? But then he showed his true colors as a swine and I had to give him what for. Okay, now I’ve got to find Tomo before he hooks up with mini-Kitsune. It’s a long story. Ta-ta.”
There, keep it short and sweet, Saeko. Only give up the vaguest of hints. Don’t let the bastards win. Anyway, Haruka appears to be safe for now. I’ve been granted a second wind, and I need to accomplish my primary mission. I break away from her and finally zero in on Tomo.
He’s just about concluded his waltz with mini-Kitsune. And for fuck’s sake, she’s looking dreamily into his eyes! Don’t stare back, Tomo! It’s a trap, you dumbass! She’ll turn your manhood to stone! It’s time to initiate the plan.
“Ahem, Mochizuki-san,” I say. “I hear you’re the one giving out dance lessons. Do you mind if I take the next slot?”
As Kahako fretted for the hundred and fiftieth time about whether Susumu would be fine in the care of Ayumu's parents, Ayumu casually glanced outside the carriage's window resisting the urge to laugh. As was not uncommon, Kahako's mind was racing as she thought of a million things that could go wrong. She had clearly forgotten, but this was the second time she had asked about Susumu's favorite toy. 
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